“Yes,” I said. “What happens when they check my references?”
Ginny smirked. “The Hiring Hall is supposed to check your references before putting you in front of prospective employers,” she said. “I made sure to add a note that we checked with Lady Younghusband’s estate manager before we started to look for a place for you. If they check themselves ... well, the estate manager is the one who gave you the character. He’ll be happy to vouch for you.”
“You paid him to say I was attached to that household,” I said, slowly. “And what if they check with Lady Younghusband herself?”
“They won’t,” Ginny said, confidently. “There was a reason Lady Younghusband had to leave the city in a tearing hurry. And even if they do” - she shrugged - “the poor woman won’t know you or any of her real scullery maids personally. She’ll redirect the query to the man who gave you the character in the first place.”
It seemed a little fragile to me, but I didn’t see any other option. “And my early life?”
Ginny tapped the file. “Read it,” she said. “You cannot afford a slip up until you’re safely established in Bolingbroke Hall.”
I took the paper and skimmed it, thoughtfully. Rebecca Constant had been born in South Shallot - or, at least, she’d been abandoned there. Her parents - the couple who’d taken her in - had treated her kindly, but never tried to pretend she was their child. They’d owned a small shop, which had been destroyed during the House War. Rebecca Constant was an orphan twice over. There was nothing to suggest that she was anything other than what she seemed: a young girl, sent into service as soon as she decently could, who had lost her parents in a horrific tragedy. I hoped House Bolingbroke wouldn’t look too closely. Ginny could forge paperwork, but she couldn’t cause family and friends - the people who would have known Rebecca Constant as a child - to spring into existence.
But I’ll be a scullery maid , I thought. No one looks too closely at scullery maids .
“I should be able to handle it,” I said. It was cleverer than it looked. “What now?”
Ginny unslung the bag. “Now we get you changed and ready to go,” she said. “I’ve already sent a note to Bolingbroke Hall to tell them we’re coming.”
She opened the bag, revealing a long white dress and underclothes suitable for a prospective maid. “These should be roughly the right size,” she said. “Put them on. Let me see how you look.”
I undressed slowly and changed into the dress. It felt rough against my skin. My mother had had a similar dress, if I recalled correctly. She’d worn it at parties and dances before she’d met my father and fell pregnant. Her mother had given it to her when she’d turned sixteen, saying that even the poorest girl should have at least one nice dress. I wondered, sometimes, if my grandmother regretted buying it. But then, my mother would have had more problems if she hadn’t had something nice to wear.
And if she got a job, the dress might repay itself a hundred times over , I thought, as I checked my appearance in the mirror. Ginny stood behind me, brushing my hair. She wouldn’t just wear the dress to parties ...
I felt a stab of pain that had nothing to do with Master Travis’s death. I’d never been invited to street parties and gatherings, even though my stepfather had declared me an adult. No parent wanted their sons to court me, not when my skin and lack of ancestors marked me as someone to avoid. Clive had been wrong. His parents would not have accepted me as a daughter-in-law, no matter what I did. And there was nothing he could do about it.
“Stay calm,” Ginny said. She produced a pair of scissors. “Hold still ...”
Ginny was good, I admitted, as she cut my hair and then put a little make-up on my face. It darkened my skin, drawing attention to my neck and bust rather than my eyes. The dress showed none of my bare skin below the neck, but it was tight enough to draw the eye. I remembered Reginald’s eyes crawling over me and shuddered. Perhaps I should wear something a little low-cut. He wouldn’t recognise me if he never lifted his eyes from my chest.
And then he might have something else in mind , I reminded myself. And no one will take my side if something does happen .
“You look very different,” Ginny said. “What do you think?”
“I don’t recognise myself,” I said, as Ginny passed me the make-up. “I think ... I think you’re right. He’s not going to recognise me.”
“Just keep your head down,” Ginny said. “And don’t be over-familiar with the household.”
She kept up a steady stream of warnings as we walked down the stairs and climbed into a carriage. I did my best to listen to the endless instructions - do not enter a private room unless summoned, do not speak until spoken to, do not address the family by name - and keep them all straight. I’d been spoilt, I thought numbly. Master Travis had definitely allowed me to be over-familiar. I had never known that the higher-ranking servants were practically lords and ladies in their own right. They would certainly have the power of life and death - or at least the power of sacking - over me. If I displeased them, I would be lucky to escape with a beating.
“Wait,” I said, as the carriage rattled into life. “How are we going to cross the bridges?”
Ginny winked. “Leave that to me.”
I felt ice form in my stomach. This had been a mistake. I was being carried straight to my doom. I wanted to yank open the door and run. Ginny could claim she didn’t have the slightest idea who I was, if she wished. I’d made a terrible mistake. I’d managed to get my friend - my best friend - in hot water. I needed to run ...
