Chapter 10

C HAPTER 10

"Excuse me, ma'am, but I've a problem I could use your advice on," said the servant girl, curtsying.

"Hmm?" Hester set down her embroidery. "Sorry—Alice, isn't it? Or was that your mother? I'm afraid my memory isn't what it was."

"Alice is it," said the girl, smiling. She was a tall, sturdy young woman, and while she looked, to Hester's eyes, impossibly young, she probably wasn't. "My mum was in service here for a few years, but she's called Katherine."

"Katherine, yes. A fine young woman, as I recall. Or not so young now, probably. Married one of the stable lads, didn't she?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Keeping well, is she?"

"Mostly, ma'am. Her joints pain her something fierce when it's cold."

"Her and me both," said Hester wearily. Her knee was throbbing this morning. "Tell the housekeeper I said to send along some of the balm she mixes up. Perhaps it'll do her some good as well."

"That's very kind of you, ma'am. I'll tell her you asked after her."

"So what seems to be the problem, Alice? One of the lads isn't giving you trouble, are they?"

"Huh!" Alice sniffed. "They wouldn't dare. No, ma'am, it's Miss Cordelia."

Hester raised her eyebrows. It was unheard of for a servant to complain to the lady of the house instead of to the housekeeper, who would then bring it to the lady if she felt it was required. Matters must be dire indeed if Alice was skipping over that worthy's head.

Even if she had been inclined to scold, which she wasn't, this was sufficiently peculiar that Alice claimed her undivided attention.

"Is something wrong? Has she fainted again?"

"Not fainted, ma'am, but…" Alice glanced over her shoulder at the closed door. The words came out all in a rush. "Ma'am, somebody's doing something bad to that girl and I'm afraid for her."

Hester sat back, startled. "Something bad?"

Alice nodded. "Don't rightly know what," she admitted. "But she acts like my little cousin did, and it turned out their neighbor was… well, never mind that, ma'am."

"Ah," said Hester, a world of understanding packed into that syllable. She and Alice shared a look that for once had nothing to do with rank. "And you think…?"

"Something like, ma'am. When her mother shows up, she flinches like she's expecting the belt. And this morning, I found her asleep in the wardrobe like she were trying to hide."

Hester rubbed her forehead. No wonder Alice had skipped over the usual chain of command. The housekeeper could hardly do anything about Evangeline, and Alice probably knew better than Hester did how quickly gossip spread through the house.

"Have you told anyone else about this?" she asked.

"No, ma'am." Alice shook her head. "It ain't their business and it ain't a thing they need to be talking about." Her lips twisted up. "And it ain't a thing they can fix, either. Nor me. But maybe you can, ma'am."

Hester let out a long sigh. "I don't know," she admitted. "I don't think you're wrong but I don't know what to do yet. I can't just snatch a child away from her mother, even if her mother is… ah…"

Alice snorted. "Her mother's a fair piece of work, if you'll forgive me speaking so bold, ma'am."

"If anyone asks, I had very harsh words with you about speaking so of your betters and so forth." Hester waved her hand.

"I was quaking in my boots, ma'am."

"Yes, quite. Lord, that woman is dreadful, isn't she? Has she done anything to the staff that I should know about?"

"Given them the rough side of her tongue, but no more that I know of, ma'am. But there's something about the way she looks at you that nobody much likes. Like you're a bit of furniture and she's already deciding whether she'll throw you out."

Hester massaged her temples, thinking that was probably very true. "If you do hear of anything, please come and tell me, Alice. I won't stand for her making trouble with the household. And we won't be letting anyone go on her say-so, in case anyone belowstairs is afraid to speak up because of it."

"Yes, ma'am."

"You did right telling me. I knew that something was wrong, but not how bad it was."

"I think she tries to put a good face on it, ma'am. Afraid to make trouble, maybe, or just afraid that her mother'll hear of it." She scowled. "My little cousin did that too."

"That neighbor was dealt with, I trust?"

Alice nodded solemnly. "Fell down a well. Terrible unlucky, it was."

