Barbara Metzger by Cupboard Kisses Page B

respectable place, where gently bred strangers can find a secure welcome.”
    “Quite,” he drawled, nudging her onward with the bag.
    The uppermost floor would have been servants’ quarters. The hallway was dark and narrow and water-stained from years of unpatched roofs. The room MacDermott opened was small, the single window tiny, the ceiling pitched so that Cristabel, at five-foot-eight, would have bumped her head with alarming frequency.
    “See? Isn’t it perfect?” MacDermott asked. “We usually rent these rooms to transients, except for young Fanny, whose room is at the end. She goes rent-free, for being maid. The other long-term renters are all downstairs. It would mean a loss of income, of course, if you stay here, but you would have your privacy and peace. Why, you could even use next door as a music room. Nick, put the bags down and go fetch the harp.” The major continued after the double thuds and heavy clumpings: “That way you wouldn’t have to worry over disturbing the boarders, no matter what time you wanted to practice, and your instrument would be safer here than below, where some of the callers might get rowdy. Besides, you’d be out of the hustle and bustle of the common room. Please don’t think me impertinent, ma’am, but it would pain me to see a cultured lady like yourself have to participate in the day-to-day workings of a business establishment.”
    Cristabel was certain she’d worked harder for Miss Meadow than she would ever have to here, for herself, even if she got down on her knees to scrub the floors. The major’s concern was touching, it truly was. Of course, his care would have been more affecting if he’d offered her his own suite, a niggling little voice whispered. There were the stairs, and his injury, though, weren’t there? And he
was
a paying customer, wasn’t he? He smiled at her in wide-eyed expectation, almost like one of her little schoolgirls hoping for a nod of approval for a difficult piece.
    And there came Nick Blass, manhandling her precious harp and muttering words Cristabel was sure weren’t meant as anxiety over her well-being. Nick Blass, who was too short to bash his skull on the eaves of the attic room, who had a perfectly lovely set of rooms downstairs, including the abused library, and who, furthermore, worked for her. It may be a comedown for a lady to dirty her hands in business, but there were definite advantages, too! In addition, instead of being a ship at sea, it was time Cristabel became captain of her own fate.
    “I am sorry, gentlemen, it won’t do. As you say, it would cut into the rental income, which appears to be small enough as is. I’m sure I’ll have more suggestions about that tomorrow, after I look over the ledgers. I do intend to deal with matters myself, you see, because this is meant to be my income. I shall have to use the office, therefore, so it’s only natural for me to occupy that rear bedroom, too.”
    Nick had been standing pop-eyed from exertion, mopping sweat off his forehead. At Cristabel’s words he found the cigar stub and jammed it into his mouth, chomping it around.
    It was Lyle MacDermott who hastened to reply: “You can’t have considered, my dear Miss Swann, the noise, the dirt from the street, the…the…”
    “There won’t be any dirt in my house,” she ordered, glaring at Nick. “The condition of this house is abysmal. I lay the blame at Lord Harwood’s door, naturally”—her grimace at Nick belied the words—“but this state is no longer acceptable. Anyone who wishes to remain in my employ had better understand. Is that clear?”
    Blass started to growl something around the nub of the cigar, but the major interrupted. “Of course it is. The place needs a woman’s touch, after all. Isn’t that right, Nick?”
    Miss Swann didn’t wait for a reply before sailing off down the stairs.
    Fanny was enlisted to help the furious Nick move his belongings. Instead of facing those stairs again—or