The First Rebellion by M. C. Beaton

Author:M. C. Beaton [Beaton, M.C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-7953-2192-4
Publisher: RosettaBooks

Chapter Seven

“There she goes again … and at this time of the morning!” said Mrs. Ricketts to the cook, Mrs. Smiles.

“Which one of them is it?” asked the cook.

“Just caught a glimpse out the back,” said Mrs. Ricketts. “Miss Fanny, I think.”

“Mistress would be in a right taking if she knew they were getting loose,” pointed out the cook, not for the first time. “Good thing she’s not giving lessons this morning.”

“They never stay away long,” said Mrs. Ricketts. “’T ain’t natteral, keeping ‘em in the house from morning till night. Anyway, we’re told to see none of them go out the front door, so there’s no cause to interfere. There’s one thing about this odd household that suits me—no men. No butler puffing and blowing and giving orders and not doing any work hisself. But we’re past marriage, Mrs. Smiles, so it’s comfortable for us. But young things like that should be out at parties and have plenty of beaux.” In the cases of both the housekeeper and the cook, the Mrs. was a courtesy title.

“Madam doesn’t know what you think, I hope,” said Mrs. Smiles.

“No. She doesn’t think that servants think at all. She’s really like the rest of the quality. She preaches on about equality, but that don’t apply to the servants hall. Miss Fanny’ll be back soon enough.”

“But it’s different now,” pointed out the cook, brushing flour from her nose with the back of her hand. “Mr. Fordyce is in that house next door.”

“Not yet,” said Mrs. Ricketts. “He moves in next week with a staff of servants. Reckon I’ll need to have a word with the girls then.”

Fanny flew across the square, expecting any moment to hear an angry voice calling her back. She let out a little gasp of dismay as she reached the pillared entrance of St. George’s Church, for there was no sign of the earl. The morning was chilly, and she wrapped her old woollen cloak more tightly about her. She felt very conspicuous standing alone on the steps.

She heard a carriage approaching and moved behind one of the pillars. It came to a stop and she peered around.

The earl! Thank goodness.

“I thought you were not going to come,” she said breathlessly as she climbed into the open carriage beside him.

“I always keep my word, Miss Fanny,” he said. “Off we go to find your past!”

He drove along in silence. Fanny was wearing her coal scuttle bonnet and looked every inch an orphanage girl, he reflected. He broke the silence at last.

“Do not pin your hopes on this visit,” he said. “Do not cherish any dreams that your parents are noble. It will probably turn out to be as you have heard.”

“All I have heard is that I was a foundling,” said Fanny. “A foundling, and no one knows who my parents are or were. But I cannot believe it.”

“What name were you given at the orphanage?”

“Miss Bride—after the church where I was found.”

“And the two other girls?”

“Bride as well.”

“Do you mean you were all abandoned on the same church doorstep?”

“Hardly,” laughed Fanny.

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