"Well, accidents do happen." Hester stabbed the cloth with her embroidery needle. "We'll see what we can do for Miss Cordelia. Perhaps there's some useful abandoned wells in the neighborhood. Meanwhile… well, she's young and I don't think she's had many friends. I can hardly order you to befriend her, and I know it's awkward because of your position, but if she happens to confide in you…"

Alice nodded. "I'll do my best, ma'am. She's no trouble to work for, except that it's hard to get an order out of her sometimes."

Hester nodded. People, regardless of their social class, generally preferred clear directions, she'd found, so that everybody knew where they stood and what was expected of them. It was when people were left to flounder on their own that things started to fall apart.

After Alice had left, she found herself staring out the window again. It was the sort of damp, gray day enjoyed by ducks and frogs and very few humans. Occasionally the fog would solidify into rain, but it would quickly lose interest and go back to being fog again.

"And what the devil am I supposed to do now?" she murmured to the windowpane. "Hiding in the closet, is she?" Hester abandoned the notion that Doom's daughter was a willing co-conspirator, no matter how she'd acted at dinner. That had been a performance, and judging by Alice's report, not one she'd given particularly happily. The more impressive bit is that she was able to give it at all. I would never have thought she had that in her.

"I must send for Richard," muttered Hester to herself. "I must." Not that Richard would necessarily know what to do, but at least she would have an ally in the house.

If she was being honest, more than an ally. She felt steadier when Richard was around, more competent, more herself. Maybe she should have married him, dammit. Well, right or wrong, the chance had passed her by. He had moved on, even if he hadn't yet wed. Not that I expected him to be celibate for the last decade, even so.

Still, he was her dearest friend. He was also the only one who, if she told him that she had had a premonition of doom, would take her seriously.

And you can do worse for an ally than a lord of the realm. You just have to move before Doom manages to snare the Squire once and for all.

"Be polite," Cordelia's mother ordered, as they approached the dress shop. "Your dressmaker can destroy you with a seam. She can make you look utterly ridiculous and you won't know it until you're at a ball. You will do what she asks and you will not sulk or argue, do I make myself clear?"

I hardly ever argue. And I wasn't sulking at dinner, I just didn't know how I was supposed to make conversation. But she could not say these things, so she only murmured agreement and stuffed the resentment down where it wouldn't color her tone.

Instead she asked, "Do you think the man at the carriageyard will tell people about the magic?"

Evangeline made a scoffing sound. "Assuming he cared, and assuming he found someone who would listen, the very worst they could say was that Falada's got a glamour on him. Which I shan't deny, and shall claim that it was a gift from a friend. No one will care."

"Oh." There were too many people on the sidewalks and Cordelia kept stepping aside, trying not to run into anyone. She found herself falling behind her mother, who walked as if people should get out of her way.

"Do keep up, Cordelia," her mother said, pausing to wait for her. "And don't fret yourself so. No one will suspect a thing. No one suspected anything back home, now did they?" She smiled suddenly, showing a sharp edge of tooth. "And even if they did decide to burn me as a witch, they'd get no joy of it, I assure you."

But what would I do? Cordelia wondered hopelessly. I'm not a sorcerer, but they'd burn me, too. Assuming anybody burns witches anymore, which I don't think they do? She couldn't remember hearing of such a thing, but Little Haw was not exactly known for getting news of the wider world.

Oh well. At least if I'm going to be burned at the stake, I'll be well-dressed…

The dressmaker was named Mrs. Tan, and she had skin the color of old ivory and thick, shining black hair. She surveyed Cordelia, then turned to her mother. "You said she is seventeen?"

"She is," said her mother.

Mrs. Tan made a noncommittal sound. "She looks young for it."

Cordelia kept her face absolutely still. Her mother shrugged.

"Mmm." Mrs. Tan walked around her, arms folded, tapping her finger on her forearm. At one point she reached out and tipped Cordelia's chin up, but did not meet her gaze. She seemed to be studying the line of her neck.

"Walk," she ordered finally. "To the far wall and back." Cordelia obeyed, trying not to stumble. She wasn't used to thinking about how she walked, and suddenly the whole concept of walking seemed completely absurd. You fell forward and put out a foot to catch yourself before you sprawled on the ground. And then you did it again? And this was normal?

