Babs BookMark Issue 2 | Page 11

“ Who the devil are you ?” Lord Rankin began his acquaintance with me by stating . “ I sent for Ellen .” “ Ellen is very busy ,” I said . “ Cooks ’ assistants have much to do , and I could hardly spare her . I am Mrs . Holloway , your cook . As I was the only person finished with her duties , I took it upon myself to carry up your coffee .” Lord Rankin continued to drill his steely stare into me , his seeming calm like a layer of ice on an otherwise roiling lake . He looked me up and down , taking in my dark hair that was coming unraveled and the cuffs of my frock stained from cooking . I hadn ’ t had time to change more than my apron , and my attempt to look morally superior was having no impression on him . “ Mrs . Holloway ,” Lord Rankin said coolly . “ Please fetch a second cup from the cupboard behind you .” Not at all what I expected him to say . I started visibly , and his expression grew sour . “ At once , if you please ,” he snapped . Good heavens , did he mean for me to take the coffee with him ? Before I could explain that oh no , sir , I was a servant and didn ’ t have meals or even coffee with the master of the house , he came around the desk , took me by the elbows , and bodily turned me in the direction of the cupboard . It was then that I saw the second man . He wore a gentleman ’ s suit and stood by the window , gazing out into the darkness , his back to me . I had no more than a glimpse before Lord Rankin gave me a little shove in the small of my back , sending me stumbling toward the cupboard . I bit back a cutting reply , yanked open the gilt and glass doors of said cupboard , and extracted a cup and saucer from the coffee and tea set there . I closed the door , resisting the urge to slam it — my employer ’ s rudeness wasn ’ t the door ’ s fault . In the reflection of its glass , I saw that the master ’ s guest had turned from the window , every line of him taut with anger . I nearly dropped the crockery . The gentleman at the window was Daniel McAdam . A far cry from the roughly dressed man I ’ d seen on the street , he wore a black broadcloth coat that fitted over his shoulders with a smoothness that spoke of expense .