Honor's Players - By Holly Newman Page 0,30

confusion and anguish. She needed time to sort through her myriad emotions and experiences. Curious, she stood to the side of the curtain and watched. He appeared to be talking to someone. A rotund gentleman followed from behind the bush. He wore brown buckskin breeches and a brown homespun coat and vest. The top of his head was bald and shiny in the morning sun, while his fringe of hair at the sides was thick and unfashionably long. He held his hat obsequiously in his hands before him. She saw St. Ryne glance up to her windows while absently nodding to something the gentleman said. The man continued to speak, gesturing in the direction of the stables. Finally St. Ryne rounded on him, his expression full of exasperation. Then, with an arrogant wave of his hand, indicating the fellow should follow, he led with quick strides toward the stables.

Elizabeth watched until they were out of sight, not realizing how hard she had clenched the edge of the curtain until she slowly uncurled her fingers and an agony of released tensed muscles brought her to her senses. Sighing, Elizabeth turned away from the window to face the room, the sun at her back illuminating its woebegone appearance.

A simmering anger swept her. Now fully awake, she took in all the details around her while replaying the events of the previous evening in her mind. She looked toward her dressing room, a delicate eyebrow raised. “All right,” she muttered wrathfully. “If it’s a housekeeper you want, it’s a housekeeper you’ll get. No more, no less.” She stalked over to the bell pull, giving it an imperious yank, and then entered the dressing room to contemplate her choice of attire.

Mrs. Atheridge arrived as she was struggling with the hooks of a dun-colored gown. Elizabeth heaved a sigh of relief. Though the gowns St. Ryne provided were in color and basic styling all demure, some, she discovered to her dismay, did need assistance from an outside source.

“Mrs. Atheridge, would you get these hooks, please?”

“I ain’t no lady’s maid.”

Shocked, Elizabeth rounded on her. “Believe me, Mrs. Atheridge, there are a number of things I am aware you are not.” She paused, drawing her dignity about her. “The question of a lady’s maid shall be remedied immediately, nonetheless, until such time as this household is properly staffed, you shall provide any services I deem needing to be completed by your person.” Her voice was low, almost pleasant; however, the gold metal glint in her eye told another tale and Mrs. Atheridge took a step backward.

“Of course, my lady,” she returned sweetly.

Elizabeth squelched a rising desire to throttle her.

The swish of the housekeeper’s skirts as she approached reminded Elizabeth of the silk petticoats hiding beneath. A twinkle brightened her eye. It was time this black beetle crawled.

“Our want of proper staffing will, I am afraid, increase our burdens. This house is an insult to my husband’s rank and, of course, we cannot let it remain in such a condition. We shall begin work following breakfast, that is if you have anything decent to serve.”

“Bread and a mite of cheese, is all.”

Her deletion of a title of respect was quite obvious. “That will do. I shall request Atheridge to go down to the village to see if there are any people available for day labor.” She rooted through her portmanteau for a kerchief. “Some women and perhaps some young men for the heavy work, I think, if they can be spared from their normal labors. You will gather as many buckets, mops, rags, and assorted cleaning paraphernalia as may be had,” she said, draping the kerchief over her hair and tying it behind her head. “If necessary, we will also send Atheridge to buy or borrow additional supplies.”

Mrs. Atheridge nodded sourly and turned to leave.

“Mrs. Atheridge!”

“Yes, my lady,” she said sullenly, turning back to Elizabeth.

“I suggest you remove the silk petticoats.”

Affronted, the housekeeper stood up straighter, clasping her hands crisply before her. “My lady?” she asked in feinted bewilderment.

Elizabeth noted her eyes shifting slightly. “With all I have planned, they will become quite ruined, you know. That will be all.”

“Oh, do be careful, Thomas.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Elizabeth anxiously watched the young man standing on the tall ladder unhook the glass pendants from the chandelier. “Though it is a fright now, I daresay it will be lovely when properly cleaned. Can you get it down?”

“I think so, ma’am, if we removes these bobbles first.”

"My Lady, to you, young man,” screeched Atheridge, entering