It's like thinking about blinking. The moment you think about it, you start to worry that you aren't blinking often enough, or too often and now I'm thinking about blinking, oh dear…

Still, her feet took care of themselves while she was worried about blinking too much, so that was a small mercy.

An assistant appeared from somewhere, carrying a measuring tape, and circled behind her. Cordelia's gown was in a puddle around her feet before she realized that the girl had undone the buttons. She stepped out of it awkwardly, standing in her worn shift, and the girl whisked the gown away and began applying the tape to various portions of her anatomy.

"So young looking," said Mrs. Tan again, making clear that it was not precisely a compliment. "They will wonder, the people, why she is not in the schoolroom."

"I thought that perhaps you could cut the dress to make her look older," said Evangeline, with a diffidence that astounded Cordelia. She was not used to her mother being diffident to anyone. "Lower the bodice, maybe, so she looks less like a schoolroom miss."

Mrs. Tan was already shaking her head. "No. She will look as a child playing dress-up, or a worse thing. I will not say it, but you know the tongues they have in their heads, these people."

"I know," said Evangeline fervently.

"She must be dressed as modestly as any young girl might be," said Mrs. Tan firmly. "But we shall do so in the boldest colors. These pale pinks, these yellows that the misses wear, they only wash her out. Emerald and sapphire, now, these are the colors for such skin as she has." She gestured, apparently to thin air, and another assistant materialized. Mrs. Tan snapped out the names of colors and fabrics and distant ports, and the assistant nodded, vanishing.

"You know best," murmured Evangeline. Cordelia tried not to stare, but she could not shake the feeling that she had fallen into a different world, where a dressmaker wielded more power than a sorceress.

Mrs. Tan's assistant reappeared a few minutes later carrying an armful of vivid fabrics. Then it was Cordelia's job to stand and stand and stand some more, while cloth was draped over her shoulders, rejected, removed, and then re-draped again. This must be how a mannequin feels.

It took hours. Cordelia was never asked her opinion, which was fine, because she had no idea what she would say. All she could remember from The Ladies' Book of Etiquette was the line " A lady is never so well dressed as when you cannot remember what she wears " and somehow, she did not think that Mrs. Tan would agree.

Eventually the fabrics were selected, and then it was time for a plain muslin fabric to mock up the patterns and pins to hold it in place. Cordelia gazed at the wall, wearing the vacant, amiable expression that she had cultivated, while the assistants clipped and pinned and fitted. Her stomach growled embarrassingly. I should have eaten something at breakfast.

It should not have been so tiring to stand in one place. She wasn't cooking or cleaning or scrubbing or even riding a horse. Nevertheless, by the time Mrs. Tan and her assistants were done, Cordelia felt as limp as boiled spinach. Her muscles ached from immobility and her feet throbbed.

Even then she was not done. Then there were hats and gloves and stockings to be procured. A man traced the shape of her feet on a sheet of paper and told her mother that it would be five days. Cordelia was surprised that her feet still looked normal. They felt as if they should be glowing angry red, and perhaps snarling audibly at strangers.

"Shoes one must have made," said her mother, "but pre-made gloves are as good as any, I think. Cordelia, are you paying attention?"

"Yes, Mother," lied Cordelia, as she tried on glove after glove, and eventually said that they were comfortable because she no longer had any idea how anything felt. Everything went into packages tied with string—hats, gloves, stockings, a set of undergarments from Mrs. Tan's which had required only a few stitches to fit. "No one will see them," said the dressmaker airily, "until such time as you are married. And if one does see them before then, that there is no lace will be the least part of the scandal."

Alice will see them, Cordelia thought. I'll see them. Perhaps neither she nor Alice counted. That seemed unfair. She had never counted for much, but it seemed as if Alice ought to. Anyone who could stand up to Evangeline, even so politely, counted for a great deal.

She was too tired to question why there was a coach waiting outside when they were finished, with the crest of Chatham on the door. The footman was wearing the Squire's livery. He helped her up into the coach and took possession of the packages that Evangeline directed toward him.

Cordelia fell asleep on the coach ride home and woke only as the wheels crunched on the gravel of the stableyard. She climbed out, her knees shaky when she hit the ground, and clutched embarrassingly at the footman for balance. "I'm sorry," she said.

