Chapter Seven

M arie dropped the note, which sailed to the floor. With shaking hands, she lit the small gaslight in the room, bathing the room in warm light.

Lucy stared at her. "What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything. Why would I put a knife in my pillow?"

"Well, if you didn't do it, then who did?"

"I don't know." Marie stared at the knife dumbly.

There was a knock at the door, and her uncle, Mr. Jones, Julia, Thom, and the housekeeper came in. "What's all that racket?" Mrs. Pratt asked, her hair askew. "You woke me. I need my sleep."

"Marie's found a knife in her pillow. It's a ghost come to murder us all in our beds," Lucy said, clutching the bedsheet up to her chin.

"Oh, my lord," Mrs. Pratt said as Uncle Baptiste came and put an arm around Marie. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"I'm fine. I was just going to bed when I opened the door and found it."

"Who would have done this?" Mr. Jones asked.

"I don't know," Marie said.

"Well, someone did." He looked at Lucy. "Do you know anything about this?"

"No. I was asleep."

His eyebrows rose. "You mean to tell us you were asleep this whole time, whilst someone came in here, stabbed Marie's pillow, and left a note, and you didn't notice anything?"

"I sleep like the dead sometimes," Lucy admitted. "I didn't even know she was here until I heard her cry out. That's enough to wake up anyone."

Thom smirked. "It's not Lucy's fault. I believe her."

The others looked at him.

"It's obvious. Marie's gone and done it herself. She likes all the attention."

"Excuse me?" Marie asked.

"He's right," Julia said, "She probably did it to her own pillow so we'd all come running and pretend she was a victim. First she's all woe is me, I have to dress up and pretend I'm a grand lady and dance all night , but now that none of us cares, she had to get our attention somehow."

Marie stared at her. "I didn't do this." A yawn escaped her, even though she tried to hide it.

"Marie is too tired to have done anything like this," Uncle Baptiste said. "And she was never one to court attention. Not like this."

"Well, we don't know her that well. What's to say she didn't pull jokes like this at her old employer's?" Julia said.

"I didn't. I never did," Marie said. "Besides, why would I want to damage my own pillow? Now I'll have to pay for a new one with my wages."

"That's right, you will," Thom said.

"Thom," Mr. Jones said.

Thom held up his hands. "Don't go blaming me. I didn't do it. I just calls it like I sees it, that's all."

"I've heard enough. Go on, all of you. Leave us. I would speak with Marie alone," Mr. Jones said .

"What about me?" Lucy squeaked, gazing at all the men in the room with wide eyes.

"Just give us a moment, if you please, Lucy," Mr. Jones said.

Once the others had left, he turned his back as Lucy grabbed a robe and pulled it on, tying it tightly. "I didn't sign up for this. Work, yes. But not scares in the night by princesses. This is too much trouble. It's like out of a Gothic novel!" She shut the door behind her.

Marie sat on her bed, glancing at the flat pillow and the knife. "I didn't do this, Mr. Jones."

"I'm sure you didn't. But your presence here has caused no end of trouble, and gossip." Mr. Jones sighed. "I'm not sure what to do. Your uncle is very welcome here and works hard. From what I've heard from Mrs. Dove-Lyon, you could have chosen to leave off your chores and keep yourself free for acting as a companion, yet you choose to keep up your work and tire yourself entertaining, when you should be asleep with the other maids."

Marie nodded glumly. "It seemed like the right thing to do."

"Given the circumstances, I can understand why you would do such a thing. But you cannot keep this up. You will tire. You need sleep. And I can't have my staff slacking on their work. It's also not fair to the others to ask them to take on extra work, while you dance until dawn."

"I never—"

"I know. But that's not to say it won't happen. These men and women who frequent the Lyon's Den, the parties that take place, it can last all night." He nodded toward the knife.

She pulled it out and handed it to him. "Like I said, I wouldn't do this." She'd never pulled tricks before, and she wouldn't start now. However much she was tempted.

"Let me speak with the mistress, and your uncle. I understand you are close. I don't wish to dismiss you, but the servants are unhappy."

"I understand." Marie bowed her head .

"Are you happy here?" Mr. Jones asked.

She shrugged. It was hard to say when all she'd met was dislike. "I can do the work. But I'd really love to work in the kitchen. Could I?"

