William Monk 02 - A Dangerous Mourning

shining, her lips parted in anticipation, all the excitement and delights imagined, new people, an elegant servants’ hall, food, music, late nights, wine, laughter and gossip.
    “It’d be all right,” Percival agreed, for the first time a lift of warmth in his voice also. “Although I get to some interesting places now.” That was the tone of the braggart, and Hester knew it.
    It seemed Rose did too. “But not inside,” she pointed out. “You have to wait in the mews with the carriages.”
    “Oh no I don’t.” There was a note of sharpness in his voice, and Hester could imagine the glitter in his eyes and the little curl of his lips. She had seen it several times as he walked through the kitchen past the maids. “I quite often go inside.”
    “The kitchen,” Rose said dismissively. “If you were a valet you’d get upstairs as well. Valet is better than a footman.”
    They were all acutely conscious of hierarchy.
    “Butler’s better still,” he pointed out.
    “But less fun. Look at poor old Mr. Phillips.” She giggled. “He hasn’t had any fun in twenty years—and he looks as if ’e’s forgotten that.”
    “Don’t think ’e ever wanted any of your sort o’ fun.” Percival sounded serious again, remote and a trifle pompous. Suddenly he was talking of men’s business, and putting a woman in her place. “He had an ambition to be in the army, but they wouldn’t take him because of ’is feet. Can’t have been that good a footman either, with his legs. Never wear livery without padding his stocking.”
    Hester knew Percival did not have to add any artificial enhancement to his calves.
    “His feet?” Rose was incredulous. “What’s wrong with ’is feet?”
    This time there was derision in Percival’s voice. “Haven’t you ever watched ’im walk? Like someone broke a glass on the floor and ’e was picking ’is way over it and treading on half of it. Corns, bunions, I don’t know.”
    “Pity,” she said dryly. “He’d ’ave made a great sergeant major—cut out for it, ’e was. Mind, I suppose butler’s the next best thing—the way ’e does it. And he does have a wonderful turn for putting some visitors in their place. He can size up anyone coming to call at a glance. Dinah says he never makes a mistake, and you should see his face if he thinks someone is less than a gentleman—or a lady—or if they’re mean with their little appreciations. He can be so rude, just with his eye-brows.Dinah says she’s seen people ready to curl up and die with mortification. It’s not every butler as can do that.”
    “Any good servant can tell quality from riffraff, or they’re not worth their position,” Percival said haughtily. “I’m sure I can—and I know how to keep people in their places. There’s dozens of ways—you can affect not to hear the bell, you can forget to stoke the fire, you can simply look at them like they were something the wind blew in, and then greet the person behind them like they was royalty. I can do that just as well as Mr. Phillips.”
    Rose was unimpressed. She returned to her first subject. “Anyway, Percy, you’d be out from under him if you were a valet—”
    Hester knew why she wanted him to change. Valets worked far more closely with laundrymaids, and Hester had watched Rose’s cornflower eyes following Percival in the few days she had been here, and knew well enough what lay behind the innocence, the casual comments, the big bows on her apron waist and the extra flick of her skirts and wriggle of her shoulders. She had been attracted to men often enough herself and would have behaved just the same had she Rose’s confidence and her feminine skill.
    “Maybe.” Percival was ostentatiously uninterested. “Not sure I want to stay in this house anyway.”
    Hester knew that was a calculated rebuff, but she did not dare peer around the corner in case the movement was noticed. She stood still, leaning back against the piles of sheets on the shelf behind her and holding her aprons tightly. She could imagine the sudden cold feeling inside Rose. She remembered something much the same in the hospital in Scutari. There had been a doctor whom she admired, no, more than that, about whom she indulged in daydreams, imagined foolishness. And one day he had shattered them all with a dismissive word. For weeks afterwards she had turned it over and over in her mind, trying to decide whether he had meant it, even done it on purpose, bruising her