Page 22 of The Baron Without Blame
The household was indeed on edge. As Lolly crossed the front hall, Mr. Hewitt very nearly bowled her over, rushing to the back of the house so fast he didn’t see her. Witnessing the incident, a parlor maid polishing the banister screamed as if a highwayman had stuck a gun to her back. And Mrs. Smollett emerged from the upper story to dress them down with a wicked tongue.
It filled Lolly’s stomach with sour anger. Mr. and Mrs. Chow needed to be met with kindness, not with bedeviled chaos.
Suddenly without any appetite at all, Lolly set her plate on a side table and headed directly for Martin’s study. Except instead of meeting her fiancé there, she found only Papa and poor Mr. Maulvi. She hung back in the threshold before they saw her.
“This is extremely out of the ordinary,” Papa was lecturing Mr. Maulvi. He employed the quiet anger that always made Lolly quiver. “Seeing as you ran the household in Lord Preston’s absence this last year, I fail to see why you cannot make this change now before he returns.”
To his credit, Mr. Maulvi was not cowering away from Papa. “Lord Preston has only gone to Thatcham, my lord. He will return before luncheon.”
“And he will not thank you for leaving this mess to him,” Papa persisted. “Lord Preston should not be involved in the hiring of household servants in the first place. It is beneath him.”
As Lolly saw it, she had two options: interrupt this argument and try to convince Papa he was wrong, or demonstrate better behavior for the rest of the household.
She wasn’t brave enough for the first choice.
Backing away, Lolly cut through the rear drawing room into the garden, and from there to the outer building that housed the kitchen and pantry. She wasn’t sure what the servants had done with the Chows, but she had a strong feeling they weren’t currently permitted in the Hall itself. Sure enough, as she pushed open the kitchen door, Lolly spotted none other than Mrs. Chow on her knees, scrubbing the stone floor.
“Oh, that won’t do at all!” Lolly exclaimed before she could stop herself.
Cook, who had been leaning against the wooden countertop, straightened and curtsied. “Lady Rosalind.”
It was clear as day that Cook – a tall woman in full health – had been watching the very pregnant woman rather than helping. Anger surged all the way to Lolly’s tongue. “Is this the kind of household at Northfield Hall, then? Unfeeling and cruel? Really, it is plain to anyone with eyes that Mrs. Chow is not currently fit for such work. I cannot imagine what kind of Christian would put her to a task like this.”
Cook went white, then red. Lolly really couldn’t bring herself to care. Tapping Mrs. Chow on the shoulder – for she wasn’t sure how much English the woman understood – Lolly helped her to her feet. Mrs. Chow’s entire arms were trembling.
Lolly turned back to Cook. “Lord Preston hired Mrs. Chow as my personal lady’s maid. She is not to be pressed into kitchen work again.”
She only hoped Martin didn’t mind her wielding his name behind false orders. Making sure Mrs. Chow followed, she marched out of the kitchen.
“I’m so sorry about that. It won’t happen again. Are you feeling well?” Lolly turned to study Mrs. Chow’s face for understanding. The other woman’s eyes were watchful, but not confused.
“Yes, thank you, my lady.” She spoke with an accent, as expected, and an unusual lilt to her sentences. As she continued, she did not always use the correct words, but Lolly pieced together her meaning. “I am not trained to be a lady’s maid. I am better suited to the laundry, my lady.”
“Not to worry. If you work in the laundry, then you know how to remove stains from my gowns, and the rest of it is gravy.” Lolly smiled with this, but she saw exactly when Mrs. Chow stumbled over her phrasing. “I’ll train you in the rest of it,” she amended. “You will do splendidly.”
She had been leading Mrs. Chow towards the grand staircase, intending to install the woman in her own apartment until Martin could give a final decree to the household. But as they entered the front hall, Lolly heard Papa stalking towards them from the study. From his footsteps alone, she could tell Mr. Maulvi had not capitulated, which meant Papa would be angrier than ever.
Lolly panicked.
Grabbing Mrs. Chow’s hand, she rushed through the front door and then – when she heard Papa still approaching – into the hidden space between a giant azalea and the brick façade of Northfield Hall.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered to Mrs. Chow as they both tried to crouch from sight. She thought the pregnant woman must be frightened out of her mind, but instead it looked like Mrs. Chow was trying to suppress a laugh.
“Even you have something to be frightened of,” Mrs. Chow whispered back. “That makes us sisters.”
Lolly grinned. “Yes, sisters.”
They both sobered when Papa exited the house. He slammed the door behind him, as if that would teach Mr. Maulvi a lesson.
Or perhaps it wasn’t Mr. Maulvi he was concerned about. Suddenly, Lolly heard a horse and vehicle coming down the drive. From her vantage point, squatting on the ground, she saw only Papa’s boots and then – as the horse pulled the carriage around to the front of the house, hooves and slim wheels.
A cloud of dust drifted through the azalea directly under Lolly’s nose.
“Lord Preston,” Papa barked, “you have finally returned.”
Martin’s boots came into view now, older and dustier than Papa’s. “I did not think you would feel my absence so keenly, my lord. I apologize. I had some small business to attend in Thatcham.”
“I cannot imagine you left unaware of the great insult you have delivered to my family.”
