the maid of fairbourne hall

8/3/2019 The Maid of Fairbourne Hall

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The only aristocrat known to havedisguised herself as a servant is Georgiana,

Duchess of Devonshire, in 1786.

Giles Waerield and Anne French,Below Stairs

Chpr 1

London

August 181 5

H

e is reading my leters now oo. . . .

Margare Elinor Macy sa a her dressing able, hearpounding. Her ace in he looking glass shone pale beneah

curly dark hair, her ligh blue eyes anxious. She glanced rom her

reecion o he leter in her hand. Te seal had been pried open and

unsuccessully re-pressed. Her mohers new husband had obviously

begun checking her posperhaps earul he nex inviaion she

received would no be o a ball bu raher o ake reuge in anoher

house, ou o reach and ou rom under his power.I was bad enough when he ooman began ollowing her every-

where she wen, wheher he occasion warraned a servans escor

or no. Ten an hour ago she had asked o wear her auns pearl

necklace, only o be reused.


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The Maid of Fairbourne Hall

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oo many oopads on he srees a nigh,Serling Benon had said.

Tough she and her moher had always worn heir beter jewelry beore.

Serling had locked in his sae almos all he Macy amily valuablesor saekeeping. Privaely Margare guessed hed sold some pieces

and locked he res away so she couldn barer hem or passage

somewhere ar away.

He had long since ceased graning her any allowance, claiming

srained nances. Ta migh be rue, bu Margare knew Serling

had oher moives or keeping her dependen on him or every shil-

ling. Tough soon o inheri a large sum rom her grea-aun, a hemomen Margare was unable o buy hersel a hairpin, le alone

passage anywhere.

She regarded her wan reecion once more. She was no looking

orward o he ball a he Valmores, hough in he pas masquerades

had been her avorie. She loved he disguises, he mysery, he chance

o ir behind a mask, o preend she was someone she was no. For

weeks she had planned o appear as a milkmaid, a cosume he Duch-

ess o Queensberry had donned or a ormal porrai, sparking a rage

o painings o genlewomen in servans atire. Margare guessed

she would no be he only milkmaid in atendance ha evening.

Her coieur was a concocion o dark hair piled high wih a long

spiral curl gracing each side o her neck. Bu she was having second

houghs abou i. She had relished he noion o ooling he oherguess unil masks were removed halway hrough he ball. A he

momen, however, he very idea o cosumes seemed rivolous. Be-

sides, he dark hair did no ater her complexion.

Reaching up, she yanked he wig rom her head.

Joan! she called sharply.

Te second housemaid had doubled as young ladys maid ever

since Serling had dismissed Margares abigail. Te experiencedladys maid, Miss Durand, was busy arranging Mohers hair. Margare

snied. As i i matered how well a married woman looked. Heruure

did no depend on appearing her preties ha nigh.

Joan, a hin, pracical housemaid in her midwenies, hurried in


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Julie Klassen

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carrying a lace cap and he cape she had been pressing. She ripped

over Margares dressing gown, bunched on he carpe where Mar-

gare had le i all. Why had Joan no picked i up?Do be careul, Margare snapped. I don wan my cape ruined

or he cap crushed.

Yes, miss. As Joan righed hersel, irriaion ashed in her eyes.

Well, she had only hersel o blame. Aer all, i was Joans job o

idy he room and care or Margares clohes.

I need you o dress my hair, Margare said. I have decided no

o wear he wig aer all.Bu . . . Te maid bi her lip, hen sighed. Yes, miss.

Joan had secured Margares blond hair in a igh kno o accom-

modae he wig, bu now she would need o unpin, curl, arrange,

and re-pin her hair wih so heigh and curls a her emples o ater

Margares somewha round ace. She hoped a simple housemaid was

up o he ask. Margare guessed she would have o alk her hrough

he process.

Margare hersel had become quie adep a arranging her sisers

hair. Enjoyed i, acually. Forunaely, Caroline had no ye come

ou and was no atending he ball, oherwise hree Macy women

would never be ready in ime.

Joan unpinned he kno and began brushing ou Margares air

locks, using, Margare hough, a bi more orce han necessary.Genle, Joan. I have no wish o be bald.

Yes, miss.

