Caro frowned. ‘I don’t think that was us. I can’t imagine my mother ever doing that to anyone, let alone her own sister.’
The Cook nodded slowly. ‘Well, she did. Leastways, according to your aunt, your father did.’
‘Oh.’ Caro put her cup down carefully. ‘My father. Yes, I suppose he could have done. He’s very unfair like that.’
She tried to imagine what poor Aunt Charlotte could possibly have done to infuriate her father so. Probably very little. Really, Caro thought, she and Aunt Charlotte had a lot in common—both forced out of their home by Ben’s total lack of reason. It was extraordinary that Charlotte had found it in her heart to welcome Caro as she had!
‘So,’ said the Cook, ‘you brought any money with you?’
‘No,’ Caro said blankly. ‘Well, I’ve got twenty-five pounds…’
As her aunt’s three employees all sat back in their chairs with various sounds of disgust and dismay, Caro gained the distinct impression that she was proving a great source of disappointment.
‘I suppose,’ Oliver said heavily, ‘it would have been too much to hope for, that you might have been the answer to our prayers.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Caro said sincerely. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been the answer to anyone’s prayers.’
From behind the Cook’s forbidding exterior came an unexpected chuckle. ‘Never mind, dear. Miss Morgan, was it? Not your fault if Madam’s living beyond her means now, is it? Agnes—’ she elbowed the young girl off her chair with a degree of viciousness that Caro took to be habitual ‘—Agnes here will fetch you a fresh pot of tea. And some of those scones I made yesterday, too.’
Agnes wiped her nose on her sleeve again and scurried around the kitchen, setting out a fresh pot of tea and a plate of rather stale but nicely risen scones.
‘Got no butter, Miss Morgan,’ the Cook commented as she saw Caro look around her for a butterdish. ‘Got nothing very much of anything, come to mention it. No more tea leaves than are in the jar, no meat, no milk, no cheese…’
‘No wages,’ Oliver chipped in glumly.
‘But that’s dreadful!’ Hungry as she was, Caro forgot all about butter for her scones. ‘Is no one paying you? Not my aunt?’
Her aunt’s employees looked at each other and then moved their chairs closer to where she sat.
‘Mrs Wilks is a most attractive woman…’ Oliver began.
‘Handsome is as handsome does,’ the Cook said darkly. ‘She’s got not so much as a pinch of business sense!’
‘…but she is being poorly served by her business adviser,’ Oliver went on doggedly, ignoring the Cook’s rude snort of derision. ‘When the late Mr Wilks left this hotel to her, it was in fine shape, Miss Morgan. Dunedin’s finest hotel, it was called, and rightly so. But since he died…’ He shook his head sadly. ‘Things are not good, Miss Morgan. Not good at all. We served the last of the meals in the dining room last night, there are creditors at the door day and night, Mrs Wilks can’t and won’t see them, we haven’t had a paying guest under this roof for a week now…’
‘There’s a non-paying guest I’d like to see the back of,’ the Cook snapped. She fixed Caro with a piercing stare. ‘Did you see him up there?’
‘Who?’ Caro was by now thoroughly bewildered.
‘Mr Thwaites. Up there. With her.’ Caro shook her head and the Cook slumped back in her chair. ‘Hmmph. Well, I dare say you’ll meet him soon enough if you stay on. You are staying on, are you?’
‘If my aunt invites me to,’ Caro said earnestly. ‘If I can be of any use, that is. I can cook and clean, and I’m sure I could learn to wait, too…’ Her voice faltered as she saw the expressions of the faces of the others. ‘Is there something wrong?’
‘No, Miss Morgan,’ Oliver said after a moment. ‘It’s just that a lady like yourself, coming from a privileged home, could hardly be expected to lift a broom or a duster. It wouldn’t be right.’
‘Oh, we all had our tasks at home,’ she assured him. ‘Mother didn’t believe in other people doing work we were quite capable of doing ourselves. “Hard work is good for the soul, the figure and the complexion”, she always used to say, and I’m sure my aunt believes the same.’
The Cook spluttered into her tea and Oliver rose creakily to his feet.
‘Well, I’m sure Mrs Wilks will be ready to see you by now, Miss Morgan. I shall take you to her rooms, if you wish.’
‘Oh, please don’t trouble yourself! I remember the way very clearly. And thank you for the tea and scones, Mrs…’
The Cook smiled. ‘Mrs Webb, dear. Now do make sure you call in after you’ve seen your aunt, won’t you? On your way back to Australia,’ she added darkly as the door closed after Caro.
‘Ooh, I thought she were nice.’ Agnes sniffed dejectedly. ‘I hope she don’t go.’
‘She might be nice, but she came down in the last shower,’ Mrs Webb informed her. ‘Gawd help her, she’s still sopping wet! I give her a day before He tries to put one over her…’
‘You mean across her, Mrs Webb,’ interjected Oliver.
‘That, too, Mr Oliver,’ the Cook snapped. ‘Oh, it’s better by far that she leaves here with her virtue than That Man has his way with her. Just look at Madam.’
Oliver leaned forward to prod the embers in the stove. ‘You’re right, of course, Mrs Webb. It will be in her best interests to leave as soon as possible. She won’t be safe here, not with her looks and Madam and That Man…’
They all nodded in sad accord and sat staring at the dying fire, lost in their own thoughts.
Chapter Two
C aro tapped on her aunt’s door and, hearing no response, opened it slowly.
Her aunt was standing before the long mirror, smoothing her pale ringlets over her shoulders. She was dressed now, in an elegant gown of dark blue that enhanced her milky skin and slim figure. Deep ruffles of ivory lace covered any victory of gravity around her neck and décolletage, and provided a perfect frame for her heart-shaped face. There was much more than a passing resemblance to Caro’s beautiful mother, but Charlotte had an air of fragility and wistfulness that was all her own, and Caro felt a surge of protectiveness towards this glamorous relative she barely knew.
‘Come in, darling. Sit down.’ Charlotte waved a lethargic hand in the general direction of the bed. Caro carefully moved aside a few of the dresses and assorted slippers lying in disarray over the eiderdown and sat.
‘Now, you must tell me all about yourself and what wonderful stroke of fortune has delivered you to my door!’ Charlotte perched herself on her dressing-table chair and regarded her niece with tilted head and affectionate smile. ‘Do you know, you were only six months old when I last saw you? What a perfectly beautiful girl you’ve grown into! You obviously favour your father’s side of the family. My darling first husband, Edward—who was, of course, also your grandfather! Just fancy that!—had the same chin as you, you know, with that little dimple. Your fair hair, of course, you got from my side of the family… On the other hand, your father is fair, too, isn’t he? Or…I imagine he’s gone grey by now…’
‘Only a little bit,’ Caro assured her.
Charlotte turned and began fiddling with the hair-brushes on her dressing table. ‘Has he gone bald?’
‘No.’
‘Has