Ashworth Hall by Anne Perry

Author:Anne Perry
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780307767677
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2010-09-29T10:00:00+00:00

7

GRACIE ARRANGED the white chrysanthemums and placed the vase on the table in the dressing room, then drifted downstairs in a vague, delicious daydream. In the hallway she did not see the ancestral portraits or the wood paneling; she saw light on glass and smelled the earth and the damp leaves and rows and rows of flowers. One moment she wanted to remember every word of the conversation, the next it did not matter in the slightest; the way she felt, the warmth of it was everything. Examine it too closely and it might disappear, like taking a tune apart. She had seen the black notes written on the page, and they meant nothing. The magic was gone; it was not music anymore.

She had Charlotte’s dress for the evening over her arm, and it was difficult to hold it high enough to keep the long skirts at the back from trailing on the floor.

“Gracie!”

She only dimly heard the voice.

“Gracie!”

She stopped and turned.

Doll was running down the stairs after her, her face pinched with anxiety.

“What is it?” Gracie asked.

“What are you doing here?” Doll said, taking her by the arm. “We aren’t supposed to carry clothes along these stairs! What if someone came to the door! It’d look terrible. That’s what back stairs is for. You only come down these if you’re sent for to one of the front rooms.”

“Oh. Oh, yeh. O’ course.” She had known that. She was not thinking.

“Where’s yer wits?” Doll asked more gently. “Yer out woolgathering?”

“What? What’s woolgathering?” Without realizing it, her arms were lowering and the blue dress was trailing on the floor.

Doll took it from her. She was six inches taller and it was an easy task for her.

“Picking bits o’ sheep wool that’s got caught in the hedges. I mean your wits are wandering.” She shook her head. “Yer going to iron this? If you weren’t before, you’d better now … and clean the hem of that skirt train.” She looked at the silk appreciatively. “It’s a lovely color. I always imagine the sea looks like that ’round desert islands and such.”

Gracie had no time for desert islands. The best things happened in gardens in England, in the dying blaze of the year. Green and white were the most beautiful colors. She followed Doll obediently through the baize door, along the passageway, turned left, and then past the stillroom, the footmen’s pantry, the room where they hung the pheasants and other game, the coal room, and on to the various laundry rooms and ironing rooms.

Doll put the blue dress on a hanger and inspected it carefully, flicking off specks of dust, wringing out a cloth till it was barely damp, and then wiping the places where Gracie had inadvertently let the hem of the dress brush on the floor.

“It doesn’t look bad,” she said with a slight lift in her voice. “Let it dry a minute or two, then iron it. Mrs. Pitt won’t find fault. You’ve got a good place. You’re lucky.”

Suddenly

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