by Jo Goodman
"Perhaps I do," she said, her tone neutral.
Walker picked up her letter of introduction from the table beside him and glanced over it. "Your experience isn't so different from that of the others. In some cases, you've a lot less."
"I'm sure that's true."
"So why do you think Mr. Parnell's hired you?"
"Because I'm a breath of fresh air?" she asked, forcing a dimpled smile. It faded as abruptly as it appeared. "Is it important? He wants me."
"My thought exactly." He paused a beat. "And you? Do you want him?"
Schyler blinked. Her mouth opened, then shut.
Her surprise amused Walker but he was suspicious. "I wonder if you're as young as you look," he said. "Or a very good actress."
He didn't mean young, she thought. He meant inexperienced.
"I see you understand," he said.
She did. Perfectly. Skye wasn't going to give sanction to the conversation by making a comment. It was only left for her to change the subject. "Has there been a decision on hiring Annie Staplehurst?" she asked.
"Mr. Parnell is willing."
"But you have objections."
"To everything."
"She needs to live here," Skye said.
"I understand that." He paused, thoughtful. "Did you know Miss Staplehurst before today?"
"No. I met her while waiting to be interviewed." Skye's nose wrinkled slightly. "Actually, I didn't introduce myself at all. I just listened to her talk to some of the other women." She needed the work. It was why Skye made Annie a condition of her own employment.
Walker leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs. The tip of his shoe nudged one of the paper towers aside. An avalanche of documents slid across the floor. He made no move to gather them and crossed his arms in front of him instead. "You're a curiosity, Miss Dennehy."
"Am I? That's interesting. I was having similar thoughts about you."
"Really?"
Skye noticed he didn't offer to answer any of her questions. She went back to the matter at hand. "Is Mr. Parnell willing to give me the authority I'll need to maintain his household?"
"I believe his exact words were, 'She can rule the roost.'"
"And the salary?"
"You could have asked for more."
Skye wished she had—not for herself, but for Annie. "Mr. Parnell must be quite wealthy."
One corner of Walker's mouth lifted, but this time the arrogant smile held no charm. "You're in danger of disappointing me, Miss Dennehy. I was certain you knew that already. From what I can tell, you've worked only for wealthy people."
"The Marshalls certainly had money, not that it had any bearing on my working there. I was employed by the Turners first, and they were hardly rich."
"Most people would consider a doctor of Turner's status quite well-to-do. After all, he runs Jennings Memorial. It's interesting that you don't."
Skye realized too late that she had been incautious in choosing her words. Then she wondered if it mattered. If Jonathan Parnell really were in league with Jay Mac, it wouldn't be long before he brought in Walker Caide as well. "Do you really care what I think, Mr. Caide?"
He smiled fully. "No," he said. "I suppose I don't."
"Very well, then. Will you drive me into the village? I left my bags at the station. I'd like to get them and also see if I can catch Annie before she leaves."
"Hank will take you in. He looks after the horses and the carriage."
"That's fine."
"I'll have rooms prepared for you and Miss Staplehurst."
Skye stood and looked pointedly around the parlor. "Please, don't trouble anyone. If this serves as an example of the quality of the work here, Annie and I will be better left to our own devices."
Walker followed her glance. "You know," he said, more to himself than to her, "it's only gotten this bad in the past few days."
Skye heard him and remembered her earlier thought that the cluttered effect had been contrived for her benefit. "That, Mr. Caide, is something that doesn't surprise me in the least."
Watching her precede him out of the parlor, Walker wondered what she meant by that.
* * *
Annie Staplehurst was so effusive in her thanks that Schyler was embarrassed. Half a dozen times during the ride back to the Granville mansion, tears welled in Annie's eyes as she spoke of her good fortune.
"You may have a change of heart," Skye told her finally. "I had an opportunity to see some of the other rooms, and the downstairs parlor is one of the cleaner areas."
Taking a handkerchief from under the cuff of her sleeve, Annie dabbed at her eyes and nose. Both were more than a little swollen and red, evidence that Annie's weeping had been going on before she'd had good news to cry about.
