treasures, having no company but her thoughts. She listened constantly for footsteps on the stairs or in the passage, dreading an unexpected rendezvous with Sir Charles, but apparently he was out.
Looking through the window, she saw Lady Mary with a tennis racquet and wondered against whom she would be playing. Lady Deverell came out a few moments later, similarly equipped, and Edie was transfixed, watching the pair disappear around the corner towards the courts.
Lady Deverell and her stepdaughter. Was their relationship cordial? What if Lady Mary found out about her brother? What if anyone found out? Lady Deverell would be ruined, that was for sure.
Perhaps Sir Charles loved her and would stand by her … but that surely couldn’t be the case if he was trying his luck with every pretty housemaid that came along.
No, she was his plaything and he might even have her ruin in mind. It was despicable. He was despicable. He ought to be stopped – but how?
Carrie was once more indisposed at supper time, so Edie, much against her will, was detailed to serve the family.
She kept her eye on Lady Deverell, waiting for her to steal a look at Sir Charles, but she did no such thing for the duration of the meal, unless addressed.
What a wonderful actress she was. Edie found herself as full of admiration as of distaste. Eventually, however, she realised why Lady Deverell was not attending to her stepson. She was watching her.
She had noticed, without seeming to even look in their direction, how Sir Charles touched her under the table when she served the soup and spoke low words into her ear. Although he kept his face expressionless, the messages were inflammatory.
‘Will you sleepwalk again tonight?’ he murmured.
‘No, sir,’ she whispered back, trying not to slop soup over the edge of the ladle.
Then, when she refilled his glass, ‘Sleepwalk to my rooms. First floor, East Wing.’
At the spooning of the green beans, ‘I will expect you.’
She did not dare reply, certain that everyone must see how her cheeks burned and her bosom rose and fell. She kept a very tight grip on all the serving implements and managed not to drop or spill anything, but it was a severe test.
And now, with Lady Deverell watching her every bit as avidly as Sir Charles did, she felt like a hapless pawn, forced into untenable positions wherever she went. This is what it is to be poor, she thought. This is what life is like for so many girls. Poverty robs one of choice.
And if, after yet another day of soul-sapping drudgery, a pretty girl sought out a little pleasure and glamour in the arms of a rich, handsome man, who could blame her? What else awaited her in life but scrubbing and death? Poor Susie Leonard had only done what thousands before her had. Did she regret it? Would Edie?
* * *
She lay awake, her mind a kaleidoscope of confused and conflicting thoughts.
She knew what she had come here for, but now it seemed she had been shown a further purpose.
She got out of bed, once she was sure everybody else was asleep, and tiptoed to the stairs. She stopped several times and thought of turning back, but her need for knowledge and understanding drove her on until she arrived in that fateful East Wing corridor and stood, trembling from head to toe, at the chamber door.
No, she could not knock. What if this was, after all, the wrong door? And, despite how she had planned to proceed, there was no guarantee at all that she would not find herself, very swiftly, in serious danger, all her plans in smithereens.
She took a few deep breaths. This was lunacy. She would find herself on the morning train back to London the very next day, driven by a purse-lipped sad-eyed Ted, her reputation in ruins, her name a byword for scandal.
She stepped back. She would return to her room.
The door opened and she almost screamed, her knees giving way so that she staggered.
Sir Charles looked out at her through the crack, then he held out his hand.
‘I’ve been waiting for you,’ he whispered. ‘Come on. Don’t just stand there.’
‘It’s not what you think,’ she whispered back. ‘It’s a mistake. I’m not …’
‘That kind of girl? Of course. Come in now. Or do I have to come over there and get you?’
She stepped forward and he took hold of her wrist, quickly and firmly, and drew her inside the bedroom.
‘Well, Lady Macbeth,’ he said, cupping her cheeks in his hands, standing far too close.
‘No,’ she said, trying to shake her head free and failing. ‘Don’t touch me.’
‘Don’t touch you? You’ve come to my bedroom in the dead of night and you’re asking me not to touch you?’
‘Please. Not yet.’
‘Oh.’
He dropped his hands from her and cocked his head to one side, examining her through narrowed eyes.
‘What have we here?’ he mused.
Edie felt as if his fingers were still on her skin, still pushing through her hair. She burned in the places he had touched.
‘May I sit?’
He waved a hand towards a sofa in the corner.
‘I’ve brandy in the bedside cupboard if you’d like …’
‘No, no.’
He sat down beside her and took her hand in his, despite her attempts to pull it away.
‘So, then – what is it you want to say to me?’
She couldn’t speak at first, her courage ebbing away, but when he began to stroke her fingers, she found her nerve and blurted it out.
‘I don’t think you should be doing … what you’re doing … with Lady Deverell.’
He squeezed her fingers tight and let out an incredulous little laugh.
‘I fail to see how it’s any of your business … what was your name again? … Edie.’
‘Actually, I think it is my business. I think it’s everyone’s business because we all have to live in this house and if Lord Deverell finds out …’
‘He won’t.’
‘He’s your father. And she’s your father’s wife.’
Charles was silent for a moment, then he tapped Edie’s fingers.
‘Do I detect the heady scent of blackmail, Edie? Because I can assure you that you don’t want to get on the wrong side of me. You don’t want that at all.’
‘No. No, you’ve completely