Margare had oen been old her air golden hair was her bes ea-

ure. She could no, on his nigh o nighs, cover i up. She would need

all he appeal she could muser i her plan had any hope o succeeding.

Margare enered wearing he simple blue gown, apron, and mask,

wih a small lace cap aop her glorious hair and a milk pail in hand.

Sudiously ignoring he young man beside her, she surveyed he

ballroom.


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Te goddess Diana laughed wih a sulan in urban and owing

robes. Egypians in headdresses, jewels spangling heir oreheads,

danced wih gypsies. Punchs wie mingled wih beggars. Some peoplesacriced anonymiy or atraciveness. Ohers, especially hose wear-

ing he ubiquious dominoesmasks over heir aces and hooded

capeswere unrecognizable. Te gay music, colorul cosumes, laugh-

er, and jesing creaed a carnival-like amosphere. Bu he jovial eeling

did no reach Margare and did nohing o ease her anxiey.

She saw him across he ballroom, and her muscles enseda

lihe ca xing upon her prey. Ye she eared she would be he onele injured.

Lewis Upchurch wore a rakish pach over one eye, bu was oher-

wise perecly urned ou in ne evening atire o black ailcoa, pris-

ine whie waiscoa and crava, knee-lengh panaloons, and polished

shoes. He sood alking o a man and woman. Te man she recognized

as Lewiss riend Piers Saxby. He wore a ricorn ha and kerchie,

looking very like engravings she had seen o Blackbeard and oher

piraes o old. Margare was acquained wih Saxbys siser, Lavinia.

Te wo girls had been a school ogeher. Perhaps she migh inquire

aer Lavinia as an excuse o approach he rio.

Bu she would need o read careully. Lewis Upchurch migh be

a good cach, bu he would no be an easy one, and she was by no

means cerain o her abiliy o snare him. For a momen she soodwhere she was, shocked by her mercenary houghs.

A ew years ago, when she learned o he inheriance coming o

her upon her weny-h birhday, shed hough she had no need

o marry. Grea Aun Josephine, a spinser hersel, had seen o ha.

Margare had planned o ake her ime, marry or love or no a all.

Bu wih he odious man beside her deermined o spoil ha plan,

she was willing o compromise. She would never marry a man sheloahed, bu she could marry charming, handsome Lewis Upchurch.

She had been quie inauaed wih him once. Had even rejeced

his broher in hopes o winning him. And Lewis, she believed, had

admired her. He had cerainly ired wih her.


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Bu hen her beloved aher had died, and Margare had los iner-

es in Lewis Upchurch and sociey a large. She had remained home

in mourning or more han a year. When she had reenered socieyearlier his season, Lewis had shown renewed i sporadic ineres in

her, bu nohing had come o i. Was she oo lae?

Pushing back her shoulders, Margare removed her mask and

seeled her resolve. Enicing a proposal rom Lewis Upchurch was

her bes hope, her only plan or escaping he Benon house and he

vile snare se or her by Serling and his nephew.

As i her houghs, her inenions, had been declared aloud, heyoung man beside her siened. She risked a glance a Marcus Benon

and ound him ollowing he direcion o her gaze across he room.

His wide-se calike eyes narrowed. He looked a her, smile smug

beneah his pug nose. He was no a all man, only an inch or so aller

han she. Dark ousled hair ell over his orehead in imiaion o casual

ease, ye she knew his vale had spen hal an hour arranging i. She

had once hough Marcus handsome, bu no longer.

He ook her arm, bu she shrugged i o. Inhaling deeply, Margare

srode across he ballroom, empy now beween dances. A he head

o he room, musicians relaxed over punch and ale, laughing amongs

hemselves. Direcly ahead o her, Lewis Upchurch aced Mr. Saxby

and he woman she did no recognize. Like Margare, her ace was

exposed. She wore he clingy Grecian robes o a Diana. Margarewould have liked o speak o Lewis alone, bu she dared no wai or

her courage would ail her. Perhaps he oher couple would excuse

hemselves.

Margare bolsered hersel by remembering ha Lewis had shown

paricular ineres in her in he pas, seeking her ou or dancing,

escoring her in o supper on several occasions, calling he nex morn-

ing as eiquete required. Lewis had been pleasan and atenive, noo menion hearbreakingly handsome. Bu he had never proposed.