Skye estimated that Annie Staplehurst was a few years older than she. It was difficult to know with any certainty because lines of worry and fatigue had set permanent creases at the corners of her gray eyes and her mouth had a perpetual downward bend. Her hair was light brown, without any highlights to give it shine or luster. She was large boned and would have been solid looking if it weren't for the fact that her skin was stretched tautly across broad cheekbones and wrists. The effect was one of fragility rather than strength.
If, even in her happiness, Annie's expression was on the dour side, the same could not be said of that of her son, Matthew. He was a lively handful, scooting back and forth along the leather carriage bench so as not to miss anything on either side. He was a few months shy of his fourth birthday, but as far as Skye could tell, it was the only way in which he was shy. He had no hesitation at all about crawling onto her lap and carried on a relatively one-sided conversation with no encouragement from his mother.
When his name was mentioned, he had a habit of lowering his head slightly and looking out as if he were peering over invisible spectacles. Sometimes he'd cock his head and give Skye a mischievous sideways glance that thoroughly entranced her.
"He's got a bit of the devil in him," Annie said apologetically, when she saw the look. "Not that he's a bad boy. He doesn't really give me any trouble, but you can see that he thinks about it."
"He's a lovely little boy. You're very fortunate to have him."
Annie's face softened. "I am, aren't I?" She hesitated. "Do you have any children?"
Skye shook her head. "I'm not married." Immediately she cursed her incautious tongue. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean... I don't..."
Annie patted the back of Skye's hand and nodded knowingly. "I understand, Miss Dennehy. Don't give it another thought. You're too kind to have meant it cruelly."
"Still, it was thoughtless," she said. "And stupid. I'm a bastard myself. I should know people don't have to be married to have children." She saw she had shocked Annie into speechlessness. "I don't usually announce it so openly, but it's nothing I'm ashamed of either. My parents loved each other. They still do."
"That's the thing," Annie said wisely, nodding. "I surely did love Matt's father." She sighed. "It just wasn't meant to be."
Skye didn't ask for details. She wanted it to be on Annie's terms if more was confided. A rough patch in the road jolted the carriage. Skye neatly caught Matthew as he tumbled off the bench. He grinned cheekily. "You liked that, didn't you?" she said.
He nodded and wriggled out of her grasp, scrambling back onto the bench in the hopes that it would happen again.
"We'll have quite a bit of work to do tonight to get settled," Skye told Annie. The sun had already set and the wind was rising across the ridge where they were traveling. Skeletal limbs of the naked trees were thinly frosted with ice. A crusty layer of snow gilded the ground when moonlight broke free of the thick cloud cover.
"As far as I can tell, there are only a few of us living at the mansion. Mr. Parnell is there, of course, then there's a Mrs. Reading—the cook, whom I haven't met yet. Mr. Parnell seems eager to keep her, so I hope she's everything I expect a cook to be. Our driver is Hank Ryder, and he has a place for himself in the ca
rriage house. There must be at least three other people who comprise the help, but none of them showed a face while I was touring. I suspect they've gone home for the evening. You may as well know that no one was particularly pleased about the idea of you and your son living at the house. Mr. Parnell accepted it, but Mr. Caide tried to change his mind."
Annie nodded. "I understand. We won't be any trouble or call undue attention to ourselves."
"I'm certain you won't."
"What exactly is it that the other man does?"
"Mr. Caide, you mean?"
"That's the one."
"I'm not certain. He's rather odd. Enigmatic, actually."
Annie covered her mouth as she giggled.
"Why are you laughing?"
Her pale complexion suffused with color. "I really shouldn't say, but since you asked, I thought he was a handsome one."
"You're right," Skye said evenly. "I don't think we should discuss it."
Annie straightened. "I'm sorry." Her gray eyes clouded as she looked warily at Skye.
It was the fear tingeing Annie's expression that made Skye realize the power she wielded. They hadn't reached the mansion yet and Annie was already thinking she might be dismissed. "Please, Annie, don't give it another thought. I'm the one who said he was odd. I shouldn't have said it." Skye thought Annie seemed at least a trifle relieved.