... And then the carriage rattled to a halt.
“Sit there,” Ginny ordered. She drew back the window curtain. “And don’t say a word.”
A guardsman appeared at the window. “We need to ...”
Ginny cut him off. “I have specific orders to present myself at Bolingbroke Hall within the hour,” she said, waving a piece of gilded paperwork under his nose. Her voice was so grand I hardly recognised it. “As you can see, we’re already late. Let us through immediately.”
The guard looked at me. “My Lady, I have to inspect your companion ...”
“Pish-posh,” Ginny said, dismissively. “My companion has already been inspected at the Hiring Hall. Her references have been checked and found to be accurate in every detail. Her referees are beyond question. I hardly think you need to worry about her.”
I tried not to hold my breath. The guard had to be terrified. If he caused problems, however minor, for a Great House ... his career would come to a screeching halt. But, on the other hand, if he disobeyed orders he’d be for the high jump.
Ginny pushed him, hard. “What’s your name? Who’s your commanding officer? I demand to speak with him at once.”
The guard paled. “You may pass,” he said. “I’m sorry to trouble you, My Lady.”
“So you should be.” Ginny sniffed, then raised her voice. “Driver! Drive on!”
I didn’t dare say anything until we were safely across the bridge. “That was awesome!”
“That was easy,” Ginny warned. “A man like that is in no place to make enemies. The people you have to impress will not be so easily battered into submission.”
“I know,” I said. “And thank you.”
Ginny smiled, but it didn’t touch her eyes. “Thank me when you get out alive,” she said, quietly. “And not a moment before.”
Chapter Fifteen
Bolingbroke Hall was magnificent.
It took my breath away as we rattled through the gates and drove around to the servant’s entrance. I’d never seen anything like it. The biggest buildings in Water Shallot - the giant warehouses that serviced the ships coming and going from the Inner Sea - were tiny compared to Bolingbroke Hall. And it was a single massive building. I couldn’t keep myself from staring, admiring the boxy design. It looked so old that I could believe that it dated all the way back to the Thousand-Year Empire. The walls were drenched in magic.
I’d thought that Master Travis’s war
ds were strong, but Bolingbroke Hall’s wards were something else altogether. They were the strongest wards I had ever felt. I could feel them poking and prodding at me as the carriage came to a halt, ready to stop me in my tracks if I did something they took to be threatening. The urge to ask Ginny to turn around and get me out of here was almost overwhelming. If I was caught, if House Bolingbroke realised I’d come with bad intentions, I’d never leave Bolingbroke Hall alive. They wouldn’t bother to call the City Guard. They’d just kill me.
The carriage rattled to a halt. “Let me do the talking,” Ginny said, as she reached for the handle. “Don’t speak unless you’re spoken to.”
A pale-faced man in a yellow and black uniform waited for us as we clambered out of the carriage. He nodded respectfully to Ginny, glanced once at me and then opened the servant’s entrance to lead us inside. I couldn't help thinking that the footman looked like a human bumblebee. I’d known, of course, that servants were dressed in their master’s livery, but this was ridiculous. But then, Master Travis had insisted I dress the part too. I wouldn’t have been allowed to wear a fancy dress while manning the till.
The interior of Bolingbroke Hall struck me as a disappointment, at first. It was nowhere near as fancy as the society papers had led me to believe. The walls were bland stone, unmarked by time or paint; heavy lanterns hung from the ceilings, casting an eerie radiance over the windowless corridors. It took longer than it should have to realise that we were walking through the lower floors of the hall. The servants lived and worked here, not the aristocrats themselves. Their rooms were above our heads. The footman stopped outside a wooden door, knocked once and waited. It clicked open a moment later.
Ginny walked in as if she owned the place. I followed, a little more sedately. The room had the air of a comfortable office, one designed for work rather than impressing visitors. A stern-faced man with grey hair sat behind a heavy wooden desk, his eyes cold and penetrating; a middle-aged woman stood next to him, her arms crossed over her ample chest as she studied me thoughtfully. I dropped a hasty curtsey, then remained on my knees. They wouldn’t be giving me a chair.
“Miss Wycliffe,” the man said. “A pleasure to see you again, as always.”
“Thank you, Mr. Staunton,” Ginny said. She was all business, but I thought I caught a hint of affection in her tone. “I only hope we can satisfy you this time.”
“One would hope so,” the woman said. She sounded as if she wanted to sneer. “The last girls we hired had to be dismissed for poor conduct.”
“They were new to service, Mrs. Lucinda,” Ginny said, as casually as if she were discussing the latest fashions rather than serving girls. “They could not be expected to know how to handle themselves perfectly.”
