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Charlotte’s brow creased, and her lips pulled to the side. That did sound strange. Equally as strange: how was it she had not been informed one of the girls from the asylum had been sent back? As a patroness, Charlotte was kept informed of all important aspects regarding the day-to-day happenings of the Asylum. Though she didn’t often attend committee meetings, which were held every Thursday morning, she did send a representative, and he reported to her all that had happened. Had Mr. Bantry forgotten to inform her regarding Emma? Not likely.
Standing, Charlotte rang for her lady’s maid before removing herself to her bedchamber. What was happening that Emma had been sent back from one household and now was pleading to be found a third?
Mary hurried in the next minute. “Shall we get you ready for tonight, my lady?”
“Yes,” Charlotte said, tapping the message against the palm of her hand. “But first, do you remember Emma Tilbury? She was raised in the asylum as well.”
Mary’s lips pursed. “I think so. She was very nearly my own age, with bright red hair and freckles.”
“That’s her.”
Mary moved toward the closet, pulling out the dress they’d already decided on for tonight. “I remember her being so full of words, they tumbled out of her day and night.”
Charlotte had taken on Mary nearly three months ago, when her last lady’s maid had married and moved away. But already, they worked together easily, removing the dress Charlotte had been wearing and replacing it with the deep royal purple ball gown.
“I must confess,” Charlotte said as Mary began doing up the buttons along her back, “I don’t recall Emma being overly talkative.”
“Oh, she was too smart for that,” Mary said, even as her fingers worked quickly. “She could talk up a storm when only around us girls, but she knew how to keep mum whenever lords and ladies were around.”
Was that it, then? Emma put forward a good face, but once she’d grown comfortable in a new position, had she talked to the point of annoyance? Still, Charlotte had a hard time believing she’d been let go simply because she talked too much. Moreover, that didn’t explain why she wanted help securing a new position now.
Once the ball gown was donned, Charlotte moved to sit at her dressing table. “What else do you remember about her?” she pressed.
“Not much, I’m afraid.” Mary moved on to Charlotte’s hair, combing it out gently.
“Did she get along with the other girls?”
“As far as I knew, she always did.”
“Did she ever speak back to her superiors?”
Mary shook her head. “Not that I can recall.”
Charlotte scowled at her reflection in the mirror. The whole situation was just so odd.
Why had she specifically asked for Lord Windham?
Why was she so desperate for a new place to work?
What had happened between her and Lord Windham that left her so upset?
Charlotte had helped dozens of orphaned girls find respectable positions all throughout London. She knew that once in a while, temperaments just didn’t fit, and once in a while a girl was sent back, despite everyone’s best efforts to find a good post. But if that was all, why hadn’t Charlotte been told when Emma had first been sent back? And what was bothering the girl so much now that she’d returned to the asylum asking for help? Charlotte couldn’t remember that ever happening, and to a girl who they’d all believed would have no problem keeping a post in a respectable home.
Still, the piece that was strangest of all was that Emma had asked specifically for Lord Windham. He was a member of the committee, but he wasn’t even the chairman. That was Lord Finch, a man more than a decade her senior with round spectacles and white hair.
Charlotte’s lips twisted to the side as Mary finished getting her ready. Several committee members would be arriving at Blackmore House within a few hours. Charlotte would simply have to see what she could uncover at tonight’s ball.
* * *
The ballroom hummed with excitement, despite the heat. Charlotte surveyed her handiwork from the far side of the room, where the windows were all thrown open to allow a bit of a breeze. The night was nearly half gone, and still the room over-spilled with elegant dancers and cheerful gossipers.
Charlotte may no longer be young and bright-eyed, but she could still host a ball to rival any London had ever seen. The papers would be talking of tonight for some time, she was certain of it.
“There you are, my dear,” came the aged tones of Lady Agnes Keats. “Ruth and I have been looking for you for over half an hour.” Lady Kingman walked directly beside her. The women were quite elderly, as was attested by the wrinkles which not only covered their faces, but also spread down their arms.
Still, they somehow managed to put Charlotte in mind of two young girls. Perhaps it was their ever present, brilliant smiles. Or that they were forever wearing clothes that were made from the same three or four bolts of fabric and so were clearly a matching set, while also being different. Or that they walked with arms looped together like young debutantes.
Whatever it was, Charlotte at one time in life had looked up to these women. Though they’d both fallen a bit in society’s eyes—partially due to lack of wealth, and partially due to the silliness of their conversation—she believed they both deserved respect. So, though the ballroom wasn’tthatbig, Charlotte recalled how slowly the two elderly women walked and kept silent.
