Chapter One

Chapter One

A dusty border encrusted the hem of Louisa Thorpe’s brown linen workaday dress making each step heavier than the last, but every inch toward her destination washed away the grime that weighed upon her heart. Already on the road for an hour, Louisa and her companions must be close to Lundbrook Park where she, daughter of a squire, would beg to exchange her status for freedom. With luck, the only silk passing through Louisa’s hands would belong to her new mistress.

Polly, who formerly worked at Lundbrook, led the way, kicking up a cloud of dirt that Louisa inhaled and accepted as penance. Beside her, Nellie, Louisa’s lady’s maid, covered her nose and mouth with a handkerchief. Despite the pain in her left heel that bit each time Louisa took a step, she pressed the pace.

“You should be more worried, Miss,” Nellie said, puffing.

“I?” Louisa asked. “Lady Halverson’s fortunes change the day she hires me. No one chooses an ensemble so well as I.” She bit her bottom lip so Nellie would not see the fear that made her chin tremble.

“That is not your only duty. How does one remove a wine stain from cotton?”

“Easy. Soap and water.”

Nellie sighed. “Be serious.”

“I am. I am seriously unconcerned because you will be there to help me.” Louisa grinned, but Nellie’s brow furrowed.

Polly looked over her shoulder. “You have one thing in your favor. The mistress is desperate. Lady’s maids are scarce in these parts, and Lady Halverson keeps marrying them off. But I’ll not recommend you if you’re not to do a decent job of it.”

“I will do my best. You already know my abilities.” Earlier that day, Louisa fixed Polly’s hair into a perfect tête de mouton .

Confidence in her skills was not unfounded. While Louisa’s mother suffered through an illness that would take her life, Louisa dressed and cared for her. Those painful and beautiful days became the gift that allowed her to make this change. She approached a life of her own choosing and would not permit Nellie’s apprehension to ruin the moment. So what if each morning she woke before the sun to scrub stains, polish boots, and mend petticoats? Anything was preferable to marriage to someone she did not love. Her course was decided upon her birth, and that plan consisted of one thing only: marriage. A prospect that had lost its appeal. The sufferings of the past months had altered her opinion of matrimony.

Oh! What she’d endured! First, her father arranged a marriage for her, though her heart beat for another man. Then, to avoid that arrangement, her aunt swept her off to Bath where she was primped, polished, outfitted, and set on display for the gentlemen who examined her like she was a new but complicated method for tying a neck cloth. Not that she did not love every new dress and hairstyle, but without the care of her mother, who would have understood her unpreparedness, it felt like she was a marionette, strung along without resolve.

In Bath, she waited in vain for the man she loved to rescue her. When he did not come, she did the only thing within her power. She eloped or attempted to. She escaped from that unfortunate incident with her virtue intact and a great deal wiser. Her stomach soured, and she pushed away thoughts of that man who deceived her. She would never marry, and the only way to avoid marriage was to avoid her family. Hide. It almost didn’t matter what she did so long as it was her own idea and no one discovered her whereabouts.

“Is that it?” she asked. Chimneys protruded above the tree line.

“It is,” Polly said. “Not far now.”

Louisa’s spirits lifted further. Soon she would wash the grime and sweat from her face and know her options.

They approached the servant’s entrance, and Polly bid Louisa and Nellie to wait outside while she ascertained if there were positions for the two of them. Nellie leaned against the stone house, head bowed, hands pressed together under her chin.

“Are you praying, Nellie?”

“For you, I am. If I am unable to secure a position here, you will surely be found out.”

Louisa laughed. “If there isn’t a situation for both of us, we will try the next house.”

“She has no idea,” Nellie whispered, her eyes toward heaven.

Polly returned with a grin. “Fortune is with us.” With their hands in each of hers, she pulled them toward the door.

Before they entered the house, the thud of a horse drew Louisa’s attention. A young man reigned in a dark stallion before dismounting and walking the horse toward the stable.

Oh, dear. He was handsome.

Though he did not glance her way, she marked his regular features, his straight nose, his easy, confident stride. His arms hung loose at his sides, and the horse followed him without being led. There was something familiar about him, though she never saw him before. Louisa pulled from Polly’s tug, pausing to watch the man until he disappeared into the stable.

“Having second thoughts?” Nellie asked.

“Of course not.”

“You are a servant now.” Nellie’s tone was serious. “Do not look twice at your betters. Best not even once.”

Louisa took the reprimand. She fell in love far too easily and would not make that mistake again.

