“I came on my own, in fact.”
“Did you now? Well, you’ll do if you keep your head down and don’t give me trouble.”
Violet was about to thank her when the service door opened and a silence preceded the person behind it. The scullery maid straightened. Mrs Garrick stood up. Violet turned and found Mrs Greer standing in the doorway in her grey dress and white cap.
Mrs Greer looked at Violet then at her hands holding a knife and a turnip. She looked at the peelings in the bucket. Her gaze moved to Mrs Garrick.
“Mrs Garrick.”
“Mrs Greer.”
“Is Her Grace peeling turnips in your kitchen?”
Mrs Garrick looked at Violet. The blood left her face. “Her Grace, Mrs Greer?”
“Yes. The Duchess of Iredell, Mrs Garrick. Sitting at your table. Peeling turnips.”
“Oh, Lord. Oh. I didn’t… She came in and I thought…”
“I can see what you thought.”
“She asked to help. Sheasked! And she looked like she needed something to do, and I didn’t know. The dress!”
“Mrs Garrick.” Mrs Greer put her fists on her hips.
“Mrs Greer,” Violet set down the knife, “Mrs Garrick has been very kind. And the turnips needed peeling.”
Mrs Greer regarded her mistress with something maternal behind her eyes.
“Your Grace, Sarah is waiting for you upstairs.”
Violet stood and wiped her hands on the kitchen cloth hanging from the hook.
“Thank you for the bread, Mrs Garrick. I am sorry for the confusion.”
Mrs Garrick, who looked like she might not recover for some days, managed a curtsey. “Your Grace.”
Violet followed Mrs Greer up the service stair. At the top, where the stair gave onto the main corridor, Mrs Greer stopped.
“I shall have tea and biscuits sent up to your room, Your Grace. Breakfast will be laid in the morning room at nine.”
“Tea and a biscuit in my room will be quite sufficient, Mrs Greer.”
“Very good, Your Grace. I should mention that His Grace will be breakfasting at nine.”
The mention of her husband sent a coldness through her that had nothing to do with the corridor.
“I think… I will not need any more than tea and biscuits, Mrs Greer.”
“Very well, Your Grace, but you will have soft-boiled egg as well. You are far too thin, and I will not have it said that this house does not feed its mistress.”
Violet thought about her mother. “Very well, Mrs Greer. Thank you.”
Sarah Baker came in at twenty past seven with the tea tray in one hand. She was perhaps around her own age. She was pretty with dark hair and quick hands.
She set the tray down and met Violet’s eyes with an open expression.
“Good morning, Your Grace. Mrs Greer tells me you’ve already had an adventure.”