“And now you bring us a half-caste,” Lucinda said. I decided I didn’t like her. “She will drag the hall into disrepute.”
Ginny shrugged. “I think you will find that Rebecca knows her work better than any unproven girl,” she said. “She certainly has more experience than most candidates.”
Staunton - the butler, I guessed - nodded impatiently. Ginny took the hint and launched into a long recital of my previous work history, speaking in very general terms. I admired her talent for lying even as I feared it would get me into trouble. I had cooked and cleaned and scrubbed floors - as well as a number of other duties - but I’d never worked in a place like Bolingbroke Hall. I hoped they wouldn't expect me to clean the entire building on my own. A small army of servants would have problems keeping the upper floors clear of dust. I knew from experience that even keeping a single room clean was harder than it looked.
“Very good,” Staunton said, when Ginny had finished. He peered down at me. I hastily lowered my eyes. “And you have experience at working in many different roles?”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
Staunton examined my paperwork for a long moment, then looked at Ginny. “She seems suitable,” he said. His tone was dispassionate. “And her character is very good.”
“Lady Younghusband was never given to tolerate slovenly or slatternly servants, Mr. Staunton,” Ginny said. “Rebecca has an excellent character for someone who only went into service five years ago.”
“And she’s done far more than just scrub floors,” Staunton said. “We will need more servants for the forthcoming ball.”
“She has the experience you need,” Ginny assured him.
I kept my face impassive. Ginny’s forged resume was an impressive piece of work. I had done most of the work it listed, although not at Younghusband Hall. Ginny had done her best, but she might have set me up to fail. And if I failed, what would happen to her? I cursed myself, again, for not running. I could have fled the city by now if I’d really put my mind to it.
A silent communication passed between Staunton and Lucinda. “You’re hired,” Lucinda said, curtly. “Pay will be fifteen silvers a month, raised to twenty after your probationary period is over. Food, drink and sleeping quarters will be provided. You are entitled to one hour’s free time per weekday and one afternoon off per weekend, which you will clear with me ahead of time. I trust these terms are acceptable?”
It wasn’t really a question. Fifteen silvers a month ... Master Travis hadn’t paid me that much for my service. I wondered, sourly, if Bolingbroke Hall was over or underpaying its servants. North Shallot was an expensive place to live. But if I was being fed and given a place to sleep too, I’d be able to save ... I reminded myself, sharply, that I probably wouldn't be staying long enough to collect my first pay packet. I had to find Reginald, grab the notebook and vanish before Zadornov started breathing down my neck.
“Yes, Miss,” I said, quickly.
“Good.” Lucinda sniffed, as if she’d hoped I’d say no . “Come with me.”
Ginny nodded. I rose and followed Lucinda out the room and down a long corridor. Behind me, I heard the door slam closed. A chill ran down my spine. I was alone, cut off from my friends and deep in enemy territory. Ginny had warned me she wouldn’t be able to see me after I took the job, unless I got fired on the first day. The Hiring Hall wouldn’t be pleased if a real servant got fired. I wondered if anyone would look closely enough at the paperwork to see the holes I knew had to be there.
“I am the senior housemistress,” Lucinda said, as we walked down a flight of stairs. “You will take direction from me and instruction, where necessary. You will always be polite and respectful to your betters ...”
I listened to an endless flow of instructions, ranging from the basics - remain calm and submissive at all times - to more complex orders I didn’t know how to follow. Master Travis had apparently left severe gaps in my education. I did my best to memorise the orders, silently promising myself that I’d fill in the holes as soon as I could. Lucinda didn’t seem to expect me to remember everything, thankfully, but I had the feeling she was just biding her time. I hadn’t forgotten her remark about half-castes.
Lucinda stopped in front of a wooden door, muttered something under her breath I didn’t catch and then pushed the door open. “This is where you’ll sleep.”
This is where you’ll sleep , I repeated, silently. My garret had been mine . Here ... I was just passing through. This isn’t my place at all .
The room was larger than I expected, but crammed with five beds barely large enough for a grown woman. Only one of them looked as if it was in use, the bedside table covered with a handful of supplies. The others had been made up perfectly, but a thin layer of dust told me that it had been a long time since anyone had actually slept in them. Lucinda sniffed - I was starting to think she did nothing but sniff - and threw open one of the wardrobes. A pair of dresses hung inside. I winced. My identity was going to be taken from me as soon as I donned the maid’s uniform.
“The washroom is through there,” Lucinda said, jabbing a bony hand towards a doorway in the corner. “Wash, then change into uniform. If you have to make changes, do so. You’ll find a sewing kit under the bed. Make sure you’re prese
ntable before I see you again.”
The Alchemist's Apprentice Page 15