She was preparing to walk into the gardens that lay at the rear of the house when the great clock in the foyer struck one. As if the toll were a signal, a young maid with a pitted complexion and sulky eyes materialized from the back hallway that Noelle correctly concluded led to the basement kitchen.
'My name is Molly, Miss Pope. I'm the downstairs maid.'
So, Noelle mused, as she heard herself addressed by her assumed name for the first time, at least in this, Constance has kept her word.
'The mistress will not be back in time for lunch,' the maid went on, not bothering to hide her scorn for a house guest who looked so vulgar. 'Will you be eating in the dining room or would you prefer a tray in your bedroom?'
Noelle did not hesitate. 'In my room, please.' She had already peeked in at the resplendent dining room and even her indomitable spirit flagged at the thought of eating a meal alone in such formidable surroundings.
Not bothering to respond, the maid disappeared back down the hallway.
Noelle returned to her room and discovered that a plain, dark blue muslin dress had been placed on her bed. She fingered the material; it was soft from many washings. The fact that the dress was not a new garment convinced her that she could accept it.
Shedding the uncomfortable brown merino, she slipped the dark blue dress over her head. It hung on her emaciated frame, the hem barely reaching her ankles. She used the belt to gather the loose folds closer to her body and looked at the result in the mirror.
Having no vanity about her appearance, it did not bother her that this dress was as unflattering as the garment it had replaced. She was merely grateful that it did not itch. Still, she sighed at the contrast between the ornate gilded frame of the mirror and the pitifully unattractive reflection it enclosed.
Quickly she turned her attention to her luncheon tray. She was astonished by the amount of food: generous servings of poached salmon, roast beef, potatoes, fresh bread, and a fragrant vegetable that Letty later told her was called asparagus. She ate every bite and then lay down on her bed, the unaccustomed fullness in her stomach and the weakened condition of her own body quickly putting her to sleep. She awakened feeling more rested than she could remember, and with a somewhat lighter step, headed for the gardens. On the way she noticed an imposing set of double doors leading off the back of the center hallway. Curious, she pushed on the knob and stepped inside. What she saw erased all thoughts of the garden from her mind.
Quickly she closed the door behind her and then stood as if rooted to the spot. It was the Peale library, a stately room of oak and leather with high ceilings that dwarfed her. Light streamed in from' one end falling on the heavy, highly polished furniture and highlighting a massive portrait that dominated the room. From the dress of the man, Noelle deduced that it was a likeness of Benjamin Peale. He was no longer young when the artist had captured him, but still a handsome man with thick white hair parted on the side and heavy eyebrows that almost met in the middle.
All of these books must have been his, Noelle concluded, awestruck, as she transferred her gaze from the portrait to the towering shelves that lined the walls. Her feet finally freed themselves from the floor, and she forgot everything except the wealth she had so unexpectedly discovered.
The clock struck, and, with it, the library door opened and Molly appeared.
'I've been looking for you half the afternoon,' she declared, irritated at the orders she had received from Mrs. Finch to treat the cheap-looking upstart with the utmost civility. 'The mistress wants you to know that dinner is at seven o'clock in the dining room. And she doesn't like people to be late.'
Noelle looked up from the slim volume she had been perusing. Here was an enemy she could understand. Rising from the chair, she advanced, her height giving her several inches advantage over the wiry girl. She bit out each word precisely. 'Tell me, Molly, since you're such an expert on what the mistress likes and doesn’t like, how does she feel about nasty little maids who don't know their place?'
The maid's eyes widened at the unexpected assault. 'Excuse me, miss.' Only taking time to bob a respectful curtsy, she fled.
At exactly seven o'clock Noelle entered the dining room. Constance stood at the end of the room, framed by the mantel and carved sides of the fireplace. She wore a black gown shot with silver threads, an enormous spray of diamond lilacs at her throat.
The dining room, which Noelle had glimpsed earlier, was in the same rich ivory and gold as the drawing room. There were two sideboards against the wall and four shield-back chairs that were mates to the eight already around the oval table. Two places had been laid, one at the head of the table and another to the immediate right. As Constance seated herself, she indicated the other place.
'I apologize for not being here to lunch with you, Dorian, but I received a message that an old friend had been taken ill.' In deference to the maid standing at the sideboard, she addressed Noelle according to their agreement. 'Just a trace of indigestion, as it turned out, but she is rather frail, and I could not be satisfied until I saw for myself that she was all right. I trust your lunch was satisfactory?'
'It was excellent, thank you,' Noelle answered coolly.
Thin porcelain bowls filled with Mrs. Finch's prize bouillabaisse were set before them. Noelle watched as Constance carefully chose the largest of the spoons before her and gracefully dipped it into the bowl. Noiselessly she sipped the soup from the side of the silver spoon and then returned it to the bowl. Noelle continued to watch this procedure until Constance had consumed almost half of her soup. Her motions were so deliberate that Noelle rapidly concluded she was being subtly instructed in proper table manners. She did not see a hostess trying to make a guest comfortable; instead, the fateful conversation she had overheard
Angrily resting both her elbows on the polished surface of the table, Noelle took her bowl in both hands, raised it to her lips, and noisily filled her mouth with its delicious contents.
Constance's eyebrows shot up. For a moment Noelle thought she had managed to pierce her hostess's armor as she saw the green sparks glittering in her eyes, but the moment passed, and Constance gestured wordlessly to the maid to remove the bowls.
The next course was set before the silent combatants.
Throughout the rest of the meal Noelle carefully observed Constance and then did as close to the opposite as possible. If Constance chose a fork, Noelle used a spoon. When Constance carved her quail with a knife, Noelle tore hers apart with her fingers. She slurped from her water glass, carefully mashed her peas into the potatoes, and, finally, cleaned her hands by sucking each finger noisily.
Two strawberry tarts garnished with generous dollops of whipped cream were set before them. Constance began to pick up her fork and then, eyeing Noelle, deliberately replaced the instrument on the table and folded her hands in her lap. Noelle studied her hostess and then the juicy pastry. Pushing herself back from the table, she picked up the dripping tart in her fingers and walked toward the dining room doors.
'Nice meal,' she tossed back over her shoulder, deeply regretting that she had never mastered the art of belching at will.
After a deep, dreamless sleep and breakfast in her room the next morning, Noelle headed for the library. She chose three volumes from the shelf and took them out into the sunny garden. The garden was enclosed by the house on one side and a wall of golden-brown brick on the other two sides. Its open end afforded a breathtaking vista of hills and valleys still enshrouded with morning mists. Clumps of alder and beech rose from ground newly green with spring grass. Noelle breathed in the fragrant Sussex air and settled herself on one of two stone benches that surrounded a small fountain topped by a spouting cupid. The chill of the stone soon seeped through her petticoats, but she did not notice. She was lost in the mystery of the books.
When it was time for lunch, Noelle prepared herself for another battle of wits with her hostess. Walking into the dining room, she saw several changes had been made.
Again, two places had been laid, but instead of locating the second place to the immediate right of the hostess as before, it had been moved to the foot of the table. Dominating the center of the table was an elaborate silver epergne. It stood perhaps six hands tall, its slender branches supporting, at various heights; silver baskets and shell-like dishes. Above the branches was a double- tiered pagoda hung with five silver filigree bells, each over two inches in diameter at its base. Designed to hold relishes and condiments, the enormous piece was curiously empty.
As Noelle sat in her new place at the foot of the table, she felt her first glimmer of respect for her hostess. The enormous silver piece entirely