"What about Mr. Parnell?" Annie asked. "Do you know anything about him?"
"Not a thing. It wasn't discussed in my interview. What about yours?"
She shook her head. "I heard in the village that he's some sort of inventor. Do you suppose that's true?"
"It may be. He retired to his workroom while I was there."
"I never worked for an inventor before."
"Neither have I," Skye said. "If you think about it, he's just a tinkerer who's been luckier than most." That description probably gave Jonathan Parnell's talents short shrift, but Skye was not certain she wanted to think kindly of him—not without knowing what his role was in Jay Mac's plans. Walker Caide seemed to think he knew the reason Parnell had hired her and it wasn't a reason Skye would have considered on her own. If it were true, perhaps it absolved Jay Mac. In some ways it was a little flattering.
Skye shook her head, wondering where the truth lay. It would have been just like Jay Mac to suppose that Jonathan Parnell might make a suitable son-in-law. He was steady and serious, qualities her father would have liked to see settled on her. The score of years difference in their ages might have given Jay Mac some concern, but he would put it aside if he thought Parnell could rein in his daughter's impulsive nature.
Skye sighed. Jonathan Parnell was interesting, even attractive to her, but they would never suit. She wondered if she could possibly sit through another dinner with spinach between her teeth.
Chapter 4
By the time Skye's head touched a pillow, she was exhausted. Not so surprisingly, she found sleep elusive. She turned on her back, stared at the ceiling, and began counting the day's successes instead of sheep.
She did not number acquiring a job as one of her accomplishments. She did, however, believe that getting work for Annie as well as a place for her and her son to stay was one of the best things she'd ever done. She had also managed to scrub down the small suite she was shown for her own use, put clean linens on the bed, and set a good fire in the fireplace. As she burrowed into the thick feather mattress, these things seemed like remarkable achievements.
She had met Mrs. Reading and established her position in the house by insisting the cook prepare a special meal for Annie and her son since it was late when they returned to the house. The grumbling in Skye's stomach reminded her that she'd satisfied her own hunger with only a cup of warm milk and some bread. The sprinkling of cinnamon and sugar had added flavor, but not much substance. Graveyard stew, her mother had called it, and she had served it when one of the Marys was feeling out of sorts.
Skye's mind wandered quite easily from graveyard to ghost. She smiled weakly, remembering her attempt to show fear during the interview when the Granville ghost was mentioned. She could have made a more effective show of it now, she realized, watching angular fire shadows flicker on the ceiling. She turned her head quickly as the french doors shuddered against the rising wind and something scratched a pane of glass.
She laughed at herself, albeit a little uneasily. It must have been a tree limb she heard at the window, she told herself, or a stray cat looking for an entrance.
Skye rolled onto her side so she could face the fireplace. There was comfort in the snapping flames and glowing embers. The walnut wainscoting held a dull reflection of the fire, and Skye's thoughts strayed to how vibrant that reflection would be once the wood was polished. Amused by the notion, Skye smiled sleepily as she snuggled into her pillow and comforter.
Somewhere between rehearsing her speech to the staff and plotting revenge on her father, Mary Schyler Dennehy fell asleep.
* * *
"I'm Miss Dennehy," she said to the staff gathered in the kitchen. "As you know, Mr. Parnell hired me yesterday. You may not be aware that he has given me complete authority. I intend to use it to see that this home is restored."
Skye paused to purposely examine each face turned in her direction. Her eyes slipped over Annie quickly because she knew she had an ally there. Hank Ryder was sitting beside her. He was nodding slowly, his narrow face somber. He'd been helpful yesterday, Skye remembered, in getting their valises and packing the carriage. He required some direction and she suspected he was a little dull, but his movements were quick and efficient. Hank had a thin, wiry body that had already proved its strength by hauling Skye's baggage to her room as if it were so much fluff. He was also a willing worker. She didn't expect to have difficulty with him.
The twins were another matter. Daisy and Rose Farrow were robust young women with apple cheeks and cherub smiles. The expression in their eyes, though, was watchful and sly, and Skye reasoned they were reserving judgment until she proved herself. They might be willing to work hard for her if she took them in hand; if she faltered, they would be slackers. She suspected it was all they had been thus far.
