A Rip Through Time(34)

“Speak to the master about what?” a voice says from the hallway.

Mrs. Wallace turns in horror. Then she sprints—astonishingly fast given her long skirts—and blocks the doorway, as if shielding me from Gray’s view.

“What ever are you doing in this part of the house, sir?” she says.

“This being my house, I believe I am entitled to be in any part of it,” he says dryly. “Excepting, of course, the bedchambers, which is why I stopped in the hallway to voice my question. As for why I am in this part of the house at all, I ventured out in search of coffee and heard raised voices.”

Mrs. Wallace glares at me. “The master should not need to venture out in search of his morning beverage.”

“Perhaps,” Gray muses. “But the master is quite capable of not only venturing out but even brewing his own.”

She shoots him a meaningful glance.

He clears his throat and says, “It was a very small fire.”

I catch the barest quirk of Mrs. Wallace’s lips, but when she turns to me, her face is stone again. Seeing that softening, I’m reminded that I’ve never heard the housekeeper do more than mock-sternly admonish Alice. In other words, she’s not usually the gorgon I’ve seen. I get that side of her because Catriona has deserved it. Yet another person I’ve shoved into a box—the dour and strict housekeeper, overly proud of her position and lording it over her staff.

“The master should not need to venture out in search of his morning beverage,” she repeats.

I scramble from the bed. “Yes, ma’am. Apologies, ma’am. I seem to be having difficulty rising without a … without Alice. I stayed up too late reading.”

“Reading?” She lifts the book. “Is that really how you wish to do this? All right then.” She turns on Gray and dips her chin. “I regret to say, sir, that—”

“He lent it to me.”

She wheels on me, face suffusing with red. “Do not dare pull Dr. Gray into this. If you expect him to lie for you—”

“I do not, and I apologize for interrupting, ma’am, but I did not get a chance to explain earlier, and I didn’t wish Dr. Gray to think I was causing trouble to embarrass you.”

I smooth my rumpled dress and turn to Gray. “Mrs. Wallace found your book here, and she mistakenly believed I had stolen it because of my felonious past, as you called it. Also, she has caught me stealing before, and she kindly gave me a second chance. I did not yet have the opportunity to explain that you lent me the book or show her the note that accompanied it.”

I find the note and pass it to Mrs. Wallace. “I professed an interest in the book yesterday, when I was helping Dr. Gray, and he kindly lent it to me, and then I stayed up too late reading.”

“And the biscuits?” she says, her gaze only skimming the note.

“I did take the biscuits,” I say. “And I am sorry.”

“Where did you take them from?” Gray asks.

“The, uh, pantry.”

“Exactly where?”

When I don’t answer, he turns to Mrs. Wallace. “I believe Alice gave Catriona the biscuits. I have noticed her sneaking uneaten food from my tray.”

He glances down the hall, as if making certain Alice isn’t there, though he still lowers his voice. “I have spoken to Isla about it, and she says I ought not to comment. Alice has known want in the past, and so it eases her mind to store food in her quarters. It is, after all, unwanted food, and no harm is done. I would prefer to give her some to put away, but Isla does not wish to embarrass the girl.”

“She has food-security issues,” I say with a nod. “Even if she has plentiful meals now, she’ll rest easier knowing she cannot go hungry again.”

“Precisely.” Gray looks from me to Mrs. Wallace. “Have we settled the matter then? Catriona stole nothing. Neither did Alice, who is only caching unwanted food.”

“Like a squirrel,” I say.

His lips twitch. “Like a squirrel. Now, if this is done, perhaps Catriona can have a few moments to dress before I get my breakfast. There is little rush, though I’ll happily take my coffee as soon as I can get it.” He points to the book. “Are you still reading that?”

I nod. “I got most of the way through before I fell asleep. I’m up to ‘suicides by edged weapons.’”

His brows rise. “You are a quick reader.”

“No, I just stayed up very late, which is why I’m still fully dressed.” I hitch my skirts. “I don’t even want to think what my hair looks like.”

“It could use a brushing.”

“You’re supposed to tell me it looks fine. Lie.”

His lips tweak again, at the same time Mrs. Wallace’s tighten. I’m being overly familiar with the master. He won’t care—the man doesn’t stand on ceremony. But even if Mrs. Wallace doesn’t accuse me of flirting, she’s definitely going to see my easy banter as a sign that I am forgetting my place.

I nod to Mrs. Wallace. “I shall dress as quick as I can, ma’am, and bring Dr. Gray his breakfast posthaste.”

She grunts, sets the book on my dresser, withdraws with Gray, and shuts the door.



* * *



I take Gray his breakfast. He’s working in the funeral parlor, and I deliver it there. I’m hoping he’ll invite me to stay, and help, but he barely seems to notice me dropping off the tray. He’s leafing through files and gives a distracted wave with, “Just set it over there,” and I suspect it’ll still be full when I return with his morning coffee. I can see he’s drained his first cup of the day, and crumbs suggest Mrs. Wallace included a biscuit or two, which he’s eaten.