"You will be watched and reported. I suppose I am not in the
servants' hall for nothing." Mrs. Wilmot said feebly that she supposed she
was there for meals. Purcell stiffened her wiry neck. "Meals, ma'am! In
the best houses there's a second table. The butler may be there, and
perhaps the valet. The lady's maid, of course. But where there's no lady,
one may put up with the cook, though the cook in such houses is rarely a
female. But the housekeeper here! A Miss Percival! Dines alone--or is said
to--and the cook sits at the head of our table. This is no house for you,
ma'am."
The lady gave a little cry and hoisted a white shoulder. "Oh, Purcell, you
are hurting me dreadfully. Do be more gentle with me. You are tearing my
hair out by handfuls. What can it matter to you where Miss--where the
housekeeper dines?"
"Ho," said Purcell, "little or nothing--to me, ma'am. I cannot help my
thoughts. But I keep them to myself. Not one word in this house--
downstairs--of Miss Percival. Not one word. They keep their mouths shut, I
promise you, and their eyes open. But what you will, you will. As for Mr.
Ingram, the less I say the better."
"Much the better," said Mrs. Wilmot, fretfully wriggling under the comb.
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