Read Online Her Master's Touch by Patricia Watters - Free Book Online
Authors: Patricia Watters
Tags: Romance, Historical, english, England, Love Stories, British, London, Lady, Lord, India, Debutante, gypsy, london season, opal, london scene
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happen again. Besides, I’ve never worked in a wash
house. I don't know what to do."
"Then you shall learn." Sucking in a long
breath, Mrs. Throckmorton said, "On Mondays you sort clothes,
examine them for stains and soak them in a tub of water and slaked
lime. On Tuesdays and Wednesdays you rise before the gong and start
the fires under the coppers and boilers, then you boil the
garments, remove them from the coppers, rinse, rub and wring them.
You then refill the coppers and boilers and wash the clothes with
lye soap. The table linens are boiled in soda water, rinsed in hot
water, and hung to bleach in the sun. Thursdays and Fridays you
spend mangling, starching and ironing. Then you bring the
newly-washed laundry to me, where I will inspect it. Is everything
clear?"
Eliza hung her head. "Yes, Mrs.
Throckmorton." She ascended the stairs quickly, anxious to be away
from the loathsome woman.
In her room, she found her chamber mate,
Lekha, wrapping herself in a yellow sari. Lekha took one look at
her, and said, "I think you just get tongue lashing from Mrs.
Throckmorton."
Eliza explained what happened, leaving out
the kiss, but saying that she'd been caught with Lord Ravencroft in
his bedchamber. Lekha's eyes grew wide. "He jungli pagal
sahib —wild crazy man. Is talk he kill a man. He keep matched
guns, and he shoot canna lilies off stem. Bang, bang, bang, one
after another. If he in duel, he kill other man."
"Just because he owns dueling pistols does
not mean he killed someone," Eliza said, surprised to be defending
the man. "Many men own dueling pistols."
Lekha blinked several times. "Something
terrible happen here a long time ago," she said, "but no one know
what. Only hear talk that house hold terrible evil. That his lord
evil too."
Although Eliza vowed not to be drawn into the
servants’ prattle, the fact was, she knew something terrible had
happened at Shanti Bhavan when she was a child, something so
horrifying that her mind erased all memory of it from her mind.
Perhaps those memories were best left buried. As for Lord
Ravencroft... Few aristocrats moved to India without good reason.
India was for those without title or land, those who had to make
their own living. Those who had to flee the country. Still, she was
absolutely certain he was not capable of killing a man.
Fairly certain, that is. Wasn't she?
***
During her first week in the sweltering
confines of the wash house, Eliza thought she’d never suffered such
misery. Air redolent of slaked lime and hot wood ashes stung her
nostrils, brought tears to her eyes, and made her throat scratchy.
Her hands were raw from the caustic gray water, muscles in her back
ached from bending over the wash tubs, and her hair was a mass of
limp curls. After each day in the oppressive heat she was so
lethargic that while she lay in bed waiting for Lekha to fall
asleep so she could search for the opal, she too would fall asleep
and not awaken until the six o'clock gong announced another day of
drudgery. By week's end, she feared she might not accomplish her
goal. But she wasn't ready to abandon her mission yet.
Two nights later, as she left the washhouse,
the distant strains of gypsy music drifted on the night wind. She
had no idea when the gypsies had arrived, but she felt an urge to
follow the sound. The moon was bright so she had no trouble finding
her way. Following a path leading in the direction of the music,
she scurried ahead, only to come to an end where she found a stone
pedestal that looked as if it had been the base for a statue...
...outstretched arms... blood-red arms..
blood-red eyes.. outstretched arms...
A portent of dark foreboding enveloped her.
Was she going mad? There was nothing but a stone structure and a
vacant pedestal... Blood-red ...
She backed away, turned and fled. By the time
she'd returned to the wash house to where she'd left another trail
that led in the direction of the music, she couldn't remember what
had frightened her. It was,
house. I don't know what to do."
"Then you shall learn." Sucking in a long
breath, Mrs. Throckmorton said, "On Mondays you sort clothes,
examine them for stains and soak them in a tub of water and slaked
lime. On Tuesdays and Wednesdays you rise before the gong and start
the fires under the coppers and boilers, then you boil the
garments, remove them from the coppers, rinse, rub and wring them.
You then refill the coppers and boilers and wash the clothes with
lye soap. The table linens are boiled in soda water, rinsed in hot
water, and hung to bleach in the sun. Thursdays and Fridays you
spend mangling, starching and ironing. Then you bring the
newly-washed laundry to me, where I will inspect it. Is everything
clear?"
Eliza hung her head. "Yes, Mrs.
Throckmorton." She ascended the stairs quickly, anxious to be away
from the loathsome woman.
In her room, she found her chamber mate,
Lekha, wrapping herself in a yellow sari. Lekha took one look at
her, and said, "I think you just get tongue lashing from Mrs.
Throckmorton."
Eliza explained what happened, leaving out
the kiss, but saying that she'd been caught with Lord Ravencroft in
his bedchamber. Lekha's eyes grew wide. "He jungli pagal
sahib —wild crazy man. Is talk he kill a man. He keep matched
guns, and he shoot canna lilies off stem. Bang, bang, bang, one
after another. If he in duel, he kill other man."
"Just because he owns dueling pistols does
not mean he killed someone," Eliza said, surprised to be defending
the man. "Many men own dueling pistols."
Lekha blinked several times. "Something
terrible happen here a long time ago," she said, "but no one know
what. Only hear talk that house hold terrible evil. That his lord
evil too."
Although Eliza vowed not to be drawn into the
servants’ prattle, the fact was, she knew something terrible had
happened at Shanti Bhavan when she was a child, something so
horrifying that her mind erased all memory of it from her mind.
Perhaps those memories were best left buried. As for Lord
Ravencroft... Few aristocrats moved to India without good reason.
India was for those without title or land, those who had to make
their own living. Those who had to flee the country. Still, she was
absolutely certain he was not capable of killing a man.
Fairly certain, that is. Wasn't she?
***
During her first week in the sweltering
confines of the wash house, Eliza thought she’d never suffered such
misery. Air redolent of slaked lime and hot wood ashes stung her
nostrils, brought tears to her eyes, and made her throat scratchy.
Her hands were raw from the caustic gray water, muscles in her back
ached from bending over the wash tubs, and her hair was a mass of
limp curls. After each day in the oppressive heat she was so
lethargic that while she lay in bed waiting for Lekha to fall
asleep so she could search for the opal, she too would fall asleep
and not awaken until the six o'clock gong announced another day of
drudgery. By week's end, she feared she might not accomplish her
goal. But she wasn't ready to abandon her mission yet.
Two nights later, as she left the washhouse,
the distant strains of gypsy music drifted on the night wind. She
had no idea when the gypsies had arrived, but she felt an urge to
follow the sound. The moon was bright so she had no trouble finding
her way. Following a path leading in the direction of the music,
she scurried ahead, only to come to an end where she found a stone
pedestal that looked as if it had been the base for a statue...
...outstretched arms... blood-red arms..
blood-red eyes.. outstretched arms...
A portent of dark foreboding enveloped her.
Was she going mad? There was nothing but a stone structure and a
vacant pedestal... Blood-red ...
She backed away, turned and fled. By the time
she'd returned to the wash house to where she'd left another trail
that led in the direction of the music, she couldn't remember what
had frightened her. It was,
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