Never Trust a Pirate (Scandal at the House of Russell 2)

Mrs. Crozier wasn’t far off. Maddy’s dark hair was falling in loose waves from the tidy white hat that looked just a bit like a nightcap, and she was flushed from toiling over the hot sink. Of course her arms were red up to her elbows, and she quickly rolled down the sleeves of her dress, thankful she wouldn’t have to pull those blasted sleeve covers over it. That was for heavy work, and with luck her heavy work for the night was done.

Exchanging her wet apron, she scurried back up to the dining room. The linen tablecloth had already been set out, as well as the cutlery, and she went to work, ignoring the pain in her feet as she set six places with a shocking minimum of flatware. The tablecloth was excellent quality, the glassware all crystal from Ireland, the china a politically questionable Limoges. Exquisite, all of it, she thought, looking around her.

The disgruntled Wilf had appeared, uniformed this time, though the livery was ill-fitting. “Watcher looking for?” he demanded, surveying the table with a reluctant sniff of approval.

She turned. “A centerpiece of some kind. An epergne, perhaps?”

“What’s an epergne?”

Rats! That wasn’t that uncommon a piece, was it? “A silver or gold centerpiece? With little baskets or bowls or candleholders?” she said hopefully.

“Naaah,” he said after much consideration. “Don’t think so. Happen the captain doesn’t like things in the middle of the table. He says it gets in the way of seeing people.”

Good point, Maddy thought grudgingly, remembering all the dinner parties when she was closed in by flowers and candles and unable to see anyone across the table. And the ones across the table tended to be the most interesting, even if you were supposed to confine your conversation to the guests flanking you. “Surely there’s something low we can use. The table looks too… austere.”

Wilf just looked at her, and she had the sneaking suspicion he didn’t understand the word. And then she remembered dusting a beautiful ceramic bowl in the salon, one done in shades of blue and red by an artist from a foreign country. The signature was Asian, and she suspected the bowl was Japanese, but not the common stuff that flooded the market. This was something particularly beautiful.

“Don’t worry—I’ve got an idea.”

Fortunately no one had arrived in the salon as yet, though she thought she could hear voices from the front hallway. She snatched up the bowl and dashed back into the servant’s quarters, to the butler’s pantry just beyond the dining room.

Filling the bowl with fresh water, she racked her brains for the sight of the back garden. She’d noticed at least some flowers blooming in the back. She would have to make do.

The spring air was cool and crisp, and something seemed to have dragged the bat’s corpse away, thank God. It was early in the year, but there were daffodils and tulips in bloom, and she cut a handful, hurrying back in to avoid Mrs. Crozier’s evil eye. She arranged the flowers, swiftly and perfectly, so that they floated softly. If there was one thing she excelled at in the so-called feminine arts, it was arranging flowers. She was ghastly at needlework, hopeless at cooking, but give her a container and flowers and she could create a masterpiece.

They were already in the salon. She could hear an elderly male voice, slightly loud, slightly bombastic, and immediately decided he must be the captain. She set her creation down in the middle of the table and dashed back to the kitchen and Mrs. Crozier’s unnecessary demands.

All should have gone perfectly. Wilf carried course after course up to the dining room while Mrs. Crozier cooked and Maddy scrubbed at the pots and pans and dishes as they were returned to the kitchen. The waste was extraordinary—apparently Mrs. Crozier’s cooking skills matched her sunny temperament, and Maddy dutifully scraped everything into the slop pail.

“We’ll keep that inside for the night, until the farmer comes to get it for his pigs.”

“Why?” she said, looking down at the unappealing mass of foods mixed together. “Are you afraid it will draw wild animals?”

“It’ll draw children, and they’re worse,” said Mrs. Crozier. “Once they know they can find food here they’ll be loitering about all the time, hunting for scraps.”

“You’d rather feed pigs than starving children?” There was no way Maddy could keep the outrage from her voice.

“You can eat pigs once you fatten them up.”

Maddy was, quite fortunately, speechless, or she would have been fired on the spot, never having set eyes on the suspicious captain. Before she could regain her ability to speak and therefore blast Mrs. Crozier with her rage, a loud crash was heard from the dining room.

“Oh, gawd, what’s Wilfrid done now?” Starving, inedible children were forgotten as Mrs. Crozier spun around. “That fool man is always dropping things. You’ll have to go out and help him clean up. And keep your face down—I know what men are like, and even though the captain wouldn’t dare to trifle with his own maidservant with his fiancée looking on, that face of yours could change a man’s mind. Go along, now.”

Maddy could barely contain her excitement. She was finally coming face to face with her nemesis. Quickly rolling down her sleeves, she dashed up the stairs, heading for the green baize door that led to the butler’s pantry and on to the dining room, with Mrs. Crozier chasing after her holding a fresh apron. “And tuck that hair under your cap again. Or you’ll have to cut it all off.”

There was no way in hell that was going to happen, Maddy thought mutinously, taking a deep breath. A moment later she found herself pushed through the door into the narrow butler’s pantry, and then on out into the dining room.

Her eyes first went to Wilf, who was on his knees trying to scoop up broken dishes onto the heavy silver tray. He looked up at her and rose, pulling his ill-fitting uniform down with affronted dignity, as if she was the one who’d made the mess. “Clean that up, girl,” he said dismissively.

She didn’t hesitate, dropping to her knees and picking up the shattered pieces of Limoges. It had been beautiful china, and she wanted to weep at Wilf’s clumsiness as shard after shard of destroyed beauty was laid to rest on the silver tray with appropriate gravity.

“Beg pardon, captain,” he was saying. “The girl is new and she obviously didn’t polish the tray correctly. The handles were slippery.”

Maddy’s back stiffened in outrage, her mouth open to protest, but she shut it again, keeping her head down. Maybe, just maybe if she took all the abuse the Croziers felt like dishing out they’d stop trying to sabotage her. She’d always assumed servants stood up for each other, though Bryony had mentioned dealing with arguments and conflict even in the harmonious Russell households.

“Fire the girl.” The elderly, pompous voice, the one she’d heard earlier, came from the dinner table, and she looked up in horror, certain she was finished before she’d even begun

if the captain himself was firing her.