Of Moths and Butterflies Read Online Free PDF Page B

relief. If the workload was all he had meant to imply, then she would accept any task expected of her, and do it gladly.
    “And I like my servants to be seen as little as possible. Will you remember that?”
    “Yes, sir,” she answered and looked down once more.
    “You’ll go back and take the servants’ stairs.”
    She curtsied and made her way back up, passing him as he watched her. He followed then, at a little distance, and when she turned down the corridor to the east wing, where the nearest entrance to the cloisters was situated, she glanced back to find him watching her still.
    Shaped as a “U” as the house was, the cloisters lined the inner courtyard, providing a transition between the outdoor and indoor spaces. The upper floor was enclosed in leaded glass while the lower remained open to the formal garden by a series of columned arches. On each of the wings, east and west, the cloisters were public spaces, though little used, this being precisely what recommended them best for servants’ use. In the central transept they formed a part of the old library, now Sir Edmund’s private rooms. And so the servants could access the upper floors only by separate staircases situated at the extreme ends of the house. It was hardly convenient, unless one were a permanent resident and had a strong disinclination to knowing how one’s hot water arrived at one’s rooms.
    Imogen presented herself in the kitchen, still bleary eyed from her sudden waking. Mrs. Hartup was there to meet her, and without preface or explanation, a can of blacking was placed into her hand, along with a pail containing various instruments of curious purpose.
    “The stove,” the housekeeper offered by way of explanation. “And you’d best get it done before cook comes down or there’ll be a to-do.”
    The fire had been lit already, and so the increasing heat served as further incentive to getting her work finished quickly. Still, Mrs. Hartup found it necessary to prod her at intervals, admonishing her to scrub harder, to remove that bit of soil there, and then to polish faster. And she did, finishing with only a minute or two to spare before the cook entered the kitchen.
    “Who is this?” Mrs. Prim demanded, looking Imogen up and down. Clearly the paradox that was the new maid’s appearance was a difficulty for the cook. Imogen, with her fair skin and fine features, was nevertheless decorated in blacking and soot, wearing a moth-eaten and age-faded merino dress, a soiled apron and a pair of shoes made of the finest leather.
    Before any questions could be asked of her, or explanations given in regards to her incongruous appearance, Mrs. Hartup sent her into the dining room to tend to the fireplace there.
    Imogen, assuring herself that the room was empty first, approached the fireplace and prepared to do as she had seen done by others. She laid the dust cloth over the carpet and knelt down upon it. She spread dampened tea leaves over yesterday’s coals to keep the dust down, then swept it all out very carefully. She then cleaned the grate, irons and fender before blacking them as she had done the range in the kitchen. Having finished this task, the next thing to be done was to lay the new fire.
    Coal, inherently temperamental, had always proved a difficulty for her, and she found she could only get a fire well and truly going if she used a great deal of kindling or newspaper and some used coals from the day before. No kindling had been given her, neither did she know where to look, but she had noticed, upon entering the room, that a stack of newspapers had been laid on the table. No doubt they had been placed there for a purpose, but the fire must be lighted and burning steadily before the master should come down to breakfast.
    She arose and wiped her hands before carefully examining the newspapers. There were seven in all, beginning with a week before and continuing up to the current date. Surely a paper a week old would not be missed, and