Nine Steps to Sara Read online

  “There’s electricity in all of the rooms,” Mrs. Poole reported proudly, “and the main guest rooms all have bathrooms en suite,” she opened the door to the adjoining bathroom with a flourish and Joanie leaned up on her elbow to get a better look.

  “Is there central heat?” Sara asked, stepping closer to the fireplace and Mrs. Poole shook her head.

  “Sadly, no, we rely on the fireplaces to heat the house, but there are fireplaces in all of the bedrooms and the main living areas apart from the conservatory.”

  “The conservatory,” Joanie made an exaggerated face, lifting her nose into the air as she put the exact same inflection to the word; only from her it sounded positively snooty.

  “Yes, the conservatory,” Mrs. Poole repeated, brows drawing together in confusion as Joanie’s sense of humor went over her head.

  “That’s great, Mrs. Poole, thanks. You’ll be alright here, Joanie? I’m going to head to bed,” Sara changed the subject, eager to find her own room.

  “I think I can muddle through,” Joanie smiled up from the pile of pillows.

  “Okay, goodnight, see you in the morning.” Sara felt like she could sleep for a week, but a low current of excitement thrummed under her skin at the thought of seeing the master bedroom. From the architecture of the house, it was obvious it was at least a few hundred years old, hence the housekeeper’s pride in the use of electricity, and she couldn’t wait to see the set up in there.

  “Here we are, my Lady,” Mrs. Poole sang out as they reached the massive mahogany door at the end of the long hallway.

  It was everything a master suite implied and more. Dominated by a huge four poster bed built into the room itself, it was richly dressed in burgundy and green bed clothes trimmed heavily in gold. A crackling fire blazed within a massive hearth in front of the seating area where two wing backed chairs and a small sofa sat across a low table laid out with an ornate chess set. Whoever designed the room was heavy on the wood trim; in fact, the entire ceiling was covered with a series of heavy beams with delicate carved inlays forming a scrolling grid pattern that encompassed every square inch of surface area.

  It was exquisite, but very dark; not at all like the feminine yellow room Joanie had been assigned. Patterned rugs covered much of the polished mahogany floor, offering muted spots of color, but they’d long ago faded into dullness, missing a tassel here and there. None of it was exactly to her tastes, more masculine than anything else, but nice, very nice.

  Wandering into the adjoining bath as Mrs. Poole turned down the bed, Sara smiled at finding an old copper bathtub, big enough to sink up to her nose in. It was tempting to take a soak after the long trip by planes and trains, but more than anything she wanted to curl up in the big fluffy bed and catch some z’s. A door off the bathroom led into a dressing room bigger than the living room of the last apartment she’d shared with Jack, the same masculine decor carrying over. Another door off the bathroom was locked up tight when she tried it. Did she have to share the bathroom with another room? That could be awkward…

  “What’s this door to?” Sara called out, and Mrs. Poole was quick to hurry over.

  “That goes to the Lady’s dressing room and living apartments. I had given some thought to whether or not you’d be more comfortable in those quarters, but they’ve been vacant for such a long time, I’m afraid the bed wouldn’t do at all.”

  “Oh, I gotcha. The old Lord and Lady didn’t share a bed, huh?” Sara grinned.

  “It was very common to keep separate apartments, especially in the day of arranged marriages,” she nodded, returning to finish with the bed and Sara wandered back in to stand by the huge stone fireplace. Her suitcases had appeared while she was in the bathroom, and she lugged one up to prop on the wooden chest at the end of the bed to find her nightgown and toiletries.

  “I apologize, my Lady, we’ll have a proper lady’s maid in here for you tomorrow,” Mrs. Poole clucked, still fussing with the pillows.

  “Oh, no it’s fine,” Sara waved her off. “I don’t need a maid; I can take care of myself.” It was weird enough having someone fluff up her pillows for her. “Do you have to get sheets made special for that?” she pointed to the massive bed.

  “Ah… yes, my Lady, as a matter of fact, we do. I didn’t presume to make any decorative choices for you; I assumed you’d want to be involved in the redressing of the room to your liking. Or you can take over the other rooms if you’d prefer.”

