“She’s friends with Lady Gattersleigh.”
“Exactly!” A pale finger was pointed in Finley’s direction. “Why would she hire you after that woman no doubt disparaged your character?”
“She couldn’t have made me sound too bad, Mama. Lady Morton’s hired me to spend time with her daughter.”
“Makes me wonder how many other companions this girl has gone through if her mother thinks a girl who punched a governess would be a good match.”
“Mother!” Finley stared at the older woman in affront. How did she know she’d actually struck Miss Clarke? Was the woman a bloody mind reader?
“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” her mother asked without anger. “One of the maids brought a few of your belongings that got left behind. She told me.”
Finley bowed her head. “I didn’t want you to know.”
“Know what? That you defended a helpless child? I might not approve of the violence, but I approve of the sentiment, my dear. Though, in the future you may want to exercise better control over your emotions.” She sighed. “You’re a smart girl, Finley. Surely you wonder why Lady Morton is so adamant to have you.”
“Of course I have,” Finley replied with more indignation than she ought. “I also know I can’t afford to be too picky. Lady Morton has offered me a generous wage and all I have to do is play shadow to her daughter. If the girl is too difficult I can always quit, but I cannot afford to refuse this opportunity, Mama.”
A sigh was her only answer. Words were unnecessary, however. The rush of her mother’s breath spoke volumes. The woman made guilt-inducing irritation an art form.
“It will be fine,” she insisted once more. Perhaps this time it would stick. Perhaps if she repeated it enough times she would believe it herself. Her mother was right; there was something strange about this situation. More than likely, however, Lady Morton’s daughter was simply a spoiled brat, as many aristocratic girls were. Nothing she couldn’t handle.
The clock was still chiming the hour when a black lacquered carriage pulled up on the street below. White puffs of steam rose from the gleaming brass pipe atop the roof, and the buttons on the driver’s uniform sparkled in the sun. It was horseless, operated entirely by engine—she could hear the gentle chug of it.
“Now that’s just excessive,” Finley’s mother remarked, as she glanced outside.
Finley smiled. She didn’t know what had brought on her mother’s general distrust and suspicion toward the upper class, but she’d always harbored it as far as Finley knew.
“It looks comfortable,” she replied, easing away from the glass and picking up her coat from atop her luggage. “I’ll come to call on my first half day, and send a note on before that.”
“You’d better,” her mother said with a watery smile. She was going to cry, Finley just knew it. A person would think Finley had been home for months instead of a couple of days.
She hugged her mother, patted her on the back when she began to sniffle. Silas came round and took up her trunk, leaving Finley with a carpetbag and valise to carry downstairs.
The driver of the carriage stood on the sidewalk. He immediately came forward to take Finley’s bags and the trunk and loaded them onto the back of the vehicle. While he was doing this, Silas turned to Finley and offered her a small, paper-wrapped package.
“What’s this?” she asked, plucking at the string tied around the paper. Of course it was a book. Silas always gave her books on what he considered important occasions.
“Just a little something,” he replied with a warm smile. “I know how much you like the gothic ones. I reckon you’re old enough for this now.”
Finley arched a brow. “It must be truly frightening then.”
“Your mother certainly thought so when she read it. I found it an interesting and provoking look at human nature.”
Her lips curved. “Now you make it sound utterly boring.”
Laughing, he patted her shoulder. “You’ll like it. Of that I’m certain.” His smile faded, but the loving glint in his eye did not. “Take care of yourself, my dear girl. If it’s not what you want, you can always come back here and work with me in the shop.”
Finley hugged him. “I will, thank you.” But they both knew she wouldn’t. Silas managed to make a comfortable living for himself and her mother with just the two of them working in the store. It wouldn’t impinge upon them much if she did work there and lived at home, but she wanted to support herself. Silas had always been good to her, but there were situations when she was painfully aware that she wasn’t really his daughter—this was one of those.
He released her and she turned toward the coachman who had put down the steps and held the carriage door open for her. He assisted her into the carriage and then closed the door.
The vehicle was as fine inside as out, lined with rich, maroon velvet. Finley ran her palms over the fabric. The seat was so soft she sank into it. She’d slept in beds that weren’t as comfortable.
As the carriage lurched forward, so did she, peering out the window to wave goodbye—first to Silas, then to her mother, who was still in the upstairs window, a crushed handkerchief in her hand.
Poor Mama. Finley wiped at her own eyes, which were inexplicably starting to water, and leaned back to enjoy the drive to Mayfair.
The rhythmic noise of the engine was strangely relaxing. She leaned her head back against the cushions and closed her eyes. She must have dozed because it seemed like she had been in the carriage for only a few minutes before it came to a stop. Jerking upright, she peeked out the window and saw a grand, gray stone mansion looming in front of her.
The carriage door opened. This time there was a footman to lower the steps and assist her to the gravel drive.
“Welcome to Morton Manor, miss,” he greeted her cordially. “Mrs. Gale will show you to the parlor where Lady Morton will receive you. I’ll see to your belongings.”
Mrs. Gale had to be the housekeeper. “Thank you,” Finley said. She turned toward the house. It was huge. Stately. Silas’s shop could fit dozens of times over into this grand estate—one of many the family probably owned.
Even if Lady Morton’s daughter turned out to be a cow, living in a house this fine was definitely a benefit.
Mayfair was like a different world from the bustling area around Silas’s shop. That was in Russell Square, where people lived, worked and shopped. Mayfair was where rich people idled through their days, entertained in the evening and let other people clean up after them.
Perhaps she had inherited some of her mother’s prejudice, but that didn’t make her opinion wrong.
Before she reached the top step leading up to the servants’ entrance, the door opened to reveal the kind face of a woman old enough to be Finley’s grandmother. She wore a black-and-white dress and a white cap that identified her as the housekeeper.
“Good morning, dear. I trust you had a comfortable journey?”
