Upstairs, Downstairs [antikvár]

Chapter i 'What is your name?* 'Qemence Dumas.* 'French?* 'Half French.* 'You call me "my lady'* when you reply.* Tm sorry, my lady.* Lady Marjorie Bellamy did not believe that the dirty little girl was telling the trutli. But the girl looked surprisingly healthy, and Lady Marjorie liked her confident manner. The servants at 165 Eaton Place had not liked the girl's manner. She had shocked Mr Hudson, the butler, by coming to the front door. She had called Mrs Bridges the cook, 'cook* in her own kitchen. And she had not been polite to Rose, the parlour-maid. Now it was nearly dinner time and the servants were gathering in the servants* hall. The hall was the lightest of all the imdergroimd rooms where the servants spent most of their daily lives. In the centre was a long table. Round the fireside were a number of armchairs. All the chairs and other furniture were unwanted pieces from upstairs. The curtains, the big oil-lamps and the large pictures of 'The Battle of Inkerman* and 'George the Third' were all gifts from the Bellamys. 'Lady Marjorie will never employ that girl,* said Mrs Bridges. Mrs Bridges looked like a round loaf of bread in her pink dress and cap. 'Her? Never I* 'She's quite unsuitable. She went to the front door,* said Rose. 'You are qidte right. Rose,* said Mr Hudson from the door. He was watching the bells in the passage, waiting for Lady Bellamy to call him to the morning-room.