Page 51 of The Housekeeper's Secret

‘Mrs Furniss?’

She turned, smothering the smile that spread inside her at the sound of Jem’s voice. He was coming up the steps, his tone businesslike, his expression serious. He was wearing formal livery for the photograph, and the high collar accentuated the slant of his cheekbones, the clean line of his jaw. She felt her chest constrict. Stopping a few respectable feet from her, he lowered his voice so that only she could hear.

‘Can I tell you how beautiful you look?’

‘Absolutely not,’ she murmured, making sure to keep the intimate warmth in her tone from showing on her face. ‘That would be unforgivably forward.’

‘It seems I never learn…’

‘And in fact, get worse.’ She risked a sideways glance at him. ‘It’s just as well I’m not some swoony housemaid and can easily resist you.’ It was so hard not to smile. ‘Was there anything else you wanted?’

‘There was, actually.’ The spark went out of his eyes. ‘I asked Goddard if I could take my half day on Monday instead of tomorrow. He said no.’

On the gravel the photographer was waving his arms, directing the garden lads into a tighter group. Kate realised they were in the way and moved along the steps, to the other side of the stone pillar. Thomas, standing where Jem had been a moment before, glanced round.

‘Never mind. There’s far too much to do, with the wedding celebration,’ she said in her brisk, public voice, loud enough to be heard.

‘I do mind,’ he said softly, moving to stand beside her. ‘You’re going to Hatherford on Monday, for the bank. I could have met you there.’

Beneath the portico, behind the group of garden boys (who had been joined by Gatley), one of the front doors opened. Susan and Abigail scurried out, followed a moment later by Joseph.

The photographer’s face turned puce with frustration. ‘Please, please… out of the way!’ he spluttered, gesticulating frantically.

‘There’ll be other times,’ Kate said quietly. ‘Sir Randolph’s leaving for London tomorrow. It’ll be easier when he’s gone.’

Sir Randolph himself wasn’t the problem, but when he was out of the way, his valet was too.

For a moment, neither of them spoke as they watched the garden lads relax their stiff poses and disperse, to make way for Johnny Farrow and the Twigg boys in their faded coachman’s coats. They were joined—after some uncertainty—by Robson the chauffeur in his flashy livery, which was, Kate thought absently, like watching the past meet the future. The old give way to the new.

‘I wish everyone was leaving for London,’ Jem said softly, ‘and we could have that time again.’

She took a breath, trying to appear indifferent. When she spoke, it was almost without moving her lips.

‘What would you do with it?’

‘Not waste it trying to resist you. Spend it getting to know you properly.’

She thought about his hands on her breasts, his mouth on her thighs. Reaching for her chatelaine, she snapped open her watch to distract from the heat that was creeping into her cheeks.

‘I’d say you know me quite well already.’

‘I want to know more,’ he murmured. ‘And there are things I want to tell you, things I need to’—he broke off abruptly and cleared his throat—‘take down to the gamekeeper’s cottage, like you asked,’ he finished loudly.

Kate’s head snapped round, and she saw a shadow move behind the pillar.

‘Joseph?’

The hallboy emerged, cowering a little as he always did, though no one at Coldwell had ever raised a hand to him. It was a hard habit to break, as she understood well. The workhouse authorities had warned her that the boy had witnessed significant violence in his short life, and that it was likely to have marked his character. His mother had died at his father’s hand—which was why Joseph had ended up in the care of the parish—and it was thought that he’d witnessed the event, though he claimed not to remember it. This was never far from her mind. It made it hard to be angry with him.

‘Yes, Mrs Furniss.’

Joseph’s eyes were blue and imploring, his face slightly grimy with coal smuts and jam from breakfast.

‘What are you doing there? You’re not even ready! Go and wash your face—quickly. You can’t be in the photograph looking like that.’

He scampered off, down the steps towards the stable yard as Mr Goddard appeared through the front doors, little more than a shadow in his worn tailcoat and striped trousers. Down on the gravel, the photographer pleaded querulously for the footmen since they didn’t seem to have a full complement of housemaids. Eliza was missing, Kate realised. Trust her to take ages getting ready.

Mrs Gatley came out, apron crackling with starch. ‘D’you think we could be next? Upper servants?’ she called, with an aggrieved air. ‘Only I haven’t got time to hang about—not if Sir Randolph’s going to be having his luncheon this side of teatime.’

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