Blackhearts (Blackhearts, #1)(5)

Ruth shook her head. “No, ma’am.”

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“Please, call me Anne,” Anne said gently. “I’m not much older than you and much too young to be called ma’am.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ruth said automatically.

Anne laughed. “Tell you what. Once the shrimp are ready,

I’ll let you try one. It can be our secret.”

Ruth’s brown eyes lit up, and she gave Anne a timid smile.

“Yes, ma—”

Anne raised an eyebrow at her.

“Yes, Anne,” she said.

“Good girl. But don’t tell Margery.”

“Don’t tell Margery what?” came a shrill voice behind Anne.

Anne’s back stiffened. “That I might have added too much

salt to the water.” It was the first thing that came to mind.

“Well, that’s easily fixed. Go and get fresh water,” Margery

said gruffly.

Making a face at Ruth, Anne dutifully took the heavy pot

and dumped the perfectly good water out the back door, effec—

tively washing the step for the second time that day. Instead

of making Ruth take the trip down to the cistern again, Anne

filled the pot herself. It was cool and dark in the lower story, and she enjoyed the solitude.

While there she heard a commotion coming from upstairs.

The master’s son, Mr. Edward, had apparently returned. He had

been expected the previous evening, but a storm had delayed

his arrival, and Master Drummond had not been pleased, especially with company coming later that afternoon.

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Anne stayed where she was. If he was anything like his father, she certainly wasn’t in a hurry to greet him. The master was a cold and angry man, preoccupied with improving his social status in the community, and he was well aware that

many aristocrats mocked him behind his back. Wealth wouldn’t

be enough if Master Drummond were ever to attain the higher

circles to which he aspired, which was why he’d arranged for his son to wed Miss Patience Hervey, the daughter of a local baron.

Although Anne had yet to meet either party, she thought it

might be a most fortuitous match. She’d heard it said that God

had made men and women, and then he’d made the Herveys.

The family was known for their overbearing and overconfident

manner.

Margery had said the master would have liked nothing

more than to set his sights higher and have his son marry the

daughter of an earl or a duke. But a baron was one of the few

peerages that could descend through female lines, and by Mr.

Edward’s marrying Miss Patience, any Drummond offspring

would be titled.

Once Anne returned to the kitchen, she set the pot in

the hearth. It would take some time for the water to boil. She

looked around for Ruth, but the girl was nowhere to be found.

The two housemaids were in the washing kitchen, fighting

over the flowers in one vase, each girl wanting to take the large red blossoms to the respective guest rooms.

“I heard the young Miss Patience likes red roses,” Sara spat,

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her slender fingers white from holding the vase so tightly. She was a handsome girl with dark hair and wide brown eyes.

Leaning back, Mary, the plumper of the two, shook her

head, her blond curls shaking. Her normally pretty face had

turned pink from exertion. “I don’t care. The baroness should

have them.”

Rolling her eyes, Anne marched past them on her way outside. She debated about telling them that the female members

of the Hervey family would most likely bring their own lady’s

maids, and any attempt on the housemaids’ part to take over

that position would surely be wasted.

She had no sooner finished her thought than there was a

loud crash from behind her, followed by two shrill cries.

Now they’ve gone and done it.

Anne returned to the scene and discovered both girls crying

and wringing their hands. There were glass shards everywhere,

and the water was forming small puddles on the stone floor. The

stems and blossoms of the flowers were unharmed, and Margery

swooped in and plucked them up, turning on both girls. She gave

them each a swift smack upside the head. Both Sara and Mary

clutched their ears, recoiling from Margery’s rage.

“What do you think you’re doing? We don’t have time for

this kind of nonsense. Sara, you clean up this mess. Mary, you go and find another vase, and don’t you dare touch any of the tartlets in the pantry. Those are for dessert.” She pointed an accusing finger at Anne. “Where were you earlier when Mr. Edward arrived?”

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“I didn’t know my presence was needed.”

Margery took a threatening step toward her, the glass

crunching underfoot. “Don’t act so smart with me. Take the

young master some water, since you’re so fond of the cistern.

He’ll be wanting a bath.”

Relieved to leave the bickering behind, but loath to face

the new master, Anne headed down the cold, stone steps once