bed.”
Mary got up at once. “I must go up to them, then. Thank you, Roddy, for reminding me. You have been a very good laddie today, and I am quite pleased with you.” Shooting a speaking look at her still frowning husband, she added, “Pinkie, if Mama Agnes will excuse us both, perhaps you should come upstairs with me. We must make a list of questions to ask Maggie tomorrow.”
“I’ll go, too,” Lady Agnes said, glancing warily at her son and grandson. “We must ask Maggie to tell us where to find George Hitchcock’s silk warehouse. I have it on excellent authority that he sells the very best silks in all London—somewhere near St. Paul’s Cathedral, I believe.”
Duncan still had not spoken, and for once his son was showing the good sense to keep silent. Pinkie glanced at Chuff as she got up to follow Mary and the dowager, and she saw that he, too, was watching father and son.
Chuff smiled reassuringly at her, and as she left the room with the other ladies, she heard him say calmly, “I mean to walk in the garden myself, sir, just to stretch my legs after being in the saddle all day. If you like, I’ll keep an eye on the scamp whilst he explores a bit. ’Tis likely he’ll sleep better for the exercise after all the hours he’s spent this past week cooped up in the coach with his sisters.”
“Aye,” Duncan said evenly. “He’d better sleep well, for he is going to have a tutor just as soon as I can hire one—a good, strict man who will thrash him soundly when he gets up to mischief or fails to learn his lessons.”
“I dinna mind if he’s strict,” Roddy said cheerfully, “just so long as he knows all the best places to see in London. This is a fine city, is it not, sir? May I please go out with Chuff now?”
“Aye, rascal, you may, but do not let me hear about any misconduct or it will be the worse for you. Do you hear me?”
As the boy assured his father that he did, Pinkie shut the door, grateful to Chuff for intervening, and wondering what imp of Satan got into Roddy that he dared talk to Himself so. Neither she nor Chuff would have dared say such things to him when they were Roddy’s age. The lad didn’t always get away with it, of course. He had been lucky today.
On the gallery near the stairway, a stout woman in a striped buff-and-brown taffeta gown and petticoat over a wide oval hoop awaited them. Had the chatelaine of keys dangling from her waist not proclaimed her status, Pinkie would not have known her for the housekeeper. Her demeanor was as dignified as her attire was elegant. Her coiffure was simple but well powdered, and one could easily have mistaken her for a lady of consequence.
“Your ladyships,” she said, acknowledging Mary’s rank and that of the dowager with a gracious curtsy, “pray, allow me to show you to your bedchambers now. I have taken the liberty of ordering hot water for you, and for you, too, of course, Miss MacCrichton,” she added with a polite nod. “If you will all follow me, the stairs continue from this hall, just along here.”
As she spoke, she gestured toward a door on the opposite side of the grand stairway from where they stood. The gallery was semicircular, and at its center a corridor led away from the head of the grand stairway to other rooms.
The door to the stair hall matched the one through which they had entered the saloon.
“Thank you, Mrs. Peasley,” Mary said. “We appreciate your thoughtfulness.”
“It is my pleasure to serve you, my lady. This way.” She walked into the stair hall, moving with the ponderous grace of a ship at sail.
Small gilt chandeliers suspended from the ceiling at each half-landing lighted their way to the next floor.
When they entered the countess’s bedchamber, Mrs. Peasley said, “His lordship’s rooms are there just beyond yours to the west, my lady, overlooking the back garden and the park. Your dressing room adjoins his. That doorway on the other side leads to your sitting room, and I
Mary got up at once. “I must go up to them, then. Thank you, Roddy, for reminding me. You have been a very good laddie today, and I am quite pleased with you.” Shooting a speaking look at her still frowning husband, she added, “Pinkie, if Mama Agnes will excuse us both, perhaps you should come upstairs with me. We must make a list of questions to ask Maggie tomorrow.”
“I’ll go, too,” Lady Agnes said, glancing warily at her son and grandson. “We must ask Maggie to tell us where to find George Hitchcock’s silk warehouse. I have it on excellent authority that he sells the very best silks in all London—somewhere near St. Paul’s Cathedral, I believe.”
Duncan still had not spoken, and for once his son was showing the good sense to keep silent. Pinkie glanced at Chuff as she got up to follow Mary and the dowager, and she saw that he, too, was watching father and son.
Chuff smiled reassuringly at her, and as she left the room with the other ladies, she heard him say calmly, “I mean to walk in the garden myself, sir, just to stretch my legs after being in the saddle all day. If you like, I’ll keep an eye on the scamp whilst he explores a bit. ’Tis likely he’ll sleep better for the exercise after all the hours he’s spent this past week cooped up in the coach with his sisters.”
“Aye,” Duncan said evenly. “He’d better sleep well, for he is going to have a tutor just as soon as I can hire one—a good, strict man who will thrash him soundly when he gets up to mischief or fails to learn his lessons.”
“I dinna mind if he’s strict,” Roddy said cheerfully, “just so long as he knows all the best places to see in London. This is a fine city, is it not, sir? May I please go out with Chuff now?”
“Aye, rascal, you may, but do not let me hear about any misconduct or it will be the worse for you. Do you hear me?”
As the boy assured his father that he did, Pinkie shut the door, grateful to Chuff for intervening, and wondering what imp of Satan got into Roddy that he dared talk to Himself so. Neither she nor Chuff would have dared say such things to him when they were Roddy’s age. The lad didn’t always get away with it, of course. He had been lucky today.
On the gallery near the stairway, a stout woman in a striped buff-and-brown taffeta gown and petticoat over a wide oval hoop awaited them. Had the chatelaine of keys dangling from her waist not proclaimed her status, Pinkie would not have known her for the housekeeper. Her demeanor was as dignified as her attire was elegant. Her coiffure was simple but well powdered, and one could easily have mistaken her for a lady of consequence.
“Your ladyships,” she said, acknowledging Mary’s rank and that of the dowager with a gracious curtsy, “pray, allow me to show you to your bedchambers now. I have taken the liberty of ordering hot water for you, and for you, too, of course, Miss MacCrichton,” she added with a polite nod. “If you will all follow me, the stairs continue from this hall, just along here.”
As she spoke, she gestured toward a door on the opposite side of the grand stairway from where they stood. The gallery was semicircular, and at its center a corridor led away from the head of the grand stairway to other rooms.
The door to the stair hall matched the one through which they had entered the saloon.
“Thank you, Mrs. Peasley,” Mary said. “We appreciate your thoughtfulness.”
“It is my pleasure to serve you, my lady. This way.” She walked into the stair hall, moving with the ponderous grace of a ship at sail.
Small gilt chandeliers suspended from the ceiling at each half-landing lighted their way to the next floor.
When they entered the countess’s bedchamber, Mrs. Peasley said, “His lordship’s rooms are there just beyond yours to the west, my lady, overlooking the back garden and the park. Your dressing room adjoins his. That doorway on the other side leads to your sitting room, and I
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