"I am not alone," I muttered although I think George heard me anyway if his wince was any indication.
"You might as well be," Jacob said. He looked skyward as if he'd find some patience there, or some way of convincing me I was being a fool. "Bloody hell, Emily, coming here is dangerous. Do you understand?"
The door opened at that moment and I smiled at the maid in relief. We introduced ourselves and George asked to speak to someone in authority.
"Mr. Blunt the master's gone out," she said, "but Mrs. White'll receive you." She showed us into a room that appeared to be either an office or a drawing room or perhaps acted as both. It had a small, unlit fireplace, a large desk with hard, unpadded chairs on either side of it, a sofa and two armchairs, none of which matched, and a threadbare green rug on the floor. There were no decorative items on the mantelpiece, no paintings on the walls and not even a bookshelf near the desk. On second thought the room couldn't possibly function as an office as there wasn't a scrap of paper in sight and the inkwell appeared empty. It must be entirely for the use of visitors then.
The maid left, leaving George, Jacob and I in awkward silence. Having a three-way conversation when only one of us can speak to the other two is difficult at best. It's absolutely awful when we're quarrelling. George and I seated ourselves on the sofa, a respectable distance between us, while Jacob remained standing by the door, arms crossed, glaring at me. It was most disconcerting. My face felt hot and a thousand things ran through my mind. Of course I voiced none of them. In fact, I tried not to look at him at all. I failed.
Thankfully Mrs. White didn't take long to arrive. She wasn't as old as I expected, only a little older than Celia I'd guess, but more homely. Her soft brown eyes crinkled at the corners and a series of lines bracketed her mouth as she smiled at us. Her dark hair, streaked with gray, was pulled into a loose knot and her black gown could have been worn for mourning a loved one or simply because she liked the color. It did suit her although the large bustle at the back didn't flatter her dumpy figure.
"Now, what may I do for you?" she asked after introducing herself.
"I'm George Culvert," George said before I could answer.
Her eyebrows rose. "Mr. Culvert? You took on one of our girls, didn't you?"
He nodded but didn't explain what had happened to Maree Finch. He indicated me. "This is Miss Emily Chambers."