"Not at all, miss," he said. He smiled at her. "Quite a long day, I would imagine."

She nodded gratefully and picked her way inside, up the stairs to her room, hoping that she could collapse for a bit and beg Alice to bring her something to eat at last.

Hester's knee was particularly unhappy this evening, and she decided to go up to her room by the second staircase, which had broader, flatter steps. It took her out of her way and past two extra parlors and a sitting room, but at least she could get up the stairs without puffing and gasping like a horse with its wind broken.

She was just about to put her cane on the first step when she heard a voice from one of the parlors.

"I hope to be out of your hair soon, my lord," said Evangeline. "You've been so kind… so unbelievably kind… and we have imposed upon your generosity most shamefully."

"Nonsense," said her brother stoutly. "Been a joy to have you. Wish you'd stay longer, in fact."

"Oh Samuel," said Evangeline, in a breathy little voice, "how I wish I could!"

Hester rolled her eyes upward and gazed at the crown molding, wishing for strength.

"So stay a while longer, then. No reason not to, m'dear. Place is livelier with you in it."

"Oh Samuel… you're so good… and I've become so very fond of you…"

There was an ornate vase on a nearby side table. Hester imagined knocking it over with her cane and interrupting the theatrics with a satisfying crashing sound.

"Fond of you too, Evangeline. You must know that."

"But I can't, Samuel. Not respectably. People will talk. They'll say such cruel things."

"Pfaaugh. Don't care a jot for any of that. People have nasty little minds."

"You are so strong, my lord. So determined. But I'm a weak widow alone in the world, and the thought of the gossip—of someone saying I'm throwing myself at you in an unbecoming fashion, when you must know that what I feel—"

Right, that's enough of that. Hester stomped past the doorway, making as much noise as she could with her cane. "Oh!" she said, feigning surprise at seeing the pair inside. "Samuel? Is that you?"

The Squire and Evangeline leapt apart as if they'd been caught doing something illicit. Evangeline flashed a look of unguarded rage at Hester, who pretended to ignore it completely.

"Samuel, I was looking for you. I was thinking since we're already having a bit of a house party with Evangeline and Cordelia here, we might as well make it the real thing. I thought I'd invite Lord and Lady Strauss and their son for a few weeks, and that amusing Green woman, and perhaps Richard."

"Richard, eh?" said the Squire, shooting her a wry look.

And that's what I get for thinking of my brother as a fool all the time. "Well," she said. "You know how tiresome an unbalanced table is. This will give us nicely equal numbers all around. And should you find that you do not wish to ride out after grouse or pheasant or dragons or whatever it is that you hunting gentlemen ride after, Richard and Lord Strauss are old friends as well."

If nothing else, I'll have more warm bodies to throw between the two of you. Imogene Strauss will help me run interference, and Richard will keep me grounded.

And if all else fails, at least I'll have someone to drink myself unconscious with when it all goes to hell.

"There you go, my dear," said the Squire, beaming at Evangeline. "A house party! Completely respectable, and no one could say otherwise."

"Well," said Evangeline, her voice a trifle brittle but otherwise above reproach, "I see that you have thought of everything, Lady Hester. It is too good of you."

"Not at all, not at all." She sank down on a sofa and smiled warmly at Doom. "Are there any particular friends of your daughter's that I might invite?"

"No," said Evangeline, after a scant pause. "No, I don't think so. I can't say that she has ever had any particular friends."

And would you have discouraged it if she did? Somehow Hester suspected that she might.

She kept up a stream of deliberately inconsequential chatter about what activities might be best for a house party, until eventually Doom excused herself to go to bed. Hester stifled a sigh of relief as she left and eyed her brother thoughtfully.

Do I warn him? Point out that she may have an eye toward the parson's mousetrap? Or will I risk driving him further into her arms?

She decided not to risk it. Words could always be said, but could rarely be unsaid. And her brother had proved adroit at warding off marriage for many years.

Though I do not think he's faced an opponent like this one before. Hester sought her own chambers and sat down to write invitations. Come with all haste, she wrote, wishing that she could say more. She held the envelope in her hands afterward, half hoping that some of her alarm would infuse the paper and carry the message that she could not quite entrust to ink.