CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
In Service
“I avoided all questions, and endeavored neither to deceive nor be deceived; but sometimes it was next to impossible not to ask a question or make an observation, which the next moment was repented of.”
Bury, Charlotte, The Diary of a Lady-in-Waiting
Amelia was ready when the bell rang in the adjoining room. About half an hour before, she had heard the unmistakable sounds of young women coming along the corridor—the rustle of skirts, high, urgent voices bantering back and forth. Since Mrs. Fitzherbert’s daughters were meant to be in the country, she knew something must have changed.
“Yes, madam?” Amelia said as she entered Mrs. Fitzherbert’s private sitting room. She did not look pleased. Indeed, she appeared both tired and put out.
“I’m afraid you’ll be rather busier than we initially believed, McGowan. My daughters have arrived quite unexpectedly.”
“Yes, madam.”
“They are young enough that I have not yet engaged them their own maids, so I’m afraid you will have to do for the three of us for dinner this evening. Will you be able to manage?”
“Yes, madam. ” Which would have been her answer even if she wasn’t sure. It was her job to manage. “I have experience with young ladies.”
“Well, that gives you an advantage over me. Good heavens, what can she be thinking—” Mrs. Fitzherbert broke off. “But then I gave my own mother more than one opportunity to wonder what I could be thinking, and that after I was a woman grown.”
“I’m sure all mothers must say it once in a while, no matter what age their daughters.” Her own, for instance, had had plenty to say. So much so that Amelia had not spoken to her in years.
“Yes, I’m sure you’re right.” Mrs. Fitzherbert straightened her spine and shoulders. “Well, let’s go introduce you to my girls.”
Amelia bobbed a curtsy in acknowledgment and stepped aside to allow Mrs. Fitzherbert to take the lead.
The young ladies’ rooms proved to be just down the corridor from Mrs. Fitzherbert’s. The door might be closed, but there was no question as to which was theirs. The sounds of an argument became clearly audible as they approached.
Mrs. Fitzherbert’s face creased with frustration and embarrassment.
“Minney!” she called as she knocked. “Mary Ann!”
The voices ceased immediately. A moment later the door was opened by a dark-haired young woman.
“Yes, Mama?” Her innocence was as forced as her smile.
One look at the sitting room, and Amelia knew she was in for a time. These girls had only just arrived, and already it looked as if a storm wind had swept through the place. There were no trunks in view, but half the drawers had been pulled open, and their contents spread across the tops of the bureaus and dressing tables. The doors hung open on the two elegant wardrobes, and all the dresses hanging there had been rifled through.
Minney—Miss Seymore, Amelia recalled—the taller of the pair, clutched a thin pink fichu, while Miss Mary Ann had a green silk ribbon dangling from her fingers, looking like a startled doe.
Sensing an opportunity, Amelia stepped forward briskly and helped herself to the ribbon. With practiced motions, she looped the ribbon around the crown of Miss Mary Ann’s head and tied it in a pretty bow by her ear, then adjusted things so that the ends draped fetchingly over her shoulder.
“There.” She turned the young woman toward the nearest mirror. “A perfect picture.”
Miss Seymore sniffed.
“McGowan is my new maid, Minney,” said Mrs. Fitzherbert. “She’ll be helping both of you, as well.”
“Oh, no,” said Miss Seymore quickly. “There’s no need to bother with us . . .”
“I’m afraid there is,” said Mrs. Fitzherbert. “You forget, the Duke of York is coming to dinner.”
“Oh, well, yes, for that, I suppose, but we’re settling in quite nicely, aren’t we, Mary?”
Amelia very carefully did not look at the disorder that had blossomed all around them.
“Oh, yes,” said Miss Mary Ann, with all a younger sister’s aggrieved feeling. “When you’ve been hunting for your coral brooch for the past half hour, and all the time wailing about how we’re going to be late . . .”
“We’re supposed to meet Dulcie Walsford,” said Miss Seymore to Mrs. Fitzherbert, and far too quickly. “She sent around a note inviting us.”
“But you’ve only just arrived.” Mrs. Fitzherbert frowned, and both the girls tensed. But the moment passed. “Well, be sure you’re back in plenty of time. Since you insist on being here, I expect you at the table.”
“Oh. No. I can’t, Mama!” cried Miss Seymore. “I’ve nothing here to wear.”
“Your silver gown will do quite well. McGowan can see to it. And, Mary Ann, you can wear your pink.”
“Must I? It makes me look such a child.”
“Unless you’ve brought something better, then yes, you must,” said Mrs. Fitzherbert. “Or do you both wish to spend the rest of the day at the modiste’s, while she tries to make you up something vaguely acceptable from whatever she may have on hand?”
From the look on Miss Seymore’s face, you would have thought Mrs. Fitzherbert had just suggested they be confined to the cellars.
Vanity, is it? Or something else?
“No, Mama,” said Miss Mary Ann. “My pink will be just fine.”
“I’d forgotten about the silver,” said Miss Seymore meekly. “Of course, that will do very well.”
She looked helplessly at the crumpled fichu she held. Amelia took it from her and folded and tucked the scarf about her shoulders. A perfectly lovely little turquoise brooch lay to hand on the dressing table.
“This will look very well,” she remarked as she pinned it in place. “It matches your sash.”
Miss Seymore did not look ready to concede any such point, but she also plainly did not have time to argue. Instead, she simply let out a long-suffering huff.
“Now, where have I put my gloves?” Miss Seymore pulled open one of the few drawers in the room that had not already been left gaping and retrieved a pair of kid gloves. She slammed the drawer shut immediately. “Yes. I’m quite ready now, Mary Ann.” She paused. “Thank you . . . McGowan, is it?”
