Cora did not sleep a wink that night. Besides Mrs. Caddy's louder-than-usual snoring, her mind would not be still. In the early hours of the morning, when the sky began to change from inky black to murky gray, Cora heard the sound of a door opening and closing. Shuffling followed, and she knew without cracking her door that Sally was making her departure before the other servants awoke.
When Cora could no longer hear footsteps, she rolled from her bed, pulled on a robe and slid her feet into some slippers. She left her room, trod quickly down the stairs, and went outside. The early morning chill assaulted her body, and she drew her wrap tighter about her. Through the gloom of early morning, she squinted, searching for movement, finally spotting a dark form up ahead.
"Sally!" Cora called, quickening her steps.
The maid—or rather, former maid—turned around. As Cora neared, she could see hatred and distrust written plainly across Sally's face. Cora stopped several paces away, wondering why she had felt the need to follow. Sally loathed her. What good did she think she could do?
"I, er…" Cora wasn't sure how to begin. "Where are you going?"
Sally scoffed and lifted her hands—both of which carried small bags. "Where does it look like I'm goin'? Ter a ball, of course."
All things considered, it had been a ridiculous question to ask, but Sally's impolite tone did not help matters. Cora let out a breath and tried again. "What I meant to say was… Do you have somewhere to go?"
The question seemed to catch Sally off guard. She looked momentarily perplexed before her jaw tightened and her chin lifted in defiance. "Ain't no business of yours."
Cora was tempted to agree and wish Sally to the devil, and she might have done exactly that if not for the vulnerability and fear she spied in her eyes. It was plain to see the woman did not know where she was going or what she would do.
"Why did you do it?" Cora asked, needing to know. "Do you find the notion of answering to a woman younger and less experienced than you so intolerable? Or is that only a part of the reason?"
Sally pressed her lips together, refusing to answer.
"Do you have a son, Sally?" Cora pressed, gentler this time.
The maid's jaw clenched and she turned away. Cora thought she caught a glimmer of moisture in her eyes, but Sally blinked, and when she looked back at Cora, all that remained was a fierce look of pride. "Aye, I 'ave a lad. 'Ad a husband too before he succumbed ter the fever and died. Now it's just Jimmy and me. 'E's not quite three and livin' with the McCoard's yonder. I pay what I can ter keep 'im fed and cared for, but they say they need more and… well, I've got no more ter give." She sniffed and shook her head, allowing the tears to come without blinking them away. "I used ter think I could get ahead. If I worked 'ard enough I could one day…" She shook her head angrily. "I don't know what I was thinkin'. People like me don't get ahead."
Surprised by Sally's admission, Cora did not respond immediately. It had likely cost the woman a great deal to reveal as much, and yet she had. She had also confessed her misdeeds to Mr. Ludlow. Though Cora could never condone Sally's actions, her anger and frustration softened. She no longer viewed Sally as mean-spirited. She saw her as a young mother who had allowed her circumstances to make her bitter, cruel, and miserable. Perhaps all Sally truly needed was a show of kindness. Cora could offer her that much, at least.
"Sally, I should like for you to return to Tanglewood and resume your position as housemaid." The words flew out before Cora could rethink them, and although they felt like the right thing to say, a part of her hoped Sally would refuse the offer.
The maid's eyes widened in shock. She pulled her bags in front of her and clasped the handles together with both hands. Her expression was uncertain, distrustful, and perhaps even confused, but the derision had vanished. Cora experienced a measure of relief at that.
"Mr. Ludlow has given me leave to offer the position to whomever I deem fit to do the job. You have proven yourself to be a hard worker, and you are knowledgeable in the operations of Tanglewood—far more knowledgeable than I am at the moment. But if you choose to return, you must accept the fact that I am the housekeeper and you are a housemaid. I do not harbor any delusions that we will become great friends, but I do expect an appropriate level of respect from you."
Cora paused in her speech, but when Sally remained silent, she forged on. "Perhaps we might even strike a bargain, if you're willing. I believe the reason you were passed over for the position of housekeeper is because you lack education and a certain air of decorum in manner and speech. Housekeepers are often called upon to interact with guests in a dignified manner, and if you are to ever be considered for such a position, you must learn how to comport yourself in that way. That is something I can teach you. So here is my proposition: I will instruct you in proper speech and decorum if you will instruct me in the proper ways of housekeeping—and by instruct, I mean without the aid of snakes, rotten eggs, flower petals, or closed dampers."
Cora directed a stern look at Sally, wanting her to understand the extent of her folly. "I was not the only one you injured, you know."
Sally appeared stricken before she lowered her eyes to the ground in a show of humility. She nodded and swallowed. "I ain't proud of what I've done, Mrs. Notley, make no mistake about that. I ain't deservin' of your sympathy neither. But there's no denyin' I need the wages, and Tanglewood's the closest estate to me lad. I also want ter learn 'ow to speak proper-like, so… I suppose I accept your bargain."
Cora arched an eyebrow. "Without snakes, rotten eggs, or salt in the sugar jar?"
"Nor frogs, neither." Sally actually smiled—smiled! It looked so foreign and yet lovely at the same time. A rush of joy filled Cora from the inside out, furthering her belief in the power of kindness. It was a feeling that invigorated her like a sound night's sleep never could. Cora decided she really must get Sally to smile more often.
"A truce then?" she asked, extending her hand.
Sally set one bag down to shake hands. As soon as they had sealed their bargain, Cora picked up the bag. It was much heavier than it looked and took all of Cora's strength and both of her frigid hands to carry the thing back inside, where she gratefully handed it to a not-quite-awake Harry, asking if he would be so kind as to return it to Sally's room.