"Maybe that would keep you out of trouble, and then the others would still see you working. I'll think on it. For now, go to sleep. And at least we have one mystery solved."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Now we know where the missing knife disappeared to. Goodnight." He rose and opened the door, letting Lucy back in.

Lucy shut the door, stripped off her robe and climbed into her narrow bed, glaring at her. "I don't like this, and I don't like you. I don't want to share a room with you anymore."

"I'm sorry, Lucy. I never meant for this to happen."

"I'll never get back to sleep now. I'll be afeared of murderers coming to kill me in my bed. All because of you." Lucy sniffed, laid her head down and turned away from her, facing the wall.

Marie let out a small sigh, brushed the feathers and ruined pillow to the floor, and blew out the lantern. It was a long time before she fell asleep.

The next day, Marie rose before dawn, dressing in the darkness and silently slipping out of the room. She threw away the note, the ruined pillow, and the feathers, changed the linens in the guest bedrooms and by the time the servants had collected for breakfast, she'd already done hours of work.

As she accepted a plateful of porridge and sat down at the hard and worn dining table, Thom said, "How did you sleep, princess? Any ghosts come to stab you in the night? "

"No." Marie shot him a look.

"You look terrible." Julia sat down across from her. "Looks like you had no sleep at all."

"It's me who had no sleep," Lucy grumbled from down the table. "First that shouting and then all of you in the room—I couldn't get to sleep for ages after that."

Mr. Jones cleared his throat. "Yes, well. Let us discuss something other than sleeping arrangements, please. I am glad to say the missing knife has been found and returned to its rightful place. Mrs. Drummond, tell us, what dinner have you planned for this evening?"

As the conversation turned to other matters, Marie ate quickly and went to Mrs. Dove-Lyon's parlor. She knocked and walked inside, where Mrs. Dove-Lyon was sitting at an impressive mahogany writing desk, looking over some papers. "Ah, good morning."

"Good morning, ma'am. I'm sorry to disturb you, but…" She quickly relayed Mrs. Martin's invitation to join her for a day of baking and dinner.

Mrs. Dove-Lyon's eyebrows rose beneath her black veil. "I see. Well, that is very kind of Mrs. Martin, but I thought we had agreed, you would join her only to be her companion in the evenings when she is here, and that was all."

The question sat unbidden on Marie's tongue. She wanted to ask, May I go? , but realized she already had her answer. "Yes, madam."

"I can see the disappointment on your face, Marie, but I hired you and your uncle to work, not to play. I can't spare you from your chores, not when we have just agreed you would continue. It wouldn't be fair to the other servants."

Marie hung her head. She had so wanted to see Mrs. Martin again, and an afternoon of baking sweet treats in her kitchen had sounded divine. She wouldn't have minded seeing Lieutenant Gage, too.

"Is that all?" Mrs. Dove-Lyon asked.

"Yes, ma'am. "

"Thank you. Take this with you." Mrs. Dove-Lyon gestured to an empty breakfast plate and tray.

Marie took the items and left, closing the door behind her. She brought the tray and plate back down to the kitchen and washed them until they were sparkling clean, then set the tray away. She almost didn't notice Lucy stop her. "Oi, watch where you're going."

Marie looked up. "Sorry."

Lucy's face pulled into a frown and she fumbled with the fine black dress wadded up in her arms. "Yeh, well, pay more attention. Just as well. I was looking for you. You're good with a needle and thread, yeh?"

"I suppose so."

"I don't have time for supposes. Are you or aren't you?"

"I am. What is it?"

"The mistress has this dress that wants mending. Miss Robbins and Julia are too busy to mend it, and they gave it to me to fix. There's a tear in the hem. The mistress wants it ready for tomorrow tonight. But I've got my hands full already. Fix it for me?"

This was a chance to do a good job for Mrs. Dove-Lyon and possibly build a bridge in her relationship with Lucy. "All right." She took the dress from her.

"Don't you have other chores to do?" Lucy asked, her eyes darting around.

"Yes."

"Do it later, then. What the old lady don't know won't hurt her." She spoke nervously, a slight tremble to her voice, and walked away, her shoes echoing down the hall.

Marie took the dress up to her room and laid it on her bed for mending, then went about her chores. She penned a quick note to Mrs. Martin of apology and had one of the footmen deliver it personally.

