Page 10 of The Counterfeit Scoundrel
“Does a maid assist her... afterward?”
“No. I reckon he sees to the matter himself, putting her back to rights.”
“Does she stay all night?”
Turning slightly, with her hands on her hips, the cook scowled. “You’ve a lot of questions.”
“I’ve never been employed in a residence where such goings-on took place. Or if they did, people were much more discreet.”
“What goes on upstairs is none of our concern. You keep it to yourself, or you’ll find yourself let go without a reference.”
“I completely understand that. I was just curious as to whether she’d be there in the morning when Sarah and I begin our chores and how it might affect them. I suppose I should simply ask Sarah.”
Cook turned back to her work. “She’ll be gone long before then. He usually escorts them home before midnight.”
Perhaps she could stand on the front lawn behind a tree and catch sight of the woman then. But in the dark, how clear might she be? Even with the lamplights along the drive, Daisy might have difficulty identifying her.
Mrs. Karson stepped back. “There it is, Tom, all ready for you.”
He looked up from his book and studied the clock on a shelf. It showed a couple of minutes past nine. “Bit early yet. He likes it delivered at a quarter past.” He turned his attention back to the story.
“I’d be willing to carry it up,” Daisy offered.
Cook’s brow furrowed. “What of your aching head?”
She lifted the teacup. “It’s much better now, thanks to your marvelous concoction.”
“You should get to bed then. It’s Tom’s job to deliver it.”
“I don’t mind.”
“To bed with you.”
Disappointed, knowing she would raise suspicions if she argued further, she set the cup aside. “Pleasant dreams.”
But when she was out of the kitchen, rather thangoing to the stairs that led to the servants’ quarters, she went to the back stairs she knew Tom would use to reach the bedchamber hallway. And waited.
She wanted, needed, to see the woman in order to verify that it washerMrs. Parker, her client’s Mrs. Parker. He’d given her a small photograph of his wife so Daisy could recognize her, but the challenge was to get a clear enough glimpse so she could identify her. Parker was too common a name, so she couldn’t assume the guest was the correct one.
A short time later, she heard footfalls and smiled at Tom when he came around the corner. “You looked to be enjoying your book and are probably anxious to get back to it. I’m happy to deliver the tray for you.”
He glanced back over his shoulder, as though fearing being caught doing what he ought not, and then returned his attention to her. “It is a good read but—”
Wanting to cut off his rejection before he voiced it, she reached out and squeezed his upper arm. “Truth be told, Tom, it seems like such a menial task for a man as strong as you. I’ve never felt muscles so firm.” She batted her eyelashes, something she’d never done before because she considered it a ridiculous flirtation maneuver, but Tom fairly preened with her praise.
“’Tis a waste of me abilities.”
She released her hold on him. “I so agree. It’s a shame you have to spend your time doing something that is more suited to a woman.” A wink. A lift of her shoulder. “Let me handle this for you, so you can attend to more important matters. Like your book.”
“Perkins won’t like it.”
“I’m not going to tell him. And Bishop certainly won’t mind. His attention is no doubt on his lover.What does he care who brings up the tray as long as it’s brought?”
He furrowed his brow. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“Not at all. I so hate seeing you not being fully appreciated. As I’m new to the household, a chore so inconsequential really should fall to me, not to a strapping, competent lad like yourself.”
With his chest puffing out at her latest bit of fawning, she was surprised his waistcoat buttons didn’t suddenly pop off. “Right you are. The task is simple enough. Just knock on the door, take it in, and leave.”
