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When he finally fell asleep that night, he dreamt of Kate, bloodied and thrown into the street for some imagined infraction. He had demanded Lady Lydia tell him her whereabouts, but she only laughed her maniacal laughter and told him he would never find her. He spent the rest of the dreamscape searching in the dregs of London to no avail. He awoke exhausted and disheartened, reaching across his pillow for a woman who was not there.
* * *
The following morning,Marilee was called to Lady Lydia’s chambers to resume her duties. It seemed that Mrs. Cavendish had taken Mr. Crowley’s words to heart and informed the lady that her maid was back in order.
“I’m going for a ride in the park this afternoon,” Lady Lydia informed her as she began interweaving tiny plaits throughout the neat ebony curls. “Make sure it sits firm. Is the burn mark still there?” she asked.
“Only a bit,” Marilee assured her. “It is hardly noticeable at all.”
“Well, I shall not have that mark peeking out where any fool can think it is a love bite or some other atrocity.”
Marilee wondered why Lady Lydia would think anyone would suspect her of having a love bite, unless her duplicitous nature was more widely known than the lady cared to admit. Still, Marilee wove a tight, but oversized, chignon low and slightly to the side of Lady Lydia’s elongated neck.
“There you are, My Lady,” she declared as she stood back so that the lady could evaluate her handiwork.
“A marvel, you are, Kate,” Lady Lydia beamed. “There is art in your fingers.” She turned to Marilee and pierced her with a firm gaze. “I like you,” she said.
Kate was not sure that she wanted any association with this woman, but just as quickly as it came, the softness was gone. Her eyes hardened like flint. “Do not disappoint me again, or the last beating will seem like a tickle.”
“Of course not,” Marilee said with a quick curtsy. “Is there anything else, My Lady?”
Lady Lydia turned back to her preening in the mirror. She waved a dismissive hand over her shoulder. Marilee had just reached out to touch the door handle when Lady Lydia’s voice called her back. “On second thought, be a dear and run down to the library and retrieve papa’s signet? I have some letters to seal before I am to be off. It is on the desk.”
Marilee hastened from the room, hardly able to contain her excitement. This was just the sort of opportunity that she had been looking for. Still, her stomach twisted in knots. What if she were caught?
Don’t be a ninny,she scolded herself. She had the perfect excuse to be in the room. If anyone asked, she could simply show them the emblem and declare that Lady Lydia had asked her to collect the item. Yet, if she were caught snooping somewhere, say within the drawers of a desk, she might be less able to explain away her actions.
She needed to be quick, efficient, she told herself. She must resist the urge to scour the whole room. It would take several visits to achieve her ends but that was by far the safest route. Besides, she did not want Lady Lydia losing her temper if it took her too long to return with the ring. She would have a handful of minutes at most, and she had best make use of them.
Marilee entered the library and thanked her lucky stars that the room was empty. Lord Blackwell never came down, but that did not mean that she might not have stumbled across a servant within. Shelves had to be dusted, and now that it was cooler, there were fires to be stoked to keep off the chill.
The enormous desk sat in the middle of the room so that whomever sat in its high-backed chair would be like a monarch holding court over whomever might be so unfortunate as to enter. In the very center of the desk sat the signet.Drat.Marilee enclosed the item in her fist and then did the unthinkable. Like some thief or sleuth, she rifled through the stack of letters that were piled on the left side of the desk.
Most of them were receipts, but she could not even begin to guess which might matter to Mr. Crowley. A leg of beef, a vat of butter, and a new gown that had been commissioned for the lady surely made the regular accounts, right? She then recalled that he had been suspicious of Lady Lydia’s expenditures. She dug through the drawers until she located a pile of foolscap. Then, after procuring a length of graphite, she scribbled down the sums and the name of the seamstress who had been commissioned to make the outfit.
Marilee folded the scrap, shoved it down the neck of her dress, and set everything back to rights. She was just rounding the desk and making for the door when it opened and in walked a scullery maid whom she had seen but never been introduced.
“G-day,” the maid said with a low dip and wide, fearful eyes. “Does the lady need anything?”
“What? No?” Marilee stammered. “I’ve got what she needs.”
“Oh heavens,” the girl quivered. “Was it something I ought to have left in her room when I made up the bed this morning? Just tell me and I’ll never forget again.”
Marilee realized the girl was terrified of her. Not because Marilee had ever done anything to the maid, but because she outranked her and worked directly for the lady of the house. She sighed and softened her voice to ease the skittish lamb.
“Nothing at all,” she promised. “You’ve done just fine. What’s your name, by the way?”
“Ohhh,” the girl whimpered. “Are you going to tell Mrs. Cavendish I’ve been talking? I swear I just wanted to know if the lady needed anything. I didn’t gossip. You heard! I didn’t!”
Good heavens, the maid was a frenzy of nerves and no wonder, trying to work in this house where failure was the norm and expectations were changed from moment to moment without warning.
“I won’t say a thing,” she promised. “I only thought that we haven’t yet met. My name is Kate.”
“Kate…” the maid shook her head. Then she glanced around as if to be sure that no one was nearby. “I’m Cora,” she whispered.
“It’s nice to meet you, Cora,” Marilee said but too late, the maid had already scampered away. She added Cora to the list of names that she and Peggy had been collecting. They daren’t write them down lest someone discover the list. But when next they met Mr. Crowley, he would record the names for his own keeping. The more names that could be compiled, the more girls could be saved. At least, Marilee hoped that was so. Cora, upon her freedom, might know another two or three names and so forth. Perhaps in this manner, the web could be broken.
* * *
