Free Rose by Holly Webb Page B

glossy brown curl. It looked ridiculous, but his eyes were bright and curious above it. “However does Susan dust it?” she asked.
    Mr. Fountain blinked. “I don’t think she does,” he murmured. “I hadn’t thought about that. I waft my handkerchief over it occasionally.”
    â€œIt is awfully dusty,” Rose pointed out. She heard Miss Bridges’ sharp intake of breath and realized that even without rules, she ought to have known not to tell off her master about the state of his desk. Still, it was quite true. She bobbed another curtsy, and Miss Bridges shooed her to the door.
    â€œI shall keep an eye on you, young Rose,” Mr. Fountain’s voice followed her. He was purring again, and as Rose looked back, she saw that he had his feet up on the enchanted marble.
    After that, Rose wished she could be the one to clean the study. She was sure she would do it better than Susan—it hadn’t only been the desk that was dusty, she’d noted. She wanted to look at all those strange instruments and study the carpet a little more. And brush it, to get those muddy footprints out. If she used a feather duster, she might even be able to get the desk clean. Or would the spell sizzle the feathers? Honestly, she didn’t think magic was as clever and wonderful as all that if no one ever considered the dusting. She sighed. Maybe dusting was just too boring and unimportant to think about. Then Rose frowned to herself. What if dust got in the way? What if a magician was doing a spell and enchanted the dust by mistake? If the spell from Mr. Fountain’s desk had landed on dust instead, it would go floating through the air, looking for its owner and burning things! What if it landed on someone’s skin? Rose shuddered. That wouldn’t happen. Would it? Uneasily, she remembered Mr. Freddie flying down the stairs and breaking a Ming vase. Enchanted dust didn’t actually sound all that unlikely. She resolved to be extremely careful of piles of dust from now on.
    Anyway, cleaning Mr. Fountain’s private study was strictly the senior housemaid’s job. Even though Susan didn’t work very hard, she would jump on Rose if she suggested taking over any of her duties—she would prefer to bully Rose into doing them and then take the credit while looking smugly angelic.
    ***
    â€œGloves! Rose! Yes, good girl, make sure you keep them clean. William Sands, where are your gloves?! ”
    â€œDunno, miss.” Bill stared at Miss Bridges with the expression of a particularly stupid mule. Rose knew him well enough after nearly a week to know that it was put-on. Bill knew perfectly well where his gloves were, she was sure. He just enjoyed baiting Miss Bridges.
    â€œThey’re in his pockets,” Susan said in a saintly voice. She was wearing a very smart black coat that Rose guessed she must have saved her wages for, and a little black bonnet with a bunch of velvet violets on it. Rose was quite ashamed to realize how pleased she was that the violets made Susan look sallow—but not so ashamed that she intended to stop thinking it.
    â€œPut them on!” Miss Bridges hissed. “This household must be well turned out for church. I will not have slovenliness.”
    â€œShe has a competition with Mrs. Lark across the road,” the kitchen maid, Sarah, whispered in Rose’s ear, seeing her amazed expression. “Not that she’d ever admit it.”
    â€œOh!” Rose breathed. That explained it. She’d never seen Miss Bridges so worked up.
    As they hurried up the area steps to wait for the family to come out the front door, Rose saw another, very similar party forming up across the square. A fat little lady in a purple mantle was cuffing the ear of a boy in a livery even fancier than Bill’s. The jacket had tails, and it appeared he’d had a comic concealed in a secret tail pocket.
    Miss Bridges permitted herself a small, very