Read Online Emily Goes to Exeter by M. C. Beaton - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: M. C. Beaton
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You must rouse yourself and help me prepare breakfast.’
‘I!’ said Emily aghast. ‘I, work in a common inn kitchen? No, I thank you. I would rather starve.’ She pulled the blankets over her head.
‘In that case you will starve!’ said Hannah. ‘If you are not prepared to work, then you will not be allowed to eat.’ She went out and slammed the door behind her.
Lord Harley heard the indomitable Hannah rousing Mrs Bradley and Mrs Bisley. He heard her tell them that there were no servants and that she was in need of help. He picked up his watch and looked at it by the light of the rushlight beside his bed. Seven o’clock. He groaned. But she had the right of it. Everyone must help. He swung his long legs out of bed and then twisted around and looked at the sleeping Mr Fletcher. The lawyer lay calmly asleep. His face looked younger with the lines smoothed away. Lord Harley decided to leave him. Wouldn’t be of much help anyway, he thought.
Emily did not go back to sleep. At first she felt tearful. Here she was in a strange inn with that monster somewhere about and she was expected to work like a common servant. It was too bad.
Then she heard Mrs Bradley’s voice from the corridor. ‘Right you are, Miss Pym, m’dear. Just get my duds on and I’ll be with you in a trice.’ And then the sleepy voice of Mrs Bisley: ‘I shall be there, too, Miss Pym. Give me but twenty minutes.’
The beginnings of an awakening conscience stabbed at Emily. She got out of bed and studied the little amount of cold water left in the cans on the toilet table. She rang the bell and waited. Back down in the kitchen, Hannah looked up at the swinging bell and tightened her lips. Miss Freemantle would soon find there was no one to wait on her.
Emily washed herself as best she could and brushed her short hair till it shone. She noticed all her clothes had been hung away but assumed the servants had done it while she was asleep. She lifted out a blue kerseymere wool gown. It was high-waisted with a high neck and long sleeves. She put on two petticoats and woollen stockings and half-boots before putting the dress on.
Emily pushed open the door and went into the dining-room. It was cold and dark. She went through to the coffee room. A fire was blazing brightly. She shivered and went to stand in front of it.
The door of the coffee room opened. Lord Ranger Harley came in and stood for a moment watching Emily.
She was standing looking into the flames, one little booted foot on the fender. Then, as if conscious of his gaze, she slowly turned and looked at him, her eyes widening with fear.
‘Miss Freemantle,’ he said coldly, ‘before you start to scream or indulge in any further stupid behaviour, let me make one thing very plain: having met you, I would not marry you if you were the last woman on earth.’
The fear left her eyes and she looked at him in ludicrous amazement. ‘You are … you are sure?’
‘Of course, you widgeon. What man of any sophistication and breeding would want a silly little schoolgirl?’
Her eyes flashed. ‘I am out of the schoolroom this age, sir!’
‘But your behaviour is not. Where is the excellent Miss Pym?’
‘I believe she is in the kitchen.’
‘And in need of help?’
‘So I believe. But I do not see why—’
‘Then shall we join her?’
Emily had been about to say she did not see why she, a lady, should be expected to work in an inn kitchen, but something told her that Lord Harley would despise her further for that remark. Never in her short life had anyone ever despised or disliked Emily. She had been cosseted and feted and petted from the day she was born.
‘I do not know where the kitchen is,’ she said.
‘But I do. Follow me.’
Emily reluctantly followed him through to the kitchen. Hannah was cutting slices of bacon, and Mrs Bisley was frying sausages. Mrs Bradley was out in the scullery, scrubbing the boiled clothes on a washboard.
‘More help here,’ said Lord
‘I!’ said Emily aghast. ‘I, work in a common inn kitchen? No, I thank you. I would rather starve.’ She pulled the blankets over her head.
‘In that case you will starve!’ said Hannah. ‘If you are not prepared to work, then you will not be allowed to eat.’ She went out and slammed the door behind her.
Lord Harley heard the indomitable Hannah rousing Mrs Bradley and Mrs Bisley. He heard her tell them that there were no servants and that she was in need of help. He picked up his watch and looked at it by the light of the rushlight beside his bed. Seven o’clock. He groaned. But she had the right of it. Everyone must help. He swung his long legs out of bed and then twisted around and looked at the sleeping Mr Fletcher. The lawyer lay calmly asleep. His face looked younger with the lines smoothed away. Lord Harley decided to leave him. Wouldn’t be of much help anyway, he thought.
Emily did not go back to sleep. At first she felt tearful. Here she was in a strange inn with that monster somewhere about and she was expected to work like a common servant. It was too bad.
Then she heard Mrs Bradley’s voice from the corridor. ‘Right you are, Miss Pym, m’dear. Just get my duds on and I’ll be with you in a trice.’ And then the sleepy voice of Mrs Bisley: ‘I shall be there, too, Miss Pym. Give me but twenty minutes.’
The beginnings of an awakening conscience stabbed at Emily. She got out of bed and studied the little amount of cold water left in the cans on the toilet table. She rang the bell and waited. Back down in the kitchen, Hannah looked up at the swinging bell and tightened her lips. Miss Freemantle would soon find there was no one to wait on her.
Emily washed herself as best she could and brushed her short hair till it shone. She noticed all her clothes had been hung away but assumed the servants had done it while she was asleep. She lifted out a blue kerseymere wool gown. It was high-waisted with a high neck and long sleeves. She put on two petticoats and woollen stockings and half-boots before putting the dress on.
Emily pushed open the door and went into the dining-room. It was cold and dark. She went through to the coffee room. A fire was blazing brightly. She shivered and went to stand in front of it.
The door of the coffee room opened. Lord Ranger Harley came in and stood for a moment watching Emily.
She was standing looking into the flames, one little booted foot on the fender. Then, as if conscious of his gaze, she slowly turned and looked at him, her eyes widening with fear.
‘Miss Freemantle,’ he said coldly, ‘before you start to scream or indulge in any further stupid behaviour, let me make one thing very plain: having met you, I would not marry you if you were the last woman on earth.’
The fear left her eyes and she looked at him in ludicrous amazement. ‘You are … you are sure?’
‘Of course, you widgeon. What man of any sophistication and breeding would want a silly little schoolgirl?’
Her eyes flashed. ‘I am out of the schoolroom this age, sir!’
‘But your behaviour is not. Where is the excellent Miss Pym?’
‘I believe she is in the kitchen.’
‘And in need of help?’
‘So I believe. But I do not see why—’
‘Then shall we join her?’
Emily had been about to say she did not see why she, a lady, should be expected to work in an inn kitchen, but something told her that Lord Harley would despise her further for that remark. Never in her short life had anyone ever despised or disliked Emily. She had been cosseted and feted and petted from the day she was born.
‘I do not know where the kitchen is,’ she said.
‘But I do. Follow me.’
Emily reluctantly followed him through to the kitchen. Hannah was cutting slices of bacon, and Mrs Bisley was frying sausages. Mrs Bradley was out in the scullery, scrubbing the boiled clothes on a washboard.
‘More help here,’ said Lord
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