  “You can call me Sara.” It felt strange with everybody my Ladying her over and over.

  “No, my Lady, I most certainly can not,” Mrs. Poole replied, her voice grave with disapproval. “Is there anything else you require before you retire for the night?”

  Chastened, Sara shook her head before realizing Mrs. Poole wanted her to say something. “No, I’m good, thanks.”

  “Very well. If you have need of anything at all, you can ring for assistance, day or night,” she pointed to a tasseled rope hanging next to the headboard.

  “Oh,” Sarah blinked; it was like something straight out of the movies. “I’m sure I’ll be fine. Thanks again for everything, have a good night.”

  “Thank you, my Lady, sleep well.”

  By the time Sara got her toiletries unpacked and arranged in the cabinet next to the sink and changed into her nightgown, the house had settled down for the night; the only sound the crackling of the fire. The fireplace was big enough to stand up in if she ducked slightly, and she was afraid the Pooles had been a little overzealous in their attempt to keep her warm. “I won’t need the blankets at all,” she murmured, moving to the set of corner windows to see if she could crack one of them open.

  The frame was hard to manage at first, stuck from years of disuse, but it popped open with a groan when she pushed a little harder, leaving a three inch gap. The cool night air rushed in, heavily laced with scents from the gardens and Sara glimpsed neat rows of flower beds below. Lilac, lavender, hyacinth, and roses most probably, though it was hard to see from the height through the narrow gap. Delighted with such a find, Sara pulled the window closed so it was only open a crack to let in a little fresh air and hopped into bed.

  Immediately enveloped in downy comfort, she wriggled down into a sea of pillows. “I am Sara J. Darling, millionaire,” she yawned. “I own a mansion and a yacht.” The dreamy smile stayed fixed on her lips until well after sleep claimed her for the night.

  Chapter Two

  It was early when Sara realized she lay huddled into a ball, completely submerged under the covers. At least she thought it was early; her internal clock was totally out of whack. A quick test proved the air to be bitterly cold in the room and she immediately ducked back down into the relative warmth of the quilted cocoon. So much for the blazing heat of the fire…

  Growing braver (or maybe it was the insistent gnawing of her stomach), Sara poked her head out again, finding the fire banked low and her luggage missing. Not a good sign. A heartbeat later, a teenaged girl dressed in a dove gray uniform slipped in, hugging a basket to her hip as she shut the door behind her. Dark hair pulled back into a severe bun that looked tight enough to pinch, she moved with overly exaggerated care, as if afraid she might accidentally wake Sara up.

  “Good morning,” Sara smiled, pulling the blankets around her as she sat up in bed. The girl froze with a stricken, deer in the headlights stare, nearly dropping the basket in the process.

  “I beg your pardon, my Lady, I just went to fetch some wood for the fire.”

  The poor girl looked like she was about to jump out of her skin and upon closer inspection, Sara could see she was older than she’d first thought; maybe twenty. “Good idea; is it always this cold in here in the morning?” Maybe she’d have to invest in a good space heater and keep it close to the bed.

  “No, some dolt left the window open all night and it’s near to freezing in here. Stay where you are and I’ll fetch your wrapper.”

  Ah, so that explained it. Sara kept mute on being the dolt respon
sible, but decided to let the girl off the hook. “It’s okay, you work on the fire, I’ll find my… wrapper. Only… I’m not sure where my stuff is, do you know?”

  Torn between wanting to get the fire going and getting the promised bathrobe, the maid hovered in place for a moment. “I put all your things away in the dressing room, was that wrong?”

  Even though it felt weird to have a total stranger going through her things, Sara couldn’t bear to say so, the girl might start to cry. “That’s fine, I know where it is.” The floor was icy when she slid her feet out of the bed, and Sara couldn’t help but wince.

  “I can get it for you…”

  “No really, it’s fine… what’s your name?”

  “Katie, Ma’am, I mean… my Lady,” her cheeks pinkened over the slip, and Sara hid a smile behind her hand.

