Chapter Six

M arie swallowed nervously. Mr. Campbell, her former employer, was coming over, his expression stormy. It was a face Marie knew well. From the heavily furrowed eyebrows and narrowed eyes, dark as jet, to the pinched twist of his mouth, Mr. Campbell was furious.

Marie turned to the lieutenant. "Sir, I should feel very much like dancing right now."

His eye widened. "Are you certain?" He blinked. "I mean, of course. I just thought perhaps you did not wish to dance. The dances I thought must be foreign to what you learnt as a child."

"I don't know the steps, it's true. My uncle did not care much for dancing. But I like it, even if I am a bit behind the others. Please?" Her look was pleading.

He held out his hand. She took it, and he led her swiftly to the dance floor. She exhaled a breath as he led her to the small line of dancers and spoke not a word as they joined in the next set. He quickly whispered instructions to her.

As the small orchestra began a light tune of violins, harp and pipe, he guided her through the dance, and her hands trembled .

He asked, "Are you all right?"

"Yes."

"You know that couple." It was not a question.

"Yes," she said.

"Who is they?" he asked.

"Mr. and Mrs. Campbell."

"Former acquaintances of yours?" he asked.

"Yes. They are my…" A soft sigh escaped her.

"What? A horrid aunt or relation? Someone whose son you jilted at the altar?" Lieutenant Gage smiled.

She looked at him. "You are teasing me."

He gave her a warm look. "I am. Is it working?"

"Your teasing?"

"Yes. It was meant to make you smile. I am glad it has distracted you."

She smiled at that. "Yes, for a moment." But then she saw Mr. Campbell standing by, his arms crossed, staring at Marie, and her face fell.

"What is wrong? Who is that man, to make you so unhappy?"

"He is…" Marie started and looked at Lieutenant Gage. He did not know her. He had seen her once before, in a maid's uniform. And had made no issue about her circumstances. If she revealed the truth, would he abuse her in front of the others? Before Mrs. Martin?

He squeezed her hand. "You can tell me, Miss Cadough. I am no stranger to secrets, and I have no close confidantes I would tell."

She looked at him. "Surely, you have friends."

His face clouded. "I lost many on the battlefield. But even so, I would not betray a lady's secrets."

She snorted bitterly. "Well, that is not an issue, for I am no lady."

"Of that, I believe you are mistaken." The dance was almost ended, and as they finished, he took her hand in his and raised it to his lips. "I believe you are a maidservant in Mrs. Dove-Lyon's employ, are you not?"

She stumbled in the dance, and her face fell. She looked as if she were about to cry. Her eyes darted to the exit, and he gripped her hand. "Please. Do not go. I would not lose my dance partner."

She looked at him. "You don't mind?"

He shook his head. "You may act as a maid, but you are the epitome of feminine beauty."

She gave him a shy smile. "You remember me."

"The kind maid who pulled me away from the harsh music when I was in danger of a fit? Of course I do. I've been coming here night after night, trying to meet you again. You were like an angel that night. Whilst I would not repeat the events of that evening, I am glad to have met you. I still am. Whether or not you wear a fine dress or an apron over your uniform. I do not care. I only want…" He paused. "Forgive me. I speak in haste. You hardly know me."

She tensed, feeling unfriendly eyes upon her. "It's true." She let him escort her off the dance floor. "Do you really mean what you said? That you don't care about…"

"The fact that you are a maid? No. I mean, no, I don't care. It doesn't matter to me a whit. Does Mrs. Martin know? You are acting as her companion in the evenings, are you not?"

"Yes. The mistress asked if I would chat to her, and I have done so. I did not know I would like her so much. But now that we are friends, I do not want to tell her. It would betray her confidence and ruin our relationship. I have so few friends. I…" She looked down. "Will you keep my secret?"

"I will, but I do think she deserves to know. I think you should trust her. If you truly are friends, she will not let your occupation stand in the way."

