Jessie assumed her to be the housekeeper. “I am not selling anything, mistress. I am visiting my cousin in these parts and I heard that you might wish to engage the services of a good worker.”
Craning her neck, Jessie peered into the grand hallway beyond. Never before had she been inside a place built with such vast coin. She reminded herself that the master of the house had gained this coin through wrongdoing, but still it was an impressive sight. As she glanced into the entrance hall a serving girl staggered down the staircase, a teetering pile of linens in her arms. As she reached the bottom of the staircase she missed her footing and dropped the stack.
Apparently Jessie’s spells were still functioning. She was pleased. It had been quite the challenge, and to see them working so well made her proud. It was because of her involvement with the man she had grown to care about. Her passion for Gregor was making her magical abilities blossom. If necessary, she could use her magic again. It would be a risk, but that would hasten things along, and the reward would be to see him unburdened.
“We only take servants from the village,” the woman at the door responded. “It is the rule of the house, set out by the mistress.” She looked Jessie up and down. “Mistress Wallace prefers to hire those that she knows, people who can be trusted.”
“I could begin now, Mistress…?”
Jessie silently chanted a spell, willing the housekeeper to let her pass over the threshold.
The woman continued to look dubious for a moment longer, then relinquished. “My name is Mistress Gilroy.”
“I could begin now, Mistress Gilroy.” She smiled and curtsied and made herself appear bright and amenable. “It seems as if you could do with the help.” She nodded her head at the serving girl beyond, who was now on her hands and knees, scrabbling for the linens strewn across the hall floor. From somewhere beyond, shouting erupted, and a large wolfhound scampered across the hallway and up the stairs, a young lad at his heels.
The housekeeper looked at the chaos within and back at Jessie with a frown. “Come in. The mistress has one of her headaches, but I will ask if she’ll take a look at you. Lord knows we could do with an extra pair of hands.”
Perhaps fate was lending a hand, for if the mistress had a headache it might be something Jessie could cure with a brew made from the lavender tops in the garden. She followed the housekeeper into the hall. It was a grand space with a neatly flagged floor. The dark, polished wood panels on the walls made her want to reach out and touch them. Colored light from the stained-glass window above the entrance filled the space. Gregor had told her this was where guests would arrive for parties and such, and it was most impressive. High up on the walls were numerous paintings, portraits of people, many them with scowling expressions.
“Wait here,” Mistress Gilroy instructed. She went into a parlor beyond, but left the door ajar. Jessie waited until the serving girl had picked up her load and scurried off, and then stepped closer to the door so that she might see inside the room.
Mistress Gilroy stood before a winged armchair, where a lady dressed entirely in black was sitting. A moment later the housekeeper came back to the door and gestured at her. “Come in. The mistress will see you.”
Jessie hastened over and stepped into the parlor. It was a lavishly furnished room with images of birds and trees painted on the walls. She had never seen the likes. Comfortable chairs with well-stuffed seats and fancy side tables filled the place to capacity. To her immediate right as she entered was a tall cabinet with different-colored woods on the front, like a picture—the prettiest thing she had ever seen. Close to the fire, which was lit despite the fact that the room was unbearably warm, the mistress sat in her armchair, a delicate lace handkerchief clutched to her cheek.
As Jessie was led in, the woman of the house closed the large book on her lap. Jessie noticed that it bore a gold cross on the front cover, and she recognized it as a Bible. Ivor Wallace’s wife wore black, looked unhappy and read the Bible.
“Good morning, ma’am.” Jessie curtsied.
The mistress did not smile, nor did her frown fade. “Have you experience of working in a house this large?”
“Not so large, ma’am, but I am a good worker.”
“It is not my usual way of conducting affairs, but I will give you a trial for one week. If you impress me, we will talk terms of employment. Is that understood?”
Jessie curtsied again. “Aye, ma’am, it is. I appreciate the opportunity.” She was about to add that Mistress would not regret giving her this chance, but she thought she probably would, so she did not say any more.
Mistress Wallace and the housekeeper then discussed which jobs might be assigned to Jessie during her trial. As they did, Jessie became aware that someone was watching. She turned slightly and looked back toward the door out of the corner of her eye. A man was out there, observing.
Was it he, Ivor Wallace, Gregor’s enemy?
When Mistress Wallace dismissed them and the housekeeper led her back into the hall, the man stepped out of the shadows and grasped Jessie around the upper arm with one hand. Her heart missed a beat. Tall and mean-looking, he was too young to be the master of the house, and was dressed in the garb of a servant. His bold stare bored into her relentlessly.
“Mistress Gilroy,” he barked, holding Jessie as if she was an unruly child he had caught running about. “Who is this?”
His uppity manner led her to believe that he was perhaps the master’s servant, because he held sway over the housekeeper.
“Jessie is on trial for a week. She will be helping out belowstairs. This is Cormac. He calls himself a valet, but none of us is quite sure what it is he does.” There was sarcasm in her voice as she made the introduction for Jessie’s benefit.
Cormac scowled at her, and released Jessie.
Instinctively, she backed away, staying close to the housekeeper. Cormac was a bad lot, and the way he looked at her made her uneasy. He continued to watch them as the housekeeper led her away. Jessie had a bad feeling about him, but she reminded herself that he was unimportant. It was only a matter of time until she would access the master of the house and begin her true work.
EIGHTEEN
GREGOR SOON DISCOVERED THAT IT WAS painfully hard to pass the time once Jessie was gone. He paced the floorboards in his quarters and found himself made uneasy by the fact that the place seemed empty without her presence. As if that were not enough to grate on his nerves and make him restless, he could not settle for wondering about her progress up at the house and, more to the point, whether she was safe.
Cursing aloud, he knew it shouldn’t matter to him. She was a whore whom he had hired to undertake a task. Nevertheless, it did matter. It mattered greatly. Pulling on his frock coat, he decided to pass the time at the ale counter instead.