from the pot she was tending on the fire. She smiled kindly. ‘Ah, you must be our patient, Mr Lucas.’ The woman bustled over to him. ‘Here, let me take the tray.’ She turned away and called, ‘Evie!’
A very young kitchen maid emerged from what must have been the scullery. ‘Mrs MacNeal?’ The girl blinked when she spied Lucas.
Mrs MacNeal handed the girl the tray. ‘Here.’
The girl carried the tray back to the scullery.
The cook gave Lucas a scolding look. ‘You did not eat much of your dinner.’
‘I slept through it, I’m afraid,’ he responded.
‘Then will you be wanting breakfast?’ The woman began to look stressed. ‘I am not quite ready for cooking breakfast.’
Lucas’s father’s kitchen would have been bustling with kitchen maids and footmen at this hour. He saw only the cook and one helper.
‘I am quite satisfied with what I ate from the dinner plate this morning,’ he assured her. ‘I merely wished to return the tray.’
‘That was good of you, sir.’ She returned to tending her pot.
He left the kitchen and met a footman in the hallway.
‘You must be the visitor,’ the young man said.
‘I am.’
The footman eyed him up and down. ‘I hope your clothes are satisfactory. I brushed them off best I could.’
‘I am very grateful.’ Lucas reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin. He handed it to the footman.
The young man’s eyes lit up. ‘Thank you, sir!’
It had been a very small coin, not worth so much appreciation.
Lucas should ask the footman his name, but it was better for him not to know anybody. Already Miss Wallace and her brother threatened his desire for isolation.
‘I’ll be leaving in a few minutes,’ Lucas said.
The footman peered at him. ‘Leaving? You were to stay at least a week, Miss Mairi said.’
‘I am recovered,’ he responded. ‘No need to stay.’
Lucas returned to the butler’s room, but had to sit down to rest. When he gathered his strength again, he took more coins from his purse and left them on the table, enough, he hoped, to pay for the doctor, his food and for the trouble he had caused. Forcing himself to stand, he donned his topcoat, picked up the satchel and slung it over his shoulder. He strode out of the room and followed the hallway to a door to the outside. He began making his way towards the road that he hoped would eventually lead him to the nearest village inn.
Mairi woke early, as she was accustomed to doing since some of the housemaids had left and Nellie was the only one left with time to act as lady’s maid to her mother, Davina and herself. Mairi made certain she did not need a great deal of Nellie’s help, merely tying the laces of her stays and her dress.
She next went in search of Mrs Cross to see what assistance the housekeeper required that day, but first she knocked on Niven’s door.
‘Who is it?’ he responded testily. And sleepily.
‘You know it is me, Mairi,’ she replied. ‘I’m going to send Erwin to you to help you dress, then come straight to the kitchen to bring Mr Lucas his breakfast.’
‘Oh. Yes.’ Niven’s voice brightened. ‘Mr Lucas. I’ll be ready. Have Erwin come right away.’
Erwin was slightly more experienced as a footman than Robert, so he was tasked with acting as valet to Niven. Wilfred, their father’s valet, was over seventy, and it was taxing enough for him to serve their father, but he had provided Erwin some rudimentary training.
Mairi descended the stairs to the hall and entered the morning room, where Erwin was setting the table for breakfast.
‘Good morning!’ She made her tone cheerful. It kept her spirits up and, she hoped, the spirits of their overworked servants.
Erwin stopped his work and bowed. ‘Good morning, miss.’
‘When you are done here, would you tend to Niven?’ she asked. ‘He has much to do today before he goes out.’ Of all the times for him to visit his friend.
‘Yes, miss.’ Erwin placed the cutlery next to the breakfast plate with less precision than their butler would have done.
‘Thank you, Erwin,’ she said breezily, using the servants’ door to lead her to the ground floor, where she found Mrs Cross, the housekeeper, in an intense conversation with Betsy, one of their two maids, while Cook looked on from the worktable where she was rolling out dough for biscuits for the afternoon tea.
‘Good morning,’ Mairi said again in a cheerful tone. ‘I came to see how I can help today.’
Mrs Cross rubbed her brow. ‘Let me think. Your mother will not want to see you polishing furniture, but you could tidy up her room and your father’s like yesterday.’
‘I will see to it.’ It did not seem like enough to do. Mairi turned to Cook. ‘Mrs MacNeal, Nevin will be down directly to bring Mr Lucas his breakfast. Shall I put together a plate for him?’
Mrs MacNeal shook flour from her hands. ‘Miss Mairi, the fellow left already. Robert told us.’
‘Left?’ But he was still ill! ‘When?’
‘A while ago, miss,’ the cook responded. ‘Robert told me right when I took the loaves out of the oven.’
Mairi touched one of the loaves. It had cooled considerably.
Still, Robert might have been mistaken.
Mairi hurried out of the kitchen and ran to the footmen’s room, but Robert was not there. She hastened to the butler’s room, opening the door without knocking. It was empty. There was a stack of coins on the table. She picked them up and counted. Enough for the doctor’s bill and more. She sank into a chair and fingered the coins.
Things were back to rights again, then, were they not? As if he’d never been there. They could all go on as they had done before...
Except he’d been ill the night before; she was certain of it. His forehead had glistened with sweat and his skin had been hot. The fever certainly had returned, just as the doctor said it might.
She placed her hand over her mouth. Goodness, what if he collapsed again? What if he were not found until he was dead? How would Davina and Niven feel then?
How would she feel?
She glanced at the clock. There was time before she’d need to tidy her parents’ rooms. She could go in search of him and reassure herself that he would not die on his way to wherever he was going. She had enough on her conscience; she did not need to feel responsible for a man’s death.
She rose and resolutely walked out of the room. On her way past the kitchen, she called out, ‘I am going out. I will be back soon.’ Without waiting for an answer, she grabbed her old cloak, which hung on a hook by the garden door. She swung it around her shoulders and went outside.
He had probably followed the track that the wagons used to deliver goods to the back door of the house. She walked briskly down it.
Before it met the main road, she called to John, the stable worker, who was exercising an unfamiliar horse in a paddock. Her father’s latest purchase, no doubt. ‘Did you see a stranger walk by here?’
He nodded. ‘He asked directions to the village.’
‘Thank you!’ That, at least, was a more sensible plan than traipsing