The Housekeepers(39)

Mother didn’t admonish him. She didn’t seem to hear him at all. Alice grizzled, as if she couldn’t decide whether to start crying or not.

Changeable, Jane-two had said. Mrs. King didn’t like that word, in relation to Alice. Of course there would come a moment when Miss de Vries would try to befriend her. Mrs. King had seen it happen to girls before: the lazy, sideways nature of it. Almost like an alligator yawning, catching flies in its mouth. Madam liked to make alliances below stairs, circumventing the natural order of things: bypassing the butler, housekeeper, the senior servants, anyone with their wits about them. There was no particular harm to it. She just liked to have one humble little person up her sleeve. No doubt it made her feel a little bigger than she was.

Alice might fall for it, she thought.

She closed that thought away. Not likely. Alice possessed Mrs. King’s own blood. Of course there were girls who would have weakened themselves for Miss de Vries. Indulged all sorts of fantasies—mooning over her, adhering to her, wishing to possess all that she possessed. But Alice wasn’t a fool. She knew which side her bread was buttered. She wanted her fee.

She’d said so, only the day before, when Mrs. King went to get her report.

“Look here. I don’t suppose I could get some of my payment up front, could I?” Alice had asked.

This annoyed Mrs. King. First Mrs. Bone, now the rest of them. “Certainly not,” she said. “I can’t show special favors to you—I told you before.”

Alice looked uneasy. “I was only asking,” she said.

Mrs. King softened her tone. “Why?” she said. “Is something the matter?”

She watched Alice’s expression harden. Mrs. King recognized that demeanor. It was her own.

“Not in the least,” her sister said quietly. “And I’ve nothing to report.”

16

Nine days to go

Miss de Vries heard William and the under-footmen sorting the post in the front hall. They were fetching extra platters. She knew what this meant. The responses were arriving. It put her on edge.

“Alice?” she said, calling through to the dressing room.

The girl appeared, eager faced but tired, hair scragged back, skin gray. She tucked her needle into her apron pocket, wiped her hands. “Yes, Madam?” Her throat sounded dry.

“I’m running late. Iris has the afternoon off. Bring me some afternoon dresses to look at, will you?”

Alice’s eyes widened, and Miss de Vries understood why. Sewing maids sewed. They didn’t do any more than that. The rules below stairs were rigid, unbending. She always enjoyed this, sending them scrambling. It settled her own nerves.

“Certainly, Madam,” Alice said, and hurried out of the room.

She was keen to impress, and that pleased Miss de Vries, too.

Alice returned with two dresses. “Perhaps these, Madam? The plain crepe or the crepe with jet.”

Miss de Vries opened her arms. “You choose.”

Alice hesitated. “Plain,” she said. And then, with a little flush, as if testing herself, “It suits you better.”

Miss de Vries laughed at that. “You ought to tell me they suit me equally.”

Alice reddened. “Beg pardon, Madam.”

Miss de Vries put out her wrists to be unbuttoned. “I suppose I shall have to give up the jet, then.” She met Alice’s gaze. “You have it.”

Alice dropped her hands. “Me?”

“Certainly. It’ll get moth-eaten otherwise. I can’t possibly wear it now.”

Alice took a step back. “I didn’t mean to speak out of turn,” she said, frowning.

Miss de Vries studied herself in the glass. “You didn’t. You have a good eye, as well you know.” She adjusted the lace around her neck. “Iris could take a lesson from you.”

She didn’t look at Alice. She knew what effect this would have. It happened the same way, every time. A blush, a demurral, a lot of pretty confusion. They were such adorable playthings, the junior maids. Pet them long enough and they gave up all kinds of gossip. The house-parlormaids were machine-made, perfectly trained, more inscrutable. They’d waited on grander ladies in even bigger houses than this one. Sometimes they even unsettled Miss de Vries herself. But Alice was timid, mouselike. She’d gobble up nice treats.

“I oughtn’t to take this, Madam,” said Alice, voice serious. She held the dress at arm’s length, as if she were afraid of it. “It’s too generous.”

Miss de Vries turned, surprised. Evidently, this mouse had more strength of will than she had expected. “Whatever do you mean?”

The girl’s face looked grave. She hesitated, as if searching for the correct response. “You might want to keep it for yourself,” she said.

Miss de Vries considered this unlikely. Black dresses already bored her to tears. Six months to go till half mourning—it was an intolerable wait. “Suit yourself,” she said. “I’ll know not to spoil you next time.”

At that moment William knocked on the distant bedroom door. “Post, Madam,” he called.

“Enter,” she replied.

William left the silver platter by the bedroom door. The male servants never entered her inner sanctum.

“You open them,” she said to Alice, her stomach tight with anticipation, her tone careless. “Tell me who to expect.”