Page 15 of Disciplined by the Duke
Rothchild shrugged. “Yes, you have a large home. Ostentatious really.”
Marcus snorted.
“And your obnoxiously large home is packed full of obnoxiously helpful and cloying servants that you step on every time you turn around.” Rothchild opened the door to the main barroom. “No, I will be quite content being ignored in this charming establishment.”
Marcus rubbed his jaw. “Yes, my servants can be quite distracting.” His voice was low, rough, and he cleared his throat. Thoughts of his maid were harder to clear from his head. Ignoring the curious look Rothchild shot him, he held his hand out to his friend. “Thank you for riding up here, Julius. I will await what you discover.”
The men shook hands and Montague left his friend to his anonymous lodgings. His entire ride back to Hartsworth thoughts of his distracting servants, one in particular, would not leave him alone.
* * *
“Lawks, you dust as slow as my gouty grandpapa walks to village. I can see why you lost your place with the earl.” Molly scrubbed the windows of the library, the scent of vinegar overpowering. The late afternoon sunlight streamed through the gleaming glass and illuminated the room in a golden glow. The wing chair Liz had huddled behind the week before beckoned to her. She used to spend afternoons curled up in a similar chair, though much less fine, reading whatever book she could get her hands on.
She stared down at her hands, now covered with a thin sheen of wood polish. Little had she known such a simple pastime would soon become a luxury. Before she could start to feel sorry for herself, she remembered her last visit to Newgate. The stench of waste and misery so thick it clogged her throat. Her sister so wasted away and lifeless she could have been mistaken for a scarecrow.
She released a wobbly breath. Her sister needed her and that’s what she had to focus upon. Which was why she was cleaning slow enough to catch her chamber-mate’s attention. Her fingers tripped through every piece of paper they came across. As she dusted and polished, one eye was on constant lookout for a splash of purple wax.
“I like to be thorough.” Dropping to her knees, Liz rubbed the brass hardware on the desk’s drawers. The majority of the duke’s correspondence was kept in his study, but Liz had found a couple of missives in the library. Montague didn’t merely read behind the desk in his library, but did some work there, as well. New mail was arriving daily. Every search had to be repeated. “Besides, I didn’t lose my place from my previous service. This is a better-paying position and I was happy to transfer.”
Molly snorted, and cocked one grimy hand on her hip. “Well, you won’t last long if you don’t work faster. Mr. Todd doesn’t tolerate laziness. Discipline is strictly enforced at this house.”
“Discipline?” A sheaf of papers tucked under a book on horticulture caught her eye. She stood and casually reached towards the oil lamp next to the book, pretending to swipe at it with her rag. She knocked the book and papers to the floor, forced out an exasperated huff of air.
Molly shook her head. “Yes, discipline.” Turning to another window, she dipped her rag into a small bucket at her feet. “Clumsiness like that might earn six raps on your palms. The punishment I get the most is for sleeping past my morning duties. I don’t oversleep much. But those days when I just can’t open my eyes on time, it gets me twenty strokes with a cane.”
One of the letters Liz had been looking at fluttered to the ground. “Twenty . . . They beat you here?” Her voice came out a high-pitched squeak. The steward had spoken of discipline, but she hadn’t understood what it entailed. The idea that Mr. Todd might physically punish her made her stomach turn.
“Of course.” Molly glanced over her shoulder, eyebrows drawn down. “Wasn’t there discipline at Lord Westmore’s?”
“No!” She cleared her throat and bundled the papers up, stacked them on the desk. “I mean, the earl didn’t . . . uh, no. No physical discipline.”
“How strange.” Molly shrugged and turned back to her work. “It’s quite common. Servants, our navies, the primary school lads. We all get it. It’s what makes us British.”
Liz almost laughed. What an odd way to look at it. The servants at her small country home had never been abused, and she didn’t think they were any less British because of it. The upper class were a different breed.
She placed the book back on top of the papers and sighed. No purple seal. Maybe the duke hadn’t received it yet. Or perhaps he destroyed it after reading it. Would he do that if it was a business correspondence? Probably not, but she’d yet to find it with his other letters of business.
She gave the maple desk another swipe. “Well, I’ll be sure to start my duties on time. Thank you for the warning.”
“Cor, it’s not too bad.” Molly’s lips curved. “Sometimes I’ll even break something on purpose just to have a session with Mr. Todd.” She chuckled. “A couple smacks on the rump are worth it to watch the old man hem and haw about ‘order and discipline.’ ” Her voice dropped in a rough imitation of the steward’s.
Liz’s mouth gaped open. She tried not to let the disgust show on her face. To choose to let the steward strike one’s posterior was beyond her comprehension.
The image of the duke rapping his boot with his crop filled her head. The sharp hiss as it flew through the air to her hand. Now, that man looked every inch the stern disciplinarian. If he were to impose the punishment? A heavy feeling settled low in her belly. Cheeks heating, she turned her back on Molly, her fists twisting the rag into a taut rope. That would be . . . awful. Yes, definitely awful. She wouldn’t let herself think otherwise.
Molly’s laugh rang out behind her. “Ah, don’t worry. You’ll see.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “If you giggle while he canes you Mr. Todd gets so red and starts to stutter. It’s right amusing, it is.”
Liz shook her head. Over the last several months, she’d been exposed to so many different breeds of people that she’d previously been sheltered from. If the circumstances hadn’t been so horrible she would have found the experience fascinating.
She reached up to polish a silver candelabra attached to the wall next to a bookcase. Her cloth dragged over it, pulling the candleholder to one side. The bookcase next to her popped open an inch from the wall. “Oh!” She put an eye to the crack between the case and the wall but saw nothing but black.
Molly’s petticoat rustled behind Liz. “That’s one of the old servants’ passages. We don’t use them much anymore.” Her slim fingers reached around Liz and pulled the hidden door open wide. A gust of stale air blew a tendril of hair across Liz’s cheek. She tucked it impatiently behind her ear and stepped forward, into the dark. A hidden passage! Just like a Radcliffe novel.
“Where does it go?” she asked in a hushed voice, one she usually reserved for church.
Molly shrugged. “The kitchens, the ballroom, the guest rooms. It’s a whole maze of passages so that we can feed and clean up after the Quality without them having to look at us.” She rolled her eyes. “But like I said, we don’t use them much anymore, only when the duke has important company. His Grace doesn’t care if he sees us working.”
Molly threw her rag across the room. It landed in her bucket with a definite splash. “Yes!” Skipping across the room, she picked the bucket up, rag and all. “I’ve gotten good at that. Next time I wager Bill in the stable that I can land the rag in the bucket, I’m going to win.” Arching her back to counter the weight of the bucket, Molly waddled to the door. “I think we’re done here today. Let’s move on to the morning sitting room.”