‘If I were in your shoes, no doubt I would feel precisely the same.’ A faraway look washed over her face, as though she imagined exactly that. And thankfully, the woman didn’t press the conversation further.
One by one, Mrs Jones’s family entered the dining room to join them. First Mr Simon, who had not lost his sour expression from the previous day. Then Mr Jones Senior, who she had only met briefly at supper the night before. Even though he acted as Mr King’s valet or butler, he spent much of his time running errands in town. He had the same sandy-coloured hair as Simon, but his looks were more rugged than the King side of the family, and he appeared to carry a permanent injury to his left arm. He used it very little, as though he had not the use of his fingers properly. However, his eyes twinkled with friendly humour and he winked at her as he seated himself at the table. Of the family at Aleron, he was the warmest, and didn’t seem as secretive as the others.
‘How did you spend your first night in the castle?’
‘After discovering and conquering the ghosts haunting the south wing, I slept like a queen.’
‘Ah yes. I presume no one warned you that Aleron is haunted.’ Mr Jones’s eyes crinkled at the corners.
‘Father, must you scare the girl?’ Mr Xavier entered at that moment, shaking his head.
‘It’s just friendly banter, isn’t it, Miss Bellingham?’ Mr Jones Senior winked in her direction again before tucking into his tomato and sausage with poached eggs.
‘Yes, no harm done,’ Serena agreed, sampling a bite of her toast and enjoying the sweetness of the jam.
She left the dining room half an hour later, with the opinion that living at Aleron house might not be a complete trial after all. Granted, they proceeded through life differently here and amidst such luxury, but apart from the odd pricklish comment, the family were pleasant enough. They could never replace her dear Papa, Julianne and Rachel, but perhaps she could relax around them. Serena sighed as she made her way to the laundry for her first day of work, sure a mountain of linen awaited her.
However, she was pleasantly surprised to find the mountain more resembled a small knoll. A few napkins, towels, dish cloths, and a few items of clothing, still made for several hours of washing, wringing, drying, starching and ironing. Not one to procrastinate, Serena fetched hot water for the copper and scrubbed with soap on the washboard. Before long, perspiration ran down her neck. Her back and shoulders ached and her hands cramped. The skin on her fingers resembled dried prunes.
Who would be doing the laundry at home? Her sisters were still learning, and Rachel had not enough strength in her hands to scrub the stains out. Until Mama had died, none of them had needed to do any domestic chores. They’d been wealthy enough to afford servants to keep house for them. But, Papa had crumbled beneath the weight of his grief and let his business flounder. Soon enough they were drowning in debt, had to sell everything and move into their small house near the port. Since then, Serena had tried to teach her young sisters how to cook and clean. But, she had failed. They fretted over the smallest thing, fearing injury or her disappointment. They were still little more than children. And now that Serena wasn’t there, their naivety would cause them to suffer the harsh realities of life. She had been wrong to protect them from it. She winced as she imagined the skin peeling from their raw fingers after a day in soapy water. How terribly painful. Serena could not help but feel sorry for them. It was her fault. She should have been a better teacher.
As she finished putting the batch of freshly rinsed washing through the mangle, the big front door knocker echoed through the house. Someone to visit Mr King perhaps. Could it be regarding the theatre design commission? Did the Governor wish to know how the drawings progressed?
A few minutes passed, and the knock resounded again. When it came a third time unanswered, Serena picked up a towel. She dried her hands, dabbed her face and neck and smoothed the moist runaway strands of hair back against her crown. Straightening her skirt and blouse, she hurried to the front door. Where was everybody? Perhaps this was a common occurrence. Didn’t Papa say no one answered when he sought shelter from the storm the other day?
Serena paused and smoothed her skirts one final time before opening the huge door. Hopefully she didn’t look as dishevelled as she felt. ‘Good morning. May I help you?’
A man dressed in a suit stood there. Nothing fancy—a common day-to-day suit she’d seen on the streets in Sydney. A business man of sorts? His mouth stretched into a smile when he saw her, although there was a blunt set to his jaw. ‘Good morning. I’m here to see Mr King, if he is available.’
‘Is he expecting you?’ Serena had not yet been in this predicament. What was the procedure for accepting guests?
‘Not exactly. But I would appreciate a moment of his time.’
‘And who might I say is calling?’
One corner of his mouth lifted in a smile—or was it a smirk? ‘My name is Moncrief. Caleb Moncrief.’
Caleb Moncrief. Where had she heard that name before? Serena searched her mind but couldn’t place him. He didn’t look familiar.
‘I’ll show you into the drawing room. Come this way.’ Serena remembered the room Mr King had left her in yesterday. Was it only yesterday? It seemed like a week. She waved Mr Moncrief inside, closing the door behind him, then led him along the hallway.
‘How is Edward, if I may ask?’
‘He is well.’ Serena shrugged. ‘I have seen little