Perhaps she had no encouraged him properly. Aer all, she had been

in no hurry o marry.

Unil now.


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Besides Marcus Benon, only one man had ever proposed mar-

riage o her, and ha had been wo years ago, beore Lewis reurned

rom he Wes Indies and urned her head. Te memory o he wayshe had coldly and abruply rejeced Nahaniel Upchurch, Lewiss

younger broher, sill brough a sab o guil. Nahaniel would have

married her once, bu she had cerainly crushed any eelings he held

or her. A all evens, Nahaniel was ar away in Barbados, and had

been or nearly wo years, managing he amilys sugar ineress in

Lewiss sead. Even Nahanielmeek, pale, sudious, bespecacled

younger son ha he waswould have been a beter ae han MarcusBenon.

Margare smiled as she neared he rio, hoping no one noiced her

brazen approach. She willed Lewis o look her way, hoping his ace

would ligh up when he saw her. She paused beore hem and Lewis

glanced over, bu her appearance brough no ligh o his counenance.

I anyhing, cauion shadowed his dark eyes, a leas ha was how

her insecure soul read his expression.Dont appear too eager, she

reminded hersel. A man like Lewis Upchurch was accusomed o

desperae women and heir desperae mammas hrowing hemselves

a him. She mus be careul.

Miss Macy, he acknowledged poliely.

She nodded a him, hen urned her mos beguiling smileshe

hopedon his riend insead. Mr. Saxby. You may no rememberme, bu I was a school wih your siser, Lavinia.

Piers Saxby was a ew years older han Lewis, his eaures some-

wha ordinary. Bu he invariably embellished his appearance wih all

he rappings o a dandy: ne clohes, quizzing glass, and snuox.

Te mans dull grey eyes li wih recogniion i no ineres. Ah,

Miss Macy, o course. Indeed, I recall Lavinia menioning your name.

He bowed, and Margare dipped a cursy sure o show o her emininecurves. She hoped Lewis was waching.

Bu when she glanced back up, her hear ell. For Lewis had already

reurned his atenion o he woman beside him. Te very beauiul

woman, Margare now saw a closer range.


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Sensing her gaze, Lewis Upchurch cleared his hroa and said

duiully, Miss Macy. Have you me he lovely Miss Lyons?

Margare urned o he sriking brunete. I have no had hapleasure.

Ten allow me. Miss Barbara Lyons, may I presen Miss Margare

Macy. I believe you are acquained wih her sepaher, Serling Benon?

Te womans dark eyes sparkled. Indeed I am. An exceedingly

handsome man and mos charming oo. Do you no nd him so, Miss

Macy? Why, i he were my sepaher I should never leave home.

Margare swallowed he ho reor burning her hroa and pasedon a alse smile. I don acually hink o Mr. Benon as a sepaher,

as I was already grown when he married my moher.

Quie righ, Miss Macy. Barbara Lyons grinned. I I were you

I should no care o hink o such a man as my sepaher eiher.

Margare shuddered a he womans innuendo.

How you mus enjoy living in Mr. Benons ne house in Berkeley

Square, he woman added.

Margare noiced neiher she nor Saxby showed any sign o leav-

ing Lewiss side.

I miss he counry, acually, Margare replied. And rom where

do you hail, Miss Lyons?

Ah, you mus excuse us, Miss Macy, Lewis Upchurch inerruped.

For Miss Lyons here has promised me he nex dance, and he musi-cians are even now preparing o play.

Oh . . . o course, Margare alered, observing wih chagrin ha

as ye only one musician had reurned o his place. Em . . . enjoy

your dance. She again cursied and urned away.

I hadn been he cu direc, bu close o i. Cheeks aming, she

walked oward he door, rying no o hurry, hoping her morica-

ion was no obvious o he milling hrongs. Nor o Marcus Benon.She escaped he ballroom and hasened across he hall o he salon

designaed as he ladies dressing room or he evening. Inside, her

riend Emily Lahrop ied a cloak abou her shoulders and replaced

her reicule over gloved wris.


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Emily! How glad I am o see you. Are you leaving already?

Yes. Mamma has a headache and wans o go home.

So do I, as i happens. Migh I beg a ride?O course. Bu surely your amily would?

Oh . . . Margare eigned a casual air. Te Benons are no ready

o leave, and I do hae o spoil heir evening.

