The Moon Master's Ball (2 page)

But for all her reasoning, Tilly wasn’t
convinced that she and this Mrs. Carlisle would be compatible.

The street’s emptiness caused chills to
crawl up her spine, and she suddenly wished she had accepted
Rodger’s invitation to accompany her home. A gap between the
cottages and Winslow Manor gave her a perfect view of Bromley
Meadow—to most people, a place of magic and delight.

To Tilly, a place of fear.

She knew it wasn’t wise to stop and look at
the meadow on such an eerie night, but there was something enticing
about the silver halo the moon cast over the rolling hills. She
peered to her left and gazed at its haunting beauty.

The meadow itself had never seemed terribly
extraordinary to Tilly, but extraordinary things did occur amongst
its soft grass and swaying dandelions. Rodger was hoping she would
go to Bromley Meadow this year, but she didn’t think she had the
courage.

An image of blood-red eyes and sharp yellow
teeth flashed in her mind.

Tilly rushed around behind the manor and
flew to the back door, desperate to get away from the moon’s glow
highlighting the meadow.

Calming herself, she stepped over the
threshold and into the kitchen to find Mrs. Gregson, the cook,
sipping tea quietly at a small table, a plate of freshly baked
cookies before her. All of the other servants went home each night,
but since Tilly was an orphan and Mrs. Gregson was widowed, Lord
Hollingberry insisted that Winslow Manor be their home.

“Hello, Mrs. Gregson. Busy day?” Tilly knew
that warm cookies and tea meant Mrs. Gregson wasn’t feeling in the
most favorable of moods.

The cook lifted her red face and looked at
Tilly, gesturing to the seat across from hers. “Sit down, Tilly.
I’ve got somethin’ on my mind that needs to be said.”

Tilly raised her eyebrows and sat as the
cook had bidden her, nabbing a cookie and munching on it while
waiting for the older woman to speak.

“I don’t like this Carlisle business,” Mrs.
Gregson began. “You and I have worked together for two years, and
everything has turned out splendidly! I don’t get in your way, you
don’t get in mine. We both get to do things how we want to. But now
Lord Hollingberry—I’m not sayin’ anything bad ’bout him!—has given
this woman the keys to the house and is allowing her to tell us and
everyone else what to do. Mrs. Carlisle is a stranger to Winslow.
She don’t know the way things work here.” The cook poked an
emphatic finger Tilly’s way then sipped her tea again.

“I agree with you, of course.” Tilly tucked
a strand of her black hair behind her ear. “Lord Hollingberry knows
what he’s doing, though, and has his reasons. But don’t think I’m
not just as upset as you are, because I am.” She finished off her
cookie and rubbed her hands together, dropping crumbs in her
lap.

“Go on to bed, Tilly.” The cook heaved a
sigh. “Thank you for listening. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Tilly told her friend goodnight and slipped
from the kitchen. Once safely in her room across the hall, she took
out a matchbox and lit a candle by her window, then sat down on her
bed and looked around the small space she called home.

An oak wardrobe stood in front of her, and
to her right a floor-length mirror leaned against the wall. A vase
on a little table sprouted the marigolds and ferns she had picked
that morning, and a clump of dried lavender was suspended above her
window. It wasn’t a large space, but Tilly loved it. Her room was a
safe haven.

She stood again, looked at herself in the
mirror, and realized how tired she appeared. Her dark maid’s dress
brought out the shadows under her eyes, and she had grown thin in
the past few months. Tilly suddenly realized that what she really
needed was a holiday from cleaning.

She thought about what Rodger had said. He
was right; she did need to enjoy herself and have a bit of fun.
Tilly slipped on her nightdress and blew out the candle.

Some minutes later, after she had turned to
one side then decided she was more comfortable on the other, a
scuttling noise caused her eyes to open wide. Ears alert, Tilly
glanced towards the window. A shadow darted just beyond her
vision.

She fumbled desperately for the matchbox.
Keeping well away from the window, she held the lighted candle
towards the glass and squinted, her trembling hand causing wax to
spill over.

The wavering light revealed no menacing
creature.

