Penelope Goes to Portsmouth by M. C. Beaton

refreshment?’ snapped Hannah.
    The servants looked at each other, and then one of the footmen rose, took a tankard from the shelf, and filled it with house ale from a barrel and then set it down in front of her with a bang.
    Hannah raised her tankard. ‘The King!’ she said.
    The others echoed the toast.
    Silence fell again. Hannah could feel herself becoming increasingly nervous.
    By the time the butler returned to say that my lady would see her, Hannah felt she had been sitting there a lifetime. She picked up her trunk, determined not to leave it behind in the servants’ hall in case anyone looked inside it, and with the heavy bag banging against her legs, she followed the butler up the stairs. She left her trunk in the hall, hoping it would be safe there. The butler led the way up to a drawing-room on the first floor and threw open the doors.
    ‘Here is the person who has come about the job,’ he said.
    Hannah gave a quick tug to her cap so that the frill fell lower over her forehead, shadowing her face.
    She walked into the room and stood with her hands clasped in front of her and her eyes lowered.
    ‘Name?’ demanded Lady Carsey.
    ‘Miss Hannah Pym.’
    ‘Ah, so my butler said. Why “miss”?’
    ‘I never adopted the courtesy title of “Mrs”,’ said Hannah.
    ‘Experience?’
    Hannah raised her eyes briefly and then lowered them again quickly. There was something uncomfortably sharp and penetrating about Lady Carsey’s gaze.
    ‘I was only with one household, my lady. Mr Clarence of Thornton Hall, Kensington. He died a few months ago. I started in a lowly position in that household and rose to the position of housekeeper. I keep excellent and correct accounts. I am expert at training maids. I work hard.’
    Lady Carsey held out her hand. ‘References?’
    Hannah opened her reticule and slowly took out a stiff folded piece of paper. When she had been sure that Mr Clarence was dying, she had asked him for a reference. She reluctantly handed it to Lady Carsey, for she was afraid she would not get it back.
    Lady Carsey who, it seemed, did not trouble about her appearance in front of servants, popped a serviceable pair of glasses on her nose and read. ‘Dear me,’ she murmured, ‘Mr Clarence makes you sound the veriest paragon. But what is such a paragon doing on my doorstep at this hour of the night?’
    ‘I was travelling to stay with relatives in Portsmouth,’ said Hannah, ‘and heard there was a vacancy here. I have used up my savings. It seemed a good opportunity.’
    Lady Carsey leaned back in her chair and swung one slippered foot. She waved the precious reference to and fro, perilously near the flame of a candle.
    ‘I demand absolute loyalty from my servants,’ she said. ‘I will not tolerate gossiping in the town. You will be allowed two days off a year and your salary will be eighteen pounds a year, to be paid out on quarter-day. You are on trial. Biggs, the butler, will report to me of how you go on. I will not tolerate insolence in my servants. Do I make myself clear?’
    ‘Yes, my lady.’
    Lady Carsey rang the bell. When the butler appeared, she said, ‘Biggs, show Miss Pym to her room and explain her duties. She is on trial. Watch her carefully.’ She waved a white hand to show the interview was at an end. She had not even bothered to ask Hannah whether she wanted the job or whether she considered the terms favourable.
    Hannah gave a low curtsy and then held out her hand. ‘My reference, my lady.’
    ‘No, I shall keep this,’ said Lady Carsey. ‘It will need to be checked.’
    Hannah stifled an exclamation of dismay. If she found Benjamin, she would have no time to waste looking for that reference.
    She followed the butler out. She picked up her trunk in the hall and said, ‘Show me to my quarters.’
    ‘You will address me as Mr Biggs at all times,’ said the butler heavily. ‘Don’t go getting uppity with me. Better be pleasant, too. I can get my lady to send you