“Remember?” Winifred added, raising her voice just a little bit higher, as if she was talking to a child. “We got the telegram yesterday that said he were arriving today?”
She didn’t remember much after receiving another threatening letter in yesterday’s post. “Yes, of course.”
“I been working on his room all morning, I have.” Looking pleased, Winifred added, “It sparkles and shines, it does.”
“I’m glad,” she said absently.
Until Phillip’s family ran her off, she was in charge of this house. With that came the responsibility of at least pretending she cared about the running of it. With a vague sense of resignation, she turned back to the window. Set about cranking it shut before locking it securely.
“Mrs. Markham, he’s cooling his heels in Lt. Markham’s study. What shall I do with him?” The maid’s voice now held a healthy thread of irritation. “Do you want to do your usual interview for new guests or would you rather I take ’im straight to his room?”
Miranda truly didn’t care where the man went. Any room would do, the further away from her, the better. But she had a responsibility to the rest of the staff to at least meet the man she would be allowing to lodge in the house for a time.
Phillip would have expected her to do that. Summoning her courage, she murmured, “Please escort him to the parlor. I’ll be down momentarily.” Stepping forward, she smoothed the thick wool of her charcoal gray skirt.
She avoided glancing at her reflection as she passed a mirror.
Though she was out of mourning and no longer wore black, no color appealed. Hence, gray. The general consensus among her four employees was that the hue didn’t suit her any better than unrelieved black. Actually, Cook had remarked more than once that she resembled a skinny sparrow.
Continuing her descent, she said, “Please serve Mr. Truax tea. I believe we have one or two muffins left from breakfast as well?”
“We do. Since you didn’t eat.”
Miranda almost smiled. “Today it is most fortunate I did not.”
Grumbling, the housekeeper turned away.
When she was alone again, Miranda took a fortifying breath. Realized that a fresh scent wafting from the open window had permeated the air. Salt and sea and well, something tangy and bright.
It jarred her senses, gave her a small sense of hope.
Perhaps today was not the day to die after all.
The story continues in Robin Lee Hatcher’s, The Loyal Heart, available July 2016.
Whispers in the Reading Room Page 30