The Lost Ancestor (The Forensic Genealogist series Book 2) by Nathan Dylan Goodwin

Author:Nathan Dylan Goodwin [Goodwin, Nathan Dylan]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2014-08-31T04:00:00+00:00

Contrary to how she had expected to feel, Mary had enjoyed her afternoon off. She had stayed with Edie for the remainder of the afternoon and evening, the pair of them chatting just like they had used to. Mary felt like at least one of the weights had been lifted from her shoulders. When she had returned to Blackfriars that night, she found the place eerily empty. Evidently the trip to Scotland had gone off as planned, for the only staff she found in the servants’ hall for that evening’s supper were the first footman, John Wiseman, who was temporarily in charge of the remaining domestic staff, Bastion, Charles Philips, the head gardener and the scullery maid, Joan Leigh. As soon as she set foot into the servants’ hall, Mary wished that she hadn’t bothered.

‘For the sake of keeping things running smoothly,’ John Wiseman had said, standing for the occasion, ‘I’m going to ask you to sit in your usual seats.’

Mary sagged from the pettiness but knew better than to argue back. She took her seat, opposite Joan at the end of the table, a huge gulf open between them and the other three servants. There was no conversation at all, but Bastion, in his own contemptuous way, made it clear through his grunts, groans and French outbursts that he was livid at having been left behind, the Mansfields preferring to employ a local Scottish chef for their time at Boughton House.

With the silent supper finally over, Mary headed up to her bedroom with Joan irritatingly close behind her.

‘Here, do you think Lady Philadelphia’s pregnant? That’s what Sarah reckons.’

‘I don’t care for gossip, Joan,’ Mary said airily. She did care for gossip but, having been on the receiving end of Joan’s tittle-tattle, she decided to take the moral high ground.

‘Shall I come in your room while everyone’s away?’ Joan asked.

‘No, thank you,’ Mary said. To have that snooping little creature in her room would be simply awful. As much as spending nine nights by herself scared her, she would rather spend a sleepless night alone than have Joan in the room.

‘Please?’ Joan persisted. They had reached the top of the ninety-six stairs. ‘I don’t fancy being by myself.’

‘Tough. Goodnight,’ Mary said, entering her bedroom and shutting the door behind her. With the house so empty, she closed the latch on the door and slid the bolt across. It was the first time in her life that Mary had ever slept totally alone; it was one of the best nights’ sleep she had ever had.

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