Heaven Made (7 page)

"Maybe some other time," Ford replied sheepishly. "I’ve
been up for two days straight and I’m afraid the only thing I’ll be doing after
this is snoring."

Sabrina’s heart did a little flip at the way Ford was
looking at her. She allowed herself the fantasy that he would be dreaming about
her. Maybe he would be kissing her within an inch of sanity in his blissful
unconsciousness.

"Mrs. Tremaine?" Ford said, looking as if he had
been trying to get her attention for some time. "Is seven tonight
acceptable?"

"Seven?"

"To meet after dinner?"

"Oh, yes, of course. Seven is perfect." Sabrina
was so embarrassed. She was mortified with the direction of her thoughts. But
if he didn’t stop looking at her like a hungry wolf, she couldn’t be
responsible for the sensuous turn of her imagination.

"Excellent," Ford said, taking a few more bites of
eggs and toast. "Then I’ll see you this evening. I hope I don’t fall
asleep before I get to my room. "He made the comment with a boyish grin
that sent Sabrina’s toes into a curl. She was going to have to put a stop to
this. She had only been working for the man less than a day, and already she
was imagining things completely outside the bounds of propriety.

He stood to go, bowing slightly, and as he left the room,
Sabrina barely managed to utter a proper farewell, so entranced was she by his
tall, well-shaped form, broad shoulders above slim hips and a very fine
derriere. "Good day, Mr. Northcliffe, sleep well." She said barely
able to utter the casual comment.

How was she to get through the afternoon with that image
burned into her consciousness? Worse still, how was she to pull herself from
this silly infatuation and get on with her job? She had not been hired to ogle
her employer. Sabrina was determined to squash whatever feelings had arisen and
continue as if nothing were amiss. And of course, she had to. Sabrina gave
herself a firm mental shake as she absently finished her breakfast. She had a
long day of meeting the rest of the servants ahead of her. This was going to be
a difficult task and she wondered how she should present herself? Briefly,
Sabrina considered going to Cassiopeia’s office and discussing the intricacies
of her position. But she quickly dismissed the notion. She simply did not have
time for such nonsense; there was too much work to be done. First things first,
Sabrina needed to make sure that Alice was well occupied while she was getting
to know the household and everyone’s basic functions.

Making her way to the kitchens, Sabrina attempted to compose
herself and appear as businesslike as possible. Smoothing the violet material
of her simple but elegant gown, she stood straight and lifted her chin with
determination. This was not the time to ruin her chances of a decent position
in a respectable household. Alice was helping Mrs. Dixon mix something in a
bowl. She looked up from what she was doing to give her mother a bright smile
and Sabrina’s heart lurched in her chest. This was the entire reason for her
existence, to make her daughter safe and happy.

"Are you having a good time, Alice dear?" she
asked, wishing she didn’t have to hide the child from the master’s eyes.

"Yes, Mama," Alice said, wiping a smudge of flour
from her nose. "Delores is showing me how to bake. And later, Mr. Roland
is going to teach me how to count silverware. Did you know that he counts it
every day?"

"No, I hadn’t any idea." Suddenly Sabrina felt the
panic take over. She didn’t know anything about what the servants did when she
wasn’t around. She was a fraud, and they would all find her out in just a
moment, reveal her to Ford and he would kick her and Alice out into the cold.

"Of course you don’t, Mrs. Tremaine," Mrs. Dixon
said, coming to the rescue. "Ladies don’t generally get involved with such
mundane tasks. They’re too busy making sure the master is happy and having his
needs fulfilled."

Sabrina tried not to blush at the vague reference to Ford,
but it was impossible not to think of certain other needs he had that would go
quite unfulfilled in her presence. She quickly recomposed herself and nodded in
agreement, relieved that she wasn’t expected to know everything immediately.

"Would it be too much trouble to watch Alice for just a
bit longer," she asked the cook.

"Course not, Mrs. Tremaine. Why I’ve taken right to the
little miss and it’s my pleasure to be in her company." Mrs. Dixon gave
Alice a wink, and then cracked an egg into the bowl they were working on.

"Well, I suppose I should meet with the housekeeper,"
Sabrina said, looking around as if the woman might pop out of a corner
suddenly. "You wouldn’t happen to know where I could find her, Delores?"

