“Says the occasional pirate,” she retorted, not at all quelled.
“I’m not a pirate. Pirates take ships. I just handle cargo in enterprising ways. Will you promise me not to do anything rash?”
She glared at him. “I should return to the house. Dinner is in a few hours, and there’s so much loafing and lounging to accomplish before then.” She turned and started to walk across the lawn.
“You didn’t promise,” he called to her back.
“Excellent observation!” she snapped over her shoulder at him. The wind caught his hair, and she looked away quickly. Ugh, why did he have to look so good while he was being so overly patronizing?
The house was relatively quiet, as most of the guests were indeed involved in lounging. Poppy avoided the rooms where she might have to converse with anyone and went directly upstairs.
Once in her bedroom, Poppy stared in puzzlement at a gown hanging from the clothes press. It looked very like the gown she’d consigned to the rag bin that morning. But this gown was clean, and it was red.
“What is going on?” she murmured.
“Oh, miss, you’re back!” a voice spoke behind her.
Poppy whirled to see the maid standing there, jaunty with her uniform and starched white cap. “Millie?”
“Yes, miss, that’s right,” the maid acknowledged.
“Did you salvage this gown?” Poppy asked, pointing to the item.
“I did my best, miss. Oh, it was too pretty and well made to cut up into rags. I washed it, but couldn’t get all the stains out from the hem. But then it happened that Mrs. Biddle was dying a lot of curtains from the parlor—Mrs. Towers wants the whole room to be red—and I asked if I could add the gown to the vat.”
“It’s very red,” Poppy declared. “What dye did she use?”
“Beetroot, miss. With alum for mordant. I don’t care for the taste of beets myself, but I must say they make a vivid dye. We did all the curtains and they turned out wonderfully. The gown too, though it may smell a bit…beety for a while.”
Poppy sniffed. Yes, there was an unmistakable vegetal aroma to the dress. But it looked like new, with the deep, rich color saturating the fabric. “I should have bought some of that Valenciennes lace when I was in town,” she murmured. “It would have been perfect against this red.”
Then she remembered the white satin ribbon she’d bought from the slightly shady shopkeeper—had that all been the same day? Amazing.
Poppy knew exactly how to add the ribbon to the newly-red gown. She actually laughed. It would be fun to wear exactly the same gown twice in two evenings, especially because no one would dream that they were the same!
Poppy whipped out her sewing kit and got to work. She looped and tucked and trimmed like a madwoman. Finally, she attached lengths of the ribbon at intervals around the waistline, so the strips fell vertically toward the floor. They’d hide in the folds of the skirt most of the time, but if Poppy walked or turned suddenly, the loose ends would flare out, creating little flashes of white amid the scarlet fabric. Together with her new leather evening slippers, she felt armed for battle…so to speak.
When she left her room, she saw Elowen at the other end of the hall and waited at the stairs so they could walk down together.
“Is Elisa not joining us for dinner?” Poppy asked.
“She’s tired and wants to lie down. The maid has already brought her dinner up, so no need to worry about her starving.”
“Did the tray include dessert? If not, I shall have to smuggle some up to Elisa’s room.”
Elowen’s eyes went wide for a second, but then she smiled. “How thoughtful of you! But as it happens, the tray included a very tasty lemon pudding.”
That evening, dinner went off without any fireworks. Possibly because over half the guests had spent a day in town, the mood was sedate.
“Well, after Treversey today, what are everyone’s plans for tomorrow?” Mrs. Towers asked the group.
“I thought I might go walking along St. Mark’s Head,” Poppy volunteered, “if the weather holds.”
“Be very alert if you do, Miss Poppy,” Mr. Towers said. “It can go from blue sky to storms within an hour.”
Poppy appreciated that the Towers didn’t try to discourage her from going at all.
Elowen was distracted during the meal, needing most people to repeat what they said, and offering answers that didn’t quite make sense. Poppy hid her smile, thinking that Elowen must have been hit by not one of Cupid’s arrows, but half a dozen.
