spirits and brightened her day.
Finding one shoe beneath the bed and the other turned on its side in the closet, Clara forwent stockings in her haste to get downstairs and help the other maids with their last minute preparations. There were curtains to be opened, chairs to be arranged, and food to be carried out in great silver trays to the buffet table.
She was just topping off a crystal pitcher with freshly squeezed lemonade when the front door opened and Lady Irene’s voice rang out, high and clear as a bell.
“There is dirt all over the walkway. Did no one think to sweep it while I was away?” She clucked her tongue and although Clara did not have a clear view of the foyer, she imagined her stepmother shaking her head. “You there, take a broom and see to at once. One never knows when unexpected company will arrive, does one? We must always be prepared. Now where is my stepdaughter?”
“In the drawing room!” Covertly tucking away the decanter she’d used to fill up the pitcher of lemonade inside an empty cabinet, Clara was waiting with her hands tucked demurely behind her back and a smile on her face when her stepmother walked into the room followed – as she always was – by Henrietta and Gabriella. “How was your journey from town? Uneventful and quick, I hope.”
Experience had taught her the best way to handle Lady Irene was to agree with everything she said, and then do what she wanted once her stepmother’s back was turned. Arguing was pointless. Disagreeing was utterly futile. If Lady Irene said the sky was green then the sky was green. There was no use in trying to correct her. Clara had learned that lesson the hard way.
Untying her hat and pulling off her leather traveling gloves, Lady Irene carelessly discarded them in a chair for a maid to pick up. “The roads were particularly abominable this time. It makes one wonder what is being down with our tax dollars. Is that all the food that has been set out?” she asked, her gaze falling on the buffet table where half a dozen dishes were being kept warm beneath oversized silver lids.
“You informed us in your letter you would not be returning until the afternoon,” Clara reminded her. “But Cook was able to prepare sausages and buttered scones and–”
“I suppose it will have to do,” Lady Irene cut in before she took her customary seat at the head of the table. Falling in like obedient little ducklings her daughters sat down on either side of their mother. Neither one of them had yet to acknowledge Clara’s presence, which wasn’t unusual nor particularly troublesome. What was unusual was Lady Irene looking up and asking, “Won’t you join us, dear? There is something I wish to discuss with you.”
‘Dear’ and ‘discuss’ were two words that always set off alarm bells inside of Clara’s head. Nothing good had ever come of them.
“Are you certain? I would not want to interrupt and I have an entire list of chores to do.”
“You are a member of this family, Clara. Would it hurt you to act like it once in a while? Gabriella, move down one please.”
Gabriella’s face pinched in a scowl. “Why do I have to–”
“I said move down . There,” Lady Irene said, a pleasant smile settling in the corners of her mouth once Gabriella had reluctantly moved and Clara had cautiously taken her seat. “Isn’t this lovely? We really should dine together more often.”
It was on the tip of Clara’s tongue to remind her stepmother the reason they did not take their meals together was because she ate in the kitchen with the rest of the staff, but she remained silent as Poppy and another maid began to serve breakfast. Staring with Lady Irene, they worked their way counter-clockwise around to Clara.
“Thank you,” Clara murmured when Poppy dropped a poached egg onto her plate. It made her feel uncomfortable to be served by her friend, but there was nothing she could do about it. Not when her stepmother was watching her like a
Finding one shoe beneath the bed and the other turned on its side in the closet, Clara forwent stockings in her haste to get downstairs and help the other maids with their last minute preparations. There were curtains to be opened, chairs to be arranged, and food to be carried out in great silver trays to the buffet table.
She was just topping off a crystal pitcher with freshly squeezed lemonade when the front door opened and Lady Irene’s voice rang out, high and clear as a bell.
“There is dirt all over the walkway. Did no one think to sweep it while I was away?” She clucked her tongue and although Clara did not have a clear view of the foyer, she imagined her stepmother shaking her head. “You there, take a broom and see to at once. One never knows when unexpected company will arrive, does one? We must always be prepared. Now where is my stepdaughter?”
“In the drawing room!” Covertly tucking away the decanter she’d used to fill up the pitcher of lemonade inside an empty cabinet, Clara was waiting with her hands tucked demurely behind her back and a smile on her face when her stepmother walked into the room followed – as she always was – by Henrietta and Gabriella. “How was your journey from town? Uneventful and quick, I hope.”
Experience had taught her the best way to handle Lady Irene was to agree with everything she said, and then do what she wanted once her stepmother’s back was turned. Arguing was pointless. Disagreeing was utterly futile. If Lady Irene said the sky was green then the sky was green. There was no use in trying to correct her. Clara had learned that lesson the hard way.
Untying her hat and pulling off her leather traveling gloves, Lady Irene carelessly discarded them in a chair for a maid to pick up. “The roads were particularly abominable this time. It makes one wonder what is being down with our tax dollars. Is that all the food that has been set out?” she asked, her gaze falling on the buffet table where half a dozen dishes were being kept warm beneath oversized silver lids.
“You informed us in your letter you would not be returning until the afternoon,” Clara reminded her. “But Cook was able to prepare sausages and buttered scones and–”
“I suppose it will have to do,” Lady Irene cut in before she took her customary seat at the head of the table. Falling in like obedient little ducklings her daughters sat down on either side of their mother. Neither one of them had yet to acknowledge Clara’s presence, which wasn’t unusual nor particularly troublesome. What was unusual was Lady Irene looking up and asking, “Won’t you join us, dear? There is something I wish to discuss with you.”
‘Dear’ and ‘discuss’ were two words that always set off alarm bells inside of Clara’s head. Nothing good had ever come of them.
“Are you certain? I would not want to interrupt and I have an entire list of chores to do.”
“You are a member of this family, Clara. Would it hurt you to act like it once in a while? Gabriella, move down one please.”
Gabriella’s face pinched in a scowl. “Why do I have to–”
“I said move down . There,” Lady Irene said, a pleasant smile settling in the corners of her mouth once Gabriella had reluctantly moved and Clara had cautiously taken her seat. “Isn’t this lovely? We really should dine together more often.”
It was on the tip of Clara’s tongue to remind her stepmother the reason they did not take their meals together was because she ate in the kitchen with the rest of the staff, but she remained silent as Poppy and another maid began to serve breakfast. Staring with Lady Irene, they worked their way counter-clockwise around to Clara.
“Thank you,” Clara murmured when Poppy dropped a poached egg onto her plate. It made her feel uncomfortable to be served by her friend, but there was nothing she could do about it. Not when her stepmother was watching her like a
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