Jenny Adams was in her fifties, older than anyone else in the room. She had a selection of mending in her lap and a thimble on one of her fingers. Her hands worked absently but competently as she returned Skye's stare. She was thin lipped and her eyes were narrowly spaced. The look she gave Skye was frankly skeptical.
When Skye's focus turned to Mrs. Reading, she felt the entire attention of the room shift with her.
Corina Reading was a petite, small-boned woman in her early thirties. Her features, from her bow mouth to her wide-lidded sloe eyes, were very nearly perfect. The slightness of her build, the sheer delicacy of her frame, gave the appearance of fragile femininity. Her thick ebony hair was pulled back off her face and captured in an attractive black netting. She wore a serviceable black gown that was tightly fit to her narrow shoulders and tiny waist.
Before meeting Mrs. Reading, Skye had never considered that a cook might look any different than Mrs. Cavanaugh, the woman of ample proportions who had been working for Moira and Jay Mac for better than twenty-five years. Corina Reading's hourglass figure made Skye wonder if the woman sampled anything she prepared or if what she prepared was any good at all. Acknowledging to herself that this was a narrow view, Skye still opted to withhold final judgment until she had sampled breakfast herself. The cup of warm milk and bread last evening was no test of Mrs. Reading's skills in the kitchen.
Corina Reading stood and offered a small smile in greeting. Her dark eyes fastened on Skye and didn't waver. "I think I can speak for everyone here when I say we're pleased you've taken the position. Your predecessor was... well, there's nothing to be gained by speaking ill of her." Her bow mouth relaxed, removing the imprinted smile from her face. "My duties are exclusively those having to do with this kitchen. I don't believe you'll find me lacking in that regard."
Skye was very aware
that Mrs. Reading was defining her territory and her responsibilities. In her place she'd have done the same and could even admire the woman for asserting herself. But Skye also sensed a challenge and knew she could not let it pass. "That's very good, Mrs. Reading," she said coolly. "Of course I'll respect you by telling you directly if I'm displeased with your work." She saw the cook's eyes narrow fractionally. "Now," Skye went on, "has the staff had their breakfast already? I know I haven't had mine."
Rose Farrow spoke up. "Daisy and me—"
"Daisy and I," Skye interjected. "You must learn to be particular about your speech, Rose."
"We have breakfast before we come out to the house," she finished.
Skye asked Jenny, "Do you do the same?" The older woman nodded. "And Hank, what about you? You live here."
"Miz Reading... excuse me, ma'am... Missus Reading lets me get somethin' for myself in her kitchen."
Smiling, Skye turned to Corina. "How very kind of you, Mrs. Reading. However, I think we'll try something different from now on. Breakfast for staff will be served at six-thirty. Everyone will eat here. I think it will prompt a better start for the day and we have a great deal of work ahead of us. Annie will help you with the preparations, since she's also living here." Before there could be any protest, she asked, "What time do you serve breakfast for Mr. Parnell?"
Corina Reading's complexion did not flush when she was annoyed. It went pale as salt. Her speech had a tendency to take on a staccato sharpness, which she narrowly managed to hold in check. "Mr. Parnell takes his breakfast when he sees fit."
"Then you're very flexible. How admirable." Skye's smile didn't waver. "And Mr. Caide? I don't see him here this morning. Does that mean he's considered apart from the rest of us?"
Jenny Adams looked up from her mending. "Mr. Caide will be in directly. He's an early riser."
Skye checked the timepiece in her shirtwaist pocket. "It's gone eight already," she said. "That hardly qualifies as early rising."
Annie Staplehurst made a face, wrinkling her nose and pursing her lips together. Her head shook in a quick, reflexive negation. Rose Farrow poked her sister in the ribs and Daisy's hand came to her mouth to hide her silent laughter. Hank revealed a gap-toothed smile. Jenny softly clucked her tongue. Corina Reading's face was as satisfied as the cat who'd got the cream.