Chapter Thirteen

T he next day Marie was called to Mrs. Dove-Lyon's office. As she entered the anteroom, she passed by Lucy, who was just leaving, but all was not well. Her face was red and cheeks looked flushed, her eyes red-rimmed as if from crying.

"Lucy? Are you all right?" Marie asked.

Lucy looked at her and said, "I'm sorry," and hurried away.

How very strange , Marie thought as she knocked and was bid to enter. She stepped inside Mrs. Dove-Lyon's office, admiring the fine, mahogany desk and bookshelves behind her. "You asked to see me, ma'am."

"Yes, I did. Please sit."

Marie sat, resting her hands lightly on her knees. She sat very straight and felt as if she were about to get a bollocking from her employer. "Am I in trouble, ma'am?"

"You? No." Mrs. Dove-Lyon smoothed down some papers on her desk and set them aside. "Firstly, let me say that I am sorry to have asked you to act as a temporary companion to Mrs. Martin when she visited the Lyon's Den. I think by singling you out for this task, the servants felt I was giving you a pride of place amongst them, raising you up as a person of consequence, when all I wanted was for you to speak French to her in the evenings. I suspected they did not like you, but I had no idea that their tempers had been raised to such a height, or that they might act harshly toward you, instead of speaking to me about it."

Marie sat quietly. Was she about to be dismissed? She gripped her knees ever so slightly.

"That being said, you have done an admirable job and Mrs. Martin is most pleased. She enjoys your company so that she visits here most nights, which is good for business. Her husband is unlucky at cards, it seems." Mrs. Dove-Lyon's mouth formed a half-smile. "I think that despite the negative reception you have received downstairs, you have conducted yourself admirably and have shown that you are above idle gossip."

Marie smiled a little.

"But a dress of mine went missing, and I cannot tolerate lies amongst my staff, or thieves." Mrs. Dove-Lyon gave Marie a hard look, touched the black dress that lay folded on her desk, then glanced away. "Lucy tells me that Julia put her up to it, that she had taken my dress and then prompted Lucy to tell you a lie and say I wanted it mended. Then when we went to search, Lucy had already hidden the dress beneath her bed amongst her things so that we might blame you. She came to me this morning in tears, for now Julia seeks to blame her for everything. I understand Thom also stuck a knife in your pillow?"

"So it was Thom?"

"That is what Lucy tells me. She was so frightened about ghosts, Thom told her to calm her wits. It does not excuse his behavior, of course."

Marie looked away. "A little prank, I think, ma'am."

"That is more like something out of a Gothic horror novel, and I do not find it funny for my staff to be ruining others' pillows. I am taking the money out of his wages to pay for another. Whilst he may stay on, he is being watched closely by Mr. Jones. Julia, as you might imagine, has been dismissed. She is packing up her things this very moment. Although it almost seems an afterthought, for I learned she was coming to me to give her notice when I sent for her. She has already found another place of employment."

Marie's eyes widened. "So it's true? She is leaving for the Campbells?"

"Yes. I have spoken with Mr. Jones, Mrs. Pratt, and Mrs. Drummond, who all spoke highly of you, but less so of Julia and Thom's treatment of you. They have supported Lucy's statement, and I see no other recourse but to dismiss Julia, if she were not already leaving. I am not giving her a reference, which will affect her relationship with her new employer." Seeing Marie pause, she added, "I think it is the right decision. Unless you wish to speak for her, vouch for her good character?"

Marie thought on this. To speak for the good character of Julia, who had made her life a torment once she'd arrived. Who had pushed her, slapped her, mocked her, and been cruel, even trying to get her dismissed. She was no friend and Marie decided with a hardening of her heart, Julia did not deserve her compassion, or a good reference. "No, ma'am."

"Then it is settled. I do wish you would have spoken of this rude treatment to me earlier, Miss Cadeaux. Or at least told Mr. Jones or Mrs. Pratt. I would like you to speak to them if something like this happens again. I will not tolerate bullying amongst my staff."

"Yes, ma'am." But then she thought, they had done little to stop the bullying that had occurred.

"Good. Now I see no reason for you not to resume your evening conversations with Mrs. Martin. You may resume your duties. That is all."

Marie left and went to find Lucy. She finally located her crying quietly in their room. Marie entered and closed the door behind her .

Lucy took one look at her and wiped her eyes. "Come to laugh at me?"

"No. I wanted to thank you," Marie said. "If you hadn't come forward, I might've been dismissed. I need this job."

Lucy sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve. "It wasn't right. The guilt… It was giving me bad dreams."

