“Oh, Ethel, it had to be dreadful,” Letitia said with compassion, then
looked up and unexpectedly smiled. “I’m so glad you’re here, Josie. Lady
Marsden’s fingers became trapped under the tile when she fell. We will
need one of your ointments, if you please.”
Ethel turned sharply. Letitia’s dark-skinned maid or companion—Ethel
was never sure who she really was—stood in front of them, watching her
with those intense, almond-shaped eyes.
“Let me fetch it at once,” the servant replied while her uncomfortably
evaluating gaze lingered on Ethel’s face. “Are you able to walk to the
morning room, my lady?” she addressed her directly. “It would help to have
a table at our disposal.”
“Are you capable of walking that far?” Letitia asked. “Josie and I can
support you.”
“I think so,” Ethel
