If only she would tell him the truth. Why would she not disclose the true reason for her flight from London? Hugh shivered as an icy trickle of something like fear ran down his back. Was there something truly terrible in Philomena’s past? What could such a young person have done? Surely, in the light of their new understanding, she could tell him. If not, how could he dare to trust her?

She moved around John’s room, smiling at the bedtime story with that irresistible, too-wide mouth, her face gentle and tender. Perhaps Hugh put too much emphasis on truth. After all, he had told no one the true story of Beatrice’s betrayal. He had secrets. Why should Philomena not? She believed Hugh was innocent of any crime, despite the rumours and gossip that swirled around the village. Whatever her secret might be, it could be no worse than those lies. If Philomena could show faith in Hugh, perhaps he should trust her in return.

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

Philomena and John clattered downstairs. John insisted on a daily visit to the kitchen in search of the company of the admiring servants and the possibility of getting greedy fingers on forbidden titbits of food. The kitchen, as always, was a-bustle with activity. To Philomena’s eyes, new to life in a country house, it seemed that the staff undertook each day a carefully planned dance. It had no beginning and no end, but each person knew his or her steps and performed them neatly, weaving intricate patterns on the ground.

The dancers accompanied their own steps.

“Ivy, take care with that dish.”

“Mrs. Bramble, her Ladyship would like an extra muffin this morning, if you please.”

“Where do you think you might be going with that tray before you’ve laid it properly?”

The dance paused when John entered and the rhythm changed. The young master became the centre of attention. Once he had been offered a variety of treats, and had selected bread and honey, the relentless stream of daily tasks continued.

James strolled graciously across to speak to Philomena. A young man of above medium height and with a strong build, his dark good looks suited the position of footman in a great country house. His brains were not up to the standard of his appearance, but since he spent much of his day standing in the hall looking handsome, opening doors and handing letters on silver salvers, intellect did not matter. He sometimes unbent enough to chase John round the yard, an activity that usually ended with John in a puddle. At that moment, James would make himself scarce to avoid a scolding.

Today, however, a smug smile played across the footman’s face. “You will be pleased with me, Miss Philomena.” James always emphasised the “Miss.” He liked to remind the newcomer of her undignified first appearance in the kitchen, dressed in man’s clothes.

“Why, what have you done?” she asked.