Marie looked at her properly. She had missed the signs, but they were there. Lucy's eyes, normally so bright, now looked haunted, with dark circles beneath. Her skin was pale and she glanced at Marie. "I only thought she was playing a trick. I thought she'd speak up and admit to it at dinner, but then the mistress came and was so angry and accused you and Julia whispered that if I said anything, then she'd make sure I got the blame for all of it, and I'd be out on the street by morning."

Marie sat down on the bed beside her. "I'm sorry you went through all that. I wish you'd told me."

Lucy shrugged and wiped her eyes again. "No one ever notices me. Julia and Thom used to call me ‘Lucy Churchmouse' and squeak when I came in, until you came. Then when they started to pick on you, they had me help. I… was foolish. I thought maybe they were going to be my friends. I'm sorry," she muttered, avoiding Marie's eyes.

Marie wondered if she had somehow made life worse for the others since her arrival. She wanted to ask, "Was I truly so awful?" but she knew that she wasn't, and to ask for someone to relay negative views about her person would only make her feel worse. "Thank you."

Lucy sniffed. "It's all right."

From her nonchalant words, Marie knew it really would be. They would become perhaps not friends, but they would not be enemies, not any longer.

Without Julia around and Thom keeping a distance, life below stairs became decidedly more comfortable. In the days that passed, there were fewer jokes about Marie's acting as a French-speaking companion to a lady above stairs, and more of them came to view it as a chore for Marie, rather than a pleasure. Marie wished to tell Mrs. Martin of her true occupation, but each passing day seemed to grow longer and heavier upon her soul, and she had so much fun with her friend, she kept telling herself, one more day. Just one more day, then she would tell her friend the truth. So far, the Campbells hadn't spoken a word of her situation to anyone. She wondered if they were holding the secret close to their chests, or if she was truly of no significance to them at all. Maybe they wouldn't say anything at all.

Thom remained the only one angry at Marie. He refused to talk to Marie and instead gave her many scowls and glowering looks, often avoiding her altogether.

Marie worked in the kitchens, helping the cooks making chicken pot pies with golden pastry in the shape of hens, and that took up most of her day, along with preparing a warm chicken broth and crusty bread for the servants' luncheon. But as she worked, Charles asked, "What will you be wearing to the masquerade tomorrow night, Marie?"

Marie glanced at her colleague. "What do you mean? What masquerade?"

"Didn't you hear? The mistress announced it earlier last night, but you must've been busy with that lady friend of yours. There's to be a masquerade ball here tomorrow and everyone is to dress up. Not us, but you can. Have you thought about what you'll wear?"

"I hardly know." He asked, "What would you choose?"

"Oh, me? I do love a good chicken, or a goose. Maybe a swan, although they are fatty. But all those feathers are beautiful." The cook gave a little sigh. "You do us proud up there. I bet if all goes well and you charm that lady, the mistress will give more of us chances too to impress that lot."

"Would you want to mix with them?" Marie asked .

"Me? No. I'm much happier in the kitchens here. It's my province, like you. I wouldn't know what to say. And I don't know none of those dances they do. But I like to watch, and the ladies all look so pretty." He rolled out pastry dough. "I think you should dress like a goose. They're pretty and noble."

Marie smiled. A goose. "I'll do my best."

The cook clapped his hands, sending flour flying in the air. "Great. I have just the feathers for you."

A day later, when the evening came, she stood once again in the dressing room, having taken some time out with Lucy and a few other servants to dive into a few boxes of old costumes Mrs. Dove-Lyon had stored in the attic. A number were old and had aged badly, with mice having broken into a few boxes. With their employer's permission, these were disposed of and the non-ruined pieces repurposed for other uses.

But after an hour or so, they'd found a lovely, white dress that wasn't in too bad condition. Miss Robbins had given it an airing out and washing, repairing the little tears and rips, and hemmed the waist with a lovely white silk sash. She'd taken an old mask meant to tie around the face and trimmed it with white beads, pearls, and feathers, so that if Marie were to be dressed like a goose, she would at least look fashionable whilst doing so.

Marie went downstairs and was astounded by the change in her surroundings. Whilst she had been fussing with a costume and feathers, the other servants had transformed the grand hall into a thing of beauty. It had been an impressive room before, but golden candles offered a warm light from many candelabras, white wine in delicate glass flutes tinkled and glittered, and her eyes were dazzled from the stunning jewels and diamonds on display. Even some ladies wore a tiara or two.

