“I’m Amelia, ma’am. Mrs. York employed me this afternoon.”
Suddenly Veronica smiled and all her color returned; it was like illumination in a gray room.
“Yes, I know. I hope you’ll like it here, Amelia. Are you comfortable?”
“Yes thank you, ma’am,” Emily lied bravely. What she had been given was all a maid could expect. “Will you be dressing for dinner, ma’am?”
“Yes please. The blue gown; I think Edith put it in the first cupboard.”
“Yes ma’am.” Emily went through to the dressing room and brought back a royal blue velvet and taffeta gown, cut low, with balloon sleeves. It took her a few moments to find the right petticoats and lay them out.
“Yes, that’s right, thank you,” Veronica agreed.
“Would you like your hair done before your gown, ma’am?” It was the way Emily herself dressed—it was so easy to drop a hair or a pin, a smudge of powder or a perfume stain.
“Yes.” Veronica sat still while Emily took the brush, then polished the long shining hair with a silk scarf. It was lovely, thick and dark as a moonless sea. Had Jack looked at it with such admiration? She forced that idea away. This was no time to tease herself with jealousies.
“You will find we are a little behind,” Veronica said, interrupting her thoughts. Emily saw her shoulders stiffen and the muscles pull across the back of her neck. “I am afraid my previous maid had—a terrible accident.”
Emily’s hand with the comb stopped in the air. “Oh.” She had decided to affect ignorance. None of the servants had told her, and the sort of person she was pretending to be would never have read about the “accident.” “I’m sorry, ma’am. That must have been distressing for you. Was she hurt badly?”
The answer was very quiet. “I’m afraid she was killed. She fell out of the window. Don’t worry, it wasn’t the room you are in.”
Emily saw Veronica’s eyes on her in the mirror. Deliberately she put on an expression of surprise and sympathy, knowing she must be careful not to overact.
“Oh, that’s terrible, ma’am! The poor creature. Well, I’ll be very careful. I don’t like heights anyway, never did.” She began coiling Veronica’s hair and pinning it, sweeping it away from her temples. At any other time she would have enjoyed the task, but now she was nervous. She must look skilled, they had to believe this was her profession. “How did it happen, ma’am?” It would be only natural to ask.
Veronica shivered. “I don’t know. No one does. Nobody saw it happen.”
“Did it happen at night then?”
“No, it was in the evening. We were all at dinner.”
“How awful for you,” Emily said with what she hoped sounded more like compassion than curiosity. “I hope you didn’t have guests, ma’am.”
“Yes we did, but fortunately they left before we discovered what had happened.”
Emily did not probe any further. She would be able to find out from one of the other servants who the guests had been, although she was prepared to wager one had been Julian Danver.
“What a terrible time you’ve had.” She curled the last strand of hair and put in the pins. “Is that comfortable, ma’am?”
Veronica turned her head one way and then the other in front of the glass. “You’ve done that very well, Amelia. It’s not how I usually wear it, but I think it’s an improvement.”
Emily was greatly relieved. “Oh thank you, ma’am.”
Veronica stood up and Emily helped her into the petticoats and then the gown, fastening it carefully. Veronica looked very striking indeed, but Emily was uncertain whether a compliment might be considered too familiar. She decided against it. After all, a maid’s opinion hardly mattered.
There was a sharp rap on the door, and almost before Veronica had said “Come in” it opened and Loretta York, elegant in lavender silk embroidered in black and silver, swished in, regarding Veronica up and down critically. She appeared not even to see Emily.
“You look pale. For goodness’ sake, pull yourself together, my dear. We have a duty to do. The family deserves our best courtesy, as well as the guests. Your father-in-law will be expecting us. We do not wish him to think we crumble to pieces because of some domestic tragedy. He has enough to concern himself with. What happens at home is our affair, and we must protect him from any disturbances. A man has a right to a calm and well-ordered home.” She looked at Veronica’s hair carefully. “People do die. Death is the inevitable end of life, and you are not some tuppenny bourgeoise to fall into the vapors at the first affliction. Now pinch a little color into your face and come downstairs.”
Veronica’s body stiffened, the blue silk tightening as the line of her jaw hardened into a sharp angle.
“I have quite as much color as usual, Mother-in-law. I do not wish to look as if I have a fever.”
Loretta’s face froze. “I am thinking of your welfare, Veronica,” she said icily. “I always have your good in mind, which you will realize if you think back.” The words were reasonable, even kind, but her voice cut like a knife.
Veronica grew paler, and she spoke with difficulty. “I am aware of that, Mother-in-law.”
Emily was transfixed. The emotion was so strong she could feel it prickling her skin. And yet the issue was so slight!
“Sometimes I wonder if it slips your mind.” Loretta did not alter her fixed gaze. “I want your future happiness and security, my dear. Don’t ever forget that.”
Veronica swiveled, her throat jerking with the effort. “I never, never forget what you do for me,” she whispered.
“I will always be here, my dear,” Loretta promised—or, in the hot motionlessness of this room, was this a veiled threat? “Always.” Then, as Emily’s paralyzed figure caught the corner of her vision, “What are you staring at, girl?” she asked. Her voice stung like a sudden slap. “Be about your business!”
Emily leapt to attention and the dressing robe slid from her hands to the floor. She bent and picked it up clumsily, fingers stiff. “Yes ma’am!” She almost ran from the room, her face burning with frustration and embarrassment for having been caught eavesdropping. The words had been so ordinary, any mother and daughter-in-law might have exchanged them, but there had been no lightness or ease in the air; it was charged with multiple layers of meaning. And Emily felt with a crawling electricity under her skin that beneath it all was an immense hatred.
Emily took her first meal in Hanover Close in the servants’ hall, at a large table presided over by Redditch, the butler. He was in his mid-forties and just a trifle pompous, but his face had such an inoffensive air of slight surprise about it that she could not dislike him.
It was late by the time the meal had been served in the dining room, found satisfactory, and cleared away. The scullery was filled with dirty dishes. At the foot of the table sat the cook, who was still solicitous, since Emily was a newcomer, but there was no doubt that motherly concern would be quickly replaced by motherly discipline should Emily speak out of turn or fall short in her duty. Mrs. Crawford, the housekeeper, was dressed in black bombazine with an immaculate lace-trimmed cap, more elaborate than the one she had worn previously. She was very much on her dignity. She obviously considered herself the mistress in any other part of the house and only tolerated the cook’s supremacy here because Mrs. Melrose was so immediately concerned with preparing the meal. Throughout the conversation Mrs. Crawford made sharp little remarks, reminders of rank.