Chapter Three

The next day

B right sunshine streamed through the curtains and a throaty meow coaxed Lizzie awake. Opening her eyes one at a time, she found Athena sitting regally on the covers facing her, apparently studying her while casually licking her lips.

"I must thank you for waking me, Athena. It's going to be an exhausting day, but I'm glad it will start on your clock instead of Lady Beadle's, because I will need the extra time to inquire about Michael's whereabouts before our mistress awakens."

Lizzie followed Athena's gaze and saw a nest of baby bluebirds nestled on a sturdy branch of the oak tree outside her window. "Even though I'd like to reward you for waking me early, I'm afraid I cannot give you what you want." She rubbed the feline behind her ears. "Those baby birdies aren't bothering you, and you must leave them alone."

As if she understood Lizzie, the cat gave a fierce meow before standing and arching her back.

"I hope that's just a stretch and not some sort of show of force," Lizzie said, giggling. "You know you have food in the kitchen, and if I'm not mistaken, one of the kitchen maids probably added bacon to it. Let the birds enjoy their breakfast while you go to the kitchen and enjoy yours."

The long-haired, brown-and-white cat raised her paw and affectionately touched Lizzie's chin. Turning, she gave another loud meow before jumping off the pillow and taking up her usual post on the windowsill.

"Watch all you like. But the window will remain closed. I'd love to lie here for a few more minutes and watch them with you, but today will be challenging, and I must get started." Smiling to herself, Lizzie took a last look at Athena, whose paw touched the window, as though she were determined that should the glass magically disappear, she would be ready.

Lizzie couldn't help but admire the cat's persistence, as it matched that of her mistress. Lady Beadle exhibited an astonishing amount of energy, and little seemed to unsettle her. Lizzie admired the older woman's infectious spirit and hoped she could draw on it for the evening ahead.

After completing her morning ablutions, Lizzie donned one of her day dresses, a cornflower creation that complemented her blonde hair. She slipped into the dress, grateful for its simple cut and design that allowed her to do so without the assistance of a maid. As a country vicar's daughter, Lizzie had never had a maid growing up. And she certainly hadn't had one in America. The talented modiste Madame Soyeuse seemed to understand Lizzie's practical nature instinctively and had suggested the style. Lizzie had been secretly thrilled, also appreciating a similar design with her stays.

Once dressed, she fashioned her hair into a long braid, coiling it loosely around her head before securing a matching hat. "You've got the room to yourself, Athena," she said, dropping a light kiss on the cat's head and receiving a soft meow in response. Walking to the door, Lizzie glanced back over her shoulder and noted that Athena was still caught up in the birds' activities on the branches outside. Smiling, she left the door ajar for the cat to leave when she wished.

Making her way downstairs to the front entry hall, Lizzie wished the butler good morning as she saw him organizing the morning's post on the silver salver.

I wish there was a letter from Michael , she thought with a heavy sigh. However, she knew that was not likely.

"It looks like another cold and rainy day ahead," she said, accepting her warm pelisse.

"I expect you're right, Mrs. Pritchett." He smiled, handing her an umbrella and holding open the front door.

"Thank you, Jenkins."

"The carriage has been brought around and is awaiting you, as you requested, Mrs. Pritchett. When shall I tell her ladyship to expect you?"

"I shan't be long. No longer than two hours. I'm hoping to be back before she even misses me."

The butler gave a knowing smile and nodded before closing the door behind her.

A half-hour later, Lizzie arrived at the Admiralty and Marine Affairs Office, just as fat droplets of rain began to fall. She recalled that first visit just over six months ago as she knocked on the opaque-windowed office door. In a way, it had been a stroke of good luck that Michael had connected her with his friends Lord and Lady Armstrong.

"Enter," an almost high-pitched male voice said from behind the door.

Lizzie opened the door and stepped inside.

"Mrs. Pritchett. It's a pleasure to see you again," the young man said.

"You… Mr. Chester, you remember me?" The words escaped Lizzie's lips before she could retrieve them. But it had surprised her. She'd been away six weeks and only met the young man once before she and Lady Beadle left for Bath.

