Page 9 of The Housekeeper's Secret

‘Sorry.’

‘You weren’t to blame.’

He gave a nod of acknowledgement and made to move past her, but she blocked his way.

‘Wait—Are you unwell?’

There was a sheen of sweat on his skin. His jaw was set, and a muscle flickered above it in the hollow of his cheek.

‘I’m fine.’

‘You’re clearly anything but fine. Do I have to spell out the consequences of drinking on duty to you as well?’

It was the only thing she could think of, though she knew it made no sense; he’d come from a taproom, not a temperance society, like Miss Addison’s maid. Even if he had been stupid enough to be led astray by Walter Cox, they’d only got as far as the entrées. He couldn’t have downed enough stolen wine for it to have such an effect already.

‘I haven’t been drinking.’

His eyes were dark, all pupil and no iris. She could sense the tension coming from him: a taut, pent-up energy that felt a little like anger. She put the sauceboat on his tray and took it from him, nodding in the direction of the butler’s pantry. ‘Go and wash your face and get some water. Hurry up.’

She deposited the tray and went into the scullery to sponge the sauce from her dress. Dismayed by the oily stain it left and wondering how she might shift it (fuller’s earth?) she went to find him in the butler’s pantry.

He was standing by the sink, his back towards her as he drank water from his scooped hands. He turned as she came in, wiping his mouth on the scarlet cuff of his livery coat. A little of the colour had returned to his cheeks, but his eyes still had a dark glitter.

‘I’ll get back to work.’

He picked up his gloves and crossed the room, but she closed the door before he reached it.

‘Not until I say so, Mr Arden. Do you have a fever?’

‘No.’ His eyes were fixed on a point above her left shoulder. His expression was one of exaggerated resignation. ‘I told you, I’m not unwell.’

She gave a tut of impatience. ‘I can’t risk illness amongst my staff, Mr Arden. Not ever, but particularly not now.’

Reaching up, she touched the backs of her fingers to his cheek. He flinched, as if he too had felt the jolt that passed down her arm. His skin was as cool and smooth as marble. She pulled away sharply.

His eyes met hers, faintly challenging. ‘Can I go now?’

She opened the door and stood back to let him pass, not remotely reassured.

It was dark when Jem slipped out of the door and into the yard. The village girls were gone and the last of the endless crystal glasses had been dried and returned to its correct place in the butler’s pantry. The cook had finished, and the lamps were turned out, so the large kitchen window held only the dim glow from the passageway, not strong enough to push away the endless country blackness.

Sitting on the edge of a stone trough by the wall, he let out a long, slow breath. He felt dazed, his head full of jolting, disjointed impressions from the day. They replayed themselves behind his eyes, like a magic lantern turned by a clumsy hand.

Tipping back his head, he looked up at the sky and discovered that the darkness was spangled with stars, sprinkled like sugar across the heavens. At least they felt familiar, though it had been a while since he had seen them in such abundance. Their silent shimmer anchored him, reminding him of home.

Of Jack.

When he’d seen the advertisement, it had felt like stumbling across the key to a locked door. The cogs of the universe, turning slowly all this time, seemed to jolt forward, gears in the earth’s invisible mechanism slotting into place and telling him that this was the opportunity he had been waiting for.

He just wasn’t sure what to do with it.

He had set out this morning with only a broken trail of clues to follow; the stale crumbs of rumour and the gnawing need to know the truth that had tormented him for the last nine years. Hatred churned sourly in his gut and acid burned in his throat, an echo of the nausea that had almost overwhelmed him earlier. Going into the dining room, his reaction to the physical presence of Hyde had been visceral. It had taken all Jem’s willpower not to grab him by his thick throat, throw him against the wall, and ask him for the truth outright. After all these years of not knowing, it was dazzlingly tempting.

But he knew better than to let emotion cloud his judgement. If he was going to find out what had happened to his brother, he had to tread carefully this time. Cleverly. If he ruined this chance, he knew he wouldn’t get another.

From somewhere on the far side of the yard he heard the creak and bang of the privy door and a light appeared, swaying as it came closer. Jem stilled, waiting for whoever carried it to pass him and go inside, but at the door it stopped, then swung around in a wide arc. A voice came from behind it.

‘Jem? We wondered where you’d got to. Thought you’d had enough and done a runner.’