Moira bobbed her head in agreement. The innkeeper at the Copper Shovel also had warned about watching for piskies in the woods. A belief in such fanciful beings must be prevalent among the country folk in the area.
“That’s kind of you to say so,” Annabelle said. “But it wouldn’t be fair of me to blame my own misstep on anyone other than myself. Besides, I can assure you I didn’t see any piskies.”
Livvy leaned forward, her bony elbows braced on the table. “’Ee wouldna see them, miss. Such wee creatures are invisible t’ us. Oft times they play tricks and do mischief.”
Moira chimed in, “They be known t’ hide things, too. They like t’ curdle the milk and cause the bread t’ burn.”
“Just the other evenin’,” Livvy confided, “I saw their tiny lights on the hillside below the castle. ’Tis said they dance at night and leave a ring o’ toadstools.”
“Bosh,” said Mrs. Hodge as she pulled out a loaf of bread from the oven and then slid in the tray of raisin buns. “All this talk o’ lights an’ milk curdlin’! ’Tis what comes of idle minds.”
Annabelle shared the cook’s skepticism. All the incidents the maids had mentioned could be attributed to human causes.
Not wanting to scoff, she opted for diplomacy. “I suppose we’ll never know if it was piskies or my own clumsiness. I’m only thankful that Lord Simon didn’t sack me on the spot.”
“Oh, not his lordship,” the cook said while rolling out another sheet of dough. “He’s a hard man, t’ be sure, but a fair one.”
Fair? What about the coldhearted way he treated his nephew? Annabelle burned to ask, but she had to be careful. The staff would be very loyal to the master.
“That’s good to know,” she said. “By the by, he was kind enough to lend me his handkerchief to hold the sugar that I spilled.” Annabelle reached into her pocket and placed the sadly crumpled scrap of linen on the table. “I was wondering, Mrs. Hodge, if it could be washed and returned to him.”
“I’ll take it t’ the laundry myself,” Mrs. Hodge said, dusting the flour off her hands. “I be needin’ t’ have a word wid the footman about his lordship’s bruckfast.”
She took the handkerchief and trotted out of the kitchen.
The ploy had worked better than Annabelle had hoped. She’d wanted a chance to speak to the maidservants without being under the cook’s watchful eye. If she could coax them into her confidence, she might convince them to share their knowledge of the family.
Swirling her spoon in the bowl of porridge, she remarked, “I must say, I feel blessed to have found a position in such a fine house. Do you both like working here at the castle?”
The maids bobbed their heads in unison.
“’Tis better’n plowin’ the fields an’ milkin’ the cows,” Moira said, paring a potato and then passing it to Livvy for slicing.
“Or shovelin’ muck fer me dad,” Livvy added.
Moira wrinkled her nose. “Ew, ’tis a nasty chore, t’ be sure. Did I ever tell ’ee about the time I slipped an’ fell in a big steamin’ pile? Stunk fer a week, I did. No one would sit aside me in church.”
That sent the girls into a fit of giggles.
Annabelle steered them back on topic. “His Grace is such a dear little boy. It’s a pity he lost his parents at so young an age. If you don’t mind my asking, I never heard what happened to them.”
Moira’s face sobered. “’Twas a terrible wreck of their carriage. The duke was drivin’ the duchess when they was run off the road.”
“Happened in London,” Livvy said solemnly, “not long after Samhain.”
“Samhain?”
“The last day in October month,” Livvy said. “There’s bonfires an’ feastin’ an’ dancin’ t’ mark the start o’ the dark time o’ year.”
All Hallows’ Eve. Though curious to hear more about the local customs, Annabelle had too many other questions and too little time in which to ask them. “Do you suppose the accident
“That’s kind of you to say so,” Annabelle said. “But it wouldn’t be fair of me to blame my own misstep on anyone other than myself. Besides, I can assure you I didn’t see any piskies.”
Livvy leaned forward, her bony elbows braced on the table. “’Ee wouldna see them, miss. Such wee creatures are invisible t’ us. Oft times they play tricks and do mischief.”
Moira chimed in, “They be known t’ hide things, too. They like t’ curdle the milk and cause the bread t’ burn.”
“Just the other evenin’,” Livvy confided, “I saw their tiny lights on the hillside below the castle. ’Tis said they dance at night and leave a ring o’ toadstools.”
“Bosh,” said Mrs. Hodge as she pulled out a loaf of bread from the oven and then slid in the tray of raisin buns. “All this talk o’ lights an’ milk curdlin’! ’Tis what comes of idle minds.”
Annabelle shared the cook’s skepticism. All the incidents the maids had mentioned could be attributed to human causes.
Not wanting to scoff, she opted for diplomacy. “I suppose we’ll never know if it was piskies or my own clumsiness. I’m only thankful that Lord Simon didn’t sack me on the spot.”
“Oh, not his lordship,” the cook said while rolling out another sheet of dough. “He’s a hard man, t’ be sure, but a fair one.”
Fair? What about the coldhearted way he treated his nephew? Annabelle burned to ask, but she had to be careful. The staff would be very loyal to the master.
“That’s good to know,” she said. “By the by, he was kind enough to lend me his handkerchief to hold the sugar that I spilled.” Annabelle reached into her pocket and placed the sadly crumpled scrap of linen on the table. “I was wondering, Mrs. Hodge, if it could be washed and returned to him.”
“I’ll take it t’ the laundry myself,” Mrs. Hodge said, dusting the flour off her hands. “I be needin’ t’ have a word wid the footman about his lordship’s bruckfast.”
She took the handkerchief and trotted out of the kitchen.
The ploy had worked better than Annabelle had hoped. She’d wanted a chance to speak to the maidservants without being under the cook’s watchful eye. If she could coax them into her confidence, she might convince them to share their knowledge of the family.
Swirling her spoon in the bowl of porridge, she remarked, “I must say, I feel blessed to have found a position in such a fine house. Do you both like working here at the castle?”
The maids bobbed their heads in unison.
“’Tis better’n plowin’ the fields an’ milkin’ the cows,” Moira said, paring a potato and then passing it to Livvy for slicing.
“Or shovelin’ muck fer me dad,” Livvy added.
Moira wrinkled her nose. “Ew, ’tis a nasty chore, t’ be sure. Did I ever tell ’ee about the time I slipped an’ fell in a big steamin’ pile? Stunk fer a week, I did. No one would sit aside me in church.”
That sent the girls into a fit of giggles.
Annabelle steered them back on topic. “His Grace is such a dear little boy. It’s a pity he lost his parents at so young an age. If you don’t mind my asking, I never heard what happened to them.”
Moira’s face sobered. “’Twas a terrible wreck of their carriage. The duke was drivin’ the duchess when they was run off the road.”
“Happened in London,” Livvy said solemnly, “not long after Samhain.”
“Samhain?”
“The last day in October month,” Livvy said. “There’s bonfires an’ feastin’ an’ dancin’ t’ mark the start o’ the dark time o’ year.”
All Hallows’ Eve. Though curious to hear more about the local customs, Annabelle had too many other questions and too little time in which to ask them. “Do you suppose the accident
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