Free A Woman's Estate by Roberta Gellis

“I know Mama has not made you very welcome, and—”
    “That is not your fault,” Abigail interrupted briskly, not
wishing to be drawn into a discussion in which she, or even Griselda, might say
too much.
    “No,” Griselda replied, “but not everyone would see it that
way.”
    Abigail shrugged, thinking that there must be those who took
out their irritation at Hilda on the nearly defenseless Griselda. “The more
fools they,” she said almost angrily, and as Griselda winced, Abigail shook her
head and softened her tone. “Now, as I was saying, I do not like to be idle. I
am not accustomed to it.”
    She thought of telling Griselda that she had managed a
business as well as running her own house, but shied away from that confidence.
Abigail’s mother had made it very clear that in England, conducting a business
was an activity that might cause her to be excluded from the upper levels of
society. It was because Martha Milford had been a bookseller’s daughter that
her husband’s family would not accept her.
    “In America,” she went on, “I ran my own house. Of course,
my household was much smaller and less complicated than that of Rutupiae Hall.
I do not wish to make a fool of myself or upset the staff.”
    “They like you,” Griselda offered.
    “I am glad to hear it,” Abigail said, “and I would like to
keep it that way. So, for the present, I think you had better continue with the
day-to-day chores, such as doing the flowers and approving the menus—” she
paused and smiled. “I wouldn’t have the faintest idea of how many courses or
what dishes would be suitable for any particular occasion. Someday, when I am a
little more settled, you must teach me. I would be in an appalling state if you
should leave to marry—”
    Abigail’s voice checked as Griselda’s breath drew in sharply
and she turned her head away. Unwitting, she had apparently turned a knife in
an already painful wound. Had the girl been rejected so openly as to make any
reminder unbearable? Or—Abigail’s lips thinned with anger—more likely, had her mother
made her feel she was so undesirable as to be incapable of attracting any man?
Distressed all the more because she knew any apology would only add to
Griselda’s pain, Abigail could do no more than touch her arm gently and talk
for a few minutes about how she feared to offend the upper servants by her
ignorance. Then, as she saw the flaming red fade from Griselda’s cheek and
ear—all Abigail could see of her face—she came back to the more serious part of
her subject.
    “My part will be approving the work assignments of the
staff, hiring and dismissing—whenever either is necessary—settling quarrels and
such matters.” Abigail smiled again as Griselda finally brought herself to look
at her. “I cannot get into any trouble over those tasks, since Empson and Mowing
will really arrange the work assignments and since hiring and dismissal do not,
I believe, occur very frequently.”
    “My mother’s personal maids come and go,” Griselda said
colorlessly.
    “But that is none of my affair,” Abigail replied gently. “I
will not pay Hilda’s dresser or Eustace’s valet, so I will have no right to any
decisions over their employment. However, since you are taking part of the
burden of the housekeeping, I will very gladly pay your maid—or add to your pin
money if you would prefer that.”
    Griselda’s eyes opened wide, but her shock had nothing to do
with Abigail’s offer to pay her. “But Howing and Empson pay the lower servants,
including Mother’s maid and Eustace’s valet,” she whispered, horrified. “If
they refuse—”
    “I have spoken to them about that, Griselda,” Abigail
interrupted. “It seems the first Lady Lydden did distribute all the wages
herself and had a word with each servant. Your mama did not choose to do so,
but I think I will renew the old custom. I feel that a word of praise—or blame—from
the mistress four times a year has a