“Beg pardon, Mrs. Crozier,” she said again. “I was that desperate for a job, and Mr. Fulton kindly offered to help. I’m sure no one meant to overstep your authority.”
“I can imagine how desperate you were, and just how you repaid Mr. Fulton for his favor,” Mrs. Crozier said waspishly.
“No!” Maddy said a little more sharply than she meant to, and the older woman gave her a suspicious look. “I worked for Mr. Fulton’s mother, and she asked him to find me a post away from the city.”
“Why?”
She’d worked this out ahead of time—she’d always had a fevered imagination. Not as impressive as Sophie or Bryony, but serviceable enough. “There was a gentleman,” she said. “A friend of the family. It seemed wisest that I simply disappear, move to a new place.”
“Ah, that face of yours,” Mrs. Crozier said knowingly, and it took all Maddy’s concentration not to grimace.
“I can’t help what I look like, Mrs. Crozier,” she said with only a trace of asperity. “I just need someplace quiet-like where I can work and not be bothered by anyone. This household should suit me fine.”
“Not even by Mr. Fulton?”
“Certainly not!”
Mrs. Crozier didn’t look entirely satisfied, but she nodded. “Then you may as well start. You won’t be getting any coddling from me. I’ll show you the attics and you can spend some time making a place for yourself before you start in on the public rooms.”
“Yes, Mrs. Crozier.” She was going to get extremely bored if the entirety of her conversational opportunities consisted of “yes, Mrs. Crozier,” and “no, Mrs. Crozier.”
“The post doesn’t come with uniforms—it’s too small a household, but it looks as if what you’re wearing will do. I’ll have fresh aprons and a cap for you.” She tilted her head sideways, like an old crow. “I don’t suppose there’s anything we can do about your face, is there?”
Not short of throwing lye on it. “No, Mrs. Crozier.”
“Well, keep your head down.”
Blast it; she needed to remember that anyway. She was a serf, a drudge, a maidservant, for heaven’s sake! If she had absorbed the information correctly, the more servants a household maintained, the more pride a servant might have in her employment. Which, given that she was the only maid, pretty well put her at the very bottom of the domestic social ladder.
“Yes, Mrs. Crozier.”
The housekeeper eyed her warily, as if expecting open rebellion, but Maddy simply plastered a docile expression on her face, waiting for her next set of instructions.
“You can put your shawl on the peg there and follow me.”
Hunch your shoulders, Maddy Rose, she reminded herself.
If the windows of the captain’s house had been grimy, the trip to the attic was even more depressing. Some effort had been made to keep the stairs and hallways clean, but she could see dust lurking in the corners, and the walls needed a good scrubbing. Once Mrs. Crozier opened the narrow door leading to the attic stairs, it took all her determination not to flinch.
“What’s that?” Maddy said, pointing to a moldering lump on the shadowy third step.
Mrs. Crozier moved closer, not touching it. “Probably a dead bat. You know what attics are like, having been in service. Bats are always a problem.” Climbing the first two steps, she prodded the lump with her foot and a noxious smell emanated from it.
“Bats?” She tried very hard not to stammer, but there was a small, nervous hitch in her voice. She wasn’t afraid of hard work, filth, or facing the man who might have murdered her father. Bats were another issue entirely.
Mrs. Crozier was watching her closely. “You don’t have a problem with bats, now do you? A strong Northern lass like you?”
At least her accent had worked, Mattie thought dimly. And there was no doubt at all that Mrs. Crozier was enjoying her discomfiture. “Of course not,” she said, her voice stronger. “Do you have rats as well?”
“The rat catcher comes in every month. The nasty creatures don’t come up here that much. They’re after the food stores.”
“The rats get into the food?” She couldn’t quite hide her horror.
“Hoity-toity, miss,” Mrs. Crozier snapped. “What kind of household do you think I run? There’s no way any kind of vermin can get into my kitchen. That doesn’t mean they won’t try.” She kicked the malodorous corpse again. “Are you going to clean it up?”
It was a test, but Maddy had no intention of being bullied. “Of course. But dead animals breed disease. I’ll use a rag. And where shall I put it?” In your bed, she thought, wistfully rebellious.
“Out the window, of course.”