Emily ouched her arm, eyes concerned. Tey canno orce you

o marry him, you know.

Margare arched one brow. Can hey no? I shall hold you o i.

She gahered her shawl and ollowed her riend ino he hall.Tere, raised voices rom he ballroom drew hem back o is doors.

Bang. Squealwood agains wood. An overurned chair slid across he

oor. Te music sopped, one violin shrieking in proes as he musicians

lowered heir insrumens one aer he oher, and dancers scatered.

Emily grasped Margares wris and pulled her ino he ballroom.

Margare resised, no waning anyone o see her dressed o depar,

bu Emily ignored her and sepped closer. Boh young women craned

heir necks o see pas aller genlemen and ladies eahers o ideniy

he cause o he commoion.

Ringed by he cauious bu curious crowd, wo men sood, chess

ou, hands sed. Boh were all and dark-haired. Lewis Upchurch

sood acing heir direcion, his handsome eaures sparking wih

shock and irriaion. For one momen, Margare hough he oherman was Piers Saxby, oended a he atenion Lewis paid Miss Lyons.

Bu in he nex she remembered ha Saxby wore evening dress be-

neah his ricorn ha, while he man acing Lewis wore rim buckskin

breeches, all boos, and a riding coa.

You are needed a home, he man growled.

Lewis smirked. And hello o you oo.

Now.Te mans prole came ino viewa black beard obscured his

eaures, making him look wice he pirae Saxby had appeared.

emper, emper, Nae. Are hese he manners you learn in he

Wes Indies?


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Margare gasped. I couldn be.

And wha o your manners? he second man challenged. Did

Faher no wrie and ask you o reurn home and do your duy?Nahaniel Upchurch. Margare couldn believe i. Gone were he

pale eaures, he hin rame, he hesian posure, he specacles.

Now broad shoulders srained agains his cuaway coa. Form-ting

leaher breeches oulined muscular legs. Te unashionable dark

beard emphasized his sharp cheekbones and long nose. His skin was

golden brown. His hair unruly, some escaping is queue. Even his

voice sounded dierenlower, harsher, ye sill amiliar.Lewis grinned. I am doing my duy. I am represening our oher-

wise dull amily during he imporan social season.

Nahaniel glanced around as i suddenly aware o heir audience.

Will you sep ouside o speak wih me in privae or shall I drag you?

You migh ry.

Nahaniel grabbed Lewiss arm, and Lewis lurched orward, caugh

o guard by he srengh o he pull.

Beside her Emily whispered, Is ha Nahaniel Upchurch?

Margare nodded.

Bu he is so changed. Had he no been arguing wih his broher,

I should no have recognized him. He looks, well, nearly savage,

does he no?

Again, Margare managed a wooden nod.I I did no know beter, I would hink him a pirae. Emily drew

in a sharp breah. Perhaps he is! Perhaps he is he Poe Pirae he

papers are ull o!

Margare barely heard her anciul riend. Her mind was clouded

wih a vision o Nahaniel Upchurch as she had las seen him. Eyes

wide, pained, and misy green behind smudged specacles. His hin

mouh downurned. Dejeced.Regaining his balance, Lewis shook his arm ree. Unhand me, ape.

A he insul, Nahaniel slammed his s ino his brohers jaw.

Gasps and cries rose among he rozen guess, heaing hem o

agiaed lie.


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Margare did no realize she had cried ou as well, unil Nahaniels

head snapped in her direcion.

For a second he sood here, silled, one hand grasping his broherscrava, his oher sed. Across he disance, his gaze me hers. Margare

sucked in a breah a he inensiy in hose eyes. Inense no wih love

or longing, bu wih undisguised disgus. His hin lips wised ino

a scowl, making his long nose hawklike.

I she had hough Lewiss recen snub painul, Nahaniels reacion

el ar more cuting, hough no a single word had been exchanged.

I was as she had eared. He had never orgiven her and could nosand he sigh o her.

Margare urned, snagging Emilys hand and pulling her away.

Wha a brue! Emily paned behind her. Are you no glad you

rejeced him when you did?

Margare was relieved. How erce he looked. She had never beore

been righened o him, nor had she imagined him capable o violence.

