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‘It’s all kicking off, isn’t it?’ said Merry softly in my ear.
‘I don’t understand,’ I whispered. ‘Last time I saw Sir Richard he banished me from the house and threatened to excommunicate any member of the family who had any form of intercourse, social or professional, with me. Now he wants me back on the staff?’
‘You heard how he bought the Peterfield Property and got himself a right-hand man, Gilbert Barker.’
I shivered involuntarily.
‘I see you’ve met him,’ said Merry. ‘If I had a penny for every time he’s tried it on with me I’d be richer than the Staplefords.’
‘He makes inappropriate advances to you?’ I asked, appalled.
‘To every girl below stairs. Fortunately my way of deterring him seems to be having an effect. It involves a cooking pot,’ she said, tapping the side of her nose. Seeing my horrified face, she added, ‘I only hit him in the head. Nowhere it’s going to do any damage.’
‘Merry, you can’t! You’ll be dismissed and charged with assault!’
‘I’ve got all the girls keeping a pot handy.’
‘Aren’t you afraid that one of them might accidentally hurt him quite seriously?’
‘Nah, he’s a tall chap and the girls are all much shorter. It’s a kind of up-swing action.’ She demonstrated what looked like a rather wonky tennis serve.
‘Merry!’
Merry deflated before me like a puppet whose strings had been cut. ‘Oh, all right. I’ve never actually hit him. I just sort of brandish it like I might. He’s fairly confident I wouldn’t whack him, but not completely sure. Makes him back down. As for the other girls, they’re all far too timid.’ Merry snorted. ‘Mind you, he doesn’t know that. The mere sight of a pot has him backing off like lamb that’s smelled mint sauce.’
‘I can’t think of anyone less like a lamb,’ I said. Merry sniggered.
Bertram Stapleford, the twins’ younger step-brother, touched me lightly on the arm. ‘Perhaps it would be better if we withdrew until my siblings have this matter sorted.’
I smiled at him. It was typical of Bertram to want to take me away from any trouble or conflict even when it was highly impractical. We had arrived but half an hour since from the estate of Richenda’s fiancé, the very charming Hans Muller. Our trunks littered the hallway.
‘I rather think,’ I said, ‘that it would be helpful to know whether I am to lodge above or below stairs so I know where to withdraw to.’
‘Euphemia,’ exploded Bertram, ‘you cannot possibly agree to becoming that man’s housekeeper again!’
‘No,’ I agreed. ‘If Richenda fails then I fear I must travel on to the local inn.’
‘Over my dead body!’ stormed Bertram.
‘Excuse me, sir,’ said Merry. ‘I might be able to clear something up here.’
