Page 46 of Trouble

Chapter Sixteen

Nobody cared to look at Emily, and she liked it that way. Or at least – she thought she did. She had always been sure of it before.

There had been a few people who had caught her notice when she and Amy were no more than giggling children, but the realities of life had soon put a damper on anyromanticleanings she might have had, and things were neater that way. Simpler.

Her body was not intended for indulgences like pleasure; it was a machine she had put to work, and it carried all the evidence of that work with it as she grew older. She had a scar on her wrist from the knife of an overenthusiastic young piecer at the mill, calluses on her fingers, ropy muscles in her arms from hard use that were so unlike the soft, supple arms of alady. She hadn’t been ornamental since childhood, and the idea that anybody could enjoylookingat her now was completely absurd.

Captain Edwards must have been even more drunk than she had fathomed. And .?.?. perhaps a little lonely. Maybe he had made such advances to every woman in his employ at some point. No matter what he said aboutrespect, you never could tell what a man might decide to do with an idle mind and too much power at his disposal.

She woke up the next morning to the instant realisation that it would have been theperfectopportunity to probe about his problems with the Royal Navy, to see if a well-timed question might bring it all tumbling out of him. She was kicking herself for getting so caught up in the strangeness of the situation that she had not seized the chance; she could not afford to be so foolish, with so much at stake. She would not make that mistake again.

‘Could you take this to Meera?’ Oliver said when he passed Emily in the hall, after she had exhausted herself with two hours of Edward VI with the girls and then sent them off to eat luncheon. He was holding a crate of something that looked rather heavy.

‘You take it to Meera,’ Emily said primly.

‘Oh, it’s like that, is it? All right, roll up your sleeves, let’s have this out like gentlemen.’

‘Gentlemen do not brawl in the corridor,’ said Emily.

Oliver smirked. ‘Tell that to Ben. Have you seen the black eye on him? He wouldn’t say how he procured it, but I’m sure he was fighting for someone’s honour. Deeply,genuinelyimpressive. Sort of looks like a ferret, but just on the one side.’

‘Charming.’

‘Hideous, actually. Go on, do me a favour, take the crate – think of how you can lord it over me at a later date. You’ll love that.’

Emily rolled her eyes, but she received the crate anyway and then staggered through the kitchen and into the servants’ dining room with it, so she could place it on the table.

‘What’s that?’ Meera said, coming from her office to investigate.

‘I have not the faintest idea,’ said Emily.

Meera fetched something to help lever it open; inside, they found lots of enormous paintbrushes, of the type that you might use to paint rooms or furniture.

‘Oh,’ said Meera, puzzled. ‘Hmmm. I am not entirely sure—Oh,no.’ She clapped a hand to her face, looking thunderstruck. ‘This is not what I ordered. I am sure of it! I have a receipt somewhere – let me .?.?.’ She left the room, and reappeared scanning some paper in her hand. She looked crestfallen. ‘No, this is right –Iwas wrong. I must not have been paying attention.’

‘What were you trying to order?’ Emily said, picking up one of the paintbrushes and looking it over.

‘Paintbrushes,’ said Meera. ‘But .?.?. small ones. For art. The girls. Captain Edwards said that Grace had been dropping hints. You should have told me how dire things were, Amy! I know we are not exactly sitting atop mountains of gold, but we can stretch to a few art supplies.’

Emily had meant to tell her. She had just had other things on her mind. Like theft, and espionage.

‘Except now I have spent the money on something entirely wrong,’ Meera said. ‘A silly mistake, really. I should have been more careful. Leave those there, and I will tell Oliver to see about sending them back .?.?. Oh, drat.’

There was a knock at the back door, and Meera went to see about it; she was still staring at the receipt in her hand, as if it might be about to turn into the correct order, when she walked into the kitchen. Emily saw what was about to happen, but it was too late to stop her. Joe was turning around, holding an enormous pot of stock, and when they collided, it spilled spectacularly all down Meera’s apron, drenching her through to her stockings and leaving a large, meaty puddle on the floor.

‘You all right?’ Joe said, hefting the pot so he could put it down.

‘No, I’m fine – it’s not that hot,’ Meera said, her voice pitched very high.

Whoever was at the back door gave up knocking and nudged it open. Emily saw Mr Khan standing there, a box of something in his hands, looking as nervous and hopeful as the last time he’d come to visit. It was like watching a puppy line up voluntarily to be kicked.

‘Miss Bhandari .?.?.’ he said, and then, ‘Oh,my goodness.’

‘Just give me a moment, Mr Khan,’ Meera said.

She attempted to take a step towards her office, but didn’t account for the stock underfoot; she fell spectacularly, skidding as she tried to keep her balance and then pitching headlong towards the stone floor.

Mr Khan dropped the box and caught her.