She went about her chores, aware that it was perhaps foolish to think she could have gotten a brief recess from her duties that day to spend time with Mrs. Martin and Lieutenant Gage. A servant's work was never done, and even if she had woken up early to get a head start on her chores, escape Lucy's glares, and speak with the mistress, it was also no surprise that she'd been given more work to do at the drop of a hat. It was common, and in a workplace such as this, servants helped one another or they would find themselves alone in times of stress.

Still, she tried not to think of the fun Mrs. Martin and Lieutenant Gage would have baking without her. She'd tried some of Charles's hard biscuits that morning and had almost broken her teeth, they'd been so hard.

She would have loved to go to the kitchens and bake but felt she had no place there, or anywhere in the household. She changed the linens, cleaned the dishes, and raked out the ashes from the fireplaces along with the other maids. She bumped into one, a scullery maid named Hannah, who said, "Oh. You've done the work already."

"Sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about. You've saved me some work. That's kind of you." Hannah brushed a black stray curl out of her face and tucked it behind her ear.

Marie nodded and made to leave, when Hannah said, "You don't have to work so hard."

Marie turned back, curiosity on her face. "What do you mean?"

"We all know the mistress picked you to act as companion to that French lady. Most of us don't know French, and the others are just jealous. Don't mind them. It's why they call you ‘princess' and try to make trouble."

"I don't want any trouble."

Hannah shrugged.

"It doesn't matter. Once my job for the mistress is over, I'm leaving. I'm going to find other employment," Marie told her.

"You shouldn't. They're always causing trouble. It's them who should go, not you."

Marie smiled. "Thanks."

But that evening, their dinner was interrupted. Mrs. Dove-Lyon stood at the entrance to the servants' dining room, her face grave beneath her black veil. Her voice was questioning. "I'm sorry to disturb you all at dinner, but a dress of mine has gone missing. Does anyone know where it might have gone?"

The servants all exchanged looks. "Does anyone know anything about this?" Mr. Jones asked.

There were a few shrugs and shaking of heads. "I'm afraid not, madam," he said.

"Are you certain? It's just that this dress is very dear to me and I'd laid it out this morning and it was gone. I'd like to know where it is." She glanced at the blank faces sat down to dinner, unmoving as their roast potatoes and cold salad rested on the plates before them, untouched. "No one is in trouble. I just want the dress back. But if someone knows and does not speak up, we will have a problem."

Marie glanced at Lucy. Was this the same dress she had been given to mend?

Lucy swallowed and looked down at her plate of food.

Julia said, "Ma'am, I wasn't going to say anything, but it's not right you don't know. I saw Marie going in your room this morning."

People looked at Marie.

"You did?" Mrs. Dove-Lyon said.

"Aye," Julia said.

"That's a lie. I didn't. I've only been to your room once, to deliver your breakfast tray, Mrs. Dove-Lyon," Marie pointed out.

"Now who's lying? When Lucy bumped into you in the hallway you had the dress. I saw it myself. You had it in your arms. I tell you, ma'am, I thought it was mighty suspicious. Then when I saw Lucy ask you about it, you said you were taking it for mending. But it's not your job to mend the mistress's clothes, now is it? I'm the one in training to be a lady's maid, not you. That dress belongs to her lady's maids. So what was you doing with it? That's what I want to know." Her southeast London accent was harsh.

"I—" Marie started.

"That is very kind of you, Miss Cadough, but I had meant to wear it tonight, and I don't recall it needing any alteration. I'll have it back, please. Where is it now?" Mrs. Dove-Lyon asked, her voice sharp.

Marie stood, frustrated. "In my room."

"Fetch it, please. The dress is very dear to me."

Marie rose and walked from the kitchen, aware that a few others were following her. She turned around. "I'm going to get the dress. Why are you following me?"

"Just a precaution, Miss Cadough. That is all. If you are innocent, you will have nothing to hide," Mrs. Dove-Lyon said.

Marie stared. "Innocent of what?"

"Stealing," Julia said.

"I didn't steal anything," Marie said. "Lucy gave it to me in the hallway. She said the hem had ripped and it needed mending. She asked me to do it."

"Lucy, is that true?" Mrs. Dove-Lyon asked.

Lucy stared down at her shoes, not saying a word.

"Lucy?" Mr. Jones prompted.

Lucy mumbled something.

"What was that? Speak up, girl," Mr. Jones said.

