Page 64 of Harpy of the Ton
She cringed as she recalled her husband’s words.
The kitchen door opened, and the woman appeared, carrying a sack. Bella let out a shriek and leaped back.
“Don’t be cryin’ out, ma’am,” the woman said. “Didn’t Mr. Baxter say I was comin’ over?”
The woman—hardly a woman at all; she looked barely out of the schoolroom—glanced about the kitchen, then smiled.
“I’m Sophie,” she said, as if that would explain her presence. “Ned’s niece,” she added.
Bella stepped back. “Who’s Ned?”
“My uncle.”
“I understandthat, given that you said you’re his niece,” Bella said. “I’m not a simpleton.”
The girl’s smile slipped. “Uncle Ned said you might want some help. He said you’d had an accident and lost all your clothes. I’ve brought some of mine. May I put them on the table? My arms are achin’ real bad.”
Bella glanced at the table—another dirt-covered surface she’d been unable to conquer. But the girl seemed not to notice. She placed the sack on the surface, then pulled out a gown and held it up.
“What do you think? It’ll do for you until you can make your own.”
“Make my own?” Was she expected tomakeclothes?
“You’re taller than me,” the girl continued. “But we can let out the hem.”
“Let out the hem?”
“I can show you.”
“Are you saying I don’t know how to…to”—Bella gestured toward the gown—“let out a hem?”
Compassion replaced the irritation in the girl’s eyes. “Oh, forgive me,” she said. “You must have forgotten, on account of your accident. Hit your head real bad, Uncle Ned said. Mr. Baxter must have been so worried about you. I’m sure he’s glad you’re home.”
Perhaps he was—but only because he needed a housemaid, scullery maid, nursemaid, cook, and…
“Are you needing a bit of help?” the girl asked, interrupting Bella’s thoughts.
“Do you think I’m incapable of—” Bella began, but the girl interrupted.
“If you’ve hit your head, it can take a long time to recover. Uncle Ned said you’d lost your memory and might need some help.” She rolled her eyes. “Men think the work a woman does in the home is the easiest thing in the world—yet it’s not something they can take a hand to. They’d rather sit in idleness waiting for their women to sweep the floor around them. And they think they have the worst of it. Granted, they earn a living to keep food on the table, but their work stops as soon as they return home. A woman’s work never stops. Men are—”
She broke off and sighed. “Forgive me for rattling on—I hope you won’t take offense. Your husband’s a hardworking man, Mrs. Baxter. I’m always seein’ him toiling away in some garden or other.”
“In a garden?” Bella asked.
“He’s a gardener, isn’t he?”
Bella blinked back tears. “I-I don’t know.”
“Oh, sweet Mother Mary!” the girl cried. “Can’t you remember? You’re still not recovered, and he’s left you all on your own. No wonder you look in such a…”
Her voice trailed off, but she had no need to continue when Bella could see, from her reflection in the window, exactly what state she looked in.
“You might wear an apron when doing the housework,” the girl said. “It’ll keep your dress clean. Now—what can I do to help? It’s often difficult to know where to start. Perhaps you can begin by writing a list of everything needing doing.”
Lists—lists…Why did everybody talk about damned lists!
The girl’s eyes widened. “Have I upset you, Mrs. Baxter?”
