Aftermath

27. The Acceptable Side of Scandalous

That sort of cautious thinking didn't make an impression on Brooks, of course. He was a practical man, best at solving practical, immediate problems. Such as whatever was ailing the car. 

"I can't afford for her to feel snubbed," I said in way of a short explanation, looking out of the open shed door at the back of the main house where several men were working in the kitchen garden.  "Would you possibly be prepared to travel to Hertfordshire and collect whatever there is to collect?"

Brooks straightened up, his mouth falling slightly open in astonishment. "You want me to go all the way to Hertfordshire and ferry back any irritating Tommies? How many trips will that need?"

"Just one, I promise. But not alone, certainly! Let's see, who else. . . How about Morris? We could do without him for a few days. He could go with you. Yes, Morris might be the best advertisement we could send, as his missing arm will certainly make the right impression."

"Aye, I reckon Morris is a good choice. But if you think this will be the last time you'll be hearing from Lady Whoever-Whatever, you're in for a disappointing." Brooks nodded his head a few times in fatherly admonishment. "

"Best to scratch this off the list as soon as we can and get on to more important things. So you both should get going as quickly as we can manage it. Day after tomorrow most likely. And, if we're lucky, we'll perhaps find someone in Hertfordshire with a skill we can use."  

That wasn't likely, but Brooks was honestly the best man for the job and I wanted to encourage him as much as I could.

"That's short notice. I've got things to see to here, but I'll see what I can arrange." He fixed the car engine with an black look. "Once I figure out what's making that knocking noise."  

"Thank you, Brooks. I would greatly appreciate that."

Leaving the car shed, I felt as if I'd made slight progress on the problem, but was still vastly annoyed at Elizabeth's cheek. Brooks was right, she was treating me and The Hutch like servants. No, not servants, like tradesmen. Someone you sent for to take care of an unpleasantry for you, and then forgot to pay. 

I knew why,  or at least I thought I did, even thought I fought with myself about it as I crossed over the lawn to the main house, folding the letter back into the envelope and cursing under my breath.

I had no husband. I had made no alliances and was running a veterans programme alone. In the eyes of the older generation, I was only barely on the acceptable side of scandalous and that was a potential problem.

We had a strong customer list; I wasn't worried there. I was more concerned about influence in my own class if times became difficult again. We'd survived one war, but could we survive another catastrophe of similar magnitude? While a second war with Germany was highly unlikely, economic difficulties never were, and women alone were always the most vulnerable. 

No matter if they had an estate and the vote or not.

I glanced over at the white length of the Infirmary. 

It had been two days since I'd smacked James and I hadn't seen a speck of him since. 

McCrory informed me that Sykes was keeping a close watch on him. Apparently, he thought James a bit of a trouble maker now and was threatening to have him redeployed to Hard Candy if he so much as bent a parsley stalk. 

That couldn't be pleasant. 

The kitchen door opened and Daniels, the cook, appeared. He was still recovering from the shock of the attack on his post, and had taken to limiting the amount of people in the kitchen at any one time and keeping the door to the garden closed and guarded.

"Miss Altringham! Visitor in the grand salon for you!" he called, and then slammed the door shut without waiting for a reply.

A visitor? Who on Earth could that be? 

I was in no mood for visitors. I needed to talk to Morris and get the trip to Hertfordshire underway so that we could see where we stood with residents as quickly --.

Perhaps it was Charlotte! She did sometimes stop by on her way down to Rye to take the air.

Oh, let it be Charlotte!  If anyone could cheer me up by spitting some venom in Elizabeth's direction and help me not take things so seriously, it would be her. 

Shoving my immediate worries to the side, I hurried into the house.

But when I arrived in the grand salon, it wasn't Charlotte who rose to greet me. It was a woman I'd never seen before wearing an plain grey dress and a straw hat with a large, wilting pink flower tucked into the band. Two large, brown leather traveling cases stood by her feet. 

Agatha set down her teacup and rose from the chair opposite the strange woman. The woman rose, as well. 

"Miss Altringham," Agatha said formally, gesturing to the stranger, "this is Mrs Thrower. Lady Bucking-Coombs' former housemaid who inquired after a position with us a week ago."  

Mrs Thrower nodded and curtsied, the flower in her hat loosing a petal. 

"She's just arrived to inquire after the position," Agatha continued. "Personally. Apparently, . . ." and here Agatha laid a dramatic pause. "Apparently, she has nowhere else to go."