Free Elizabeth Mansfield by The Counterfeit Husband Page B

could find us places here at Wyckfield Park,” she admitted, hoping desperately that the friendly seeming cook could be of help. “I’ve had some years as a … a housemaid, y’ see, and these two strong fellows could be of all sorts of use—”
    “Ye weren’t expectin’
Mr. Hicks
to find you places here, were ye?” The cook snorted in scornful amusement. “Ye’re way out, if that’s what ye come for.”
    The two kitchen maids, lingering about behind her and eyeing the two men covetously, giggled loudly.
    Mrs. Nyles turned round. “What’re ye doin’ hangin’ about here?” She swung her arm at them, catching one a good cuff at the hip. “Get about yer duties, both of ye!” The maids scurried off under Mrs. Nyles’s glare. When they’d vanished, she sighed and shook her head. “Impudent snips! They’d rather stand about gossipin’ than do anythin’ else. If there’s anythin’ I can’t abide, it’s a lazy tittle-tattle.”
    “But, Mrs. Nyles, I don’t understand why you all laughed,” Betsy said, confused. “Mr. Hicks
is
the butler here, ain’t he?”
    “He
was
the butler. But her ladyship—Lady Ethelyn Falcombe, y’ know—wouldn’t never take on nobody of
his
recommendin’.” She turned in her chair and leaned toward Betsy in eager confidentiality. “She never could abide him, y’ know. If it wasn’t fer the young Lady Wyckfield, Lady Ethelyn would’ve let him go years past.”
    “Are you saying that he’s been given the
sack?
” Tom asked.
    “In a manner o’ speakin’ he has.”
    “It’s a fine kettle o’ fish we’re in,” Daniel groaned, dropping his chin on his hand gloomily.
    Tom studied the cook with a puzzled frown. “What do you mean, ‘in a manner of speakin’? HasMr. Hicks been sacked or hasn’t he?”
    “He still works fer the younger Lady Wyckfield. He’s gone to find her a house in town. She’s movin’ away, y’ see.”
    “And he won’t be comin’ back here?” Betsy queried.
    “Not him. Swore he’d never set foot in this house again, he did. It was a reg’lar to-do he had with her ladyship afore he left, I can tell ye.”
    “Then we are in the soup an’ no mistake,” Betsy said, stirring her tea dispiritedly.
    “Perhaps not.” Tom eyed the cook speculatively. “Are you saying that Mr. Hicks is setting up a household for Lady Wyckfield in London? Won’t he have to hire a number of servants to staff it?”
    Mrs. Nyles’s eyebrows rose delightedly. “O’
course!
” she exclaimed, clapping a hand to her forehead. “What a
codshead
I am! He’ll need t’ find parlormaids, an’ a groom, an’ footmen, an’ a cook, an’ all manner of help.”
    “That’s right,” Daniel chortled in relief. “He’ll have a real
need
fer us.”
    “But Dan’l,” Betsy murmured, frowning worriedly, “London … ?”
    Daniel blinked. He’d completely forgotten the necessity for hiding. Would they be safe among the crowded masses of the city where, it was said, all roads cross? He looked over at Tom questioningly.
    Tom shrugged. “I’d be willing to chance it, if you are,” he murmured in an undervoice. “Now all we have to do is find the wherewithal to get there.”
    Daniel sagged in his chair. Life was one problem after the other. “That’s the facer, ain’t it?”
    Mrs. Nyles looked from one to the other. “What’s worryin’ ye now?” she asked in her direct, curious way.
    “We used all our blunt to get here,” Betsy explained. “How are we to get to London without a shillin’ in our pockets?”
    “Is
that
all that troubles ye?” She got to her feet and, smiling broadly, went to the fire for the kettle. “Ye can catch a ride with my Henry. He’s the coachman, y’ see, an’ he’s settin’ off this very afternoon to deliver some boxes fer Lady Wyckfield to the new house. She got word this mornin’ that Mr. Hicks has found a place on—where did she say?—Upper Seymour Street, if I remember rightly.” She poured the boiling