She smiled up at him, happy for the second time that day. "Thank you."

He said, "Miss Cadough. In battle, we face challenges directly no matter where they come from. Are you going to face that gentleman?"

"Yes."

"Who is he to you? If you are in trouble, I will do all I can to assist."

She shook her head. "He is my former employer. His wife does not like me."

"Why?" He took her hand in his.

She gently removed her hand and lowered her head, staring at her feet. "I could not say. But he does not approve of my presence here, of that I am certain." She raised her chin. "Excuse me."

She marched off in the direction of Mrs. Martin, determined to ignore the others. But she did not get far before a quiet voice said behind her shoulder, "Mary?"

She turned around. Not for the first time, Marie wished she were taller, so that she might meet her former employer eye to eye. "Mr. Campbell."

"Mary, good God. I thought that was you. What are you doing here? Why are you dressed like a lady? I'd heard you found some other employment. You're not a… lady of the night, are you? I'm happy to help if you need money." His bushy eyebrows and dark eyes looked down on her in concern.

Marie could have cried. She'd expected loud angry shouts and declarations, pointed fingers and accusations, not kindness. "Oh, Mr. Campbell, no. I am not. I am fine, truly."

He surveyed her. "What are you doing?"

She stood aside and spoke quietly. "I am acting as a companion to a Frenchwoman in the evenings. But I work here, as a maid. My employer recommended me to the post."

"And you are not being mistreated?" Mr. Campbell asked.

"No." Not by my employer, anyway , she thought.

"Very well. I like this place, but do not let my wife see you or she's sure to create a scene. If she happens to see you, I'll tell her she is mistaken. Have a good evening." He bowed and returned to his wife.

Marie let out a large sigh of relief and was soon joined by Lieutenant Gage. She looked at the soldier and said, "You know me, but I know so little about you. Tell me about yourself, Lieutenant. What brings you to the Lyon's Den?"

He accompanied her back to the waiting Mrs. Martin. "I'm no one of consequence, just a poor foot soldier. Nothing special."

"Come now, monsieur . I am sure that is not true," Mrs. Martin said. "Everyone is someone, especially here. I find here one can reinvent oneself. You may have little in your pocket, but that could change as fast as a hand in a card game."

He smiled and procured two drinks for the ladies, handing them over. "And if my circumstances do not change?"

"Then at least you will have had fun trying. Excuse me. I must speak with my husband." She accepted her drink and left in the direction of the gambling tables.

"Why do you put yourself down?" Marie asked.

"It is an English trait. Some love to laugh, others frown. We Gage men prefer to remain humble about our accomplishments."

"Aha," said Marie. "Then you must have some accomplishments to boast of. Not that you ever would."

His clear, blue eye lit up. "Maybe. I did lead a charge up a hill. It's what earned me this." He gestured to his left eye, and the bright-red healing gash over it, and the eyepatch.

"Did it hurt very much?"

"Not that I remember. I recall going up the hill with the men, fighting the French, and then… nothing. Next thing I know, I'm waking up in a hospital bed and can only see out of one eye. I was sent home straight away once the surgeons were finished with me."

She shuddered. She'd read the London papers and some told accounts of the grim and ghastly injuries the men had gotten in battle. It was bloody, this war .

"I hope the war ends soon," she said.

"Me too. But a lot of us don't."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, there're commissioned officers, and prizes to be had. Loot, booty. Payment from King George, not that it's very much. There are chances to make money from war, and for a lot of men, this is the way how. I guess for navy men, it's easiest, as they get part of the prize ships they take in. Anyway. Enough about war." He looked away. "Would you care to dance again?"

"I dare not. We have already danced two dances. Any more would cause idle gossip, I imagine."

"Ah, right. Of course." He glanced down in disappointment.

Mrs. Martin returned. "Well, if you two are done flirting, I have learned a bit about that man who kept staring at you, Miss Cadough."

"Oh?"