Mrs. Dixon stopped what she was doing and a look of deep
concentration furrowed her brow. "Well, today is Wednesday, so I believe
Mrs. Fitzsimmons must be in the orange room."

"Orange room?" Sabrina asked, thinking that was an
unusual color for a parlor.

"The old mistress called it apricot, but I says it’s
orange." Delores wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Mrs. Fitzsimmons is
a strange one, that. I think she’s not quite right in the head. But she does all
right, considering there ain’t been no mistress to help her out these many
months."

"What does she do in the orange room?" Sabrina
couldn’t help but ask.

"She does her business," Delores answered with a
shrug. "Meeting with the maids and such. Making sure the linens are fresh
and the master has what he needs. She told me once that she couldn’t use the
same parlor two days in a row or it would be real bad luck. A strange one, she
is, but would probably be good at her job if she had a bit of direction."

Odd indeed, Sabrina kept the thought to herself. It wouldn’t
do for the servants to think she didn’t approve of any of them. After all, she
would have the power to dismiss anyone if she saw fit.

"Would you mind directing me to the orange room?"
she asked, hoping Mrs. Fitzsimmons was not as out of touch as Delores made her
out to be. "I think it’s very important that the housekeeper and I meet as
soon as possible."

"Surely, Mrs. Tremaine," Mrs. Dixon said, wiping
her hands on her apron. "You just keep mixing that, Miss Alice."

Sabrina followed Delores to the decidedly peach parlor where
Mrs. Fitzsimmons was having tea with an upstairs maid. Sabrina wasn’t sure what
to make of the situation. It didn’t seem at all proper, and yet, nothing about
Mr. Northcliffe’s house was in any way normal. Maybe for them, this was the way
to run things?

"Good morning, Mrs. Fitzsimmons," Sabrina said
after Mrs. Dixon had introduced them. "I am looking forward to talking to
you about how things are managed here."

"To be sure, Mrs. Tremaine," the robust middle-aged
woman said with a smile, showing crooked yellow teeth. "Why don’t you have
yourself a seat and we’ll have Mrs. Dixon send us up a fresh pot of tea. And
how about some of those scones of yours, eh Delores?"

"Right away, Mrs. Fitzsimmons." Delores raised her
eyebrows a bit so that only Sabrina could see. As if to say, I told you so.

Suppressing a most unbecoming giggle, Sabrina sat across
from the housekeeper and took in the room and the woman. It was a small sitting
room, probably used once for ladies to sit and sew in as it had good light. The
furnishings were indeed peach and apricot with a decided French flair, and
certainly cleaner than the green parlor she had been in the day before. Mrs.
Fitzsimmons herself, was small and round with friendly brown eyes and her
slightly graying brown hair was tucked up into a serviceable bun.

"So, Mrs. Fitzsimmons," Sabrina began, hoping her
voice didn’t quaver with mirth as she spoke. "I would like the opportunity
to meet your staff."

Sabrina had decided to that the best way to approach the
housekeeper was to assure the woman that the maids would still answer to her
directly. Frankly, Sabrina didn’t think it would be appropriate any other way.
It was how she had conducted her own household when she had been mistress, and
she supposed it would be beneficial for all of them to keep things in that
vein.

"Then you and I can discuss how you run things,"
Sabrina continued, seeing that Mrs. Fitzsimmons appeared content with her words.
"I don’t expect to change your routines. We just need to ensure that Mr.
Northcliffe’s needs are more conveniently met and that the house is brought
back to its former grandeur."

A grunt was the housekeeper’s response. "That man keeps
himself hidden in that laboratory of his. Every time I go a looking for him or
try to ask him for some direction, he’s either locked away or his mind ain’t on
the subject at hand. It’s a blessing, I say, that he’s finally come to his
senses and got this house a fine lady to look after things. Now mind you, I
ain’t never heard of a woman being paid to run a place the way a wife or mother
might, but I reckon it’s a fine idea and I can’t think of why nobody’s thought
of it before."

Mrs. Fitzsimmons finally paused to sip her tea. Thankfully
Delores walked in just then with a fresh pot and scones. Sabrina was grateful
that she had a moment to consider the housekeeper’s words before responding. So
far things were going smoothly, it was almost too easy.

