the conflict much worse off than they had been when it had begun. Perhaps he was right. Richard Kinney had admitted that it wasn’t a fair fight. It never would be, but it was too late to turn back now. The Rebels would see it to its bitter conclusion, and she’d be proud to say that she’d done her part.
“All right, then,” Richard Kinney said gruffly. “Off you go. May God bless you and keep you.”
“And you as well,” Jocelyn replied, knowing deep down that Richard was putting himself in a lot more danger than she’d realized.
Her heart beat like a drum and her knees threatened to buckle as she finally approached the servants’ entrance and knocked on the door, ready to report to Mrs. Johnson, the housekeeper, who would introduce her to Major Radcliffe.
Chapter 43
Despite her nervousness, Jocelyn settled into the household fairly quickly. Mrs. Johnson was a pleasant woman who wasn’t too exacting in her demands, as long as the work got done. With her graying hair, florid complexion, and rotund figure, she was the epitome of a kindly grandmother and behaved like one. Because of her dodgy knees, she kept mostly to the ground floor rooms and the kitchen and asked Jocelyn to take on the cleaning of the bedrooms, the weekly laundry, and the serving of meals.
A taciturn man in his forties named John Wilcox looked after the horses, brought in firewood, and fetched water. He spent the rest of his time outdoors, pruning the bushes, sweeping the leaves, and performing any odd task that needed doing. He slept in a small room off the kitchen, which he kept neat and clean but rarely spent any time in, regardless of the weather.
The third member of the household was Private Sykes. He was a young man of about nineteen with straw-like fair hair, blue eyes, and a ready smile. He was a bit slow on the uptake, according to Mrs. Johnson, which was why he was used mostly as a messenger and general dogsbody, something he didn’t seem to mind. He performed any task assigned him with a childish zeal that seemed to irritate Captain Palmer, the major’s aide-de-camp, to no end. Captain Palmer was a fastidious man in his early thirties who seemed happiest when he was alone in his study. He rarely spoke to Jocelyn or even looked at her, his discomfort obvious when they met on the stairs or when she served him in the dining room.
And then there was Major Radcliffe, whom Jocelyn had finally met at the beginning of the second week of her employment, since he’d been absent from the house, possibly having traveled to Philadelphia or West Point, Mrs. Johnson speculated. The major was something of a surprise. Jocelyn had expected a gruff middle-aged man who’d bark out orders and expect them all to carry on as if on parade, but the major was mild mannered and soft spoken. He was in his thirties and had wide brown eyes, an aquiline nose, and unexpectedly full lips. He preferred to wear his own hair, which was a rich chestnut brown, when at home or attending informal functions, but donned a curled and queued periwig when going to military events or regimental dinners. Major Radcliffe treated both Jocelyn and Mrs. Johnson as if they were ladies of his acquaintance rather than household help, always thanking them and asking politely for anything he required.
Richard Kinney had instructed Jocelyn to render herself invisible, but that became more difficult as the weeks went by, since Major Radcliffe had taken a liking to her. He sometimes invited her to dine with him when he had no other engagements and regaled her with stories of his home in Kent and the Grand Tour he’d taken before his father had purchased him a commission in the army. Jocelyn couldn’t begin to imagine a world in which someone was encouraged to travel for a full year, all expenses paid, the only expectation that they enjoy everything the great cities of Europe had to offer and come back a somewhat more polished version of themselves. She’d been enthralled by the major’s accounts of the floating city of Venice, the sprawling hills of Tuscany dotted by vineyards and olive groves that surrounded solitary farmhouses built on verdant hills, his tour of the Bastille, and his visit to the gothic cathedral of Notre Dame.
She liked the major and felt surprisingly at ease in his company, probably more so because he never spoke