L ouisa pulled at heavy fabric that stuck to her chest. Its release brought a wisp of cool air onto her damp skin. Lady Halverson’s sarcenet dressing gown left little to the imagination, but Louisa envied its loose, airy weave. A parade of maids carried buckets of hot water up from the kitchen and poured their contents into a copper tub. The vanilla-scented steam combined with a blazing fire made an already hot day insufferable.

The interview with her ladyship, though brief, assured Louisa of her Lady Halverson’s kindness. Afterward, Nellie had squealed her over their good fortune at finding a household where the servants appeared happy and the mistress benevolent.

“I am so pleased to finally have a proper lady’s maid. The wig is a bore,” Lady Halverson removed her hairpiece revealing a copious pile of dark hair. How could such a mound be concealed? “Since the previous girl left, I’ve had no one to dress my hair. You may begin by washing it, and I’ll need a haircut, of course.”

Where did Lady Halverson purchase her beautifully scented soap? Which warehouse did she find the fabric of her dressing gown? Louisa pinched her lips between her teeth to prevent the inquiries from seeping out. Nellie instructed her not to speak unless spoken to and to never question her mistress. Silence would be the most difficult requirement of the position.

Lady Halverson reposed in the bath while Louisa massaged soap into the lady’s scalp, scrubbing with perfect pressure. Despite the sweat pooling at the base of her spine, everything was going well. No task exceeded her ability, save the haircut. She may as well scrub as long as possible, let her ladyship enjoy this moment and decide Louisa’s worth before scissors came into the balance. She tingled with success and continued working Lady Halverson’s hair.

“That is very nice, but I am sure it’s ready for a rinse.”

Louisa suppressed a groan, pulled soap through the tresses and began ladling rinsing water. Lady Halverson sighed, and her eyes closed. Sweet, fragrant steam rose in a steady cloud onto Louisa’s already damp face. The familiar motion, performed countless times for her mother, hit her defenses. Sharp prickles blossomed behind Louisa’s eyes and nose. She blinked, keeping the tears at bay until a wave of loneliness washed over her. Sweat and tears mingled and dripped from her chin onto her skirt, but she continued to rinse Lady Halverson’s hair, proud of her ability to weep silently.

“Some claim that bathing so frequently is ill advised,” said Lady Halverson, “but I find my head itches if I do not wash at least twice per month.”

Twice per month! That would mean repeating this ritual in a fortnight. Lady Halverson’s hair was so thick it took a full ten minutes to rinse. To style this quantity of hair would take hours.

She dabbed her face with her apron before twisting Lady Halverson’s hair. Water erupted from its mass and drained down Louisa’s arm, but she straightened and wrung tighter. It did not matter if it took a week to finish this woman’s hair, she would do it and do it well. And the cutting could not be so difficult. She was good with hair, even cutting her own on occasion.

After brushing the profusion of hair near the fire, Louisa’s gown clung to her as if she’d stood in a rainstorm. Her arms ached and she did not want to lift them from her lap. Still, she took the scissors and shortened Lady Halverson’s fringe to the ideal length. It was easy enough, though the hair above her ladyship’s left ear fell a little shorter than that over the right. Next, she combed pomade through the hair and powdered until they were both satisfied.

“We are nearly ready for curls. Where do you keep your curling tongs?” Louisa asked.

“I found a better way to achieve the desired look. Papillote curls. We must master the technique.” It seemed Lady Halverson liked everything modish, and indeed, the gowns Louisa bought in Bath were provincial in comparison to the lady’s sophisticated elegance. Lady Halverson lifted the top of her dressing table and pulled out a pair of tongs that looked like they belonged in the kitchen, the ends round and flat.

“I am not familiar with those,” Louisa said, her stomach dropping.

“It is easy. I cannot do it myself, but I’m confident you can.” She handed Louisa a book from her dressing table, The Whole Art of Hairdressing . “Study this while I fetch curling paper.”

It took several minutes longer for Louisa to decipher the method for papillote curls than for Lady Halverson to get the paper, so Lady Halverson set the tongs to heat and rang for a maid to bring lunch.

A plate of cold fowl, hard cheese, bread, and fruit tempted Louisa away from the book, but no food was offered. Of course it wasn’t. She was a lady’s maid, not a house guest. Her stomach grumbled and her throat parched, but she tore her gaze from a shiny, red strawberry and focused on the page, using the time to rest her arms.

“Are you ready?” It seemed Lady Halverson was, and that meant Louisa must be as well.

As the manual instructed, Louisa began with the middle of Lady Halverson’s head, twisting her hair until it formed a sort of knotted snake before wrapping it in paper. While she worked, she studied Lady Halverson, her broad, high cheekbones and straight nose. The man she saw on a horse resembled her in all the best ways. But the lady’s incomparable kindness, not her stately beauty or serene countenance, put Louisa at ease, even in their first meeting. After that interview, Nellie exclaimed over their luck at least a thousand times.

