“Gertie Brown McBride!” Mrs. Chubb wagged a finger at her chief housemaid. “I thought we’d agreed that you’d stop swearing for Christmas. You promised me.”

Gertie shoved herself away from the doorway and tucked a thick strand of her black hair back under her cap. “It ain’t Christmas yet, is it, and besides, I said I’d try to stop swearing. Doesn’t mean I’ll be able to bloody do it, does it.”

The housekeeper thinned her lips. “I trust you’ll try a lot harder than this. Madam’s expecting some really important guests this year for Christmas.”

Gertie raised her eyebrows. “Like who?”

“Never you mind who. You’ll find out soon enough. Just watch your p’s and q’s, and for goodness’ sake, Gertie, mind your mouth. If Mr. Baxter catches you swearing he’ll throw a pink fit.”

Gertie pouted. “It’s not swearing. It’s just the way I talk.”

“Well, it sounds like swearing to me, and to everyone else who’s within earshot. So watch it.”

“I’ve been talking like this since I was a tot, and it’s blinking hard to change it now.”

Mrs. Chubb shook her head. She’d been having the same argument with Gertie for years, and she was no closer to winning it than she had been at the beginning, when a scruffy, big-boned, foul-mouthed child had shown up at the back door of the Pennyfoot begging for a job.

True, Gertie had made an effort since then, and had somewhat tempered the curses that sprinkled her conversation. There were still times, however, when she offended some of the more fastidious guests, and when word of it got back to Mr. Baxter, he not only scolded Gertie, he called Mrs. Chubb to task for not controlling her rebellious housemaid.

Mrs. Chubb did not like being chastised. Especially when it was none of her fault. Gertie had to hold her tongue or Mrs. Chubb was fully prepared to wash the young woman’s mouth out with soap.