She thought, I will learn every room of it. I will learn all of it.
She kept her hands perfectly still at her sides, and her chin level, and followed her husband up the broad curve of the stairs.
Chapter 6
The staff assembled in the servants' hall with the quiet efficiency of a well-run household that had been asked to do something unusual and was collectively determined not to show that it found it so.
Thomas stood at the head of the room and looked at them, the full complement of indoor staff, from Mr. Cavendish down to the youngest housemaid, who appeared to be approximately fourteen and was working very hard to look as though she was not nervous, and said what needed to be said.
“I understand that today was, perhaps, a shock to you all. You had all become well acquainted with Miss Clarissa, and so the arrival of her sister as my wife will have surprised you all. Understand this, though. Mrs. Harrington is now my wife. Even if she has arrived under strange circumstances, she is to be treated with all the respect, care, and kindness that one should show to the lady of the house,” he said.
He kept it plain. He had found, over years of managing both the estate and the people on it, that plainness was almost always more effective than elaboration. Elaboration invited questions. Plainness invited compliance. They all knew this was unusual. He would not insult their intelligence by pretending otherwise.
“Furthermore, I will not tolerate any gossip on the matter. Mrs. Harrington is the mistress of Harrington Hall. She will be treated as such in every particular, by every member of staff, without exception and without qualification.” He looked at them steadily while he said it, and the room was very quiet.
"Mr. Harrington." Mr. Cavendish spoke from his position at his right, and his voice had the quality of a man who had never in his professional life said anything he did not mean entirely. "You have my word. And mine is sufficient for this household."
"Thank you, Mr. Cavendish." He meant it. The man had been running his house since before Thomaswas born.He trustedMr. Cavendish with far more difficult things. "I know I can rely on you all."
He said it to the room, and the room received it with the collective gravity that he had hoped for. The young housemaid had stopped looking nervous. The footmen stood straight. Even Mr. Dobson, who had come in from the gardens still carrying the suggestion of soil about him and who generally held the opinion that anything occurring indoors was of limited relevance to his concerns, gave a single short nod that constituted, from him, a solemn oath.
Thomas thanked them again, and they dispersed, and he stood for a moment in the emptying room with the quiet satisfaction of a man who has done one thing correctly in an otherwise bewildering day.
Then he went to find his grandmother. She most of all would have her own… opinions… on what had occurred.
She was in the drawing room, as he had known she would be. She had always claimed the drawing room of whatever house she was in with the unhurried assurance of a woman who had never in her life been uncertain of her welcome, and she sat now in the chair nearest the fireplace, unlit in the June warmth, but she always preferred that chair regardless, with a book open on her lap that he was fairly certain she was not reading.
He closed the door behind him.
She looked up immediately. The book was set aside without any pretense of finishing a sentence.
"Sit down, Thomas."
He nodded, almost glad for her giving that order. The day had been a long one by any measure, and it was not yet finished, and the chair opposite her was familiar in the way that only a handful of things in his life were familiar, the particular comfort of a place associated, over many years, with being permitted to simply be.
"Tell me," she said.
“What is there to tell?” he asked. “I have already said, Clarissa eloped…”
“I do not mean that,” his grandmother scoffed, shaking her head. “I have little fondness for that woman.”
“Grandmother,” he said, using the formal term almost plaintively.
“It is true, and you know it to be so. I have little interest in retreading the events that she has caused in an attempt to find some reason or meaning. I was asking how your new wife is settling in.”
He nodded slowly.
“She is settling well. The staff have already accepted her,” he said, doing his best to mask the volley of emotions that had filled his chest. “I think she will do well here.”
“I hope so,” his grandmother said. She looked at him, and he knew. She could see through the masks he wore, and the walls he built. After all, she had once been an architect of similar walls. She understood their construction and how to break them.
“Thomas,” she said, reaching a hand out to him and gently patting his knee with all the strength her wizened hand would allow. “I will not look if you need a moment of sadness.”
“Do not worry,” he shook his head. “You do not need to think of such things. I imagine it is, in fact, a relief to you that Clarissa and I did not marry. I—”
"I am sorry," she said, interrupting him. He felt his chest ache at the words. "Whatever I thought of the girl, and you know what I thought, I know that you loved her. I am sorry for it, Thomas. Truly."
He held her gaze.