Hugh pulled his watch from a waistcoat pocket. It was not yet noon. Today would be a long day, but tomorrow would be even worse. He dreaded the Christmas celebrations. The Dowager’s presence would send the Hall into a spin and Selena, Hugh’s sister, would chatter ceaselessly, not noticing how her brother’s head ached or how deeply he longed for solitude. She would seek to cheer the day with games and jests, unaware of a heart heavy with secret guilt, or the strain of each cold smile. Hugh must lay aside horror at the responsibility for Beatrice’s death and play the part of host.

Damn that nursemaid. She deserted John, just when he had most need of care. Damn the woman from the train…but Hugh knew not why. He knew so little about her, except that she lied. Nothing in the world angered him more than dishonesty.

Frustration overcame restraint. There will be no more deception in this house. Teeth clenched, Hugh flicked the whip along the mantelshelf. Candles clattered to the floor. He kicked them across the room. And no more lies.

Chapter Six

Philomena faced the ranks of Thatcham Hall household servants who stared, confusion written on every face. Ivy, the scullery maid, was the first to find a voice. “So you’re a girl, not a boy.” She drew the words out, trying to understand. Her lower lip stuck out. “Leading us on.”

Mrs. Rivers waved a bunch of keys aloft. “That’s enough, my girl. Now, get back to work, all of you.”

The maids turned away, disappointed that the spectacle had finished for the moment.

“Now,” the housekeeper continued, “I’m sure we’re all too busy to stand around gossiping, today of all days. Mrs. Bramble, we are all looking forward very much to the treats you have planned for us to eat over the next few days. While you continue the good work, I will take this young person into my sitting room and establish what to do. We do not wish to cause more trouble for Lord Thatcham at this sad time, now do we?”

Without another word, she shooed Philomena towards her sitting room and shot a glare at each member of the household, until each one returned to his or her duty. She led Philomena into the tiny, spotlessly clean sitting room that marked out the housekeeper as the senior female member of the household servants.

Once away from the rows of accusing eyes, Philomena struggled to keep tears at bay. She sniffed twice and dashed a hand across aching eyes. A few deep breaths helped to steady jangling nerves. Mrs. Rivers doubtless wanted a full explanation but, just at the moment, that was too much. Philomena would not embark on her life story today. Her eyes were heavy and sore from lack of sleep, and a headache raged round her skull.

Mrs. Rivers stood in silence for a long moment. She handed Philomena a glass of water and motioned to a chair. “You seem,” she said with a faint smile, “to be a young woman of resource. This world is not always easy for women alone. Men, I am afraid, do not always understand our difficulties. Lord Thatcham, the master here, has a good heart. Occasionally, appearances can be deceptive.” She smiled, repositioned a cushion neatly on a tiny armchair and settled down comfortably. “Many a master would have turned a soul away for such behaviour. Lady Beatrice would certainly have done so.” She blinked. “Poor Lady Beatrice,” she added, as though guilty of disloyalty.