Free To Beguile a Beast by Elizabeth Hoyt

with a catch and shoved it open.
    “Chase it over here,” she called to the maid with the broom.
    The girl, a sturdy redhead who obviously had a level head on her shoulders, obediently did so, and several frantic minutes later, the bird found freedom.
    Helen slammed the window shut and latched it.
    “Now, then.” She turned to her troops and took a breath. “What happened?”
    “It came out the chimney!” Jamie exclaimed. He was so excited his hair was on end, and he was quite red in the face. “Nellie was sweeping it”—he pointed to the maid now removing her apron from her face—“and the bird fell down with a heap of soot.”
    A large mound of soot and what looked like an ancient bird’s nest lay on the hearth.
    “Gave me ever such a turn, mum,” Nellie concurred.
    “And then you stood there and yelled like a banshee while it flew about the room.” The red-headed girl had the broom over one shoulder like a musket and her other hand on her hip.
    “Oh, will ye now be holdin’ it over me, Meg Campbell, that ye know how to chase a bird with a broom?” Nellie shot back.
    The maids started arguing, while the footmen guffawed.
    Helen felt a headache begin to pound at her temple. “Enough!”
    The cacophony of voices silenced and all eyes turned toward her.
    “You”—Helen pointed at the tallest footman—“go to the kitchen and sweep out the fireplace.”
    “But that’s a lass’s job,” the boy objected.
    “Well, you’re doing it today,” Helen said. “And mind it’s well swept and scrubbed.”
    “Aw,” the tall footman groaned, but he went from the room.
    Helen turned to the remaining servants. “Meg, come help me polish the dining table. You two”—she gestured to the other maid and the shorter footman—“finish cleaning that chimney. We have to get it clear if we’re to have a fire in here tonight without setting the room ablaze.”
    They worked all through the afternoon, cleaning, sweeping, polishing, and even taking the rugs and curtains out to beat them in the wind. By six o’clock, the dining room was as neat as a pin and a fire roared in the fireplace, though it did still smoke a little.
    Helen looked about, one hand massaging the ache at the small of her back. What a tremendous chore! She’d never take a housemaid’s work for granted again. At the same time, she couldn’t help a pleased smile spreading over her face. She’d set her mind to it, and she’d done it! Helen thanked the maids and the two rather worn footmen and sent them off to the kitchen for a well-deserved cup of tea.
    “What shall we do now, Mama?” Abigail asked. The children had been wonderful workers all afternoon. Even Jamie had helped polish the windows.
    Helen smiled at them. “Now we go wash up so that we can properly greet Sir Alistair when he comes down for his supper.”
    “And we’ll eat in the dining room with him!” Jamie exclaimed.
    Helen felt a pang. “No, dear, we’ll have a lovely supper in the kitchen.”
    “But why?” Jamie asked.
    “Because Mama’s the housekeeper, and it’s not proper for us to eat with Sir Alistair,” Abigail said. “We’re servants now. We eat in the kitchen.”
    Helen nodded. “That’s right. But the meat pie will taste just as good in the kitchen, don’t you think? Now, let’s tidy up, shall we?”
    But forty-five minutes later, when Helen and the children again came down the stairs, Sir Alistair was nowhere to be found.
    “I think he’s still in his tower,” Abigail said, frowning at the ceiling overhead as if she could see the master of the castle four floors above. “Perhaps he sleeps up there, too.”
    Both Helen and Jamie glanced instinctively up at the ceiling. Mrs. McCleod had said that she planned supper for seven o’clock. If Sir Beastly didn’t appear soon, his supper would be cold, and, more importantly, he might offend the only qualified cook for miles and miles.
    That decided it. Helen turned to the children. “Darlings, why