A Murder in Time(42)

The older woman flashed them a hard look. “We’re a mite busy today, Rose,” she said, and handed the iron to her assistant, who immediately transferred it to the hearth to heat up again.

“Aye, Mrs. Beeton.” Rose nodded. “But miss ’ere needs a dress.”

Mrs. Beeton wiped the sweat from her brow. “What kinda dress?”

“Maid’s dress.”

“We don’t have time to sew a new dress.”

“She can ’ave Jenny’s old dress. Since she ran off to Bath with Mr. Kipper and all.”

“Ooh. And a right scandal that was. Not even a by-your-leave!” Mrs. Beeton sniffed, and gave Kendra a measuring look. “You part of the temporary help?”

“Well—”

“She’s been ’ired on,” Rose put in.

“What happened to your hair? You been ill?”

“I—”

“She’s better now,” said Rose.

“What’s your name?”

“Um—”

“Kendra Donovan. She’s an American.”

“You’re a right chatterbox, Miss Donovan, ain’t you?” Mrs. Beeton remarked.

Kendra smiled.

Mrs. Beeton went over to a drawer, shuffled around, and pulled out a pale blue dress. Holding it up, she surveyed both the dress and then Kendra with a sharp eye. “It’ll do,” she pronounced. “But it needs ironing.”

“Oh, but we’re in an ’urry, Mrs. Beeton,” Rose protested. “Mrs. Danbury—”

“Would want her staff to look respectable.”

Recognizing defeat, Rose let out a breath. “Oh, aye. But Mrs. Danbury says she’s to ’elp with the nuncheon. And Lady Atwood ’as a bee in her bonnet to set it up down by the lake. Monsieur Anton is anxious about the ’ole thing.”

“Monsieur Anton is usually anxious. He’s French.” Mrs. Beeton briskly exchanged the dress on the counter for the maid’s uniform. “You’ll find a cap and apron in the third drawer, Rose. Maggie, bring me the iron.”

Kendra didn’t know much about ironing—she’d always dropped her laundry off at the dry cleaner around the corner from her apartment—but she realized this was a far more laborious process. Without electricity, the iron had to be constantly reheated in the fireplace. Rose was beginning to look anxious by the time the uniform finally met Mrs. Beeton’s approval. She removed it from the counter and handed it to Kendra.

“You can come back for alterations when there’s time. You’re a mite smaller than Jenny, so we’ll need to nip in the waist. Jenny did love Cook’s cakes.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Rose was already at the door. “Come along, miss.”

In the bedchamber, Kendra changed into the new uniform. While Rose hung up her discarded gown, she put on the apron and mop cap. Unable to resist, she looked at herself in the small swivel mirror, and nearly sighed.

“You look a proper maid,” Rose said with an encouraging smile.

“My parents would be so proud.”

“W’ot?”

“Nothing.” She pressed her thumb and index finger to the bridge of her nose. Stay calm. Stay focused.

“How long have you been at Aldridge Castle, Rose?” she asked as they went back down the servants’ stairs.

“Ooh, since I was ten. Me sister worked as a scullery maid, and when she bettered ’erself, I got ’ired on by Mrs. Danbury.”

“Where’s your family?”

“They live down the road. Me pa has a field he tends for ‘Is Grace. Me brothers ’elp ’im. I miss me sister, who went off to London. I ’ave another sister that married an officer in the army, and lives in Colchester now. Then there’s the wee ones—”

“Good God. How many brothers and sisters do you have?”

“Fourteen. I ’ave six brothers and eight sisters. ’Ow many brothers and sisters do you ’ave, miss?”

“None.”

Rose looked astounded. “No brothers and sisters! Not a one? Was your ma ill, too?”

“No. Busy. She and my father divorced. He remarried and has two children by his second wife. So I suppose I do have siblings. A brother and sister.”

“Divorced?” If anything, Rose looked even more astounded. And a little appalled. “I don’t know anyone ’oo’s divorced!”

Kendra realized she was talking too much. Life, societal mores, and people would change in the next two hundred years in ways that Rose could never hope to understand, and that Kendra could never hope to explain.

She was grateful when they arrived again at the kitchen. Cook immediately homed in on them, directing Rose to the pastry room and Kendra to the lower staff dining room. “Eat now, ’cause Mrs. Danbury’ll want everything ready by the lake in an hour.”

The lower staff dining room was down the corridor from the upper staff dining room. At least a dozen maids and workmen were already sitting around the table, eating. As soon as she sat down, a maid materialized with a plate, silverware and—shockingly, Kendra thought—a glass of beer. And not the lite version, either, she realized, as she sipped the fermented brew.

Unlike breakfast, lunch was a speedy affair, with everybody racing through the meal that consisted of boiled potatoes and freshly picked peas, slabs of roast beef, lashings of gravy, and thick, lighter-than-air slices of bread with generous pats of butter. Real butter. Real bread. Not a preservative in sight. The meal was unpretentious and filling, and Kendra was surprised that, like breakfast, she finished it all—and enjoyed it. At this rate, she wouldn’t need Mrs. Beeton to take in her dress; she’d be filling it out in no time.