The Duke’s Guests Laughed as the Maid Fell Into the Lake — She Said, “I’ll Remember Every Face”
Chapter 7
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On Sunday afternoon, she was carrying fresh linen down the upper hallway when a sharp voice stopped her: "You, girl."Clara turned. An elderly woman sat in a high-backed chair by the window, dressed all in black, with a silver-topped walking stick across her knees. Her face was thin and proud, and her gray eyes were as cold as winter. It was the Dowager Duchess, the old Duke's widow, Thomas's mother.Clara curtsied deeply. "Your Grace.""Come here."Clara came closer. The Dowager looked her up and down for a long time without speaking. It was the longest minute of Clara's life."You are the one who fell in the lake," the Dowager said finally."Yes, Your Grace.""My son defended you. He has never defended a servant before. Not once." Her eyes narrowed. "I wonder why.""I couldn't say, Your Grace.""No, I don't suppose you could." The old woman leaned forward slightly. "Where are you from, girl?"Clara's mouth went dry. "From the north, Your Grace. Near Durham.""Hm." The Dowager kept staring at her. "You have a familiar face. I cannot think where I have seen it."Clara's heart nearly stopped. "I have a very common face, Your Grace," she said, keeping her voice steady."No," the Dowager said slowly. "No, you don't." Then she waved her hand. "Go, take your linen."Clara curtsied again and walked away down the hall as calmly as she could. She did not breathe until she had turned the corner.That night, on the other side of the house, a single light was still burning in the guest wing. Lord Edmund Vane sat by the fire in his silk dressing gown, a glass of brandy in his hand. He was a handsome man of 60 with silver hair and a warm, fatherly smile that everyone in London trusted. But he was not smiling now. On the table beside him lay a pile of letters from his bankers. Every one of them said the same thing: he owed money, far more money than he had.There was a soft knock at the door. "Come."The thin man with the scar on his eyebrow stepped inside and closed the door quietly behind him. Silas Crane had served Lord Vane for over 20 years. He had never once been asked a question he did not answer."Well?" Vane said. "You've been gone all evening. What was so important?""The maid, my lord. The one from the lake."Vane frowned. "What about her? Cordelia's little game. Let it go, Silas. Girls like that don't matter.""This one does, my lord." Silas came closer to the fire. His voice dropped to a whisper. "I've been asking questions in the servants' hall. Nobody knows where she came from. No family, no references. And she has a way with horses. The old gray mare lets her touch her face."Lord Vane slowly put down his glass."I watched her at the lake," Silas went on. "The way she looked at every face. And when she looked at me, my lord... she knew me. I'd swear it on my life."The fire crackled. Neither man spoke for a long moment. Then Silas bent down close to his master's ear: