A Murder in Time(40)

“The tea was for you and me. Miss Donovan simply happened along.” He decided not to mention to Alec that the girl had been in the passageway again. Or her slippery manner when he’d quizzed her about her background.

“I don’t recall receiving an invitation to tea.”

The Duke grinned. “Alec, we may be only one day into Caro’s house party, but I haven’t forgotten the previous one. Or the one before that. Nor have I forgotten your desperate need for . . . sanctuary. As both a marquis with deep pockets and my heir, you are as in demand as a red fox in a hunting party. And since my laboratory is sacrosanct by everyone but invited guests, this is where you go to ground.” He cast a glance at the clock on the mantel. “Around this time, too. I only thought you might enjoy some refreshments.”

Alec gave a reluctant laugh. “I don’t know if I particularly like the comparison to a fox, sir. My sympathies may lie with the creature next time the hunt is on.”

“Indeed.” Aldridge added two sugar lumps and a drop of cream to his own cup. “It’s always a delicate issue dealing with the hopes, dreams, and desires of young ladies.”

Alec sank into a chair, stretching his long legs in front of him. He regarded his uncle steadily. “And what of the hopes, dreams, and desires of Miss Donovan?”

Aldridge’s smile faded. “What exactly are you implying?”

“You’ve never been one to play fast-and-loose with your servants—”

“No, I have not.”

“Nevertheless,” Alec went on doggedly, ignoring the icy snap in his uncle’s voice, “you seem remarkably cozy with Kendra Donovan. I ought to remind you that you don’t know anything about her character. Not to mention that she’s a servant, Duke. One instructs a servant, is cordial to a servant, but it is never wise to forget that they are—that Miss Donovan is—still among the lower classes. She is a simple servant.”

Aldridge remembered the look in Kendra Donovan’s eyes as they scanned his instruments and specimens. She hadn’t been baffled by what she saw. She’d even appeared to understand. She’d certainly understood the chart of the night sky.

And she could quote Wordsworth.

“You are usually more astute, Alec,” he murmured finally. “Miss Donovan is a lot of things, I suspect. But a simple servant? I think not.”



“Mrs. Danbury is looking for you.”

Kendra’s stomach sank as she regarded Rose. “Why?”

“I dunno, but . . .” She leaned forward and whispered, “Were you really ’avin’ tea with ’is Grace?”

Wow. Gossip traveled fast, even without Facebook. “I didn’t have tea.”

“But you were with ’im in ’is laboratory?”

“We talked. Is that so wrong here?”

The girl seemed to ponder that. “I don’t much know if it’s wrong. But it’s not w’ot you’d consider proper.”

Rose looked like she wanted to say something more, but Cook hurried over, dumping a tub of potatoes on the table in front of her. She gave Kendra a once-over. “Mrs. Danbury wants ye.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, then—”

“Quand est-ce que ces pommes de terres seront prêtes?” Monsieur Anton approached, gesturing madly. “J’ai besoin de ces pommes de terre!”

Cook put her hands on her plump hips in such a way that made Kendra think that the two had been through this scene before. “What are ye yammering on about, ye bloody froggy?”

“J’ai besoin des pommes de terre, femme stupide!”

“I don’t speak French, as well ye know. ’Course, if yer wantin’ to know when we’ll be done with these here potatoes, we’re peelin’ and choppin’ as fast as we can.”

The chef sniffed, and retreated. Kendra caught him muttering an unflattering description about the cook’s ancestry. She looked at Cook, who winked. Kendra couldn’t help but smile.

“For someone who doesn’t speak French, Cook, you seem to understand him very well,” she said.

“We manage, in our own way. Now, ye go on, miss. Go to Mrs. Danbury. Ye need to manage in yer own way, too.”

Easier said than done, Kendra thought uneasily, especially when she was sitting across from the housekeeper five minutes later. She didn’t think it was possible, but the woman looked even less friendly than before.

“Miss Donovan, I am . . . I am without words.” Mrs. Danbury drew in a deep breath, her small bosom swelling in the black bombazine gown. “When you attended Miss Sarah and Miss Georgette this morning did you tell them to shut up? Did you shout at them? Swear at them? Threaten them?”

For someone who was without words, she was doing an excellent job of getting her point across, Kendra decided. “I . . . don’t remember threatening them.”

Mrs. Danbury’s eyes narrowed. “This is not a jest, Miss Donovan.”

“I lost my temper,” Kendra admitted.

“You . . .” Mrs. Danbury seemed stunned by the confession. She straightened her shoulders. “Miss Donovan, a lady’s maid cannot afford to lose her temper. They are your betters!”

Kendra had to bite her tongue. Sarah and Georgette were a lot of things, but they weren’t her betters. She doubted if they’d be able to pass sixth grade.