hurried after her, through a cavern of a kitchen that seemed to swarm with bodies rushing this way and that, and out into a cool, tiled hallway.
‘I’m Mrs Fingall, the cook,’ said the woman. ‘You’ll want to keep civil with me, because I’m the one as feeds you.’
‘Oh, I hope I’m always civil,’ said Edie.
The cook stopped and stared at her, hands on hips. ‘You jolly well do, do yer?’ she said. She knocked on a door. ‘Mrs Munn’s office,’ she said confidentially.
Edie was relieved to be out of the heat and clash of the kitchen, which she had found unnerving. All the same, perhaps she had just left the frying pans – literally – for the fire.
‘Come in.’ The voice was low and calm, giving the lie to what everyone had said about the occupant tearing out her hair.
‘Miss Prior, the new parlourmaid,’ said Mrs Fingall, jabbing her in with two fingers between her ribs.
An angular woman sat at a desk, poring over a ledger.
She looked up at Edie, expressionless.
‘Thank you, Mrs Fingall. Would you fetch Jenny, please?’
Edie wondered why she had never considered the reality of the role she had thrown herself into. She had to converse with people, convince them of her background in domestic service. The best she could do was mimic her friend Josie McCullen, who worked as a daily girl in a house in Pimlico. She had shown Edie how to black-lead a grate and polish silver, but how to be another person … that was a rarer skill.
‘Why did you not write?’ asked Mrs Munn. ‘I’d have sent Wilkins to meet you with the trap.’
‘Oh, did you not receive my letter?’ muttered Edie, finding the barefaced lying more difficult than she had expected.
‘No, I did not. You were interviewed by Mrs Quinlan from the London residence?’
‘Yes.’
‘I suppose you were hoping for a job in Belgrave Square.’
‘I am perfectly happy to work here.’ As an afterthought, she added, ‘ma’am’, finding the word so odd that she had to suppress an embarrassed smile.
Mrs Munn was right, though – Edie had assumed that her application to work for the Deverell family would result in a place in their London residence. The fact that the only opening was at Deverell Hall had been the first snag in the plan. It was only thirty miles from London, but it seemed that a huge ocean stood between Edie and her familiar urban world.
Mrs Munn picked up a piece of paper and sneered at it.
Edie, recognising the character her friend’s mother had written for her, felt her heart skip.
‘Your last place seems to be a respectable house, if not one of the best in society. You will find the scale of things here somewhat different. It may alarm you at first, but if you keep a cool head and attend to your duties first and foremost, you will soon settle.’
A timid knock at the door interrupted Mrs Munn’s flow.
‘One last thing,’ she said, before bidding the knocker enter. ‘There must be no communication beyond that which is strictly necessary between you and the gentlemen of the house. Do you understand me? None whatsoever.’
‘Of course, ma’am. By “gentlemen of the house”, do you mean …?’
‘His Lordship’s sons. The elder in particular.’
‘I see.’
Mrs Munn raised her eyebrow. ‘I hope you do.’ She looked past Edie at the door. ‘Come in, Jenny.’
Jenny was a mouse in human form and parlourmaid’s black-and-whites. She hid in a corner while Mrs Munn instructed her to show Edie her room and help her with her uniform prior to a grand tour of the house.
The servants’ staircase seemed to go up and up for ever. Conversation – a desultory affair – died out after the first flight and, from then on, nothing was heard but puffing and the echo of boots on stone.
‘You’re a London girl, then?’ said Jenny, once they were at the very top of the building, in a low-ceilinged, dark room containing four beds and little else.
‘Yes,’ said Edie, moving instinctively towards the window, against which the rain beat so dismally that little could be seen outside.
‘Most of us here are from Kingsreach and hereabouts. We’ve grown up on Deverell land. You don’t know anything about us.’
Edie turned to the plain little creature, surprised at the edge of resentment in her voice.
‘We’re all of us in the same boat, aren’t we?’ she said. ‘Service. What does it matter where we learned to wax a floor, so long as we wax it well?’
Jenny shrugged and pointed to some folded clothes on the bed furthest from the door. ‘Uniform,’ she said. ‘Hope it fits. You’ve got a lovely figure.’
‘Thanks,’ said Edie. She tried a smile, but the wistful look on the girl’s face caused it to misfire.
‘He’ll have an eye for you,’ said Jenny.
‘An eye for me? Who will?’
‘Charlie Deverell. He tries it on with all the pretty maids.’
‘Well, he won’t try it on with me,’ said Edie stoutly, moving behind a screen and unbuttoning her blouse.
‘Yes, he will. You’re ever so pretty. Even prettier than Susie Leonard, and she had to leave in disgrace when he got her into trouble.’
‘Heavens!’ Edie’s fingers paused on the faux-pearl buttons. This must be what Mrs Munn was driving at before.
‘He denies it was him, but everyone knows it was. Susie didn’t even have a sweetheart. And I’ve seen her with the baby – got his eyes, she has, and his dark hair.’
Dark hair. The man driving the car.
‘Well, I’m no fool and no flash Harry is going to seduce me,’ said Edie briskly. She allowed room for a little pause, removing her skirt in the silence, before changing the subject. ‘What do you think of Lady Deverell? She’s new to the house, isn’t she?’
‘Not so new. Been here a year now.’
‘Is she nice?’
‘My ma always says if you can’t speak well of someone, don’t speak of them at all.’
Edie laughed uncomfortably, her face flushing hot.
‘She’s awfully glamorous, though, isn’t she?’ she said, putting the black dress on. It was a little tight under the bust but, apart from that, a snug fit. ‘I saw her on the stage in London, in one of Mr Bernard Shaw’s plays. She was quite magnetic.’
Jenny
