Despite the challenges of the fabric, she was happy for the job. She’d charge for three hems separately. And all because the wearer of the gown insisted on wearing flat satin slippers so she wouldn’t be taller than the young gentleman she’d set her sights on.

Nora was so pleased to think of the money her side jobs were bringing in. Eventually, she might have enough to leave service and work for herself! Maybe even before she was let go for lack of funds at Wentworth Hall. That destiny seemed to be encroaching at a rapid rate.

“Oh, you’re up!” Therese entered the kitchen looking sleepy-eyed and wrapped in her robe, her blond hair braided down the back.

“Always up,” Nora confirmed. “I’m not a big sleeper.”

“Is that household mending?” Therese asked. “Do they work you so hard that you must sew through the night?”

Nora smiled. “No, this is my escape plan. I’m saving extra money to buy my own tearoom someday. But you mustn’t tell. It’s against the rules and I could get sacked for doing it.”

Therese put her finger to her lip. “Not a word,” she assured Nora.

“Why are you up?” Nora inquired as she snapped a piece of thread with her teeth.

“Oh, the poor baby will not settle. It is his teeth, I am sure. I have come to get the frozen bread for James and a cup of warm milk for her ladyship who was awakened by the crying and can not fall back to sleep,” Therese explained as she took the bread from the icebox.

“You bring the baby the soother,” Nora said, laying aside her mending. “The poor tyke must be in agony. He shouldn’t be made to wait. I’ll bring her ladyship the milk.”

“Thank you so much, Nora,” Therese said, hurrying off with the frozen bread.

After heating the milk and pouring it into a silver teapot along with a white bone china cup and saucer, Nora arranged a teaspoon and a lace-trimmed white linen napkin on a silver tray and headed up to Lady Darlington’s third-floor bedroom, balancing it all on the tray. As she neared the bedroom door, she hesitated because she heard Lord Darlington speaking within, and his voice was decidedly agitated.

“What good is having a nanny if she can’t keep the child quiet at night?” Lord Darlington complained. “I am exhausted after this evening’s commotion and I do not need to be awakened by the wail of a peevish child.”

“I’m so sorry, dear,” Lady Darlington apologized sleepily. “Go back to bed. Therese is in with the baby now and I don’t hear him anymore. You shan’t be disturbed again, I hope.”

“‘I hope’?” Lord Darlington barked.

“Well, one can’t be one hundred percent sure with a baby, can one?”

“How you ever got pregnant at your age, I can’t imagine,” Lord Darlington went on.

“Nor can I, but it happened just the same,” Lady Darlington said blandly. “And he’s a dear little fellow.”

“I already have one son, I really didn’t need another,” Lord Darlington grumbled.

“Arthur!” Lady Darlington scolded, shocked at his coldness.

“I’m only saying what’s true. Another baby is another mouth to feed and child to clothe, another boy who has to be educated. And a nanny to feed and clothe along with him.”

“I don’t understand your dislike of Therese,” Lady Darlington replied. “You didn’t seem to mind her at first. I can’t help but feel she’s done something to upset you.”

“She can’t keep the damn baby quiet for one!” Lord Darlington snapped.

Lady Darlington sighed. “It’s late, we can talk about this another time.”

“You have put me off before, Beatrice. I’d like you to let Therese go. Send her back to France.”

Still listening at the door, Nora set down her tray so she could lean closer to hear better. “I don’t understand why,” Lady Darlington said, sounding aghast at the request. Nora felt the same. Why was Lord Darlington getting involved in an issue traditionally left to his wife?

“I would prefer an English nanny.”

Nora twisted her mouth skeptically. She didn’t believe him. The stiffness of his tone made her feel he was lying.

“You’ve said that before. But we’ve enlisted Therese to teach French to the girls,” Lady Darlington reminded him.

“A useless language, if you ask me,” Lord Darlington insisted.

“Knowledge of French is considered a sign of good breeding in a wife,” Lady Darlington replied. “In fact, isn’t Maggie’s time spent abroad part of what sparked the duke’s interest in her?”

“Interest means nothing without a proper offer for her hand. And regardless, I prefer an English nanny for my son. Do you want James sounding like an affected and foppish lad with a French accent?”

“He won’t have a French accent, but he will be bilingual. Which is an asset in business endeavors, as you know.”

“What, you expect a son of mine to engage in trading? He will have plenty of work on his hands helping his elder brother manage Wentworth Hall. And please don’t change the subject. I said I want her gone and I will not be trifled with!” Lord Darlington exploded. With that he stormed from the room, not even noticing Nora, who was flattened against the wall. She seemed to be doing that a lot lately.

A sob caught in Lady Darlington’s throat. Gathering up her tray, Nora rushed in.

Lady Darlington sat at her vanity in her lavender satin robe, her long salt-and-pepper hair loose to her shoulders, with her face buried in her hands. Her shoulders shook as she cried silent tears.

“I have your warm milk, your ladyship,” Nora spoke tenderly. In spite of Lady Darlington’s pretense and occasional haughtiness, Nora liked the woman and hated to see her so upset. “Have some. You’ll feel better.”

Lady Darlington looked up, surprised to see Nora. “Why are you up so late, Nora?” she asked, wiping away her tears.

“I couldn’t sleep after the excitement of the ball,” Nora told a half-truth.

“I see.” Lady Darlington poured herself some milk, which Nora was relieved to see continued to steam slightly.

There was an awkward pause as Nora waited, hoping Lady Darlington would engage her in discussion regarding what had just passed with her husband. “Thank you, Nora, and good night” was all she said.

“Good night, your ladyship,” Nora replied, dipping into a quick curtsy.

Nora burst from the room, dying to tell someone what she had just heard. The only one possibly awake, though, was Therese. Should she tell Therese? Maybe it would blow over and she would be upsetting her needlessly. On the other hand, if she was about to get the sack, she should be warned.

When Nora entered the kitchen, Therese was there, sitting at the table, yawning but awake. Her half-closed eyes widened at the sight of Nora. “What happened?” she asked, seeing Nora’s excited expression.

“Oh…” Nora hesitated, making up her mind what to do. “Lady Darlington was having a heated discussion with his lordship,” she reported, gathering up the gown she’d been hemming.

“So he was up,” Therese surmised. “That’s when he must have dropped this.” She took an opened envelope from the pocket of her robe and placed it on the table. It was addressed to Lord Arthur Darlington from his solicitor in London.

“What is it?” Nora asked. “You didn’t read it, did you?”

A mischievous sparkle came into Therese’s eyes. “Of course I did. Wouldn’t you?”

Nora had to grin. “Naturally.”

Therese took the paper from the envelope and handed it to Nora.

Nora scanned the letter and quickly gleaned the meaning of its contents. Lord Darlington had contacted his lawyer in London about selling off not only large tracts of land on his estate—including the stable and its horses—but also many of the family’s most prized heirlooms.

After reading the letter, Nora looked at Therese with a stunned expression. “I had no idea things were this bad,” she remarked honestly. “It’s worse than I thought.”

“Do you think our positions here are at risk?” Therese asked in a worried tone.

Nora nodded her head. There was no sense warning Therese about what she had just overheard. This was warning enough. And Therese might not be the only one who would soon be hunting for a position, it seemed. It was possible that before long the entire staff of Wentworth Hall might be seeking new employment.


The Sussex Courier
THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF… THE WORTHLESS SAGA Presenting part two of the popular ongoing new series … “Pack My Jewels. We’re Moving to the Poorhouse.”

It was quite the scene at our favorite broken-down palace earlier this week.