  “Ma’am is fine, or even Sara,” she assured her, keeping a blanket around her shoulders as she padded towards the bathroom. “You take care of the fire and I’ll be back in a jiff.” Pleased to see there was a lock on the bathroom door, Sara took care of some pressing business before finding all of her clothes neatly put away in the adjoining dressing room. Pulling on a fluffy, blue robe she’d gotten for Christmas with Mom embroidered on the lapel, she pulled on two pairs of thick, woolen socks and emerged feeling marginally warmer. Katie had the fire crackling in the hearth, the flames already licking up the sides of the dry wood.

  “That’s better already,” she smiled, scooting the chair a little closer to the warmth.

  “Oh, I can get that for you, my Lady…”

  “Katie, I have a secret to tell you,” Sara held her hands up to stay her from moving the chair. They had to get a few things straight between them, or she’d go nuts inside of a week. “I’ve never had a maid before.”

  “You haven’t?” Katie gasped, clearly scandalized.

  “Nope,” Sara shrugged; glad to see she had her full attention. “How much have you heard about me coming to live here?”

  “Only that you’re the heir, or rather the young master is, and you’ve come from America to take ownership of Darling Park.”

  Interesting perspective, and Sara couldn’t help but wonder if everyone considered Jack to be the real heir? It didn’t matter one bit to her, she was glad to figure in there somewhere. “That’s right, we’re from America, and to be honest, I’ve done my share of cleaning rooms and fetching and carrying for people over the years.” Maybe it was a mistake to admit such a thing to the help, but if the girl was going to spend any time in her company, they had to get on more even footing.

  “You have?” Katie’s brows climbed skyward in disbelief, but Sara noticed her stance had become a little less stiff and severe.

  “Yep. Up until a few weeks ago I was a waitress at the Pontiac Grill, working for little over minimum wage and tips. So all the ‘my Lady’ stuff… it’s a little hard to get used to,” she admitted with a wrinkle of the nose. “Maybe you could call me Sara?”

  “Oh, but I couldn’t!” the girl’s bottom lip trembled. “Mrs. Poole would have my hide if I did anything improper. I’ve been given very strict guidelines as to what my duties should be,” she ticked them off on her fingers. “See to your ladyship’s needs day or night, lay out your clothes and assist you with the dressing and your hair, make any repairs needed to your gowns or dainties, I’m to be the upstairs maid as well until we find a proper staff as time permits…”

  “See that’s the thing,” Sara stopped her before she ran out of fingers. “I don’t really need a maid; I’m used to doing all those things for myself.”

  “Does that mean I’ll be sacked then?” Katie looked about ready to faint and Sara’s mouth snapped shut without saying what she’d intended.

  “No, of course not,” she assured her. “I… it’s fine. I’m sure you’re a very good lady’s maid,” Sara murmured, realizing it wasn’t all about her; far be it from her to deny the girl her livelihood because she was used to dressing herself.

  “Does that mean I can stay?”

  “Of course. And who knows, maybe in time we’ll become friends and it won’t feel so strange to call me Sara.”

  “If you say so, my Lady,” Katie said carefully. “I’ve hung out all your clothes. After you’ve warmed yourself, I’ll draw you a bath if you like, or would you like me to bring you up a tray first?” she waited expectantly, and Sara shook her head gently.

  “Thank you, but I’d rather take a quick shower before I eat. Don’t worry about dressing me, I can manage that at least, but ah, if you’ve got some time, maybe you could iron out some of my clothes? I’m sure they’re awfully wrinkled from the trip.”

  Katie beamed at being given a task to do. “I’ll see to it straight away… Sara,” Katie tried experimentally, but she immediately looked around as if she expected to be struck by lightning.

  “See, nothing bad happened,” Sara winked, disappearing into the bathroom for some much needed privacy. Katie was still puttering around the room, making the bed when Sara emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later, dressed in jeans and a pretty, pink peasant blouse, dark hair plaited into a fat braid that hung down her back.

  “Can you show me where Jack’s room is?” Sara hadn’t worried too much about him waking alone in a strange place; he’d been as excited as a boy of eight could be to learn they were traveling to the land of Harry Potter and Sherlock Holmes.

  “I’ll have him brought down to you,” Katie bobbed, preparing to leave, but Sara beat her to the door.

