Helena’s most pressing need was to determine if the friendly parlor maid would be suitable to serve her. Even if the maid never saw her without her shift, at some point in the apparently laborious dressing process, that garment might slip—and the maid who viewed her back would need to be prepared and staunchly loyal to her service.
Leaving her chosen volumes for later, Helena exited the library and followed the hallway to a door that led to a flight of service stairs. As she expected, these ended on the ground floor next to the kitchen.
Within that ample room, a mob-capped woman tended a pot over a large iron cookstove while two other women chopped vegetables at a center table. At a smaller table to one side, Harrison sat across from an older lady in a dark dress with a set of keys pinned to her apron.
Conversation ceased and every occupant of the room turned to stare as she walked in. She sensed immediately that she had trespassed outside her proper domain.
Harrison jumped to his feet. “Excuse me, Miss Lambarth, I didn’t hear you ring. What do you require?”
“Excuse me, all of you, for coming here uninvited, but I have a bit of a dilemma that I hope you can help me solve.” Helena addressed herself to the dark-robed woman. “You are the housekeeper, Mrs. Baxtor?”
“Yes, miss,” the woman replied, curtseying.
“As I did not bring one with me, I need a lady’s maid. I should prefer not to hire some unknown person out of an agency and wondered if I might instead speak with the girl who waited on me this morning—Molly, I believe?”
The butler and the housekeeper exchanged glances. “Harrison takes care of hiring help, miss,” the housekeeper replied. “Molly is just a lower housemaid and hasn’t been trained for such work. If you step up to the parlor, I’m sure Harrison can discuss your requirements.”
Harrison bowed. “If you will follow me, miss?”
Nodding to acknowledge the curtseys of the staff, Helena dutifully left the room. So much for her distant memories of going with her mama to the kitchen to sample Cook’s fruit tarts, she thought ruefully. Not only had she obviously stepped out of place, she had stumbled into a hierarchy that did not readily admit change. Housemaids, apparently, did not turn overnight into ladies’ maids.
She would find no allies among that lot, Helena concluded, recalling the startled and mildly disapproving faces. But then, the household would go as the master dictated, as she ought to know well enough by now.
She must try a different tack, she decided as she trailed Harrison into the parlor. It would probably be better anyway to hire an outsider beholden to Helena alone for her position. But not, she was adamant, an experienced woman who would know instantly how out of place Helena was.
As Helena seated herself, Harrison said, “You would like me to inquire about a lady’s maid, miss?”
“Mr. Harrison, let us be blunt. My error in invading the kitchen must have confirmed what a man of your stature probably saw at first glance—that I wasn’t trained as befits one of my station. Lady Darnell will be helping me address those deficiencies, but while she does so, I do not wish to engage a dresser who would immediately note my inexperience. I should like to talk with Molly and see if she has a relation I might hire. I hope I could then rely on your guidance in instructing a new girl in her duties.”
Harrison nodded. “Better to bring in a newcomer than raise a maid here above her station. Naturally, I shall assist anyone you hire. I’m sure Mrs. Baxtor will, too.”
“You will have Molly sent to me, then?”
“Yes, miss. I expect Mrs. Baxtor can spare her from her work for a few moments.”
After pronouncing the last without a quiver of irony, Harrison withdrew. But as Helena waited for the maid to appear, memories of a conversation overheard on the way to London suddenly sparked another, better idea.
In addition to allowing her to personally select her employee, this alternative would insure that the person she chose would owe her position to Helena alone—and probably be grateful enough for the opportunity that she would work hard and ask no questions.
Best yet, Helena would be able to see at least a little of the city immediately. Indeed, by slipping out to hunt for a maid now, she could enjoy a freedom of movement that, based on what Aunt Lillian had just told her, she would probably have to forfeit once she’d been transformed into a young lady of fashion. A thrill of delicious anticipation energized her.
At that moment Molly entered and curtseyed. “Baxtor says you was wanting me, miss?”
“Yes, Molly. I have an errand to do and require a companion familiar with the city. Do you know how to get to St. Marylebone?”
“St. Marylebone?” the girl echoed. “’Tis rather far north of here, not near the shops or nothing. Are you sure that’s where you was wishful of going?”
“There’s a…business there I need to visit. You can show me the way?”
“I can, but you’d best be ordering out the carriage. ’Tis rather long a walk for a young lady.”
“I shall not be going as a fine young lady—at least outwardly. Lady Darnell does not want me to go about until my wardrobe is complete, but this matter cannot wait. If you can procure me a plain cloak with a hood, I can go there and back without attracting any notice. I will compensate you well.”
As the implications of Helena’s traveling incognito registered in the girl’s mind, her friendly smile faded. “I don’t think Lady Darnell or Mrs. Baxtor would look kindly on me, iff’n they knowed I helped you sneak out.”
“If anyone should discover us—which they will not—you need only tell Mrs. Baxtor that I ordered you to take me. She already knows I am a bit…odd.”
Molly giggled. “My, what a to-do it was, you coming down to the kitchen without a by-your-leave! John the footman told me ol’ Baxtor’s eyes was as big as dinner plates!” As if suddenly recalling to whom she was speaking, she blushed. “Meaning no disrespect, miss!”
Waving off the girl’s apology, Helena said, “Just before dark, while Lady Darnell is resting and the staff prepares dinner, we will slip away. Can you go today?”
Molly shook her head. “Oh, no, miss. Not today.”
A sympathetic anger uncurled inside Helena. “Does the master keep you confined here? Is he harsh?”
Molly looked at her uncomprehending. “You mean—Lord Darnell? Oh, no, miss! He’s been ever so kind every time I’ve seen him, even when he come up behind me one morning as I was bringing Eckles—that’s his valet—his shaving water and I dropped the pitcher and it shattered all over. But he was sweet as honey on a biscuit about it, and wouldn’t even let Eckles scold me, saying it was his own fault for startling me so.” The girl sighed. “He’s terrible handsome, too.”
So he was, Helena thought, remembering the odd little quiver he’d evoked in her. Relieved to have her innate distrust put to rest and her favorable first impression of Lord Darnell confirmed, she said, “Can you take me tomorrow?”
“I couldn’t get away until my half-day on Thursday.”
“Shall we say Thursday, then? If you come to my room before dinner tonight, I will give you money to make the preparations and reimburse you for working on your half-day. We shall have an adventure!”
Molly looked as if she did not find the idea of an adventure especially appealing. “I reckon I can do it, miss, but you…you’re sure we won’t get in no trouble?”
“None at all, I promise,” Helena said, giving the girl her most persuasive smile. She considered adding that the homemade knife she always kept strapped to her thigh—and her ability to use it—would guarantee a trouble-free trip. Judging by what she’d seen of London so far, however, such expertise was probably unusual among young ladies. No sense having Molly find her odder than she’d