Page 46 of The Housekeeper's Secret

‘What’s that?’ Susan said, taking hold of the faded lapel and folding it back. ‘Look—a label with someone’s name on it. William? Williams?’

Abigail peered at the scrap of embroidered tape stitched into the yellowed lining. ‘Oh yes… Looks like Williams to me. Funny to think that there were once enough footmen here that they had to name their uniforms.’

Thomas unfolded a new pair of breeches. (Kate mustered her focus to find them on the list.) ‘You can see from the photographs out there in the kitchen passage there were five or six, at least. Probably wearing these very coats.’

Susan rummaged through the pile of old uniforms and held up another jacket. ‘This one’s different from the others. Smaller too.’

‘Part of a tiger’s uniform, isn’t it? For a young lad.’ Eliza pushed herself away from the doorframe and burrowed in the mound of clothing. ‘I saw the waistcoat in here somewhere—a gold striped one… Here.’

She put it on top of the pile. Its black velvet was balding, and the bars of gold braid that formed the distinctive stripes were worn to a dull grey in places. She opened it to look in the lining.

‘Here we are… Mullins? Is that what it says?’

Out of the corner of her eye, Kate saw Jem look round.

‘Yes,’ Abigail said, looking inside the tiger’s coat. ‘There’s one in here too. A. Mullins.’

‘I wonder what A. Mullins is doing now?’ Susan spoke in a tone of awe, as if it were possible that the lad who had once been a tiger at Coldwell might now be conducting the orchestra at the Queen’s Hall or leading an expedition across the Antarctic.

‘Working as a footman somewhere else, likely,’ Eliza retorted. ‘That label looks recent. Mullins is probably the same age as us. That uniform’ll fit you, Joseph.’

Jem had turned back to the empty cupboards, but he wasn’t moving. He didn’t seem to hear Susan either, urging Thomas to try on the new coat, and Abigail joining in. ‘Ooh yes, go on; show us your fancy finery. After all, we’d better get used to it so we’re not completely giddy when we see you on duty.’

Thomas’s ears were bright pink as he took the new coat down from the peg rail. ‘I’ll put this on, just to see if it fits’—he grinned—‘but I’ll be trying them britches on later, without company, if you don’t mind.’ Slipping the coat on, he glanced round at the others. ‘Come on, Joseph—and you, Jem—don’t leave me on my own here.’

As Abigail helped Joseph into the old tiger’s livery, Thomas handed the other new coat to Kate to pass to Jem. Hidden by the open door of the cupboard, their gazes held as he slid his arms into it. The heat seemed to intensify, spreading upwards into her cheeks, downwards into her pelvis. Unfurling itself.

She could barely look at him, and yet… she couldn’t not look. The top two buttons of his collarless shirt were open, and there was something incongruous about his golden skin and the hollow at the base of his throat against the braided lapels. He looked like he’d stepped out of the past or from the pages of one of Miss Austen’s novels. As he dropped his arms to his sides again his hand brushed hers.

An accidental touch, but the rush of want it unleashed made her head spin. Only vaguely was she aware of Thomas strutting around, flicking his coattails and tugging at his scarlet cuffs, while the girls broke into a chorus of appreciative whoops. Her heart was beating so hard it was making her whole body throb.

Secretly, in the folds of her skirt, his fingers caught hers.

She looked up and met his gaze. The others vanished, their voices drowned out by the crash of her pulse. There was only Jem. His eyes—intense and fathomlessly dark—full of despair and hunger.

‘Come on then, Jem, let’s have a look at you!’

Thomas’s voice broke the spell. Kate jerked her hand away and turned round. The girls must have noticed the expression on her face, or sensed the change of atmosphere, because their exuberant shouts faltered into silence.

Finding her voice, Kate iced it with her chilliest disapproval, to counter the heat that was searing through her. ‘This is a respectable house, not a music hall. Girls, it’s time you got back to work. Thomas, make sure everything is unpacked and hung up properly to get the creases out. Jem, you can finish checking the invoice. Bring it to me when it’s done.’

She swept past them, curling her tingling fingers into a fist.

Standing outside the housekeeper’s room, Jem knocked and stood back. He pushed a hand through his hair and listened for her voice over the drumbeat of his heart.

‘Come in.’

She was sitting at her desk in front of the open window, her head bent over the letter she was writing. The blinds were half-drawn to keep out the heat; the room smelled of potpourri and fine white soap, but he could just detect beneath it a trace of her own scent.

Vanilla. Nutmeg. Roses.

She had made her wishes quite clear. He had given his word, and he had kept it, though it had required ruthless self-control. He hadn’t let his guard slip.

Until this afternoon, when he had sensed the longing rising from her like heat.

‘The invoice, Mrs Furniss. From the tailor.’

She laid down her pen and stood up to take it from him. He could see the sheen of sweat on her upper lip, in the little hollow of her Cupid’s bow.

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