"Julia's right. Marie is wrong. She's lying," Lucy said, an ugly, red rash spreading up her neck.

Marie's mouth dropped open.

"See?" Julia smirked. "Just like I said. I spotted her with the dress and thought it was odd, since she shouldn't have been in your room, Mrs. Dove-Lyon."

"I wasn't," Marie said.

"Never mind that," Mrs. Dove-Lyon said. "I want my dress back. Now let us get it and then speak no more of the matter."

Marie led the way up to the servants' quarters, her uncle, Mr. Jones, and Mrs. Dove-Lyon close behind. She opened the door to the room and stopped.

"Well? Where is my dress?" Mrs. Dove-Lyon asked.

"I don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know? You were the last one to have it, so where is it?"

"I don't know," Marie uttered.

"Mr. Jones? She's not making sense."

"Marie, do you or do you not know where the dress is?" he asked.

"I did, but now I don't," Marie said.

"Why is that?" he asked.

"It's gone."

"What? How?" Mr. Jones asked.

"I'd laid it out there for mending and meant to come back to it after dinner. But it's gone. I don't know what's happened to it." Marie sat down on the bed and stared at her empty bed. "I just don't know," she said softly.

"Well, where could it have gone? Dresses can't just get up and walk away." Mrs. Dove-Lyon stalked about the small bedroom, looking around as if her steely-eyed gaze could capture its location amongst the simple furnishings.

"I swear, ma'am, I don't know where it could have gone. It could only have been a few minutes. I was working on it here not a quarter hour ago."

"And yet you had my dress in your possession, without a word of it to me. You could have checked with me personally, Marie. I am disappointed in you."

"Madam, please," Uncle Baptiste started.

Mrs. Dove-Lyon held up a hand. "No. I'm sorry, Mr. Allard. I had thought your niece to be an honest, trustworthy young woman, but I know wonder if I was mistaken. Although it is odd that she would steal something like a black dress. As far as I know, she is not mourning anyone. And I pay my staff well, so there would be no need to steal and sell it." To Marie, she said, "I know you wanted to join Mrs. Martin and the lieutenant today. Is this… an attempt to spite me?"

"No," Marie said, a note of steel in her voice. "I would never."

Mrs. Dove-Lyon's voice was equally cold. "Then I suggest you find the dress, or you can look for another situation. I won't abide stealing in my household."

Marie's eyes grew wet with tears, and she bowed her head in mute apology. Mrs. Dove-Lyon huffed and walked out, Mr. Jones following after.

Uncle Baptiste went after them, protesting her innocence. But it was to no avail. Marie sat on her bed sadly, wondering how she had ended up in this situation.

At that moment, she looked at her locket, opened up the very old miniature portraits of her mother and father, and wished to God they weren't dead. She had a champion in her uncle, but for some reason, in the back of her mind, she knew he wasn't really her uncle. He was more of a minder, or a servant, who'd been charged with looking after her. But how she knew this, she didn't know.

Marie's shoulders slumped. She thought she'd been doing Lucy a favor. She was used to taking on odd jobs and requests, and being below stairs meant she always helped other servants, whenever they needed it. It was just one of those things she always did, no matter the request. But now, she wondered how trustworthy her new workmates were.

She knew for certain that it had been Lucy who'd given her the dress and instructed her to mend the hem. Yet when she'd examined the dress shortly before dinner, it had seemed fine. She'd planned on returning the dress after the meal and telling Lucy it didn't need any alternation. The question remained, why had Lucy brought her a dress that didn't need any mending? It was odd.

She knew the answer at the back of her mind, but she didn't want to consider it. And yet, what if Lucy really had meant to cause trouble for her and had roped in Julia to assist? Or was Lucy a pawn in Julia's plan to humiliate her? She rose and searched her part of the room. The dress was nowhere to be seen. And now the hour was getting late, well past the servants' dinnertime. The others would have eaten by now. It was time for her to change into a fine dress and socialize with Mrs. Martin and Lieutenant Gage. But what if Mrs. Dove-Lyon had changed her mind after the issue of the dress and didn't want her to attend to Mrs. Martin that evening? Or ever again? She felt a flutter of disappointment and a small sigh escape her. A part of her wished to see the lieutenant again, and even dance with him, despite her not really knowing the steps.

She opened the door and met her uncle, who said, "Marie, I tried talking to the mistress, but she wouldn't listen. She says she has no other course but to believe the others."

