Page 11 of A Sorceress Comes to Call
But still, there were so many closed doors.
“This will be your room, miss,” said the housekeeper, pushing one of the doors open. “We’ll have a bath and a tray sent up for you. If you need anything else, just tell your maid and I’ll see it taken care of directly.”
She was a plump, motherly woman, and she smiled down at Cordelia, who gaped at her in astonishment. It had never occurred to her that she would not be sharing a room with her mother, and it was beyond the realm of her most fevered imagination that there would be a maid assigned to her. There must be some mistake. Or does she think that I’m going to be particularly messy? Do I need someone to follow me around to make certain I don’t break anything?
That seemed distressingly plausible.
She tried to remember if The Ladies’ Book of Etiquette had said anything about servants. She thought there was a whole chapter on it, but she’d never paid any attention to it, because there was simply no world in which Cordelia ordered anyone else around. Servants. Dear god.
The housekeeper was still smiling at her, although a line was forming between her eyes, and it occurred to Cordelia that she’d been standing there with her mouth hanging open. “Oh. Oh. Thank you. That is, I… I appreciate… thank you…”
Her mother nudged her in the back, not gently, and she stopped.
“You’re very tired, dear,” said her mother.
“Yes,” said Cordelia. It was true, and even if it hadn’t been, she knew better than to argue with that tone. “Thank you,” she said to the housekeeper again, and stepped inside the door.
The room had wallpaper. Cordelia knew of the existence of wallpaper, but she’d only seen it once or twice. It was a soft green damask, and she had a strong urge to run her fingers over it to feel the texture, but she was afraid that she might get it dirty. There was no bed, but there was a little white dressing table with a mirror, several chairs, and another closed door on the other side of the room.
The door clicked behind her. Cordelia jumped, startled, and spun around to see another young woman standing there, who had just closed the door. She was dressed much the same as the housekeeper, with long dark sleeves and a bright white apron. She looked to be a few years older than Cordelia.
“You closed the door,” Cordelia blurted.
“Yes, miss.” She crossed the space between them and reached out her hand. “I’ll take your things, miss.”
“My… oh.” Cordelia looked down at her battered bandbox. She held it out. It looked very grimy compared to the blinding white of the girl’s apron.
“My lady said you’ve lost your luggage,” said the girl. She finally looked up and met Cordelia’s eyes, instead of keeping hers downcast. “I’ve laid out one of my lady’s dressing gowns for you, while the housemaid brings the water up for your bath.”
“Oh,” said Cordelia. “I… uh… thank you?”
A slight smile crossed the girl’s face. “Of course, miss. If you’ll follow me?” She pushed open the far door, revealing a vast room with an equally vast bed. Cordelia froze on the threshold, staring. It was bigger than every room in her mother’s house put together. The bed alone was almost the size of her bedroom, and it had curtains on it, like a little room all its own. There was a fireplace and a changing screen and a gigantic wardrobe and another small door.
My god, she thought, how can I possibly keep all this clean? No wonder there are servants, this is a two-person job. Oh dear! How does one wash bedcurtains?
By this point, the maid had clearly realized that Cordelia was in over her head and took charge of the situation. “The dressing gown is over here, miss,” she said, herding Cordelia as efficiently as a hen with a rather slow chick. “If you’ll just step behind the screen and take off those wet clothes, I’ll see them cleaned and brushed properly.”
“Oh,” said Cordelia again, and allowed herself to be herded. She stripped off her gown, which was definitely travel-worn and looked absurdly shabby compared to the maid’s outfit. She didn’t dare think of how it had compared to the briefly glimpsed Lady Hester. Even the dressing gown (which was far too large for her) was magnificent, an enormous royal-blue confection with huge buttons and a lining as fine and silken as Falada’s mane. Cordelia ran her fingers over it, wishing that she hadn’t thought of Falada, trying not to picture him standing in the stable, a blazing white imposter among the mortal horses.
She sat in the dressing gown, fretfully doing nothing, and the maid, whose name was Alice, pressed a mug of tea into her hands. It was hot and sweet and drinking it seemed to take a great deal of energy. Cordelia thought she could fall asleep right here, but then the door opened and she snapped upright, expecting her mother to demand to know what she was doing.
But it was not her mother. It was two other maids, carrying a copper bathtub between them. They set it in front of the fire and went out again, then returned carrying steaming tins of water. The tub was huge compared to the one back home. “Oh…” said Cordelia, realizing how much work it would be, carrying all the water up the stairs. “Oh dear. I don’t… it’s so much trouble…”
“Not at all,” said Alice firmly. “You’re a guest at Chatham House.”
“Yes, but…” She knew that she should offer to help, but she was so tired and carrying so much water would be exhausting. Perhaps she could convince them to put off the bath until later?
“Here, miss, let me show you the water closet.” Alice led her to the small door that she had noticed earlier, opened it, and showed her how the levers worked. This was a revelation, and by the time she was done with the extraordinary novelty of it all, the bath was filled and steam was curling from the surface.
Alice went out again and Cordelia stripped and plunged into the water. She had barely settled in, however, when Alice came back into the room and Cordelia squeaked in alarm, sinking down and hugging her knees.
“Rose or lavender, miss?”
“Wha… what?”
“Soap, miss.”
Cordelia must have looked panicked, because Alice said, very gently, “May I suggest the lavender, miss?”
