“There now,” Miss Mayton said soothingly, “devising a plan must always put one’s mind at ease. It gives one a direction to travel, as it were.”
“Well, we do not have a plan yet,” Viola said. “We still must think of some little idea to send round. It must not be too outrageous, but then not so innocuous that nobody bothers to repeat it.”
Juliet nodded. “It must be just right.”
Lynette had finished brushing out Viola’s hair and braided it. “Lord help us all,” she muttered.
“Don’t worry, Lynette,” Cordelia said. “Our planscanbe daring, I’ll be the first to say so, but they do always work out wonderfully well.”
“In the end,” Juliet clarified.
Yes, Viola thought. They always did work out in the end. The evening had felt so heavy and dark and full of misery coming her way. But now, there was a direction to travel, as her aunt had so aptly put it.
Far in the distance of those miles to be traversed, happiness was like a glowing light leading her forward. It was small and out of reach at this very moment, but at least it was there.
She would not give up hope. If she had learned anything from Beatrice and Rosalind, it was to never give up hope.
*
Tattleton sat downheavily at the servants’ table. Everyone had already gone to their bed, but for Lynette who was still above stairs with the ladies, and Mrs. Huffson, who often waited up for him so they might share a brandy together.
“So you say, then, Mr. Tattleton, that something is amiss, but you do not know what?”
“That is what I say, Mrs. Huffson. I have known these young ladies since they came into the world, and I know their expressions. Lady Viola looked decidedly downcast when she and Miss Mayton returned from the theatrical evening.”
“Perhaps Lynette will be able to tell us when she comes down.”
“Lynette tells us nothing but platitudes. She will say Lady Viola is only tired, or some such nonsense. They’ve got her on their side—she keeps their secrets better than a queen’s page.”
“But, what on earth could have happened at a theatrical evening?” Mrs. Huffson said. “I understand that Miss Mayton was to have some small part in it, do you suppose she was a failure?”
“There is every chance of it, though that is not what upsets Lady Viola. Miss Mayton swanned into the house like she was Sarah Siddons taking a turn as Lady Macbeth. Whatever her performance was, and I will hazard a guess it was bizarre, Miss Mayton is thoroughly satisfied with it.”
“Then Lady Viola will be satisfied too,” Mrs. Huffson said. “The ladies and Miss Mayton are peas in a pod.”
“Don’t I know it. It’s as if they’re all having the same fever dream together. Have you seen Lady Viola’s latest painting? Have you heard Lady Juliet’s latest ode? Have you noticed that there is a parrot in the drawing room?”
Mrs. Huffson nodded slowly. Never one to criticize, she said, “They all do support each other wonderfully well in their endeavors.”
“This is something else, though. Something untoward happened at this theatrical that has nothing to do with Miss Mayton’s dreadful acting. I very much fear it’s to do with the redhaired fellow Lady Viola is so set on.”
“Oh dear,” Mrs. Huffson said, “I do hope Lady Viola is not on the verge of having her heart broken.”
“That is the least of our worries!”
“It is?”
“By far the least,” Tattleton said, nodding gravely. “It may have escaped your notice, but whenever there seems to be a difficulty regarding a young man, a plan is formed.”
“Oh my.”
“Say it, Mrs. Huffson. Look the truth straight in the eye and say what the problem is with the ladies’ plans.”
Mrs. Huffson looked round the room as if somebody else might be coerced into answering the question. She fiddled with her glass and then said quietly, “The plans are always very bad.”
“That is correct. They are the authors of bad plans, including last season’s kidnapping. We must brace ourselves, Mrs. Huffson. I am certain another bad plan is in the offing.”
*
