to the door.
Over breakfast, she said, “All the rooms along the gallery I think can be made beautiful again with a thorough airing and beating and a coat of paint. And once the windows are clean. They will be perfect for entertaining—salons for music and poetry, cards and politicking. If we work on those, and the room that leads to the terrace…”
“And the library,” he interpolated.
She smiled. “And the library. Then, I think we shall have the space to entertain within a week or two. If we can raise the staff, of course.”
“We might need some guest bedrooms,” he said. “Oh, and Andrew Gates, my partner in the school scheme, is coming over later today, so he will need one of those bedchambers, at least until the dower house is habitable.”
“Then I hope Mrs. Dawson has access to servants right away. We’re discussing it after breakfast. With Hunter, too.”
He smiled faintly. “I did not realize you were quite so efficient.”
“I might not be. At the moment, all I have is ideas.”
Accordingly, at nine o’clock, she walked into the dining room, armed with a pen and ink, and her old notebook in which she had written the few tasks of her days with the princess.
To her surprise, Mrs. Dawson and Hunter were already there, standing rigidly upright just inside the door.
“Oh,” Deborah said, “thank you for being so prompt. Please, sit down.”
“Sit down, ma’am?” Hunter repeated, scandalized at the very idea.
“Yes, we have much to discuss, and it’s uncomfortable for me to strain my neck upward all the time.”
Exchanging worried glances, the two sat opposite her at the very edges of their seats.
“Later, I’d like you to show me where everything is—linen stores, china, and glass, things like that—and I had better speak to the cook. But first, we need to discuss staff. How many do you need to run the house efficiently?”
Again, they exchanged puzzled looks. Then Mrs. Dawson said carefully, “You are not dismissing us?”
Deborah blinked. “Dismissing you? That would be insanity when I know nothing about the house.” She frowned suddenly. “Unless you refuse to help me, in which case I shall count that as resignation.”
“No, no,” Hunter said earnestly. “We would love to help you.”
“It was just you looked so unhappy with everything,” Mrs. Dawson said in a rush, “we were sure you would want to bring in your own people.”
Deborah frowned. “My own people?”
“You lived in London with the Princess of Wales.”
Deborah almost laughed. “Well, that is a quite different matter,” she said hastily. “Mr. Halland wishes to live here and entertain here, so we need an army of servants to clean. How quickly can you interview and bring in more staff?”
“For cleaning? There will be several from the village and the farms that can begin such work straight away. If you want experienced domestic servants, then that will take a little longer.”
“Well, let us do both. And let it be known that the locals will be considered for permanent positions if we like their work. Does that seem a good idea?”
“Perfectly.”
“Good. Now, about cleaning the outside of the windows…”
She parted from them half an hour later to continue her explorations and decide on the first guest bedchambers to be made ready. There were several substantial suites of rooms, including the one next to hers, but they also seemed to need the most work. In any case, since the first few visitors were likely to be Mr. Gates, an unmarried teacher, and various men of business, it made more sense to use less opulent chambers like the one Christopher was inhabiting.
By luncheon, two men were up tall ladders with buckets, cleaning the outsides of the hall windows. Six local women—and two of their small children—were being directed to inside cleaning duties.
Christopher strode through the open front door as she ran down the staircase to fetch a clean bucket.
She stopped to throw a smile at him. “How is the school?”
“Still looking like the neglected dower house it was. Do you want to come and see it after luncheon? Or are you too busy here?”
“No, I’d love to see it. I wonder if Cook has thought about luncheon?”
It appeared she had not only thought of it but prepared it already, for the expanded staff as well as for Deborah and Christopher.
They were just sitting down at the terrace table when the sounds of approaching children’s voices distracted them. Two small village children appeared along the garden path, leading Stephen and Lizzie, and behind them came Deborah’s mother and