Read Online Secrets of Sloane House by Shelley Gray - Free Book Online Page B

there was the added stress of having to rush through more than a few unfamiliar chores. First, she’d been called to help iron Veronica’s gowns before dawn. The process of heating irons and carefully pressing each voluminous layer was a stressful, painstaking one. A girl with an indelicate hand could scorch a gown within seconds. That, of course, would cause the fabric irreparable damage, as well as the loss of a job with no reference.
    It also meant a thorough scolding from Mrs. Abrams.
    With all that in mind, it took double the time for Rosalind to press a gown than it did for anyone else. Which, of course, caused her to fall behind on her other chores.
    When she finished the ironing at last, she tripped on the rug while helping to set the table for a luncheon. Only the quick hand of Jerome prevented her from dropping the stack of plates she was carrying.
    While the family had their luncheon, she was sent to help Emma prepare a guest room in the west wing.
    While she was rushing to help Emma, she managed to spill ash on the carpet. Which necessitated Emma preparing the room by herself while Rosalind cleaned the stain.
    “I really am sorry,” she said to Emma. “I don’t know what happened. I am usually not so clumsy.”
    Emma sniffed. “Are you certain about that?”
    After the briefest of breaks, Rosalind responded with a good dose of apprehension when she was summoned to help tidy the conservatory.
    “Will you be able to handle this on your own, Rosalind?” Mrs. Abrams asked, a healthy bit of impatience and doubt lacing her tone. “Miss Veronica is expecting a dozen women to attend, some of whom are very important.”
    The conservatory was only named so because of a lumbering, somewhat garishly painted harp in the corner. Otherwise, its purpose seemed to be to display Mrs. Sloane’s collection of gilt clocks and porcelain figurines. Every tabletop and shelf held either a ticking clock or a pair of shepherdesses. All seemed to attract dust like honey attracted bees. “Yes, ma’am.”
    If the formidable woman heard the doubt in Rosalind’s voice, she gave no sign of it. “Good,” she said. However, on her way out the door, the housekeeper threw one more warning over her shoulder.“And do try to be quick about this. The party will begin at the top of the hour.”
    “Yes, ma’am,” Rosalind repeated, hastily brushing the harp with her feather duster just before Mrs. Abrams turned back.
    “By the way, I’m still confused by Nanci’s illness. When did she fall ill? Was she sick last night? This morning?”
    Rosalind shrugged. “I’m not sure, ma’am. She seemed fine last night. At least, she did when I went to sleep.”
    Mrs. Abrams narrowed her eyes. “You two didn’t eat anything strange at the fair, did you?”
    “I don’t believe so, ma’am. Though we didn’t eat exactly the same things . . .”
    “I suppose it doesn’t really matter who ate what when, does it?” Mrs. Abrams muttered. “Not when we’re all working as best we can to keep this house running efficiently.”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “Well, tut, tut. Finish the dusting as quickly as you can. I’ll return shortly with the tea service.”
    Frustrated with herself, Rosalind glanced at one of the clocks decorating the gold-and-ivory-wallpapered room. She had twenty minutes.
    She pulled out a clean rag and prayed that her fingers wouldn’t suddenly slip each time she painstakingly picked up a delicately carved clock, china vase, or scantily clad porcelain woman.
    Ten minutes later, Lolly, the tweeny, ran in with an armful of linen napkins. “Sorry it took me so long to bring these to you,” she said. “Things are a bit backed up in the laundry.”
    “That’s all right,” Rosalind said as she rested them in the center of the coffee table, where she assumed the tea service would sit.
    “I’m supposed to stay and help you,” Lolly said nervously. “What do you want me to do?”
    Rosalind bit her lip. Unfortunately, Lolly