Free Of Moths and Butterflies by V. R. Christensen Page A

wrong. I see that now.”
    The look of anxiety that had been in her eyes a moment ago hardened now. “Do you have complaints about my work, sir?”
    “I have concerns in regard to the fact that you seem determined to make trouble.”
    “I don’t understand you, sir.”
    “You do not get on with the other staff. The girls do not like you. They say you put on airs, and I believe they are right.”
    “Airs, sir?”
    “Do you deny it?”
    “I don’t know what you can mean.”
    “Have you somehow lowered yourself in working for me?”
    “No,” she answered without flinching.
    “Perhaps you’ve raised yourself, then.”
    Her face flushed crimson.
    “Perhaps if I understood in what manner you served my friend, I might better know how you might best serve me.”
    He saw her pale as she took a step away from him. What he saw in her eyes confirmed his suspicion, though it gave him no great comfort. He saw a fear that spoke of experience, and that of the worst kind. He’d seen that look before, and the memory brought the taste of bile.
    “You’re quite a stranger here.”
    “Yes, sir,” she said.
    “No family?”
    “No, sir.”
    “None?”
    “Not near.”
    “In Town?”
    Again, silence was her only answer.
    “Drake Everard had a niece.”
    Before she could answer, which he was not sure she meant to do, in any event, there was a knock at the door.
    “Just a minute, if you please!” Sir Edmund bellowed, and then, taking Gina by the arm, showed her out, almost hastily, through the garden entrance.
    “I want you upstairs, in the west wing bedrooms, and I want you to stay there, do you understand?”
    “What have I done to offend you, sir? Will you tell me?”
    “It isn’t anything you have done, but something you seem determined yet to do. Now go!”
    He closed the door but waited a moment to be sure she was gone.
    The knock again.
    “Yes, yes. Come in!”
    Archer stepped into the room. Sir Edmund stepped out of it.
    “Mrs. Hartup!” he called.
    A minute later, Mrs. Hartup appeared, red faced and out of breath.
    “Send one of your girls out to finish beating the rugs, if you will.”
    “The girls have enough to do on their own, sir, without attending to Gina’s chores.”
    Sir Edmund’s eyes closed in frustration. “After twenty-odd years, Mrs. Hartup, can you manage for once to do as you are told?”
    She turned and shuffled off, mumbling unintelligibly.
    Sir Edmund returned to the study. Archer had already made himself comfortable.
    “You’re home early.”
    “In your way again, am I?”
    “You won’t be for long.”
    “Oh?”
    “I’m sending you back to Town.”
    “Not again?”
    “Yes, again.” Sir Edmund handed Archer an invitation to a dinner party to be held that evening, along with his expected allowance. The young man pocketed it without a word. “You’ll go?”
    “I suppose I might wash and get a change of clothes first.”
    “Yes, yes. Fine.”
    Archer arose, prepared to take his leave.
    “Oh Archer,” Sir Edmund said, stopping him. “You won’t mind taking Mrs. Barton?”
    At the mention of Sir Edmund’s mistress, Archer turned to face his uncle.
    “Why would I do that?” His displeasure was apparent in the flinching of his jaw muscles.
    “Because you attend me when you’re at home, if you remember, and you can do that by attending Mrs. Barton. I can’t get away just now, and she is anxious to be seen.”
    “By you?”
    “By Society! You’ll take her and there’s an end of it!”
     

Chapter ten
     
     
     
    RS. HARTUP ARRIVED in the east wing corridor to find Becky and Harriet preparing to enter Mr. Hamilton’s bedroom.
    “You’re wanted out of doors,” Mrs. Hartup announced, taking little trouble to hide her irritation. “The rugs from the west bedroom suite must be beaten and aired and returned to the room as quickly as possible.”
    “Gina cannot do it herself?”
    “Apparently not. She’s been ordered to keep herself out of sight while the nephews