Margare paused only long enough o whisper in her mohers earha he Lahrops were aking her home, hen hurried away beore

she migh objec. Disraced as she was by he gh, her moher

vaguely nodded. Serling sood several yards away, his gaze rained

on our guess in regimenals escoring he Upchurch brohers

rom he room.


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A married woman could not ownproperty, sign legal documents or enter into

a contract, or keep a salary for herself.

he legal docrine o Coverure,

English Common Law

Chpr 2

On he shor ride o Berkeley Square, Margare remained quie

as Emily described he gh o her parens. Her mind was

preoccupied, reviewing he disurbing images, he disurb-

ing memories, and her uter ailure o achieve her ends.

Te saely coach haled beore Serling Benons all, erraced ownhouse, and Margare hanked he Lahrops and bid hem good-nigh.

Te groom handed her down, and she walked he ew seps o he

ron door. When he liveried ooman opened i or her, she did no

miss he crease in his brow a seeing her arrive alone. Perhaps he eared

Serling migh somehow blame him or ailing in his wachdog duy.

Margare sailed pas he lackey wihou so much as a nod o

acknowledgmen. Crossing he hall, she lied her skir o avoid rip-ping as she climbed he many sairs.

Reaching he hird level, she ipoed rs o Gilbers bedchamber.

She peeked hrough he open door, geting a litle lump in her hroa

o see her broher sprawled across he bed, hand under his cheek and


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hair askew, looking very much like he litle boy she sill hough

him. She crep inside and pulled he bedclohes o his chin. Margare

prayed Serling would no pull Gilber rom Eon as he hreaenedo do. Gil needed o learn all he could i he was o go on o Oxord

and ino he church, as heir aher had always hoped.

Nex she sopped a her sisers room. More modes han her

broher, Carolines door was closed. Margare inched i open and

peered in, nding her asleep as well. A sixeen, Caroline would be

atending balls very soon. Leaning over he bed, Margare sroked

he caramel-colored hair rom her sisers brow. How innocen shelooked. How swee. A swell o love bordering on he maernal lled

Margares breas.

Carolines eyes utered open beore driing shu again. She mur-

mured sleepily, How was he ball?

Lovely, Margare whispered, having no wish o worry her. Swee

dreams, sweeness. Sweenessher ahers nickname or her. How

long had i been since Margare deserved he moniker?

She slipped rom her sisers room and, aking advanage o heir

absence, crep down o he adjoining bedchambers Serling and her

moher shared. In Mammas dressing room, she was surprised no o

see he miniaure o Sephen Macy displayed anywhere. I had been

on he dressing able no long ago, she was sure. Margare could

undersand no waning i in he bedchamber, where Serling wouldhave o see i. Bu here in Mammas privae dressing room? Margare

opened he op drawer, and here i was, ace down. How disloyal i

seemed. She urned over he porrai and sudied i, shaking her head

in wonder. How much Gil was beginning o look like heir aher. We

have no orgoten you, she whispered o he handsome, youhul

image. A leas, I have no.

Reurning he small porrai o is place, she wandered hroughSerlings dressing room. How impeccably nea everyhing was. She

hoped his asidious vale wouldn cach her in here.

On Serlings dressing able, she saw a handul o coinsguineas,

crowns, and shillings.


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Dared she?

As i was, she didn even have coach are, le alone money or lodg-

ings, should he siuaion coninue o escalae . . . or raher, deeriorae.She ough o have somehing pu by, jus in case. She should no be

compleely a Serlings mercy unil her inheriance came.

Ye Margare was a vicars daugher. She knew sealing was wrong.

Bu was his really sealing, she asked hersel, when he had aken

her jewelry?

I was a loan, she decided. She would pay him back when she

had money o her own. A ew coins would seem a rie henbunow? Tey migh make he dierence beween escape and a rap.

She seleced several, bu did no ake hem allha would be oo

obvious. How cold he coins seemed agains her ngerips, as she

ucked hem ino he pocke o her milkmaid apron. She el heir

weigh all he way back o her room.

Once here, she slid he coins ino her reicule. A ew minues

laer, Joan came in and helped her change ino her nighclohes. As

Margare climbed ino bed, he disan sound o he ron door shu-

ing surprised her.

Tey were home early.

She quickly blew ou her bedside candle as Joan gahered he dis-

carded clohing and backed rom he room, closing he door behind her.

