Read Online Carla Kelly by The Ladys Companion - Free Book Online Page B

shoulders. Whatever her reluctance about a lady’s companion, Lady Bushnell did not allow anyone to stint on coal in her household. It was a pleasant room, too, low-ceilinged, with two chairs drawn up companionably by the fireplace, and a footstool. A sampler hung by the door that must lead into a dressing room. Her eyes still dazzled by the snow, she squinted at the writing.
    “For he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways,” she read, wondering what young daughter or granddaughter had labored over the work, and remembering her own purgatory with thread and needle. Susan rested her chin on her knees. “I could use an angel,” she said. Someone knocked on the door and she smiled. My angel, she thought as she called “Come” from her window seat perch.
    If the young woman who came into the room carrying a brass can was an angel, then the Lord had a good eye for competence. She was round and solid like the buildings on the holding itself, firmly planted to remain. She set the can by the washstand and placed the dress draped over her arm on the bed.
    “I’m Cora,” she said and took a deep breath. “Mr. Wiggins isn’t so sure that he can get through to Quilling to fetch your trunk, what with the new snow, and he told my mum to find you a dress for a day or two. My mum’s the housekeeper,” she finished in a rush of words. She looked at the dress doubtfully. “But I don’t think it will fit. Mr. Wiggins said he thought you had a waist small enough to span with his hands, and begging your pardon, ma’am, there’s nobody but Lady Bushnell who has a waist that size, and she isn’t loaning out clothes to any lady’s companion.”
    “I shouldn’t imagine,” Susan murmured, coming out of the window seat and wondering what else Mr. Wiggins thought. She held up the dress. “I’m certain it will do, if you can find me a sash of some sort.” She smiled then, and held out her hand. “I’m Susan Hampton, the
final
lady’s companion.”
    Cora giggled. “No one’s ever said that before!”
    “Perhaps it’s time someone did.” Oh, brave words, she thought, and here I stand with my knees practically knocking. “How many have there been?”
    “Lots,” Cora replied, ticking them off her fingers. “There was the one who cried all the time because she was homesick, the one who ran off with the tinkers, the one who put Bible verses about hell and brimstone all around the place, the one who stole the spoons, the one . . .”
    “Goodness, I think that’s enough,” Susan said. She sat down on the bed. “Stole spoons?”
    “Lady Bushnell’s very own apostle spoons,” Cora said, and giggled again. “Tucked them right up her sleeves and in other places Mum says I shouldn’t mention.”
    “Heavens!”
    “I haven’t even told you about the others. There was . . .”
    “Perhaps it can wait,” Susan broke in, eager to change the subject. “Cora, am I too late for breakfast? I really didn’t mean to sleep so long.”
    “We keep early hours here, but Mr. Wiggins told Mum you needed to sleep and not to wake you.”
    “And I suppose he’s been up for hours.”
    “Mum doesn’t think he sleeps ever. But when you’re dressed, follow your nose to the kitchen. Mum saved some breakfast for you.” Cora went to the door. “There’s lavender soap by the basin, and if you’re needing it, I can find you a hairbrush.”
    “I have one, thank you.”
    “I can brush it sometime, if you like,” she offered, her face shy with the suggestion, her eyes bright to please. “I disremember when I’ve seen hair so black before, and thick.”
    It
is
nice hair, Susan told herself after Cora left. She hadn’t taken the time to braid it last night, and it was all tangled around her shoulders. Mama used to brush it until it crackled, she remembered. I would sit between her knees. . . . Oh, that was nice. She took her hairbrush from her reticule and began to brush her hair in front of