Page 5 of One Last Whisper

Lord Edmund coughs and says, “We will take our breakfast now. Miss Wilcox, it is customary for the servants to eat in the kitchen, but this evening, you will join us for dinner.”

“I am honored, Lord Blackwood.”

His eyes narrow for a moment. I think he’s trying to determine if I’m teasing him. When he’s satisfied that I’m not trying to poke fun, he says, “Mrs. Pemberton, no cream if you will for the Lady Cordelia and please make her tea strong. I’m afraid the Lady hasn’t been sleeping well.”

Cordelia flushes and lowers her eyes. I feel offended on her behalf. Imagine airing your wife’s business in front of a stranger!

Theresa bows. “As you wish, my lord.”

Lord Edmund nods again, then leads his family from the room without a farewell to us. When the door closes, Theresa says drily, “One might suggest that the Lady Cordelia drinksweakertea and not stronger if she’s having trouble sleeping.”

“I take it from your silence that airing such a suggestion to his Lordship would be unwise.”

She shrugs. “Not really unwise. Just useless. And don’t worry about him. He’s a windbag, but he’s harmless. All bark no bite.”

“That’s good to know.”

“I might as well introduce you to the others,” Theresa says. “They’ll be in the kitchen right now. Hopefully preparing His Lordship’s breakfast and not making too much of a mess.”

She leads me into the kitchen, where I find three young women whispering and giggling to each other as they make a full English breakfast for the diners. Lord Edmund, at least, doesn't seem to restrict his wife's diet.

The women fall silent when Mrs. Pemberton enters. They’re all young and pretty, though none of them are as statuesque as the Lady Cordelia. The youngest is in her early twenties, surely no older than twenty-five. She fails to maintain the serious expression the three women affect when we walk into the kitchen. She is punished for her failure by being the first of the maids introduced.

“The one with the silly smile is Sarah. Barely more than a girl and it shows on her face. And I’ll bet you forgot to put cream in the eggs.”

Sarah’s face goes white. She hurries to correct her mistake while the other two maids try to hide their mirth.

“The others are Franny—that’s the one with the lace in her bonnet—and Matilda. They’re just a hair smarter than the pigs we slaughtered to make that bacon.”

Franny and Matilda giggle, an odd reaction, but when I see the motherly smirk on Theresa’s face, I understand. As is the case with many senior servants, Theresa has taken on the role of guardian to these young women. Her scolding may sound harsh, but it comes from a place of love.

“All right then, you’ve had your laugh,” she says. “Now let’s get back to work. His Lordship prefers to breakfast in the morning. Oh! I’ve almost forgotten. Ladies, this is Mary Wilcox, the governess. She is here to care for Master Oliver. She isnothere to listen to you three prattle on, so please, if you talk toher, talk like adults. No, that's too much, Sarah. Here, let me do it. You help the other two with the sausages before they burn themselves, smirking at each other."

I smile and watch Theresa help the three young women get breakfast in order. The house doesn’t seem quite so forbidding now.

CHAPTER THREE

When breakfast is finished, Lady Cordelia finds me in the school room. She has Oliver with her, and the boy smiles when he sees me. I do well with children his age. I spent twenty-five years teaching third and fourth graders, and I’ve developed a skill at building rapport.

“We really are pleased to have you here, Miss Mary,” Lady Cordelia says. “Oliver’s done so well with his studies. It would be such a pity if he were to fall behind due to… well, if he were to fall behind.”

She lowers her eyes, and her smile fades a little. My heart goes out to her. It is incredibly difficult to have a child with a chronic illness. I smile tenderly and say, “I am honored to be here, my lady.” I look at Oliver and add, “As for you, young man, I’m sure we won’t have any trouble keeping up with our studies, will we?”

Oliver shakes his head. “No, ma’am. I’m very smart. I’ll have no trouble.”

His cough seems to have gone away. The healing powers of a full English breakfast, I assume. Or perhaps it’s separation from his overbearing uncle.

I push that unkind thought away, and say, “Excellent. Now, if it’s all right with your Aunt Cordelia, I’d like to get to know you a little better. And, of course, if it’s all right with you.”

Oliver nods and turns to his aunt. Lady Cordelia’s smile returns. “Of course.”

She nods at me and says, “Thank you again, Miss Mary. I…” she hesitates, as though struggling to think of how to put her next thought into words. In the end, she only says, “Thank you,” and leaves the room.

I smile at Oliver. “Well, Master Oliver, let’s begin with your favorite color.”

He furrows his brow. “My favorite color?”

“Of course! Why not?”

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