The men were dashing and handsome, each wearing masks, whilst the ladies had spared no expense, some dressing like buxom milkmaids, and others goddesses, Valkyries, shepherdesses, and creatures from Greek mythology. She spied a few Athena, Demeter, and Heras as well as Artemis, complete with moon headdresses.

She looked but did not recognize a soul. It was not until she saw a woman standing alone, who had the same stance and height as her friend, that she approached and ventured, "Mrs. Martin?"

The woman turned. "Marie? Mon dieu , you look like an angel. Or a swan. Are you a goose? Where did you get all those feathers?"

The women curtsied and Mrs. Martin took her arm. "Which modiste made your costume? I must know. I was lucky to get mine sorted at the last minute. I do wish we would get more advance notice before major events like these. My husband didn't bring a mask at all, and he was given one at the door. He almost refused." She laughed. "But where is your handsome lieutenant? I saw him the other day in Bond Street, and he asked me if I knew whether you were attending the masquerade ball tonight."

"Why?"

Mrs. Martin tapped the nose of her mask, which had been decorated with dozens of flower petals in shades of pink. "He hinted that he had a good reason for wanting to see you. Something particularly important he wished to ask you."

"Oh? I wonder," Marie said.

"Can you not guess?" Mrs. Martin squeezed her hand. "I can. But I will not ruin the surprise. I demand you tell me everything once he speaks to you. I can hardly keep from jumping in excitement."

Marie swallowed. The moment had come. "Mrs. Martin, whilst I have you alone, I must tell you something. I've been meaning to speak with you about this. You see, it's about my background."

"Yes, yes, I already know. You come from France with Mr. Allard, and you don't remember who your parents are. It is all right, petite . Lieutenant Gage and I have been making enquiries."

Marie's mouth dropped open. "That's very kind of you, but… I me an, that's not what I wanted to talk with you about."

"Well, whatever it is, I'm sure it can wait. I think I see the lieutenant now. Hallo there!" She waved.

Marie looked. Lieutenant Gage looked exceedingly handsome in his red regimental uniform with white breeches and white knee socks, along with a dark black mask. Despite the evil-looking mask he wore, he had a stiff, firm bearing that spoke of nobility and honor, just how a young man ought to have been, Marie thought. How lucky she was that a man like him fancied her.

"Mrs. Martin, please. I must tell you. When I came here with my uncle, we had nothing, to hear him tell it. We had only the clothes on our backs. We had to work—"

"Everyone works hard, my dear. Hard work is what makes us into the people we are today. Now, enough of this. I want to see you together with Lieutenant Gage." Mrs. Martin inclined her head and curtsied. "Good evening, Lieutenant. What a pleasure to see you here. Miss Cadeaux is here, you see, although I wager you did not recognize her."

Marie curtsied. Lieutenant Gage smiled at her, the upper half of his face hidden by a black, round mask. What with the scar above his left eye, he looked every inch the highwayman, or a very noble rogue.

He took her offered hand and kissed it. "Mrs. Martin, Miss Cadeaux." He did not release Marie's hand. "Will you dance with me?"

She nodded, feeling as though she were in a dream. He guided her to the dance floor and as a small quartet of violins and horns began to strike a stately tune that she recognized as "Mr. Beveridge's Maggot," an English country dance. She smiled, pleased with herself. She had finally stumbled her way through enough dances to actually recognize a tune.

They danced one song, and then another, with her doing a close approximation of the steps. She hardly noticed the time, then realized that they had danced two dances and to dance any more would cause comment. She refused his offer of a third, and said, "It would not be proper."

He raised her hand to his lips. "Then I shall endeavor to be the perfect gentleman." He whispered in her ear, "Until that time in which I can be most improper with you."

She gave a mock gasp. "Lieutenant Gage."

He laughed. "Forgive my impertinence, Miss Cadeaux. I could not help myself. But will you have time later tonight? There is something I particularly wish to ask you."

She nodded. "Of course."

But then they were interrupted. "Lieutenant, is that you?" A tall, young woman stood before them in a white dress wearing a deep-purple mask over her face and a purple sash about her waist.

"Miss?" he said, glancing at her. "Are we acquainted?"

"Why, it's only me, Miss Campbell. I should think after coming to my rescue, you could call me ‘Hortense.' I feel like dancing. Will you join me?" She held out a hand.

Marie glanced at the lieutenant. He swallowed and politely accepted Miss Campbell's hand. "It would be an honor." The words sounded dull from his mouth.

"Excellent." Miss Campbell took his hand and dragged him to the dance floor, shooting Marie a triumphant glance.

