Free Buckingham Palace Gardens by Anne Perry Page B

really good. He would have done this far better than she. But he despised being in service. They had had lots of arguments about it. She thought it was just silly pride to prefer being cold and hungry, living in some rot-smelling rooms and drinking water from a well that might not even be clean, just to say for yourself whether you came or went. Better to have a warm room, good food every day, and be as safe as anybody is, at the price of being told what to do.
    Everybody had to obey rules, no matter who you were. They were just different sorts of rules. He couldn’t see that. Stubborn, he was. But then she wouldn’t really want him much different, even if more sensible. She smiled in the dark as she thought of him. She would be able to tell him all about it soon. She would make notes, just to remind herself—about the Palace, not the detecting. That was secret from everybody—except Mr. Pitt, of course.
    She must have finally gone to sleep because she was jolted awake by a knock on the door, and a moment later Norah was standing by her bed with a candle in her hand. She waited until Gracie actually climbed out and stood up in her nightgown, bare feet on the floor.
    â€œCan’t ’ave yer late on yer first day,” she said cheerfully, and, satisfied, turned to leave. “Breakfast’s in the servants’ ’all at ’alf-past six. Don’t miss it or yer’ll be ’ungry.”
    Gracie thanked her, then she poured the water she had fetched the night before. She set about getting ready, as well as she could, in both body and mind.
    The uniform dress was a trifle large, especially around the waist, but with the apron tied it looked very smart. It was perfectly ironed, with not a suspicion of a crease, and the lace was as good as a lady’s. The cap felt uncomfortable, but when she peered at herself in the small glass on top of the chest of drawers, she was surprised how much she liked the look of it. She was self-conscious, but rather pleased all the same.
    The servants’ hall was less grand than she had imagined it, and considerably more utilitarian, but then she had never worked anywhere but in the Pitts’ house. Her visions of large and wealthy establishments was based solely upon Charlotte’s sister’s house, where she had stayed briefly several years ago. The Palace was somewhat similar, and that was in a way comforting. The large beams across the ceiling were also hung with dried herbs, and there were polished copper pans and utensils on the farther wall.
    There were a dozen other people there, including Ada, who was pretty and very smart in a clean black dress, which flattered the curves of her figure. Her lace-edged apron was tied tightly around her waist. Gracie was shown her place at the table and joined them silently. Mr. Tyndale stood at the head, Mrs. Newsome at the foot. Mr. Tyndale waited a moment while everyone composed themselves, then he offered the daily prayer. He hesitated before the end, and Gracie, with her eyes closed, wondered if he was going to mention the dead woman, but had changed his mind.
    They all obediently sat down and were served with porridge, then toast and jam and tea. She had expected more conversation. Were they always as subdued as this, or was it because of the murder? How much did they know about it? She watched them guardedly as she ate, trying not to be observed doing so.
    â€œIs them police still ’ere?” one of the maids asked nervously.
    â€œâ€™Course they are!” a dark-haired footman told her. “They’re gonna be ’ere till they find which o’ the guests killed ’er, aren’t they!” That was a challenge, not a question.
    â€œAn’ ’ow are they goin’ ter do that, then?” Ada asked him. “Nobody saw it, or we’d know already, wouldn’t we!”
    â€œI dunno!” the footman said sharply. “I in’t a policeman, am I! They gotta