"Of course. We don't have many lovely ladies visit this office, so it's easy to recall them."

"Th—thank you." She wasn't sure what to say to his rather bold compliment. Swallowing, she addressed the thin, bespectacled man. "Mr. Chester, I've come to see if there's been any word from my brother, Michael—Captain Michael Robinson."

"I see. Let me look through my records." He stepped from behind his desk and walked to a standing cubby where communications were stored. Sifting through the meticulously shelved papers, he grunted. Then he thumbed through them again and turned back to her. "I thought I had heard something—" He paused, his face flushing red. "Please excuse me, Mrs. Pritchett. I shall return in a few minutes."

The young man stepped out a side door, and a few seconds later, Lizzie heard Mr. Chester and a deeper male voice from the office somewhere behind the door. A few moments later, the door opened, and a tall, auburn-haired man stepped over the threshold. "Mrs. Pritchett, I am Corporal Addis. I understand you are asking about Captain Michael Robinson."

"Yes, he is my brother. I was told he had been sent to Paris. I received one missive that I retrieved upon my arrival in London six months ago. Since then, I've visited this office several times, and I was told to come back in a few weeks each time. I was away for six weeks and only just returned to London yesterday. I was hoping to have finally received another letter or note from Captain Robinson. He is my only family…"

The two men exchanged a look that heightened Lizzie's worries.

"Mrs. Pritchett," Corporal Addis said, "I should not reveal this, but your brother is on an assignment from Wellington."

"When will he return?" she asked.

"I'm very sorry, but given regulations, I cannot share any further information," he replied. "I am certain that once he is able, Captain Robinson will send word to you."

His words revealed little, but his shuttered eyes said otherwise. Was Michael missing? Or was he wounded? She wanted to ask, but knew he would tell her nothing. This is ridiculous. She needed information.

Drawing herself up, she stated in a firm voice, "As Captain Robinson's only living relation, I expect to be informed of his circumstances as soon as possible. Can you please give me some indication of when that might be?" Michael would surely write as soon as he was able.

"I wish I could say, Mrs. Pritchett, but these things can take time." His face seemed to tense in frustration. "Perhaps you might check back again in a few weeks."

"Corporal Addis, you said these things. What do you mean?"

Addis's face flushed crimson. "My apologies, Mrs. Pritchett. I misspoke. I have no information on Captain Robinson's status at this time."

He knows something. She was certain of it. Both men knew more than they were telling her, and it infuriated Lizzie. Michael might be in trouble, and there was nothing she could do to help him. Her lips stretched into a thin line. "Thank you, Corporal Addis," she managed before turning on her heel and leaving the military office.

Deflated and defeated, Lizzie made her way back to the waiting carriage. What could she do? What recourse did she have? In truth, she knew no one who could help her find out. Even if she were able to learn of Michael's whereabouts, or what kind of trouble he might be in, how would she be able to help him? The dismal news weighed heavily on her shoulders.

As soon as she entered the townhouse, Jenkins took her hat and pelisse. "Lady Beadle wishes you join her in her suite of rooms. Madame Soyeuse arrived a few minutes ago," he said in a gentle voice.

"Thank you, Jenkins." She would have to set aside her worries about her brother's whereabouts for now. Lady Beadle never slowed. Perhaps that was a good thing, as Lizzie would likely be unable to think clearly until the shock and anger had settled. She knew with certainty the evening would be a late one. The last thing she wanted was to attend a ball. Unfortunately, she had no choice in the matter.

As she walked into Lady Beadle's suite, Lizzie recognized the familiar, lilting French accent of Madame Soyeuse.

"My lady, you look marvelous in that color," the modiste said.

"Yes! It simply cries out for red hair," Lady Beadle enthused.

Lizzie hurried into the dressing area, where she found Zeus, Athena, and Venus all perched on the back of a settee, eyeing a box of ribbons that the modiste was using. "I'm back, my lady," she said.

"Thank goodness! I had begun to fret. You've been gone so long. Is everything all right?" The older woman held up her ear trumpet, expecting an answer.