"So, dearie, what have you planned for the master’s
schedule?" Mrs. Fitzsimmons took a scone and liberally spread it with jam
and clotted cream.

"Well," Sabrina said cautiously, as she took a cup
of tea and stirred in lemon and sugar. "I was hoping that you and Mr.
Roland would have some ideas there. Tell me how things are operating now and
then I’ll better be able give instructions for everyone’s benefit."

Mrs. Fitzsimmons took a bite of her scone and chewed on it
while appearing to think about what Sabrina had just said. After swallowing and
then taking a sip of tea, she finally responded. "But don’t you see, Mrs.
Tremaine, that’s what we got you for. We all know how to do our jobs, it’s just
the knowing how to do our jobs to the satisfaction of Mr. Northcliffe that
we’re a bit confused about. He lives in a different world than the likes of us.
But you, being a lady and all, you know how his kind thinks. And being a woman,
you can pass the instructions on to the staff in a manner that we can
understand."

Sabrina was worried now. There were a lot of people under
this roof that expected her to accomplish what seemed to be the impossible. But
their faith in her was invigorating. She pulled her thoughts together and tried
to move herself back in time when she had been the lady of a large staff before
Edward had left them without the funds to keep more than a few servants.

This was different though. A year and a half ago, she would
have simply called Mrs. Fitzsimmons to her side and given instructions on
menus, guests, and the family schedule. The servants knew their place and their
jobs, because things were done a certain way. It had been ten years, at least,
since she’d had to train a staff in the needs of the family in residence. This
was not going to be as easy as Mrs. Fitzsimmons, Delores and Mr. Roland seemed
to believe. This staff had no direction and apparently, since the passing of
Ford’s mother, did not seem inclined to even pretend to know what might be
expected of them.

Sabrina finished her tea and nibbled daintily at her scone. "We
should start with the basics," she finally stated with as much authority
as she could muster. "The house needs to be presentable. Mr. Northcliffe
wants to resume his station in society."

"So you wants us to clean it up a bit?" Mrs.
Fitzsimmons was at least on the same track now.

"Yes, the house needs to be presentable for social
calls and dinner parties. Maybe even a ball." Sabrina was beginning to
wonder if the place had ever seen such things, even when Ford’s mother, Mrs.
Northcliffe had been alive.

"Well, I’ll be," the housekeeper said, slapping
one pudgy hand on her thigh. "We’re really going to open the place up. We
ain’t seen such a thing since the little miss died. Glory be!" The rotund
woman pushed herself up and went over to the butler’s bell, and began pulling
it with a vengeance.

Chapter Five

Frankincense filled the air as cards slipped through her
fingers like water from a fountain. The spirits were trying to speak to her,
but their messages were garbled. Madame Lou couldn’t decide whether or not it
was time to interfere or allow the fates to run their course. And then there
was the Mother. She had been pestering Madame Lou for months, and for the last
few nights, had even gone so far as to interrupt the psychic’s slumber. That
particular spirit was beginning to annoy Madame Lou in a way that none had
since she’d first been contacted by the specters.

Ford woke from a dream that seemed so real, he half expected
his little sister to be sitting on his bed drinking a steaming cup of
chocolate. Piper had enjoyed watching her older brother sleep. She had said he
looked like an angel at those times and it was good to remember that when he
was awake and acting like the devil. Ford shook his head at the memory. He
missed his little sister more than he could say. She would be a young woman now
if she had lived through the epidemic. He would have enjoyed squiring her to
all the balls and parties of London’s social whirl, discouraging young swains
from breaking her young heart. Pulling himself upright, Ford got out of bed and
looked around for his clothes. His mother had moved him to the master suite
years ago, insisting that he was now the master of the family. And she’d redone
it recently to be as modern as any newer house in Town. It was a pleasant room
with soothing blue and green colors covering the walls, windows and furniture. Sometimes
his valet laid out freshly pressed garments, but only when Ford managed to move
about at normal hours, which was almost never these days. He splashed his face
with tepid water in the old fashioned basin that sat at his dressing table, before
putting on his glasses and running a brush through his hair. It was too long,
he mused wondering where his valet was again. Freddy would give him a trim if
he could just find the time to sit still for the young man. But there just never
seemed to be a spare moment in Ford’s day. Not when he spent every available
second searching for a cure.