The Silent Woman: The USA TODAY BESTSELLER - a gripping historical fiction. Terry Thomas Lynn
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doused in cool water when she noticed that the top drawer of her bureau was opened ever so slightly. Cat went over to it and pulled it open all the way. Her undergarments, which she folded and arranged in perfect rows, were stuffed into the drawer without method, as though someone had taken them out and tossed them back in again. Isobel. Snooping. Again. Cat sighed and made a mental note to find a new place to hide the purse where she kept her money.
She lay down on the bed, the flannel over her throbbing eye. She forced herself to think of something positive, of freedom, of a life that didn’t include the Carlisle house or any of the people who lived in it. This thought brought Cat peace and gave her the smallest glimmer of hope. She whispered, I’m going to leave Benton, as if saying the words out loud gave them weight and meaning. The utterance was a commitment to herself and her future, whatever it may hold. She sighed and slipped into sleep.
Annie navigated the stairs as she carried a tray for Mrs Carlisle. She filled the pot to the rim because she paid attention. She knew that Mrs Carlisle had gone straight up to her room for a rest before dinner. She also knew Mrs Carlisle would awaken in need of some refreshment, and that not only would she drink every drop of tea, but she would eat all the toast and marmalade as well. Mrs Carlisle ate like a man twice her size. Despite all the food she consumed, she had the tiniest waist Annie had ever seen. Annie rested the tray on her hip, freeing up a hand, so she could knock on Mrs Carlisle’s door.
‘Come in,’ a muffled voice said.
Annie stepped into the room, took one look at Mrs Carlisle’s battered face, and would have dropped her tray if Mrs Carlisle hadn’t hurried over to help her.
‘Oh, Annie, thank you. I’m famished.’
‘You’re welcome, Mrs Carlisle,’ Annie said. She tried to avoid looking at the older woman’s eye, which was red and swollen, as though she had been in a fight. She put the tray down on the writing table.
‘Please, call me Cat. Mrs Carlisle makes me feel old.’
‘I can’t. Miss Isobel –’
‘Isobel wouldn’t like that, would she? How about you call me Miss Catherine? That’s a little less formal.’ She touched a damp cloth to her face and winced. ‘In case you’re wondering, I was attacked today while I was shopping.’ Annie stepped into the corner out of Miss Catherine’s way, just like Miss Marie trained her to do – while Miss Catherine poured herself a large cup of tea. She added milk and sugar, took two pieces of toast and a large dollop of marmalade before she sat down at the vanity and stared at her reflection in the mirror. ‘What am I going to do? Isobel will have kittens if I come down to dinner looking like this.’
Annie started to giggle, but stopped herself.
‘May I get you a fresh cold cloth?’ Annie moved away from the window and stood with her hands in front of her.
‘Thank you, Annie,’ Miss Catherine said.
Miss Catherine’s bathroom was tiled in white, with a large tub with what Miss Marie referred to as a mahogany surround. A basket full of flannels sat on a table near the tub. Annie dampened one and came back into the bedroom just as Miss Catherine unpinned her hair and let it fall around her shoulders. It took all of Annie’s effort not to stare at the red curls, which shimmered with a life all their own. Annie thought it was the most beautiful hair she had ever seen.
‘Will there be anything else, ma’am?’ Annie asked.
‘I suppose Isobel has you running all over the place.’ She turned around on the vanity stool and faced Annie.
‘Yes, ma’am. Tonight I’m to serve at table. It’s my first time. Mr Carlisle and Mr Sykes are eating tonight, all formal like. And I’m to change into a proper black uniform with a white apron to serve. Miss Isobel bought it for me special.’
‘Thank you, Annie. You’ve been very helpful and I’m sure you’ll do a smashing job at dinner tonight.’
By half past three, Annie had finished setting the table for dinner, the last of her chores. Under Miss Marie’s watchful eye, she aligned the knives and forks to the plates, and arranged the flowers. A roast lamb had gone in the cooker hours ago. Miss Marie hurried around the kitchen, slaving over the gravy, a precise recipe, which consisted of the drippings taken from the roaster seasoned with a concoction of nutmeg, claret, and the juice of an orange. Miss Marie had opened a bottle of claret to make the sauce and sipped on it as she cooked. She poured Annie a small glass and said, ‘Taste this. It’ll put the roses in your cheeks.’
Annie sipped, thought it disgusting, but didn’t let on.
‘I don’t have anything else for you to do at the moment, Annie.’ Marie glanced at the clock. ‘Back down at half past seven?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Annie said. She hurried from the kitchen before Miss Isobel showed up and found something for her to do.
At a quarter past seven, Annie stood before the small mirror in her room and studied her appearance. The black dress fit her properly, giving a sleek profile. Annie double-checked the chignon to make sure it would stay in place for the evening before she put the white cap on. After the hat was secured with pins and she double-checked that her uniform would meet Isobel’s discerning scrutiny, Annie headed downstairs.
She found Miss Marie in the kitchen scraping the drippings out of the roaster, through a strainer and into a saucepan.
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