“Yes, miss,” replied Amelia calmly.
“We’d best be on our way,” said Miss Mary Ann with forced brightness. “Mama? Are there any errands we can run for you while we’re out?”
Mrs. Fitzherbert’s expression was meant to let her girls know she was not being fooled. “Oh, go along, both of you.”
Miss Seymore’s relief was obvious, at least to Amelia. The girls both kissed Mrs. Fitzherbert’s cheeks as they filed past her. Amelia watched them retreat through narrowed eyes.
If they’re going to meet any Miss Dulcie, she thought, I’ll eat my bonnet.
She had to work to keep her gaze from shifting toward the drawer Miss Seymore had closed so firmly and so swiftly. So, my girl, if not Miss Dulcie, then who?
* * *
Once Mrs. Fitzherbert had left Amelia with instructions to make sure her girls’ gowns were ready for dinner, she began tidying the room. She folded scarves and handkerchiefs that Miss Seymore had scattered and put them away. She closed drawers. She laid the straw bonnet tossed onto one of the two narrow beds on its shelf in the wardrobe.
If one wanted to be fussy, one could say this was all the business of the chambermaid. Amelia, however, thought it would be best to show herself a willing worker and not above helping out.
In the wardrobe she found the lovely silver and white dinner gown and the much-derided pink silk. Both would need brushing and pressing. The silver had a tear in the hem, and a ruffle on the pink’s left sleeve threatened to come loose. Suitable gloves would have to be unearthed, and hair arrangements planned.
While she worked, Amelia kept one ear on the hallway. She heard no movement. A glance at the crack under the door showed no shadows.
Patiently and methodically, she tidied her way around the room until she reached Miss Seymore’s dressing table and the one drawer the young lady had been very careful to close.
She picked up the gloves that had been tossed aside among the brushes and bottles and opened the drawer.
Inside, she found several other pairs of gloves and handkerchiefs, a silver card case, a beaded reticule, and a hastily crumpled scrap of paper.
She was just about to reach for this when she felt a breeze brush the back of her neck. Carefully, and without any sign of startle or panic, she laid the gloves in the drawer, closed it, and turned around.
Faller stood in the doorway. “Well, that was unexpected, wasn’t it?”
“You have nothing better to do but hang around in my doorway?” demanded Amelia, unable to decide whether she should be worried or simply miffed.
“I can help with the lifting if you like.” He nodded toward several hat boxes, which had probably been taken out of the wardrobe and should be replaced.
“What? And have your mucky hands all over their good things?” Amelia snorted. “I don’t think so!”
He looked genuinely affronted. “Just offering. You only just got here, and they’ve already put you to work.”
Amelia swallowed a sigh. Probably she should keep on encouraging him. Get him used to the idea she was always ready to hear from him. But she kept thinking about that crumpled bit of paper in the drawer, and how careful Miss Seymore was to shut that same drawer when she was perfectly willing to leave every other one hanging wide open. What was in there she didn’t want seen? Amelia couldn’t know until she got Faller out of here.
“Work’s what I came for,” she reminded him.
“Well now.” He sauntered into the room. Amelia resisted the urge to stamp her foot. “There’s work, and there’s work. Now—”
“Faller!” A portly man in the scarlet house livery sailed into view in the doorway. “What are you doing in there?” The new man cast a quick, sharp glance toward Amelia. She stiffened. “Oh. hello,” he said to her, but there was no warmth in the greeting. “McGowan, is it?”
“That’s right.”
The fat man grunted, gave her another scathing glance, and turned back to Faller. “You’re wanted downstairs at once. Mr. Holm’s about to burst looking for you.”
“All right, all right,” grumbled Faller. “I’m coming.”
“You better, or you’ll be out on your ear.” The fat man gave Amelia a look, as if to include her in the warning. Amelia remembered what Mrs. DeLupe had said about her and the butler having madam’s confidence, and their willingness to use it to sack those they didn’t think were up to scratch.
Reluctantly, Faller let himself be herded off. The fat man followed close, like he thought Faller might make a run for it. But he still managed to spare Amelia one more sharp glower.
Amelia closed the door and stared at it.
Faller’s idling had just made her look bad to whoever that fat man turned out to be—head footman most likely. Did he think she was encouraging Faller? That would set her off on the wrong foot in ways she couldn’t afford.
Or was it just that Faller was the sort that would stop working as soon as someone stopped watching? She’d met plenty of those.
But that didn’t sit quite right. Having Faller come sniffing about once was understandable. He was curious about the new addition to the staff.
But twice? That started to feel like he was looking for something.
Well, I’ll sort out Mr. Faller later.
Amelia hurried over to the dressing table. She pulled open the drawer and snatched out the crumpled paper.
She glanced toward the door. It remained shut. Nothing she could see or hear moved outside.
Amelia opened the paper. It was a note—very brief and to the point.
Well, well. No wonder Miss Seymore was so upset about having to be at dinner. Miss Thorne had told her Burrowes suspected one or the other of the girls was up to something. It seemed she was right.
Now, I wonder who wrote this? And what’s our Miss Seymore going to do about it?
If she really was in service here, the correct thing to do would be to show this to Mrs. DeLupe or to madam at once. It might even be the right thing to do now, considering she was supposed to be snooping around.
But it was no good telling tales until she knew what she was talking about. Amelia crumpled the paper up and put it back right where she’d found it. Besides, just now it would be far too obvious that she was the one who blabbed.
Much better to wait and watch.
One eye on Miss Seymore and one on Mr. Faller.
Amelia sighed. And more likely than not she’d need another eye or two before this business was finished.