Midnight Angel (Stokehurst #1)(13)

Two

The servants' hall was filled with conversation. Smells of coffee, toasting bread, and frying meat wafted through the air. Quickly Tasia straightened her skirts and smoothed her hair. Wiping her face clean of expression, she pushed open the door. The long table in the center of the hall was crowded with people. They fell silent and stared at her. Looking for a familiar face, Tasia found Nan's unfriendly gaze upon her. The butler, Seymour, was busy in the corner ironing a newspaper. He didn't spare her a glance. Just as Tasia considered backing out of the room and fleeing, Mrs. Plunkett's cheerful face appeared before her.

“Good morning, Miss Billings! You're up and about early today. ‘Tis a surprise to see you in the servants’ hall.”

“I gathered that,” Tasia said with a faint smile.

“I'm almost done preparing your breakfast tray. Nan will bring it upstairs very soon. Do you take tea in the morning? Chocolate, maybe?”

“Might I eat down here with everyone else?”

The cook was perplexed. “Miss Billings, these are ordinary servants. You're the governess. You don't take your meals with us.”

It must be a peculiarly English attitude. Her own governess hadn't lived in such isolation. “I'm supposed to eat alone?” Tasia asked in dismay.

“Aye, except the times when you're invited to eat with His Lordship and Miss Emma. That's how it's usually done.” She chuckled at Tasia's expression. “Why, it's an honor, lamb, not a punishment!”

“I would consider it a greater honor to take my meals here with you.”

“You would?” Every face in the hall was turned toward her now. Tasia steeled herself not to flinch as dozens of gazes raked over her. Flags of color burned high on her cheeks. Mrs. Plunkett regarded her for a moment, then shrugged. “I suppose there's no reason why you couldn't. But I warn you, we're a common lot.” She winked as she added, “Some might even chew with their mouths open.”

Tasia walked to the empty space at one of the long benches. “May I?” she murmured, and a few housemaids shifted to make room for her.

“What will you ‘ave, miss?” one of them asked.

Tasia looked at the row of bowls and platters before her. “Some toast, please. And perhaps some of that sausage…and an egg…and one of those flat things…”

“Oatcakes,” the maid said helpfully, passing the food to her.

One of the footmen down at the other end of the table grinned as he watched Tasia fill her plate. “She may look like a sparrow, but her appetite is horse-sized.” There was a scattering of friendly laughter, and everyone began to eat and talk as before.

Tasia enjoyed the bustling warmth of the servants' hall, especially after the loneliness of the past months. It was nice to sit in the midst of a crowd. Although the food tasted strange to her, it was hot and filling.

Unfortunately her contentment was soon destroyed by Nan's unfriendly stare. The housemaid seemed determined to make her feel unwelcome. “Look at the way she cuts her food in little bites, all ladylike,” Nan sneered. “And how she touches the napkin to her lips, just so. Everything is ‘may I’ and ‘might I.’ Well, I know ‘zactly why she wants to sit with the lot of us. It does no good to put on airs when she's all by herself.”

“Nan,” one of the girls chided. “Don't be a cat.”

“Let ‘er alone, Nan,” someone else said.

Nan quieted, but she continued to glare at Tasia.

Tasia choked down the last few mouthfuls of her breakfast, though it was suddenly like swallowing paste. She'd been hated and feared and sneered at for months by peasants who didn't know her, by cowardly peers who had abandoned her…and now by a spiteful housemaid. Finally Tasia lifted her head to stare back at Nan, her eyes narrowing into slits. It was the same icy look she had given the prison guard in St. Petersburg, and it had the same withering effect on Nan. The housemaid flushed and looked away, her hands balled into fists. Only then did Tasia stand and leave the table, carrying her plate to the great wooden sink. “Good day,” she murmured to no one in particular, and was answered by a chorus of friendly replies.

Slipping out to the hallway, Tasia came face to face with Mrs. Knaggs. The housekeeper seemed less forbidding than she had the night before. “Miss Billings, Emma is changing from her riding clothes. After breakfast she will be ready to begin her lessons at precisely eight o'clock.”

“Does she ride every morning?” Tasia asked.

“Yes, with Lord Stokehurst.”

“They seem very fond of each other,” Tasia said.

Mrs. Knaggs glanced around the hall to make certain they were not being overheard. “Lord Stokehurst dotes on the child. He would give his life for her. He very nearly did, once.”

An image of the silver hook appeared in Tasia's mind. Unconsciously she touched her own left wrist. “Is that how—”

“Oh, yes.” Mrs. Knaggs had noticed the gesture. “A fire in London. Lord Stokehurst went right into the house before anyone could stop him. Every inch of the place was blazing. The people who saw him go in there believed he would never be seen alive again. But he came out with his wife over his shoulder and the child in his arms.” The housekeeper tilted her head to the side, seeming to watch the movements of ghosts. “Lady Stokehurst didn't live to see the next morning. For days Lord Stokehurst was out of his head with grief, and pain from his wounds. The worst damage was done to the left arm—they say he pulled a burning wall apart with his bare hands to save his wife. The hand festered and poisoned his blood, till they had to choose between taking it off or letting him die. It was ironic, how kindly life had treated him until then, and to lose so much all at once…There's not many it wouldn't have broken. But the master is a strong man. Not long after it all happened, I asked if he would give Emma into the safekeeping of his sister, Lady Catherine. She would have taken the child for as long as necessary. ‘No,’ he said, ‘the baby's all I have left of Mary. I could never give her away, not even for a day.’” Mrs. Knaggs paused and shook her head.