Once her heart had calmed, Tilly exhaled
slowly, blew out the candle, crawled back in bed, and forced her
eyes closed. She told herself there had been nothing outside,
nothing peering in at her from the darkness.

Nothing at all.

The sun’s early rays slowly woke Tilly. She
opened her eyes, feeling rested and happy, only to have that
feeling crushed by the sudden remembrance of the invading Mrs.
Carlisle and her daughter. She sat up and rubbed her eyes, allowing
herself a few moments of tranquility before the day’s mad rush
began.

“Tilly!”

Mrs. Gregson’s voice bellowed at the door,
accompanied by a frantic rattling. “Tilly! You’ve slept too late!
The Carlisle women are comin’ up the front steps right now, and
everyone else is already lined up to meet ’em!”

“Coming Mrs. Gregson! Thank you!”

Now Tilly understood why she felt so rested.
How stupid of her, sleeping in on a day like this! She leapt up
from her bed, mentally thanking Mrs. Gregson over and over again. A
minute later she was dressed, her hair up under her maid’s cap.
Dark, unpinned tendrils fell in her eyes. She scrambled to the back
door and rushed around to the front of the Manor, lining up beside
Ellen, her fellow maid.

“You’re late,” Ellen whispered the obvious
from the corner of her mouth.

Tilly didn’t respond but watched as Mrs.
Carlisle climbed to the top of the steps, her daughter following
close behind. The woman curtsied to Lord Hollingberry, and the
daughter followed suit.

“Well, well. We’re quite happy to have you
here, quite happy. I know the girls will be glad to have you as
their authority. Glad, yes, they’ll be glad.” Lord Hollingberry was
in the habit of repeating himself several times over, and he looked
as though he could be blown off the steps of Winslow Manor if a
strong enough gust of wind hit him.

The lord was a dear old man who loved his
servants and treated them as though they were his own family. Tilly
often thought he must have been tall and handsome in his youth,
even if he was hunched over and wrinkled now, much like a candle
exposed to too much heat. He had big eyes that resembled a pug’s,
and, like a pug’s, they watered when he got excited, so he was
often dabbing at them with his handkerchief.

Tilly hoped neither he nor Mrs. Carlisle had
noticed her absence, although Lord Hollingberry always observed
more than people thought.

“Come inside, and I’ll introduce you to the
girls.” As he ushered Mrs. Carlisle and her daughter through the
door, Lord Hollingberry called over his shoulder to the maids.
“Come along, girls. Come along.”

As she and the other maids lined up side by
side on the foyer’s gleaming hardwood floor, Tilly was able to get
her first good look at the two Carlisle women. Mrs. Carlisle was
only a bit taller than Lord Hollingberry. She had a plump face, a
long, crooked nose, and dark eyes. Tilly thought Mrs. Carlisle
should have seemed like a sweet old lady, but the plumpness made
her look disgusting rather than grandmotherly. Instead of firm
round cheeks and chin, hers were soft and sagging, giving her a
lazy appearance. In fact, her skin almost looked leathery.

However, after one glance at the daughter
Tilly realized, with an unreasonable pang of jealousy, that the
girl was nothing like her mother: She was very beautiful.

“Now, since you’re all here, I’ll introduce
. . . Oh, dear me! Where is Mrs. Gregson?” Lord Hollingberry left
the small group and teetered down a hallway towards the kitchen
stairs, muttering, “Excuse me. Excuse me.”

The maids stood mute in front of Mrs.
Carlisle and her daughter, feeling a bit awkward. The old
grandfather clock’s silver chime seemed thunderously loud as it
echoed throughout the house.

But it couldn’t deafen their ears to another
sound ringing up through the floor.

“I’m not goin’ out there with
that
woman!”

Everyone in the foyer could hear Mrs.
Gregson’s voice bellow from the kitchen beneath their feet,
followed by the soft voice of Lord Hollingberry.

“Mrs. Gregson! Please, dear lady. You’ll
quite like her, I’m sure of it. Come upstairs for me. Please.”

After more muttering from Mrs. Gregson,
which they couldn’t quite make out, Tilly heard the approaching
footsteps of Lord Hollingberry and his cook.

