sides of the room. Ina had claimed the one left of the door and arranged her few belongings with obvious care and neatness in mind.
“Hurry, if ye ken what’s good fur ye.” Ina headed back to work. In a rush to follow her, Rose moved to the bed nearest the windows and set her valise on the scuffed, but freshly swept wood floor. She would have to make up the bare mattress later.
She hung her cloak and bonnet on the wall hook at the end of the bed before opening her valise to fish for a fresh apron. The faint hint of talcum clung to the extra work frock, Sunday-best dress and other belongings that filled the case. With no more time to find the small mirror she’d brought, she did her best to repair her hair and repin the long blond tendrils that had bounced free when the coach suffered its broken wheel. She wished she could remove her shoes and rub her throbbing feet. They ached from miles of walking and she had a long day ahead of her.
As she stood to tie the apron around her waist, she glanced out the window and took in the bird’s-eye view. Amid the colorful parasols and scurry of pedestrians, a tall man on the corner of the square across the street drew her attention. The refined dark business suit and top hat he wore vouched for his importance, but there was a solitary quality about him that she recognized in herself.
Despite the need to make haste, she remained nailed to the floor. The distance between her perch and the square kept her from seeing the gentleman’s face. She willed him to move closer.
Instead, the newspaper boy he spoke with darted toward the Malbury townhouse whilst the man turned his back to her and made for one of the ornate, wrought-iron benches set along the gravel path. Tension wafted off him in waves.
A flock of pigeons scattered like feathers in the wind, jolting Rose from her musings. With no more time to spare, she dragged herself from the window and shut the door behind her as she left the room.
The stirring of curiosity toward the stranger surprised her. Not since Sam had she noticed a man with any personal interest on her part. After all they’d meant to each other, he’d simply forgotten her. He’d been gone for over a year before she’d given up all hope and admitted to herself that he’d cast her off the same as everyone else in her life had done. In turn, she’d banished him from her heart and mind—or at least tried to.
“How good of you to join us,” a stern voice said the moment Rose reached the bottom of the stairs. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust well enough to see the gaunt, gray-haired woman in spectacles at the opposite end of the hot, dimly lit corridor.
“I am the household’s cook, Mrs. Pickles. You shall report to me or the housekeeper, Mrs. Biddle, while you are employed here. Ina informed me your less than punctual arrival this morning is due to the state of the roads and an unreliable vehicle. I shall let the incident pass this once, but do not test me on future occasions. I do not abide tardiness in my kitchen. Since we’re short staffed, you will work as a between maid whilst you’re here. However, since the lion’s share of your time will be spent in the kitchen and scullery, rather than the rest of the house, you shall look to me should you have any questions. You are expected to be ready for work promptly at half past five each morning. To my way of thinking Mrs. Michaels allows you far too many liberties at Hopewell Manor. Be mindful that those privileges won’t be extended here.”
A ring of keys she extracted from her pocket jangled as she unlocked and opened a dark-paneled door. “What are you waiting for? Come into my office, and be brisk about it, if you please.”
Rose’s black skirts swished around her ankles as she rushed past the older woman whose rigid spine, stiff shoulders and prim collar made Rose wonder if she’d bathed in starch.
The spotless office smelled of pine oil and drying herbs. A battered bookcase bowed with old crockery and receipt books stood in one corner. Rose checked her posture and waited like the wayward servant Mrs. Pickles apparently believed she was. The cook folded into the chair behind the heavy oak desk with the ease of bending stone and removed her wire-rimmed spectacles.
Fifteen minutes later, Mrs. Pickles released Rose to work. Armed with the names of her superiors, the litany of her duties, a lecture on propriety and a key to her room, Rose aimed for the door.
“And one last thing,” Mrs. Pickles said the moment Rose turned the smooth brass doorknob. “I trust you aren’t in any trouble. Your personal difficulties won’t be tolerated in this household.”
Rose paused, unable to hazard a guess as to what the cook meant by that cryptic remark. Was she warning her against the prospect of bringing Andrew up to London? “I assure you I’m only here to do my duties to the best of my ability, ma’am. I’m grateful for my place at Hopewell Manor and look forward to returning there once you no longer require my assistance. If you’re referring to my son, he’s staying with a relative in the country. I assure you I have no intention of bringing him here.”
Mrs. Pickles returned her spectacles to the bridge of her nose before folding her hands into a tight knot on the desktop. “Ah, yes, the child.” Her thin lips curled distastefully. “Michaels mentioned him when she wrote to me about you. It seems everyone at Hopewell Manor, including the former master and his family, is quite taken with the pair of you. However, you are no pet here. I warn you that I’m wise to women of your questionable character, who put on airs and mimic their betters—”
“Pardon?” Rose grew hot in the face. She didn’t mimic anyone. Aware that most people considered her far beneath their notice, she’d made a concerted effort to capitalize on the education she’d received while living at the orphanage.
Although her inability to learn to read embarrassed her, she’d striven in other ways to improve herself. She had no wish to disgrace her son or give the other parents and children additional reasons to look down on him because of her lowly background or poor speech.
“—and bear children out of wedlock, then take advantage of the charity of others. Be aware that this is a respectable household. If you wish to sell your favors or dangle men on a string, then I suggest you go elsewhere for I’ll have none of your antics taking place under this roof.”
Offended to her core but forced to tread lightly lest she lose her much-needed employment, Rose prayed the Lord would guard her mouth. “Mrs. Pickles, I’ve made mistakes in the past to be sure, but I promise you I don’t participate in the behavior you’ve described.”
“Then be so good as to explain why, within minutes of your arrival, a boy came to inquire about you at the behest of a man waiting across the street.”
“A boy?” She frowned.
“Yes, the paper hawker from the opposite corner. He asked if Rose Smith worked in service here. When Miss McDonald told him you did, he explained about the man who’d sent him, then promptly ran away.”
The image of the well-dressed gentleman popped into her mind and an unexpected surge of excitement made her heart flutter. “Did the lad happen to mention the gentleman’s name?”
Mrs. Pickles shook her head. “Am I to assume you may be familiar with the identity of your admirer?”
“No, ma’am.” Rose’s hand tightened on the doorknob. “I haven’t the slightest idea why anyone would seek me out. This is my first venture to London and other than asking for directions from a rag woman a few streets over, I’ve spoken to no one.”
Mrs. Pickles stood, her expression skeptical. “You may claim you’re not looking for a man, but according to the boy, there is definitely one looking for you.”
“I
