Though, I wasn’t entirely alone. As soon as I closed the front door, I heard the sound of a pan banging in the kitchen, and I remembered my sister’s small household staff had remained behind, as well. The nanny was upstairs in her room, no doubt taking a nap since Charles and Catherine had taken Hazel with them to church, but the maid and cook would be nearby, probably cleaning up after breakfast.
Even though I’d just been thinking about the benefits of a morning alone, I found myself pushing open the swinging door into the kitchen.
The maid—a young girl with short brown hair tucked close to her face and a white cap obscuring her curls—startled when the door opened, dropping a plate into the sink and sloshing water up onto the countertop.
“I didn’t realize anyone was still here,” she said, scrambling to pick up the plate before she thought better of it and wiped her hands on a dish towel to dry them. She walked to the end of the counter at once and lowered her head. “Can I help you, Miss Beckingham?”
“No. Please, go on with your work. I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”
She seemed hesitant, but after a few seconds of silence, she went back to the sink and continued cleaning. Her movements were stiff and uncomfortable, and it seemed strange to me that my sister would run such an ordered home. Catherine had never exactly mingled with our household staff, but she’d never felt the need to be formal. We followed in my mother’s lead that way.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
Her eyes were wide and gray, and they darted around the room like those of a nervous doe, ready to run off and hide at any second. “Florence.”
“Lovely to meet you, Florence.”
“You too, Miss Beckingham.”
“Rose,” I corrected.
She nodded and went back to washing dishes. Her black sleeves were rolled to the elbows, and her pale skin was red from the hot water. I glanced around the room, expecting to see someone else but it appeared she was alone with the small mountain of dirty dishes.
“I thought my sister and brother employed a cook, as well?”
“They do,” Florence said. “But she does not come in until lunch. I am not a skilled cook, but breakfast is a simple meal.”
“I’d say you are quite skilled. The scones were perfect.”
Her face flushed with pleasure and she gave me a quick smile. “I’m glad you enjoyed them, Miss.”
The conversation drifted into silence again, and I wasn’t entirely sure why I’d come into the kitchen at all. To meet the staff who had been serving me for the last week, certainly, but beyond that, why was I lurking in the doorway and making the poor maid uncomfortable?
“Are you sure there is nothing I can help you with, Miss Beckingham?”
“Rose, please,” I said.
Florence’s lips pressed together, and she shook her head. “I’m sorry, but the lady of the house really insists on proper addresses. She wouldn’t like me speaking to a guest in such a friendly way.”
I frowned. “My sister was never so strict before. Besides, if she takes issue with it, I will be sure to tell her that I insisted upon it.”
Florence’s mouth opened, her dark eyebrows flicking upward, and then she twisted her lips to the side uncomfortably. “I’m sorry. I meant Mr. Cresswell’s sister, Camellia.”
My frown deepened. “In that case, be sure to call me Rose. I know Camellia lives here now, but you are hired by her brother, correct?”
The maid’s eyes were glued to the dish water now, though her hands had gone still beneath the surface. She nodded.
“Then, it seems to me you are to take orders from him and his wife before anyone else.”
The maid nodded again, and I could practically see her trembling. I felt badly for giving her such conflicting orders, but the idea that Camellia felt she could command my sister’s staff on how to behave bothered me more than it ought.
I stepped towards the sink, head down, and voice low. “I’m sorry, Florence. If I can admit something to you—I’m rather not fond of Camellia. I didn’t mean to raise my voice to you.”
The maid’s eyes went wide with alarm, and she looked up, studying my face as though she couldn’t decide whether what I was saying was a trap or not. She must have determined it wasn’t because her thin lips turned up into a quick smile.
“That’s all right. I’m quite used to raised voices now that a certain person has joined the household.”
The statement was quick and flatly told, but it cut straight to the truth, and I had to hold back a wicked laugh.
“Camellia is a woman who…is unafraid to make it known what she wants,” I added.
Florence’s mouth curled into a genuine grin, and her eyes flared with sarcasm as she nodded in agreement. “Yes, a trait I find to be one of her most admirable.”
That time, I really couldn’t hold back my laugh. “Truly. She has so many admirable qualities it is hard to rank them.”
After a week of mostly holding my tongue, it felt good to voice my thoughts, even if they were hidden behind double speak.
I laughed again and added. “As if we were not lucky enough with only Camellia, Nurse Gray has a temperament to match.”
I thought the joke had been funny, but the moment I spoke the Nurse’s name, Florence’s face fell. She rinsed off a dish and set it out on a rack to dry, making no move to join in my teasing.
“I’m sorry, Florence. I was only teasing. Nurse Gray is a fine woman. She has to be in order to care for people as she does.”
If possible, Florence’s mouth pressed together even tighter, as though she was holding in words that were desperate to rush out. I wished I could lean forward and unpin her lips to release them.
“Is she a friend of yours?”
“No.” Her eyes were wide, as if she