"I apologize, Millie. I stopped by the Office of the Admiralty to see if they had any word from my brother."

"And did they?" the older woman asked, adjusting her ear trumpet and holding her hand up for the modiste to wait.

"No," Lizzie said, unable to hide the despair in her voice. "It was more what they didn't say than what they did say."

"What do you mean, my dear? Let us examine this rationally. The war is over. Therefore, most of the danger has passed. Is that not so?"

"That is what I thought, but I'm no longer certain." Lizzie knew Lady Beadle was trying to help calm her fears. She did not want to worry the older woman, especially not on the day of her niece's ball. She knew how important the function was to Lady Beadle. "I was told by the office he was on an assignment with Wellington. But that was all they would tell me."

"What does that mean— on assignment ?"

"I asked, but my question seemed to irritate the corporal in charge of the office," Lizzie said.

"My dear, we should not borrow trouble. It is conceivable that the young man simply has had no updates on the situation. Besides, Paris is now under English control. I am certain there is nothing to worry about. And all will be well."

"You're right, my lady," Lizzie said, mustering a reassuring smile for the older woman. She drew herself up. "How may I be of assistance?"

"Ah. That's much better, my girl." Lady Beadle smiled. "Now then, tell me what you think of this gown. Since we have no time for another, I do hope you love it," she said cheerfully as she modeled a sapphire-blue satin dress that sparkled as she made a slow turn in front of the floor-to-ceiling looking glass.

"I think it's wonderful," Lizzie said. The gown was indeed flattering both in style and color. She admired Lady Beadle's enthusiasm for life. The dear woman had had her share of sadness and tragedy, and yet she marched onward, deriving pleasure from each day. I need to keep that in mind in my own life. No matter what life brought her, Lizzie would do her best to face life head-on in the same way Millie did. "What type of turban will you wear?"

"I have ze most beautiful turban, my lady," Madame Soyeuse said, holding up a dark blue covering with a feather and light blue jewel embedded in the front. "It will show off ze blue silk."

"Perfect. And I know exactly what would match perfectly." Lady Beadle reached into a large hatbox beside the looking glass and whipped out a curly wig. "I've been saving this for a special occasion."

The modiste's eyes widened. "My lady, that is certainly…special."

"Isn't it, though?" Lady Beadle beamed. "It's called regal titian."

Lizzie hid a smile. The wig was not regal, nor titian. It was , in fact, a very bright orange.

The modiste turned to Lizzie, her eyes flashing a look of horror.

Oh dear, how best to sort this one out? It was not unusual for Lady Beadle to wear a turban or an outlandish hat. Occasionally, she added a wig of colored hair from her extensive collection—although many of them resembled the ancient hairpieces of the Georgian era.

"But my lady, you have perfectly beautiful gray hair," the modiste managed in a slightly strangled voice.

"Gray! That is exactly the problem." Lady Beadle adjusted her ear trumpet around the knotted orange hair. "It's bad enough that I must use this damned thing to hear, but I am also saddled with faded gray hair. At least I can hide the gray with my glorious wigs. Otherwise, everyone will think I am old, which I refuse to be. The red hair will tell them otherwise," she declared.

Madame Soyeuse opened her mouth and closed it, perhaps thinking twice about what she had planned to say. Instead, she dug into a bag and produced a large, blue-stoned brooch. With the utmost care, she removed the feather and pinned the jewel to the front of the turban, covering the smaller stone. She then pushed the turban down on the orange wig and allowed only a curl or two to show. "My lady, this will look perfect," she said. "You can trust that this addition will add an elegant touch."

Lady Beadle stepped back and eyed her image in the looking glass. "I love it. What do you think, Lizzie?"

"It brings out the blue in your eyes, my lady," Lizzie said.

"Your turn, Lizzie," Lady Beadle announced. "No further alterations are necessary, Madame Soyeuse. We should prepare Lizzie for the party."

Two hours later, the fittings were finally completed. Lizzie was pleased with the deep-pink gown Lady Beadle had chosen—although the lavender dress would have been equally nice. Lady Beadle looked splendid in the blue—orange hair and all.