Wrapping the curling paper took an hour, but Louisa continued without pause or complaint until her arms trembled with exhaustion. When every strand of hair was tied up, she gripped the papillote tongs and gently applied heat to a coil of hair, counting to ten in her head.

“Tell me about your previous employer,” Lady Halverson said.

Louisa jumped at the question, gripping the tongs until the handle pressed sharp against her palm. She searched for an appropriate answer. Smoke curled in a malodorous vine from the hair. She withdrew the implement, and a spiral of hair fell to the ground.

“Oh, my lady! I am sorry.” Louisa picked the hair and looked around for a place to put it.

Lady Halverson gasped but said, “I shall not miss it. I have too much hair as it is.”

This generosity was too much. Louisa’s eyes burned. What could she say that would distract them from the tuft of hair sticking up from the lady’s head? The truth? That there was no previous employer, only a mother who allowed her daughter to care for her. And what of the hair? She stuffed it up her sleeve.

“It was a lady in Cornwall. She was ill.” Truth was best when possible.

“That must have been difficult. I hope she recovered.”

“She did not.” Louisa’s voice broke, and she felt Lady Halverson’s eyes upon her.

“Perhaps you require a break. I daresay you are hungry.” She looked at the clock. “Dear me, you have missed your dinner. Run down to the kitchen and find something to eat.”

Louisa fled the room without hesitation. In the kitchen, she scanned the room for a rubbish bin, and finding one near the back door, pulled the itching strand of hair from her sleeve and disposed of it.

“You must be the new lady’s maid.” The cook kneaded bread and a leg of lamb crackled over the spit. “By the looks of it, you’re off to a splendid start.” She chuckled and turned her attention to the ball of dough beneath her hands.

“Is there anything to eat?”

“You’ll have nothing here,” the cook said. “If you missed your dinner, you’ll have to wait for supper.”

“But I will starve.” She felt weak.

“No one dies from skipping a meal.”

“Please?”

The cook wiped her brow and frowned. “There is a crust of bread on the sideboard there, but mind you take nothing else. You don’t know as I’ll need it.”

Louisa returned to her mistress with a growling stomach but ready to perform her duties. She finished curling without a mishap, but when the hair unraveled from the paper, some pieces were straight while others tightly crimped.

“For your first time, it is… acceptable.” Lady Halverson’s mouth tightened.

“I would do better with hair tongs.”

“No, no. We will learn the French way or lose it all trying.” She laughed and fingered the spike of burnt hair, but Louisa could not join her.

Sculpting the tête de mouton remained, made difficult by the bald spot. With her finger covered in pomade, she pressed the stray hair down, but when she withdrew her hand, it stuck straight out of Lady Halverson’s head. She pinned the curls over it the best she could and began the braids with trembling, weakened arms. She pulled one strand too tight, another too loose. Lacking the strength to try again, she pinned the braids in place and attached a handkerchief to the top of Lady Halverson’s head, hoping it would cover the disaster.

Lady Halverson frowned into the mirror, touching the singed hair. The coiffure looked as though a child arranged it. Between curls, tufts of singed hair poked out like an old paint brush. Louisa pulled out the pomade and tried again, but they would not be tamed. Louisa held her breath, waiting for a rebuke. Why was it so much harder today? Where could she go if she were dismissed? Back to the inn? Might she obtain work as a scullery maid?

“I must get dressed and see my son. Fetch the yellow gown from its hook. Everything is bundled together. Yes. That’s the one.”

Louisa lay the profusion of fabrics on the bed and began dressing her ladyship. This she could do, though the gown’s edge was thick with lace and beading, heavier than anything Louisa had placed on her mother. She fought to keep her hands steady as she pinned Lady Halverson’s gown to the stomacher. Hunger, nerves, and disappointment cut through her. She wanted to run.

“Ouch!”

Louisa pulled the pin out of Lady Halverson’s stomach and continued pinning. “I beg your pardon, my lady.” Louisa’s mother had a very different shape than Lady Halverson and it was difficult to know where the fabric stopped and Lady Halverson began.

“Ah! I will finish.” Lady Halverson took the pins. When she finished, she turned to Louisa. “Sit down.” She pointed to a chair by the fire.

A veil of exhaustion fell over Louisa. Her legs would not move, but her hand found the back of the chair, and she seized it lest she faint. “I will do better. I can learn. It will only?—”

“Hush. Who are you? Clearly not a lady’s maid.”