Mrs. Martin joined Marie. "Whatever is that girl doing? Doesn't she know you and the lieutenant have an understanding?"

Marie shrugged. "There is nothing preventing him from dancing with other women."

"You are too generous. That woman seeks to make trouble, I'll wager. I saw the way she looked at you, and at him. Like she wants to eat him."

Marie was grateful for her feathered mask. "I'm sure it's fine. I trust him." She reflected that Miss Campbell was playing a poor game if she meant to make her jealous. And yet still, she disliked the sight of them dancing together.

"Let us hope so, for I think she means to test that," Mrs. Martin said.

They watched as the couple danced, but Miss Campbell began acting even more strangely. She held on to the lieutenant's hands a beat longer than necessary and gave him many sultry looks, sniffing with her nose in the air.

"She sniffs a lot. Does she have a cold?" Mrs. Martin asked.

" Non , she thinks it gives her a more distinguished air."

Mrs. Martin laughed out loud.

Samuel danced with Miss Campbell, but he was not enjoying himself. She sniffed and squeezed his hand tightly with every touch, sidling up to him much closer than was appropriate, or necessary for the dance.

She said, "I hope you are aware of the company you keep, Captain."

"My rank is lieutenant," he told her.

"Never mind. I'm sure you'll make captain soon. We are at war with the French, so it only goes to reason you'll be fighting them again in no time. I do hope that scar of yours heals properly. I do so dislike men with ugly blemishes."

He stiffened and mentally began calculating how long the dance still had to continue for.

"But then you've met Mary, you'll no doubt have seen what a good, kind heart she has. So charitable toward poor cases. She's always picking up strays. I only hope that the men she attracts don't mistake her charity for real affection. "

He twirled her in the dance and was silent. Was Marie just being kind to him? Had he mistaken her politeness for true personal regard? Would she have agreed to be courted, have kissed a man so passionately, if she were only being kind to him? His face clouded.

She added, "It is such a shame you didn't know about poor Mary. She's a servant, you know. And French. Quite unfortunate. I have half a mind to tell that darling Frenchwoman whom she's keeping company with. Mary is a servant here. She had to find a job after my mama kicked her out. She always had such airs, acting as if she knew better than her employers. Always with an opinion on what foods we should eat, and trying to cook her insipid French dishes every chance she got. Quite deplorable, really. We couldn't stand her. Her and that manservant of hers."

"Manservant?" he repeated.

"Why, yes. He's no relation of hers at all, even though she calls him ‘Uncle.' She probably doesn't know he's not her uncle or is lying to keep up the charade. My mother told me everything, you see." Even behind the purple mask, Hortense's eyes lit up with the chance of relaying gossip. "Apparently, she comes from some poor family in France, from some no-name village in the middle of nowhere. Her parents sent her here with him when she was a child, to escape the fighting that went on over there. They of course were too poor to bring her back, or didn't care. My mother took her in from the goodness of her heart and gave her and her uncle both a place in our household. You can see how horrid it is that Mary repays her in this way."

"Quite," he said, distant. Miss Campbell's words were like poison in his ears, and he looked forward to when he might walk away from this miserable dance.

At one point, she swooned and he had to catch her, or leave her tumbling to the floor. She gazed up at him, clutching his shoulders and said, "Oh, thank you, Lieutenant. You are too kind."

He helped her up, but she refused to let go of him. She moved her head as if to lean in, and he stepped back. "Excuse me, miss."

He strode over to her just as Miss Cadeaux's eyes widened. She stood her ground as he was roughly shoved aside by a tall, older woman, who wore a long, purple dress in a fashion two years out of date. Far too many ruffles adorned her bodice and hem, and her elbow-length purple gloves bore stains.

"You little actress. I thought it was you." With a horrible movement, the stranger ripped the beautiful, white goose-feather mask off of Miss Cadeaux's face and threw it to the floor.

People stopped and stared as Marie's mouth dropped open and she held up a hand to her face as if she'd been slapped. "M-Mrs. Campbell?"

"How dare you attack my friend. Stay away, you horrible woman," Mrs. Martin said, standing before her.

"Ha! Don't denounce me until you know the company you keep," Mrs. Campbell said, her face stern. "Did you know that your little friend is nothing but a servant? She's a serving girl here at this gambling establishment. Did no one tell you?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Miss Cadeaux would do no such thing. She is a lady, as I am." Mrs. Martin glanced at Miss Cadeaux. "Go on, Miss Cadeaux. Tell her."

Miss Cadeaux raised her eyes and met Mrs. Martin's troubled face. "It's true."