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A further interruption when Mr. Plunket, Mrs. Foot, and Boris forged into the kitchen at once, all of them guiding the tea trolley, which typical of its kind wanted to go its own way. Conversation with my husband being effectively nixed, I again took up my plate, waved a hand at him in particular and the rest in general, and headed out into the hall and up the main staircase. By now I no longer felt in need of a map to reach the former servants’ quarters, and I arrived at my corridor after no false turns to hear raised voices coming from a room two or three doors from mine. The one sounding most clearly to my ear was Mrs. Malloy’s, and she was speaking kindly. Nanny would have to hand out gold stars.

“No one’s saying you’re making a giant fuss, Wanda. If anyone sympathizes it’s me, seeing as how at least three of me husbands was rats. But what Livonia here and me is saying is the thing will be put back in its cage.”

“And escape again! No, thank you! I’m packing up and getting out of here this minute.”

“It’s not Houdini!”

“No.” Livonia sounded doubtful.

“Stuff the reassurances.” A thump suggested Wanda had tossed a suitcase on the bed. “That Boris the zombie was in the circus, wasn’t he? Teaching the… thing to open the cage door would be child’s play to him. Ghosts, even the real kind, don’t scare me, but rats! Let me tell you, we had chickens when I was a kid and they attract them by the dozen. One day my brother picked up a dead one and threw it so it landed on my shoulder. That’s something you don’t get over. Ever! Where’s my flaming nightdress?”

“Here,” Livonia said.

“Ladies, I shouldn’t be taking this out on you.” Wanda sounded conciliatory. “But I’m leaving.”

“I do understand. I do really. I was ready to bolt this morning, but life can change in an instant for the… the wonderful.”

“Or go the other way,” Mrs. Malloy the eternal pessimist, “but think of what you’ll be giving up-the chance to marry a lord. Now, that opportunity don’t come along with a bag of crisps, and when all’s said and done, you’re not a bad-looking woman. Perhaps too quick to think you’re a laugh a minute, but in my book that’s a lot better than yapping on about what kind of dirt is best for growing roses.”

“When it comes to looks and the title, he’s a catch, all right, but this place-rat-infested dump-you can keep! Sure, I know what was laid out on the application form about the emphasis on the practical, but a girl can dream, can’t she? Anyway, I’m telling you the chance of this lord falling for any of us is zip. He might as well be married and about to celebrate his bloomin’ golden anniversary from the shuttered look in his eyes. And I wasn’t born with this figure to let it go to waste. If you’ll take advice from someone who’s been around the dance floor, don’t either of you be fools and get stuck here for life!”

Another thump suggesting the suitcase hit the floor had me flitting into my room. Shameless to have eavesdropped. Worse that remorse did not set in as I applied myself to another cucumber sandwich, followed by another of egg and cress, a strawberry tart, and a mini coffee éclair. Having strategically left my door ajar, I heard the exodus down the hall-Mrs. Malloy and Livonia presumably returning to the library, hopefully not having kept Lord Belfrey waiting; Wanda to exit Mucklesfeld.

The number of contestants would again be reduced to five, but perhaps that was the intent now that Here Comes the Bride was under way. A process of attrition until only the strongest of the six remained and Lord Belfrey’s choice was made for him. Georges and his scare tactics, although presumably he was not responsible for Whitey’s intrusion on the scene. It was obvious why Lady Annabel’s appearance had not taken place under the glaring gaze of the cameras. The less light the better in fooling the susceptible eye; but that the momentous event had not been recorded for the entertainment of future viewers was unthinkable, which meant hidden cameras. Devious Georges! Keeping the contestants continually off balance as to when or where they were being filmed.

Meanwhile, I pictured the reaction to Wanda’s departure, Lord Belfrey sizing up the remaining contestants. My guess was that he would be drawn to Judy Nunn, a woman both energized and restful. Her passion might never extend beyond the grounds to the house, but she would have the organizational skills to put others successfully to work in areas not of her expertise. At this juncture the timid Molly Duggan would not have emotion to spare on jealousy of a particular rival, but would Alice Jones, like Mrs. Malloy, have already sized up Judy as the woman to beat to the altar?

The evening passed quickly despite my feeling confined like Bertha Mason Rochester to the attic. I’d unearthed the paperback I was halfway through from my suitcase and whiled away a couple of hours until Ben rescued me with the announcement that he and I were to dine in solitary state in what had once been designated the morning room, but was now another storage area for furniture that Sir Giles had grouped together in vague hope of finding a dealer willing to cart it away. Unfortunately, his lordship had told Ben, in recent years there hadn’t been much of a market for Victorian ugly, and anything good had already been sold off. Or, I thought, plunging my fork into a delicious morsel of Lobster Thermidor, spirited away by daughter Celia. At least the overcrowding of the hall and drawing room was now explained. I pictured Sir Giles ordering the old handyman, now working for Miss Belfrey at Witch Haven (what was his name? Forester?), to heave the pieces of furniture into position for viewing, and when they didn’t sell, closing his eyes to their presence and sinking ever further into the Slough of Despond.

From the window I saw Lord Belfrey crossing the overgrown lawn with Alice Jones of the billowy hair on his left and Molly Duggan sadly prim on his right. I wondered while reveling in a meringue glacé how Mrs. Malloy and Livonia were currently occupied. As it happened, I met them both in the hallway outside my bedroom after leaving Ben to prepare a late night five-course snack for Georges. I mentioned that I planned on going to church in the morning for Sunday service and asked if they had heard what time it would be.

“Nine o’clock,” responded Livonia promptly, adding with flushed cheeks that she had also decided to go.

“And you can count me in, Mrs. H. Never let it be said I don’t do me Christian duty come rain or shine, except of course when having a lie-in with a book or giving meself a manicure.” Mrs. Malloy went on to reflect on what she would wear, bemoaning that she had only the one hat with her and it was dented from the lamp shade. “That Mrs. Foot and her pranks! Admitted to me as how she dropped it over the banisters for a laugh. A cackle’s more like, the sad old crone. Still, I won’t go holding a bit of silliness against her should I get to be lady of Mucklesfeld. Live and let live is the way I see it. And to send that trio packing isn’t in me. Shame I can’t see that sort of compassion from the others,” she heaved a pained sigh, “especially that Judy Nunn as seems to think she’s the only body in the world as can get a job done right. Now, our Wanda might have been different if she hadn’t left us.”

Absence can be such a virtue! The three of us arranged to meet in the hall at eight thirty the next morning and I got ready for bed. It had been a long day. The ache of returning Thumper to his rightful owners came back in full force. I lay thinking of his dear furry face and form before drifting into sleep. The comfort of our few hours together stole over me, followed sharply by another memory-the sensation of being covertly watched while I stood by the ravine waiting for him to return from his foraging. Sometime later, I was vaguely aware of Ben creeping through the bedroom into his cubbyhole, and something in my muddled, half-submerged state shifted the ordinary into stealth, causing the echo of those padding footsteps to linger unpleasantly in my ears until sleep grabbed me back down into murkily disjointed dreams.