  “That’s okay; I’d rather see where he is and make sure he got settled in alright.”

  “You want to go abovestairs?”

  “Um, yes…?” Was there a reason why it was such an unusual request? “I take it he’s not on the same floor as I am?” She’d seen another staircase leading up; it seemed a good a time as any to check it out.

  “Yes, the nursery is on the next floor along with some of the servant’s quarters.”

  “The nursery?” Sara chuckled. “You’d better not call it that in front of Jack or we’ll have a riot on our hands. The stairs are this way, right?” Leading the way, she climbed the steep stairs to the third story which was a little gloomy in comparison with all the lights blazing on her level. Katie followed along, darting frequent looks over her shoulder as if she expected to be caught doing something they weren’t supposed to do at any moment.

  “Is there any reason he has to be all the way up here?” Sara asked as she turned down the second set of corridors. “I’d like him closer to me.” If the poor kid had a nightmare in the middle of the night, he’d get lost trying to find her.

  “You’ll have to talk to Mrs. Poole about that, my Lady.”

  “I definitely will.” Proper or not, it was her house now and her family; her wishes had to count for something. Only Jack didn’t seem to have a problem with the arrangements at all. When she stepped into the nursery, he barely looked up at her, busily digging through a stack of books. “Hey kiddo, did you have a good sleep?”

  “Yeah,” he murmured, intent on his task.

  “What are you up to?”

  “I’m sorting the books by genre and then author, and this pile are the baby ones I don’t care about,” he reported, offering a bright smile. She should have known he’d be a sucker for the huge wall of books; even without the ‘baby’ ones, it far exceeded the books he’d had to leave behind in the move.

  “I’m glad to see you have a project, you’ve been spending way too much time goofing off lately,” she replied with mock severity; it had only been a week or so since she’d pulled him out of school.

  “Do you think I could look over the real library? There is one, right?” he looked to Katie who offered her best impression of a marble column, staring straight ahead by the door.

  “Katie?” Sara prompted, and the girl came to life.

  “Yes, there is a large library and a smaller study, I believe. They’re both chock full of books, though I couldn’t speak as to how app
ropriate they’d be for Sir Jack.”

  “I wouldn’t worry too much about that,” Sara combed his hair into a better semblance of a part with her fingers. “You’d be surprised by what Sir Jack can handle. I’m sure there’s no problem with you checking out the library, but we should ask Mrs. Poole about it first, to make sure there aren’t any rare books that shouldn’t be disturbed.”

  “Who’s Mrs. Poole?”

  “The housekeeper, which you would have known if you hadn’t slept through the introductions last night,” she teased until he smiled back. “Are you ready for our checklist?”

  “Yep,” he nodded, leaving the books to give her his full attention.

  “Teeth brushed?”

  “Check.”

  “Hair brushed?”

  “Check.”

  “Face washed?”

  “Check.”

  “Clean clothes?”

  “Check.”

  “Even your undies and socks?”

  “Mom…” Jack gave her a pained look, darting a quick look to Katie who’d gone back to her statue impression. Sara raised a single brow until he gave a long suffering sigh. “Check.”

  “What did you do with your dirty clothes?”

  “I left them in a hamper thing in the bathroom.”

  “Good. I see you haven’t made your bed though.”

  “Aw Mom, do I really have to make my own bed? I thought we were rich now,” his pained expression was back, the precursor to the sulk.

  “I can attend to it now, my Lady,” Katie volunteered and after a moment’s hesitation, Sara gave her a short nod. Maybe it was spoiling him not to have to do those basic chores, but then again, his life would be different now. He might not ever have to learn how to cook or scrub a toilet or do laundry… it was still too much to take in.

  Seizing upon her surrender, Jack chattered on happily about the room which was easily four times as large as his room in the house they’d shared in LA. Besides his bed, there were two other small beds on the same end of the room with a heavily grated fireplace between them, a high and lower set of table and chairs in the middle and a large play area on the opposite corner. Along the far side were a series of built in shelves and cubbies packed with toys that Jack dubbed mostly lame, but overall he seemed genuinely excited at the prospect of staying there.