the young girl said, as she finished tying the apron in a neat bow. The plump, round-faced scullery maid adjusted the starched white cap over Olivia’s curls and added, “Me cleanin’ gown fits you right well.”
Olivia nodded and with some hesitation asked, “Thank you for helping me. What’s your name, lass?”
“Jenny, miss.” She curtseyed, reached to the floor, and handed Olivia an empty pail, a hard-bristled scrubbing brush and a large soft cloth. “Here you are, miss. You’ll need these.”
Olivia frowned, but took the offering. “What must I do with these?”
Jenny’s eyes opened wide. “Don’t you know how to scrub a floor?”
“I’m sorry, no. I’ve never done it before. Can you tell me how?”
Jenny cast her eyes down. “It’s a lowly task fer a fine lady like yourself, miss, but on Fridays, I scrub the kitchen floor tiles. You’re to do it ’stead o’ me today. Mayhap Mrs. Hunnicut told you how it’s done?”
Olivia’s eyes pleaded as if she were begging for alms. “Please. Tell me how you do it, Jenny.”
“Why, on me hands and knees, o’course. I do one small piece o’ floor at a time, see? First, you fetch the water from the scullery sink, see? Then heat it. Not too hot, mind, or you’ll burn y’self. Dip your rinsin’ cloth in and wring it out afore you add a bit ’o soap—it’s in that bin next to the sink. Scrub hard with the brush and use the cloth to mop up the suds. You start in the hall from the back stairwell landing, see, and work your way all the way to the galley. Take special care in the galley, miss. Chef Fourier carries on somethin’ fierce if there’s dirt on the floor where he does his work.”
Olivia tried to look cheerful. “Is there anything else I should know?”
Jenny tapped her finger to her cheek. “No need to scrub any of the rooms down here that has a door. Them that’s in charge of ’em do that theyselves. Change the water often, mind. Once you empty the final pail outside in the yard, you’re done.”
Olivia bit her bottom lip. “How long should it take me?”
“I’m allus finished by noon, in time for me lunch.” She noted the look of terror in Olivia’s eyes. “Don’t fret so, miss. It’s not hard. You’ll get the hang of it in no time. ’Sides, you’re better off scrubbin’. T’other lads do much dirtier work. They’re made to clean the muck from the chimneys or the ashes from the fireplaces or the horse droppins in the stables. I’m off now. Got to help Mrs. Hunnicut mend the linens.”
When Jenny was gone, Olivia filled the pail, heated the water, dipped the rinsing cloth in and wrung it dry, then added some soap. At the stairwell entrance, she lifted the hem of Jenny’s uniform, fell to her knees, dipped the brush and began to scrub the tiles. It was tedious work, but she managed to make a game of it. She scrubbed hardest when she pictured the spymaster’s face on the floor.
By the time she reached the wider kitchen galley where all meals were prepared, her eyes burned from the strong soap. She had no notion it was laced with lye. Her back was sore, her arms were heavy, her hands were red and raw, Jenny’s gown was soaked, and worst of all she’d torn three fingernails.
At last, she scrubbed up to the kitchen door that led to the yard. She opened the door and emptied her final pail. She wrinkled her nose and sneezed from the smell of lye when she returned the pail, the brush and the rinsing cloth to the scullery room and dragged herself up the back stairs to the attic to change for lunch. But when she glanced at the clock on her wall, she heaved a sigh of defeat. She needn’t hurry. She’d already missed lunch.
The spymaster presided over staff meetings in the library every Friday afternoon. His instructors arranged themselves on either side of the library table in the middle of the room, seated in comfortable chairs designed for reading and study as well as for staff discussions. Sebastian sat at its head, his secretary Hugh Denville opposite him, quill in hand, ready to record the proceedings. The only one missing was Harry Green, archery and rifle instructor, for he was out on the archery range supervising the trainees.
Sebastian surveyed his staff with a great deal of pride. He’d selected well—the best he could find in each field. Except for long holidays at the end of each training session, the men lived in comfortable quarters at the academy, took their meals together and developed an easy camaraderie among themselves.
Mrs. Hunnicut lived in a well-appointed suite of rooms on the attic floor where Olivia and all the maids had their quarters.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” he began with little ceremony. He glanced at Mrs. Hunnicut and added, “Ma’am. Reports, please.” On his right sat Aaron Foster, codes and ciphers instructor. Sebastian nodded for him to start.
“Not much out of the ordinary to report, except for Carter. He seems to rub the others raw with his superior pose, but as a group, they’ve acquitted themselves well during this first week. Fairchild shows promise, sir.” He chuckled.
Sebastian looked startled. “What?”
“Fairchild doesn’t like your class, Spymaster. She told me she thinks intelligence gathering is nothing more than gossip.”
It was clear the spymaster didn’t appreciate the jest for, when everyone else laughed, he did not. “It is no secret that I was dead set against a woman in our program. How does she fare in martial arts, Sensei?”
Sensei Yukio Nori, the Japanese martial arts expert, whose grasp of the English language was limited, sucked air through one side of his mouth. “Faihchil’ velly good in tai chi. Bettah than othahs.”
“Fairchild eez my star fencing pupil. Ze others? Pooh! Zey cannot compare, but zey do try to learn,” said Fourier.
Sebastian grinned at him. “I understand Fairchild also speaks fluent French. Might that influence your glowing report, Andre?”
“Oui!” Given to Gallic exaggeration, Fourier kissed his fingertips and threw them into the air, which caused his colleagues to chortle. He was well-liked, not only for his fencing skills, but also for the excellent cuisine he arranged day in and day out.
Stable master Tom Deff said, “I’ve no complaint with Fairchild, either, sir. She’s become accustomed to riding astride like the others, rather than sidesaddle, the way she was taught. She’s fearless. Takes hedges and fences like a gazelle.”
“Take care she isn’t also reckless. I don’t want her to break her foolish neck, Tom. That advice goes for the rest of you as well.” He shook his head. “I cannot impress upon all of you more forcefully than this. She must not come to harm under any circumstance. We shall all have to answer for it if she does. Do I make myself clear?”
Tom Deff grinned. “I’ll take care she doesn’t fall off her horse, sir.”
“She’s a right one, she is. For a woman, that is. She determined to master push-ups on her first day and refused to give up, though she appeared ready to sink from the effort,” Hugh Denville added.
Sebastian frowned.
“Fairchild may need a great deal more practice in the art of self-defense, I fear,” said Evelyn Hawes. “I shudder to think what will happen to her when she begins boxing lessons next week.”
Sebastian barked a laugh. “Shall we invite Gentleman Jackson to train her, do you think, Evelyn?”
“If Jackson were daft enough to agree, he’d be no gentleman, would he? Who would dare strike a lady? I’d like to recommend we allow her to forgo boxing and work an extra session with Sensei Nori since she does so well with him.”
Sebastian’s eyes gleamed. “Afraid to climb into the ring with her?”
“No, sir. Not afraid. Terrified, more like.”
This brought an amiable laugh from the table.
“You wrong her, my friends. She won’t