"You did what?" Jonathan gaped at Cora. He had been enjoying a nice, peaceful morning in his study when Watts had entered to ask if Mrs. Notley could have a word with him. Not opposed to seeing his housekeeper again so soon, Jonathan had agreed, but he had not been prepared for the news she had just imparted to him. He had supposed the matter of Sally finished. She had been dismissed—by him—and should be long departed. But now Mrs. Notley had taken it upon herself to un-dismiss the woman? Could he possibly have heard correctly?
"You did tell me I could offer the position to whomever I chose, did you not?" Mrs. Notley appeared innocent as though she could not understand his surprise and vexation.
Jonathan was not normally a man without words, but he had no response to this. One would think it obvious that the position of housemaid could be extended to any woman except the girl he had sacked only yesterday. Good gads, did he really need to clarify this? Surely, even the inexperienced Mrs. Notley should know he would be opposed to rehiring the chit. Mrs. Notley should be opposed as well! What the deuce had she been thinking?
Jonathan slowly pushed himself from his chair and stood, planting his palms on his desk as he leaned forward to examine his housekeeper. "You cannot be serious."
"I am." She had the temerity to seat herself in one of his armchairs and clasp her fingers in her lap as though she planned to stay for a cozy chat. "Perhaps you would like to know my reasons for doing as I have done?" she asked.
"The only reason that you could possibly have for behaving so irrationally is that you have lost your mind."
Her answer was a grin. It parted her beautiful lips, caused her eyes to sparkle, and made him feel as though he was the one going mad and not the other way around. "I may very well have," she said. "It does go missing every now and again."
Jonathan could only stare and wonder if he was not in the middle of some very strange dream. "Perhaps you could find where yours has gone, retrieve it, and undo what you have done," he said. "I thought I made it perfectly clear that I will not employ a servant I cannot trust."
His speech seemed to have little effect, if any, on his housekeeper. She remained impervious. "It was I who employed her, not you."
"But it is I who employ you." Was this not obvious?
"I realize that," she said. "But you did grant me leave to hire whomever I wished, and that is what I have done. Would you like to know why?"
"No," he said curtly. "What I'd like is for you to tell Sally that she must pack her things and leave this house once and for all. I believed you to be a woman of integrity, Mrs. Notley, and yet you have undermined my authority. I can scarce believe it, let alone understand it."
"You would understand, if you would only listen."
Jonathan was through listening. He had never felt more trampled upon and by someone he had come to trust and even admire. Mrs. Notley may have her reasons for doing what she had done, but she had obviously not spared a thought for him or how this would reflect upon his position as master of this household. He was the overseer, and if he made a decision, like it or not, she must abide by it. Did she think this a great joke?
"Mrs. Notley," he said, attempting to control his brewing anger. "The way I see it, you have two options before you. You can either return to Sally and explain that you have made a mistake, or you can return to your room and pack your own bags. I will not countenance such utter disregard for my feelings on this matter. Is that clear?"
All humor drained from her features, leaving behind a pale complexion with glittering blue eyes and rosy cheeks. Her jaw hardened, and she slowly stood, lifting her chin in a defiant way he both admired and despised.
"If those are my only options, sir, I must choose the latter because I refuse to tell a mother she will no longer have the means to care for her child. You may not wish to know my reasons, but I will tell you anyway because you should know them. Sally's a hard worker and a good maid. Her animosity towards me was only a small part of the reason she wished to take my place as housekeeper. The larger part—the one that drove her to behave so desperately and foolishly—was her son. She's a widow and has a child. Did you know that? Did you also know that if she cannot find a way to pay his caregivers more than she has paid in the past, the boy will be turned out at month's end? Until this morning, I did not know any of this. But I do now, and so do you."
Mrs. Notley pressed her lips together and looked briefly down at the floor before meeting his gaze once again. The underlying sadness he saw in her expression pierced his heart. "I assure you, Mr. Ludlow, it was not my intention to disregard your feelings or undermine your authority in any way. You instructed me to hire a housemaid of my choosing, and I opted to grant Sally what I considered to be a much-needed second chance. She may have done very wrong, and I do not condone her actions in the slightest, but she is sorry for them and anxious to make amends."
Cora paused, appearing to weigh her next words, and when she spoke again it was with conviction. "Sometimes a person has a good reason for behaving badly, and it is my belief that forgiveness and understanding can put a stop to the bad and inspire the good. I hope you will come to believe that as well and allow her to stay. But, as you have made very plain, you are the master here, and that choice is up to you. I wish you good day, sir."
Mrs. Notley did not wait for a response. She turned around and walked briskly out the door. Jonathan watched her go, saying nothing to stop her.
He dropped slowly down to his chair, thinking about all she had said. Mrs. Notley had most certainly overstepped the bounds this time, but he could no longer fault her for it. Rather, he faulted himself. He'd behaved like a tyrannical cad, and she had every right to despise him. But at the same time, she had taken a situation that had been clear in its resolution and had muddied it in the most frustrating way. Jonathan did not believe in second chances and he abhorred the thought of employing a maid he could not trust. But now that he was aware that an innocent child's welfare was at stake, how could he not? He felt cornered without any way to defend himself, and it was maddening.
This was exactly the reason an employer should never take a personal interest in one's servants. It complicated matters in the extreme and made Jonathan wish that he had never taken a personal interest in his housekeeper. Perhaps then his world would not be so askew at the moment.