The moment she saw it, the events of yesterday came pouring back. She sighed and swung her legs over the side of the bed, searching for the floor with her bare feet. Her toes touched fur and she pushed her feet into the warm softness of her slippers and gave another sigh. She wasn’t accustomed to rising with the dawn, but she had better get ready to face the day. Mr. Bainbridge was most likely an early riser. Even when he wasn’t angry.
She tiptoed to the door of the nursery, glanced in to make sure Nora was still sleeping and yawned her way to the dressing room to perform her morning toilette. How was she to manage without Ellen?
Soft stirrings emanated from the nursery.
Sarah gathered her long hair into a pile at the crown of her head the way Ellen had shown her, wrapped the wide silk ribbon that matched her gown around the thick mass and tied it into a bow. When she removed her hands, a few of her soft curls cascaded down the back of her head to the nape of her neck. She frowned and reached to retie the ribbon.
The stirrings grew louder.
She had run out of time. Her hair would have to do. Sarah took another look in the mirror to make sure her efforts would hold and hurried from the dressing room into the nursery, smiling at sight of the toddler who was sitting in the middle of the crib, her cheeks rosy with warmth, her blue eyes still heavy with sleep.
“Good morning, Nora. I’m Nanny Sarah—” at least until I’m summoned downstairs for dismissal “—do you remember me?”
“’Quirrel.”
Sarah’s smile widened. “That’s right. We watched the squirrel together yesterday. Aren’t you clever to remember.” She moved closer to the crib and held out her arms. “Are you ready to get up and have some breakfast?” She held her breath, waiting.
Nora stared up at her. “Cookie.” She scrambled to her feet and held up her arms.
“Cookie?” Sarah laughed and scooped her up. “I’m afraid cookies are not acceptable breakfast fare for little girls. Would a biscuit with some lovely strawberry jam suit?”
Nora’s golden curls bounced as she bobbed her head. “Me like jam!”
“Yes, I thought you might.” Sarah looked around for a bellpull. There was none. She hurried to her bedroom, glanced around, frowned. Where was—The truth burst upon her, rooted her in place. Servants did not have bell-pulls. And in this house she was a servant. She tightened her grip on Nora and sank to the edge of the bed, absorbing the ramifications of that truth. Perhaps it was just as well she would be going home. She had no idea what to do. Someone had to prepare Nora’s breakfast. But without a bellpull how did she summon—
“Bisit.”
Sarah looked into her charge’s big blue eyes and sighed. “Biscuit?…Yes. You shall have your biscuit and jam, Nora.” She took a deep breath, made her decision. She would take Nora to the kitchen—wherever that was—and have cook prepare breakfast for both of them. “But first I must get you washed and brushed and ready for the day.”
Nora squirmed. “Go potty.”
“Oh. Of course. Wait a moment.” Sarah tightened her arms around the toddler, rose and hurried toward the dressing room.
“Good morning.” Sarah smiled as Mrs. Quincy spun around from the iron cooking stove and gaped at her. The woman’s flushed face registered surprise, then censure.
“You’re not to be using the main stairs.” The housekeeper tossed the piece of wood she was holding into the stove, replaced the iron plate and hung the tool she’d used to lift the lid on a hook on the wall. Her long skirts swished as she moved around a large center table and pulled open a door. “These back stairs are the ones you’re to use.”
Sarah glanced at the narrow stairway with the pie-wedge-shaped winding steps.
“Remember that in future.” Mrs. Quincy closed the door, went back to the stove, picked up a spoon and swirled it through the contents in a large iron pot. “Is there somethin’ you needed?”
“Yes.” Sarah’s stomach clenched at the smell of apples and cinnamon that wafted her way. She ignored the reminder that she had been too nervous to eat supper yesterday and carried Nora toward the table. “I am unfamiliar with the way you run the house, and I wondered if you would be so good as to tell me where and when Nora’s meals—and mine—are served.”
Mrs. Quincy put down the spoon, picked up a griddle covered with slices of bacon and placed it on the stove. “Miss Thompson came down, give me orders for what she wanted for herself and the child and went back upstairs. Lucy toted and fetched their trays.”
Sarah winced at the cold, offended note in the housekeeper’s voice. Miss Thompson must have been overbearing in flaunting her elevated position as nanny to the daughter of the house. No wonder Mrs. Quincy was less than welcoming. “I see. Well, I do not wish to be an intrusion in your kitchen, Mrs. Quincy. Miss Nora and I will partake of whatever fare is being offered.” She gave a delicate sniff. “Breakfast smells wonderful.” She paused, rushed ahead, braving the woman’s ire. “However, I do wonder if it might include a biscuit with jam for Miss Nora? I promised her one this morning.” She offered an apologetic smile. “I shan’t make rash promises about meals to her again.”
The starch went out of Mrs. Quincy’s spine. She nodded, broke an egg onto the griddle beside the sizzling bacon, tossed away the shell and reached for another. “I’ve biscuits made. And there’s strawberry jam in the pantry. I’ll put one on the child’s tray. And on yours as well.” She grated pepper onto the eggs, added salt. “Lucy will bring them up directly.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Quincy.” Sarah glanced toward the door that opened on the winder stairs. She didn’t feel safe climbing them with Nora in her arms. She waited until the housekeeper was busy turning the bacon and eggs and walked back the way she had come through the butler’s pantry and into the dining room.
“Bisit-jam.” Nora’s lower lip pushed out in a trembling pout. She twisted around and stretched her pudgy little arm back toward the kitchen.
“Yes, sweetie. You shall have your biscuit. But first we have to go back upstairs.”
“Bisit! Jam!”
“In a moment, Nora.”
The toddler stiffened and let out an irate howl.
Sarah took a firmer hold on the rigid little body and howled louder. Nora stopped yelling and gaped at her. Clearly, the child did not know what to think of an adult who yelled back. How long would that ploy work? Judging from the storm cloud gathering on the small face, Nora was not going to give up easily. The little mouth opened. Sarah shifted her grasp, lifted the toddler into the air and whirled across the dining room. By the time she reached the doorway they were both laughing.
“That is much better.” Sarah stepped through the dining-room doorway into the hall and came to an abrupt halt. It appeared her concern over breakfast was in vain. Clayton Bainbridge was striding down the hall toward her, and she had no doubt she would be dismissed as soon as he saw her. Lucy would be the one caring for Nora today. She squared her shoulders as best she could with Nora in her arms and curved her lips into a polite smile. “Good morning.”
Clayton
