.”
Only a pompous prig would overlook the local girls in favour of those who’d worked in London’s best houses. Then again, if Stokes and Mrs Gripes were examples of the servants one could expect to hire, Rose couldn’t blame him for looking elsewhere.
“Come, now. There’s no point discussing this out in the cold.” Mrs Hibbet scanned Rose’s cloak and the linen bag she held in her hand. “Is that all the luggage you’ve brought with you? My, I’m surprised your previous master didn’t confiscate your boot laces. Do you have your references?”
References!
Rose swallowed. “Sorry, no. I have nothing in my bag but a few coins and something to eat.” How on earth was she to explain her predicament without confessing all? “I … I thought the major had sent them on.”
The lie fell from her lips with ease. Why she kept up the charade was beyond her?
Mrs Hibbet’s expression brightened. “Never mind.” She put her arm around Rose’s shoulder. “Let’s get you inside. We’ll say someone stole your luggage from the mail coach. Once the master hears you speak, he’ll know he’s hired quality.”
Rose opened her mouth to protest — to tell some semblance of the truth — but no words came out. Since as far back as she could remember, she’d been a disappointment. While the Darbys were renowned for their rich, ebony locks, Rose wore her golden tresses with shame. After all, her father believed her to be the daughter of the groom or the footman or any other poor soul with whom her mother happened to converse.
“Now, it will be an early start in the morning,” Mrs Hibbet continued. “We’re so short of staff you’ll be the parlour-maid, the chambermaid, and have jobs to do in the laundry.”
The housekeeper hugged Rose’s arm. The caring gesture made her heart swell.
Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to help the woman during these trying times. Rose stared at the mansion’s imposing facade. When her father reached Morton Manor, Mrs Gripes would inform him that his rebellious daughter had fled to London. No one would think to search this house looking for a maid.
But she had to warn Nicole.
“The major always insisted we take a brisk walk before our daily duties,” Rose said.
In the daylight, she’d find her way to the manor, find a way to inform Nicole that the earl was staying at The Talbot Inn, and race back before anyone stirred from their beds.
“Good Lord.” Mrs Hibbet shook her head. “There’s no one awake at five except for the birds.”
“Five?”
“I don’t know the details of your daily schedule with the major, but your duties here begin at six, sharp.” Mrs Hibbet pursed her lips. “A walk is the last thing you’ll want after just a few hours’ sleep.”
At the mere mention of sleep, Rose put her hand to her mouth to stifle a yawn. In a matter of hours, Mrs Hibbet expected to see her awake, dressed, and ready to do a full day’s work. If she planned on taking a trip to the manor, it would be helpful to know if Mrs Hibbet knew a quicker route.
“A man on the mail coach spoke of an old asylum nearby,” Rose said as the housekeeper ushered her in through the servants’ entrance. “How far is it to Morton Manor?”
“Saints preserve us.” Mrs Hibbet made the sign of the cross. She glanced behind them as they made their way along the corridor as if the ghosts of the mentally deranged followed behind. “We don’t speak of that place here. Not ever.”
A cold shiver ran down Rose’s spine.
She’d spent two hundred nights in that grim house. Yes, the icy breeze often appeared from nowhere. Yes, her heart raced and the hairs on her nape prickled for no reason at all.
“If I go for a brisk walk at dawn, is it safe to venture into the woods?”
Mrs Hibbet opened a door and gestured for Rose to enter the small bedchamber. “There’s a path over the stile that leads to the village, though no one’s used it for some time. Best not wander too far.” She clapped her hands. “Now, I’ll go and find you a nightgown, though I can’t promise it will fit.”
Rose slipped off her cloak, eager to climb into bed and rest her weary bones. “Is there fresh water to wash?”
“You can find it yourself if you follow the corridor to the kitchen.” The housekeeper gestured to one of two beds. “Jane’s gone home to Abberton to nurse her dying mother and won’t be back for a week. You’ll have the room to yourself till then.”
“Thank you, Mrs Hibbet.” Rose forced a smile. Her lids were heavy with the need to sleep, and her limbs felt as though they were no longer part of her body.
“I’ll get you some ointment for those scratches on your hand and salt to bathe your feet.”
Dawn would be upon them by the time Rose had taken care of her ablutions.
“Do you have a name?” Mrs Hibbet asked. “I can’t be calling ‘my dear’ down the stairs, now can I?”