The Music Box Read Online Free PDF Page A

those I love will finally have the opportunity to meet one another.”
    Bryce remained silent, wondering at Hermione’s choice of words as well as her enthusiasm. Obviously her staff meant far more to her than mere employees. That shouldn’t astound him; after all, she’d always treated the Lyndleys as if they were dear friends rather than a housekeeper and a valet. Still, he’d always assumed that was a special affinity reserved just for his parents. It had never occurred to him that Hermione felt the same fierce commitment and affection for very member of her staff.
    Perhaps that was because he’d never imagined so much love could exist inside one person.
    Bryce’s attention snapped to the doorway as a flurry of footsteps sounded from the hall, accompanied by a profusion of excited voices and an occasional “ssh” when the din got too loud.
    An instant later Chaunce reentered the room, a dozen pairs of curious eyes peering around him. “We’re all accounted for, my lady.”
    “Then by all means come in.” Hermione gave a regal wave. “Everyone—come in.”

Chapter 2
    B RYCE HAD NO IDEA what he’d expected.
    But whatever it was, it hadn’t been this.
    Hands clasped behind him, he stood beside the settee, keeping his expression carefully nondescript as the most curious and widely varied array of people one could envision traipsed, tripped, and stumbled into the room.
    There were about thirty in all, men and women alike, ranging in age from six to sixty. The younger ones—three boys and two girls—wore trousers and day dresses rather than uniforms, looking more like children of the manor than like servants. In contrast to their polished attire, however, they seemed excessively timid, clustering together and hanging behind the adults to peek surreptitiously at Bryce with wide, awed gazes. Only one of them, a curly-haired lad of about eight, stood off to one side, leaning stiffly against the wall and occasionally shifting his weight as if he were in discomfort.
    The cook, a heavyset woman with a crisp white apron and eyes that crinkled when she smiled, marched straight over to the curly-haired lad, bending to say something soothing, nearly suffocating the boy with her bosom in the process. The lad averted his head in order to breathe, but despite whatever difficulty that entailed, he was clearly eased by the cook’s gentle words, for he stood a bit taller when she ruffled his hair and turned away.
    The ten or twelve footmen, whom Bryce recognized from their frantic efforts when he’d arrived, wore red uniforms with gleaming buttons. One of them, a stout man of middle years, kept frowning at a spot on his chest where a button was missing, muttering something unintelligible under his breath as he did. And another, a gaunt fellow with thinning gray hair, kept squinting in Bryce’s direction, pausing occasionally to grope in his pockets and mumble about his missing spectacles.
    The sturdy woman standing at the head of the female servants was clearly the housekeeper. She had wiry hair—strands of which stuck out of her bun like small, broken twigs—and a no-nonsense demeanor that reminded Bryce of a British general. Twice she whipped about to reprimand a round-faced maid in the rear who kept tripping on the Oriental rug and toppling forward onto an elderly maid just in front of her. The elderly maid looked oblivious to the fact that she was being flung about, smiling sweetly and chatting with the gnarled and wrinkled maid beside her, who Bryce was certain couldn’t remain upright without benefit of the walking stick-upon which she leaned.
    Behind the maids came the serving girls, most of whom were painfully skinny and pale, two of whom had oddly vacant looks in their eyes, as if they weren’t quite certain where they were and why.
    In the rear, three men stood just inside the door: to the far left, a lanky fellow whose wheat-colored hair and spindly build made him look for all the world like a straw of hay