The Housekeepers(51)

That was the worst question, the one Alice feared the most. She considered telling the truth, discarded it. “Of course,” she said, trying to make her voice bright. It sounded more like a caw.

Madam put a hand to her jaw, prodding it, as if testing the weight and pressure of her cheeks underneath her veil. “Come with me to chapel,” she said, “if you like.” She gave Alice a dry look. “You can pray to the patron saint of seamstresses, if there is one.”

Alice felt herself reddening at this, and she hesitated. Then she lifted her chin. “Very well, Madam.” Her skin skittered as she said it. Winnie and Mrs. King would approve of this, she told herself. She was simply keeping Madam under closer observation. Although she wondered, sometimes, why Mrs. King was so intent on tracking Miss de Vries. There was something bloodthirsty about it, like stalking a fox or a deer. It was the reason she’d rejected the dress, when Madam offered it to her. It was one thing to watch the mistress. To sew for her, dress her. It was a different thing altogether to take gifts, slip into her clothes, try on her skin. Alice would have accepted Madam’s entire wardrobe with pleasure. Her things were sumptuous, exquisitely crafted. But something had made Alice hesitate.

Now Alice and Miss de Vries sat together in the chapel, candles flickering, brass fixtures swinging gently from the ceiling. The chaplain had gone long ago: they were left to their own private prayers. The light was golden and hazy, wisped with smoke. It felt to Alice that they were sitting in a dark jewel box: onyx pillars, creamy marble edged with gilt, arched and pointed like blades. Golden angels glared down from the walls.

Alice wound her hands together, closed her eyes. Lord, she prayed, You must protect me. She was a whole week late to repay her debt. What did it mean, if you ignored a debt collector’s summons, if you simply buried your head in the sand? Did the interest accumulate by the hour or by the minute? She pictured the debt collectors trailing her, extending a length of wire from their sleeves, ready to slice her throat…

Pull yourself together, she ordered herself. All she needed to do was make it through tomorrow and to the end of the week. Then she’d earn her fee and have enough to pay her debt and any interest on top. Surely they wouldn’t exact any further punishment against her.

Going out on the boat had shaken her. She’d tried to hide behind Hephzibah’s parasol. Chin up, she told herself. Men couldn’t simply come and snatch her off the street. But her whole body had been on alert. She wanted this job done, finished forever. She wanted to eradicate this constant, creeping sense of dread.

Miss de Vries shifted in her tiny pew. “How’s the mood below stairs?” she asked.

“I’m sure it’s all going well, Madam,” she said. A mealymouthed sort of response. Although, really, how on earth was she to know? She was locked away in the dressing room, spending her days negotiating yards of black crepe.

“They’re getting in a twist about the preparations, I suppose.” Miss de Vries’s lips looked very dark under her lace, as if she’d rubbed a little stain into them. It gave them a fullness, a rawness, that was not there before.

Alice swallowed. “Who is, Madam?”

“Everybody below stairs.”

Miss de Vries threw her prayer book aside. It fell with a thud to the tiled floor. She got to her feet, facing the altar. “And I suppose you’re getting tired of life here, too,” she said, voice short. “You’ll be wanting to move on.”

The light wobbled. Alice rose slowly. She was clumsier than Madam: her skirts bunched around her boots. “Not in the least.”

Miss de Vries turned. She rubbed her forehead with her fist. “But what of your ambitions?” she said. “Or don’t you have any?”

There was a sting to the words. Alice observed it. It made her own feelings prickle.

“I’m quite content here,” she said stiffly.

“Content?”

“I’m very happy with my position, Madam.”

Something darkened in Miss de Vries’s gaze. She was keyed up about something. It was sharpening her, giving her new points and angles.

“You understand I shall be leaving soon?” she said, voice cold. “I expect to be engaged before the week is out.”

Alice took this in. The air in the chapel felt thick, crafty. “Then I should offer my congratulations, Madam,” she said, with care.

Miss de Vries’s eyes came around quickly. “Hmm,” she said. “Yes, you should.” And then, with a tiny frown, she added, “You’re a sharp girl, aren’t you, Alice?”

Alice swallowed. “I don’t know, Madam.”

“Keen-eyed. Eyes like a hawk, I’d say.” Madam gave a hard smile. “You’ve observed all of my movements.”

There was something needling Alice’s skin, sounding a silent alarm. She said nothing.

Miss de Vries raised an eyebrow. Lifted her arm, indicated the fabric in her sleeves. “I mean my gestures, the precise gradient of my limbs. To make my costume.”

“Oh,” said Alice, on an out breath. “Yes.”

Miss de Vries smiled, expression flat. “In normal circumstances I never keep a personal maid. I find it so tedious, having one person around me all day. But I am considering making an exception. If I take control of a new household, I shall need to have the right people in my camp. Watchful sorts, girls who can report back to me candidly. To provide eyes in the back of my head, as it were.” She held Alice’s stare. “You’d do splendidly.”