“You’ll have to pardon Mrs. Gregson. She
wasn’t feeling quite up to meeting anyone today, but I convinced
her to come.” The kind old man patted Mrs. Gregson’s shoulder
before she walked over and stood grumpily beside Tilly.

“Mrs. Carlisle, I would like to introduce
you to Daphne, Florence, Laura, Ellen, Tilly, and Mrs. Gregson, our
cook. Girls, meet Mrs. Carlisle, the new housekeeper, and her
daughter, Drosselyn. That is . . . correct, isn’t it?” Lord
Hollingberry put a finger to his chin as he turned questioningly to
Mrs. Carlisle’s daughter.

“Yes sir, that’s right.” Drosselyn answered
sweetly and smiled at the maids before her. “I do hope we’ll all
get to be good friends.”

Mrs. Gregson snorted and clenched the
spatula in her hand as though she might challenge the newcomers to
a duel at any moment.

“Well, well.” Lord Hollingberry looked
fondly at his maids and then turned to Mrs. Carlisle. “I suppose
I’ll leave you all to start your new routine.” He chuckled slowly
the way old men do, and turned, creaking sluggishly upstairs to his
study.

“Well!” Mrs. Carlisle clapped her hands
briskly and smiled. “I certainly am excited to get to know you all.
But first, let me inform you that this house is to be run on a
strict schedule. I shall tolerate no tardiness whatsoever.” She
looked pointedly at Tilly and Mrs. Gregson. “I shall not allow any
of you to be lazy, and you will have no male callers here at the
manor.” Mrs. Carlisle was certainly adept at making up rules. She
turned to the rest of the girls. “Now get to work!”

She clapped her hands again as though this
would spur them on to do her bidding. Slowly the girls went about
their usual tasks. Tilly caught Mrs. Gregson’s eye, and the two
shared an exasperated look before Tilly headed upstairs.

“Mrs. Gregson?” Mrs. Carlisle stopped the
cook as she was making her way to her kitchen. “My daughter and I
require tea, if you please. We’ll take it in the parlor.” With
that, she turned and ushered her daughter into the room, closing
the door softly behind them.

Mrs. Gregson looked up at Tilly, who had
watched this exchange over the banister; then she gave a grunt and
stomped off to make a pot of tea. With a shrug, Tilly hurried on up
to join the other maids.

She found them huddled in the upstairs
hallway, muttering. “. . . and did you see her daughter? Standin’
there, lookin’ at us like she was so much better!” At Tilly’s
approach they looked guilty for a moment but relaxed upon seeing
their fellow maid.

“Tilly! What do you think about them?” Ellen
asked, and all four girls turned to hear Tilly’s opinion.

“They’ll take some getting used to.” Tilly
swiped absent-mindedly with her feather duster at a painting of
Lord Hollingberry’s late wife.

Daphne, an attractive brunette, snorted.
“That’s not an answer. I can tell you don’t like them either. And
where is her daughter now? I was under the impression she would be
a maid alongside us.” She picked up her bucket, dunked her rag, and
swirled it angrily in the water before wiping off a stained-glass
window at the end of the hall.

Tilly frowned and answered her friend
without looking at her. “They’re having tea in the parlor. Those
women are marching around here like they’ve lived in Winslow all
their lives!” She couldn’t suppress her feelings even though she
knew it was wrong to be talking in such a way to the rest of the
girls. But if Lord Hollingberry had wanted a housekeeper other than
herself, he should have chosen Daphne! She was twenty-one, smart,
and had been working at Winslow Manor longer than anyone else save
Mrs. Gregson.

“I’m sorry.” Tilly brushed her duster
violently over Lady Hollingberry’s face, nearly knocking the
painting off the wall. “This just doesn’t seem right.”

A door suddenly opened, revealing Lord
Hollingberry’s hunched frame, and the girls froze like rabbits
caught in a trap. All of them had forgotten they were working just
outside his study.

“My! Does it take so many maids to clean one
hallway?” He laughed quietly and rubbed his sagging chin with his
fingertips. “I know you are all upset about Mrs. Carlisle. I do
believe I would be upset if I were you, too!” He clasped his hands
behind his back. “But I have my reasons for bringing her here. Let
her do what she wants. But for now, why don’t you all spread out a
bit, hmm?”