"Yes. The man is a gentleman, Mr. Campbell, who lives in Upper Clapton. Apparently, he is here with his wife, Mrs. Prudence Campbell."

"You said you were acquainted with them, I believe, Miss Cadough?" Lieutenant Gage asked.

Marie nodded. "Yes, I know them. I knew her daughter, Hortense, from when I was a girl. We used to play together as children."

Until Mrs. Campbell put a stop to it , she thought, her mouth setting into a hard line. For years, she'd thought that Miss Hortense had just stopped liking her. Then when she'd managed to corner the girl alone, Miss Hortense had said the most hateful thing.

"Mama says I'm not to play with the likes of you, as you're French and just a servant. I'm to be a lady someday and I can't be playing with servant girls."

Marie's heart might have broken at the loss of her only friend, were it not for Miss Hortense sticking up her nose in her best imitation of her mother and trying to look down on her at the same time. It had annoyed her years ago, and she had since stopped seeking out Miss Hortense's company.

She swallowed. "Forgive me, but we are not close."

To say Mrs. Campbell disapproved of her was an understatement.

"I quite understand. The woman looks fearsome indeed, and she does rather move about as though she has something up her nose. I wonder if she needs a kerchief," Mrs. Martin supposed.

Marie laughed and happily kept company with Mrs. Martin and Lieutenant Gage for the rest of the evening.

But as they were preparing to say goodbye, Mrs. Martin said, "Oh, Marie, I meant to say. Why don't you come over to my townhouse and we'll bake pastries together? I know how much you love cooking, and I'm sure I can convince my cook to leave us the kitchen for an afternoon. You'll come, won't you?"

"Oh. Uh, of course," Marie said.

"I also include you in that invitation, Lieutenant," Mrs. Martin said.

Lieutenant Gage brightened. "Ma'am?"

"We need someone to taste our pastries and tell us if they are any good. If you are smart, you will tell us they are all divine, even if they are barely edible."

"Why would I do that?" he asked.

"Because then we would like you more, and I would invite you both to stay to dinner," she said with a devious smile.

"Mrs. Martin…" he began. "How could I refuse?"

"Good." She clapped her hands together and gave them the address. "I'll expect you both for luncheon tomorrow. Say noon?"

"I'll be there," Marie said.

"Excellent. Now, it is late and you shouldn't be waiting along for a hackney. Come with me and I will take you home, Miss Cadeaux."

"Oh, no, that's all right. I couldn't possibly," Marie said, blushing.

"Why not? You don't have other plans at this hour." Mrs. Martin eyed the lieutenant .

"I rather wondered if Miss Cadough would fancy a stroll in the garden," he began. Was he helping Marie keep her occupation a secret from her friend?

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Marie said. "But I wished to speak with Mrs. Dove-Lyon and thank her for a lovely evening."

"Very well. Bonsoir ." Mrs. Martin waved goodnight.

Lieutenant Gage turned to her and once Mrs. Martin had gone, he escorted her to the entrance of the floor, where she might quickly escape to change. "That woman is a self-determined flirt and matchmaker."

Marie snorted softly. "She means well."

"Yes, I think she does. Even if she is French."

Marie cocked her head at him. "Why do you dislike the French so?"

He shook his head. "A long story, for another time. Maybe I'll tell you someday." He raised her gloved hand to his lips and bid her goodnight. Over his shoulder, she spied the Campbells playing another game of cards. From Mr. Campbell's stern expression, it was not going well.

Marie went upstairs to change and set aside the dress to wash later as she yawned all the way to her bedroom that she shared with Lucy. She opened the door, the light from her candle creating shadows in the room, when she cried out.

Lucy sat up in an instant. "What? What is it?" she asked, dazed and half-asleep.

"L-Look." Marie pointed.

There was a knife in her pillow, and on her bedspread, a note. Marie picked it up with a trembling hand and read it by candlelight. It read: Stop telling lies.

Lucy screamed, loud enough to wake the dead.