"But they're lying. I wouldn't steal a dress. For God's sake, what would I want with a mourning gown?" Marie asked.

He shrugged. "It doesn't matter if it was an apron or a ballgown. You accepted it and now the blame falls on you." His face was glum. "I don't like this, not at all. What did Lucy say when she spoke with you earlier?"

Marie shot her uncle an appreciative look; he'd believed her no matter what. "She had the dress and met me in the hallway downstairs, and said the lady's maids had asked her to do it, but she was too busy, so Miss Robbins asked me to mend the hem, as the mistress wanted it for tomorrow night."

"I have no doubt the dress will reappear, but whether that will happen before or after you are dismissed is the question." He frowned. "Those servants are behind this, I'm sure of it. If she asks you to do anything else like that, consult me first. "

"Uncle, I can make my own decisions," Marie said.

"And look where that got you. You must find this dress, Marie. You could lose your position here."

"But that's not fair. Of course I'm going to look for the dress. But you know as well as I do, there are dozens of little decisions that happen all day. Just today, I helped the maids with the washing, the ironing, the drying. Am I to consult you over when I eat and sleep too? It is preposterous."

Their eyes met, and her expression was serious. He threw up his hands. "All right," he said in French. "I understand. But be on your guard. They are not friendly here. These servants were kind until you started speaking French to that woman in the evenings. Now they mean to play tricks on you. One of them wants you gone."

She looked down at her lap. "I know."

"You are smart, Marie. Be wise, and wary. Like the owl."

She smiled and knew they were at peace again. "I will."

But downstairs, she met with Julia, who had a wide smile on her face. "The mistress doesn't trust you not to cock things up with the grand lady. She's had enough of you and your grand ways."

Marie exhaled through her nose. "Did she leave a message for me?"

"Yeah. Says not to show your face above stairs if you know what's good for you. That clear enough?"

Marie blinked. "She doesn't want me going up tonight?"

Julia shook her head, her curled, blonde hair swinging around her face, tendrils escaping from her ruffled cap. "Not if you want to stay employed here. You don't believe me, go ahead, dance with the men and pretend you're a grand lady. But they'll see right through you, just like I do."

Marie sniffed and walked past her. Julia retorted, "Don't walk away from me."

Marie kept walking, her head held high. Maybe it was a mercy she wouldn't have to face Julia's and Miss Robbins's angry glares tonight, as they would have had to help her dress for the evening. She went to the servants' dining table and the plates were all cleared away, except for hers, which sat there, the food now stone cold.

Mrs. Drummond, the cook, was about to clear that away too, when Marie entered.

"I'll eat. You don't have to take it away," Marie said.

Mrs. Drummond turned and put a hand on her hip. "All right." She took a seat beside her as Marie sat down and reached for her water glass.

"Don't be touching that. I saw Julia tip salt into it when she thought no one was looking."

Marie sighed, instead going to slice up her potatoes, which looked bland and uninviting. As she speared one small potato and sliced into it with her knife, Mrs. Drummond said, "Our Julia doesn't like you."

"I know," Marie said around a mouthful of cold, stodgy potato.

"She hasn't liked you since the day you walked in. Any idea why that is?"

Marie shook her head.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say she's jealous." Mrs. Drummond's eyes sought hers for confirmation. Marie tapped her rough fingers idly on the table, wondering.

"There's no reason for her to be. I work in the morning and all day, then go up and speak French to a rich woman who doesn't know I'm a servant. I'm tired most mornings and when the others aren't causing trouble, I'm trying to just survive. I have nothing for Julia or Lucy to be jealous of."

"Ah, now, that Lucy, she's usually quiet as a mouse. Don't know why she's turned on you too," Mrs. Drummond said.

Marie shrugged. "Last night, the dinner knife went missing and was found in my pillow, it gave Lucy a fright. She couldn't get to sleep and kept fearing ghosts, so she doesn't want me around, either. "

Mrs. Drummond chortled. "That Lucy. Of course she thinks that. That girl loves a ghost story. She's always seeing spirits around every corner. For some reason, she thinks that out of all of us, they'll attack her in her bed."

Marie shared a smile with the older woman. Mrs. Drummond looked about fifty, with a hard, round body and stiff, red hands that were rough and coarse from years of manual labor. Her cheeks were ruddy and she had crow's feet starting at her eyes, but there was a genuine smile on her face for Marie. "Are you all right, child?"

