Page 34 of The Marchioness Who Tempted Fate
Chapter 22
Sophie scowled at Tiffany as she entered their shared room. “There you are,” she said sourly. “You are going to get us both in a great deal of trouble, what with your junketing about and your ‘lessons’ in the afternoons.”
Tiffany sat down on her bed and began unlacing her shoes. Her feet ached from hastening through the last evening meal preparations, and her head hurt from dealing with Latin verb declensions all afternoon. Exactly when Percival thought she was going to need to know a language that no one spoke was beyond her. But that was his contributions to her weekly studies.
You just try having my day, you jealous hussy. You’d trade back soon enough.
Since there was nothing nice that she wanted to say to Sophie, Tiffany said nothing at all. She pulled off her shoes, then stood up so that she could finish undressing.
“Did you not hear me?” Sophie sniped at her. “I’m telling you this for your own good. Mrs. Twitchel is going to come down on you with both feet, and then boot you out the door. She doesn’t put up with girls’ nonsense.”
“Mrs. Twitchel knew precisely where I was at all times this day,” Tiffany said tiredly. “I am sorry that my schedule does not meet with your approval.” She hung up her uniform, and dropped the apron into the laundry hamper that stood beside the door.
“That’s another thing,” Sophie said. “That apron always smells like cooking grease. Could you not be a little tidier?”
Tiffany turned back the coverlet on her bed, and slipped in-between the sheets. “Are you not tired, Sophie? It is nearly lights-out.”
“Oh, I’m tired all right,” Sophie said angrily. “I had a chance at something wonderful. But since you’ve been here, I’ve seen Jones exactly twice. With the credentials the Marquess gave him, he’s having a hard time finding another position.”
Tiffany propped herself up on one elbow, and used the other hand to fluff her pillow. “Frankly, the fellow was lucky to get any references at all. Lord Northbury was exceptionally kind to him.”
“Very kind. . . turned off abruptly and his place given to a guttersnipe thief! You have no idea what that has done to his reputation.”
“He should have thought about that before trying to use moldy rye flour and weevily wheat. We have only just this se’nnight past gotten the last of the mold, mildew, and rancid fat out of the larder. I cannot imagine how anyone would want to cook in such an ill-kept kitchen.”
“A little dirt makes the diner stronger,” Sophie said. It sounded as if she was quoting.
“Oh, go to sleep, Sophie. Or, at the very least, have the kindness to let me sleep.”
“What have you been doing all day to make you so tired? You have three new helpers in the kitchen, in addition to Grace and Evan. My Jonesie only had the one helper.”
“Your Jonesie sent out for most of the food he served, and he threw a ladle at Evan. More than that, he told Old Elizabet to lick the fat off the floor if she wanted largess from his kitchen. As for why I am so tired, I was up before dawn, worked through the morning, did Latin verb declensions all afternoon, hurried through dinner preparations, and have just before coming up finished helping with kitchen clean up. Do, please, go to sleep, Sophie.”
“Go to sleep, Sophie. Fold the sheets, Sophie. Help in the kitchen this afternoon, Sophie,” the maid mocked.
“And that will be quite enough, Sophie,” Mrs. Twitchel said from the doorway. “You will cease to torment Tiffany. If I hear any more of it, you will see me in my office. Lights out before I come back down the stairs, ladies.”
The housekeeper moved away from the door. Sophie mumbled something into her pillow, but was then mercifully still.
Why could I have not been given a room with Grace or almost any of the other maids? But then, Grace might have had to share with Sophie, and I would not wish that on her.
Tiffany closed her eyes, but sleep would not come. Her headache began to slowly subside in the quiet dark, but her feet and all of the rest of her body hurt from the long days she had been putting in. She was used to being up and moving about a kitchen at a great pace, but she had been astonished to discover that sitting in a chair at a desk could also hurt after a time.
She was only grateful that the Marquess had granted her a half-hour class of quiet reading at the end of each study session. She had devoured the book of fairy tales, and was now nearly through the novel. Her mouth twitched in the dark as she remembered the improbable courtship complications of the hero and heroine of the book.
Thinking about the absurd behavior of Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet, she finally fell into an uneasy sleep.
* * *
Tiffany’s eyes flew open. Something had awakened her, but the room was pitch black. She fumbled for the striker and the candle stub on the bedside table. Thank goodness Mrs. Twitchel did not follow the custom of taking away the candle at lights out!
After a couple of tries, she managed to get the striker to produce a fat spark that caught the wick of the candle.
Sophie’s bed was empty. Had she overslept? A glance out the window revealed nothing but darkness. The house seemed quiet. Not even the wind disturbed the stillness. Tiffany got out of bed, and shivered her way into her uniform, picked up her clean apron, shoes and stockings, and tiptoed down the stairs to the kitchen.
Michaels was there, as usual, basting a ham. “You are up betimes, Girlie. Is something the matter?”
“Sophie isn’t in her bed. I thought perhaps I had overslept.”
