Читать книгу The Secret Heiress - Bethany Campbell - Страница 13

That afternoon, the Fairchild household bustled, readying itself for Louisa’s return. Helena, the kitchen assistant, made sure all spices and condiments and baking goods were in perfect alphabetical order; Bindy and Marie polished the counters and appliances to an even higher sheen.

“How long has Miss Fairchild been gone?” Marie asked, puzzled by cleaning things that already seemed spotless.

“Only since last night,” Bindy said. “But she gets irked if there’s any sign of people slacking off when she’s not here. And nobody wants her irked.”

Marie wondered if the very ground would shake when Louisa Fairchild drew near and if small animals would run for cover. “Is she as fearsome as everybody seems to think?”

Bindy rolled her pale blue eyes. “That girl who was here before you? Annabel? Fired for kissing one of the Lochlain stable boys. He was always hangin’ about. Miss came and found them snogging and groping outside, while inside eight apple pies was burning. She made Annabel weep like a waterfall and told her to get off the property by sunset. She watches her single girls, Miss does. She’s strict.”

“But what if you want to go out?” Marie asked.

“We go on our time off and we have to be back here by midnight—alone. The guard lets us in.”

“Do you go out?” Marie asked curiously. Bindy wasn’t traditionally pretty, but she had a lot of bubble and bounce to her.

“Me? Oh, yes. I mean, there’s nothing to do around here at night except watch detective shows on the telly. I’ve got a boyfriend, but I’m careful. Still, lately I’ve found my eye roving. That Andrew Preston’s major sexy.”

Marie hoped her cheeks didn’t flush. “Is he?” she asked with false innocence.

“Can’t you see?” Bindy demanded. “My word! Every woman here’s noticed, even the laundress, Mrs. Fife, and she’s at least a hundred and fifty!”

“He’s too tall,” Marie said, improvising. “Looking at him’s like staring up at a giraffe.”

Bindy laughed, then suddenly looked alarmed. She went pale. “Oh, dear! I see Miss Fairchild’s car! She’s home early. I need to change my apron. And hide my book. She hates it if she catches me sitting about reading.”

She snatched her mystery novel off the counter and rushed to the restroom off the kitchen, just as Mrs. Lipton ran in from the dining room. “She’s here, she’s here. I must make coffee,” she cried. “She’s at least an hour early.”

“She’s driven all this way alone?” Marie asked.

“No, no. The deputy housekeeper drives, Agnes. Have you started those desserts yet? Oh, my God, she’ll be expecting her coffee and a lovely snack.”

“I’ve done a banana meringue with raspberry-brandy sauce,” Marie said. “I can have it ready in a few moments.”

“Bless you, my girl,” Mrs. Lipton panted, flying about the kitchen. “Oh, Lord, I hear them at the front door. Can you do the espresso? I must go greet her.”