Marie almost burst into tears. Instead, she smiled back and bent her head to her peas and potatoes. "I'm fine."

"Your uncle tells me you fancy working in the kitchens. Is that right?"

"Yes."

"Well, I'll see about giving you a trial run in the kitchen. Once this matter of the dress is settled, perhaps. Mr. Jones did mention that you fancied working with my cooks. Maybe under my watch, we can keep you out of trouble. What do you say?"

Marie looked at the older woman. "I should like that very much. Thank you."

The woman smiled and rose from her chair, pushing it in to line neatly flush against the hard, wooden table. "Don't thank me yet. I expect hard work and attention to details from all my staff. If you cause any trouble or problems, you'll be out within the hour. You hear?"

"Yes, Mrs. Drummond," Marie said meekly. She ate her food.

Once she'd finished her meal of cold peas, carrots, and potatoes, she poured out the salty water, cleaned her plate and utensils, and put away the dishes, then crept up to the stairwell that led to the ground floor, where she might peek at the guests.

There, her heart sank as she saw Mrs. Martin with her husband, together with Lieutenant Gage. They gazed up and around, as if looking for someone. For her, she knew. But without Mrs. Dove-Lyon's permission, she couldn't speak to them. Not even to apologize for having to turn down Mrs. Martin's kind invitation.

Then Lieutenant Gage's eyes drifted over toward the stairwell, and he caught her eye. He shot her a small smile and made to come over, when she raised a finger for silence. He made his excuses to Mrs. Martin and a minute or so later, slipped inside the stairwell. "Miss Cadough," he whispered. "What are you doing? Why are you dressed…like that?" He eyed her maid's uniform and allowed his gaze to drift up from her worn shoes to her hips and then to her bosom before resting on her eyes and darting down to her lips.

She bowed her head. "I didn't get permission to join you tonight. Could you please give my apologies to Mrs. Martin? I'm so sorry."

His face clouded. He looked handsome in his red army uniform, and his hair was growing long around his face, but his clear, blue eye sought hers. "She was very unhappy when you declined her invitation. She worries she offended you somehow."

"Oh, no." Marie's hands darted to her mouth. "No, not at all. It is I who have caused offense."

His smile was kind. "So now you both worry about the possibility of having offended the other." He rubbed the side of his face, which needed a shave. "I shall never understand women."

She looked up at him, and they shared a smile. Her heart fluttered, just a little.

He gave her a gallant bow. "I am at your service, Miss Cadough. What would you have me do? Since I assume you are not dancing this evening." He took in the sight of her maid's uniform, apron, and ruffled cap.

"No. Just please reassure Mrs. Martin that I was detained and unable to make it. But I am truly sorry. I did so want to join you."

"I'm sure Mrs. Martin will understand. But can you not tell her yourself? I am certain she would prefer to hear it from your own lips." He glanced at her mouth and looked away.

"I… would rather keep my situation a secret, for now. Mrs. Dove-Lyon asked me to dress up like a lady to fit in to the company. I do not think she would appreciate my ruining the charade now."

He frowned. "I do not like keeping secrets, especially from friends. You should tell Mrs. Martin. She deserves to know. Otherwise, she will feel betrayed, more so the longer you keep it from her. She will also wonder why she never sees you in public, only here."

Marie bowed her head. He was right. And she did so dislike keeping it secret from Mrs. Martin. "I know. But what am I to do, when I have been asked by my employer to keep it from her? She might feel she's been made a fool, when she learns a servant has been her companion."

"Do you think she is so discerning in her choice of companions?" Lieutenant Gage asked.

Marie gave a stiff nod. "She is a lady. She deserves friends who are of her station. Not I."

"Perhaps you think too little of yourself," he said.

"No, Lieutenant. I know my worth." She glanced at the floor. "I should go. Goodnight."

"Good night, Miss Cadough." He bowed.

She turned away and went to her room for an early night. She would have challenged Lucy for lying about the dress, but the girl was already asleep. Marie undressed to her shift, lay down and due to fatigue she fell asleep almost instantly, for which her mind was most grateful. But she lay awake, tossing and turning. For though she had looked for the dress, she had not found it. And as the hours grew long, she fell into a fitful sleep, too tired to care.