A ew momens laer, someone apped lighly on her bedchamberdoor. Her somach lurched. Was i her moher, or Serling?

Margare? someone whispered.

Marcus! A her bedchamber door, a nigh? Margares hear

humped in her breas. Surely he would no dare ener.

Candleligh ickered rom under he door. Hushed voices echoed

in he corridorMarcuss and a womans.

Nerves quaking, Margare rose and ipoed o he door.Yes, sir. Miss Macys home, Joan said. Shes gone o bed.

Margare knel down and peered hrough he keyhole.

Well hen, Joan, heres nohing o keepyou rom . . . Marcuss

voice grew mued. As Margares eyes adjused o he ickering


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ligh, she saw Marcus pressing his ace ino Joans neck, as hough

o whisper in her ear . . . or kiss her. Margares somach roiled. She

couldn see Joans ace, bu she saw Marcus capure he maids handand begin o ug her down he corridor.

Tere you are, Mr. Benon. Te low voice o Murdoch, heir buler,

inerruped he scene. Your uncle requess your presence in he sudy.

Joan pulled her hand ree. Marcus mutered an oah and disappeared.

Releasing a breah she had no realized she was holding, Margare

climbed back ino bed. Ye long aer Marcuss ooseps aded and

he house was quie, Margare lay awake, unsetling images circlinghrough her mind: Serling and Marcus. Marcus and Joan. Miss Lyons

and Lewis. Lewis and Nahaniel . . .

Te las image she saw beore sleep nally overook her was

Nahaniel Upchurchs look o disgus shooing across he ballroom

and scorching her skin.

In he morning, Margare enered he breakas room, sarled o

nd Serling Benon eaing alone. Shed hoped o avoid him, wai-

ing unil he, an early riser, would normally have depared, while his

wasrel nephew would no doub sill be abed.

Serling sa sirring a cup o coee, alhough she knew he added

neiher sugar nor milk. Wih his hick silver hair, chiseled eaures,

and conden sophisicaion, she undersood wha women like Miss

Lyons, like her moher, saw in him. Sill, how sunned and nearly

sickened she had been when her moher announced her engagemen

o he man a mere welvemonh aer Sephen Macys deah.

Margare orced a civil one. Good morning.

He looked up, piercing her wih his icy blue eyes. Is i? You ell me.

Margare helped hersel o a plae a he sideboard, more as anexcuse o urn her back on him han eagerness or ood. Finding

hersel alone wih him, her appeie had ed.

I ake i you did no enjoy yoursel las nigh, he said. I did no

approve o your leaving alone.


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I was no alone. I le wih Emily Lahrop and her parens.

And you did no dance once, alhough I am cerain Marcus mus

have asked you.Margare knew any oer Marcus madewheher or a dance or

marriagewas made a his uncles behes.

I was no in he mood or dancing, she said, hinking, since Lewis

Upchurch never asked.

Serling sipped his coee. You le beore he mos ineresing

par o he evening.

Oh?Nahaniel Upchurch reurned rom he Wes Indies as wild as a

heahen. He sruck his broher, Lewis, wihou provocaion in ron

o he enire assembly.

Margare had heard snaches o he argumen and surmised here

had been some provocaiona leas in Nahaniels mindbu she

remained silen.

So Serling had no seen her come back ino he ballroom. Te

hough ha Serlings eagle eyes were less han perec el somehow

comoring.

Your moher ells me he once coured you, Serling coninued.

Margare blindly placed a mufn on her plae. Ta was years

ago, beore he le England.

And you rejeced his sui?I did.

Very wise, my girl. Very wise.

I cerainly had seemed wisehen and more so now, aer las

nighs violen demonsraion. Sill he smug one irked. And why

is ha?

Because you are ree o marry Marcus. As i was mean o be. You

canno gh desiny, my girl.He rose and sood beside her, his long manicured ngers pressing

ino her arm. I would no advise ghing desiny, Margare. Desiny

always wins. And so, my dear, do I.

Margare shivered bu made no reply.


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Wih a las warning look, Serling le her.

Sighing, Margare sa down o a soliary breakas o ea, egg, and

mufn. Her somach churned, and she pushed away he ood, sippinghe ea insead.

I would no do her any harm o miss a ew meals. She always

pu on a bi o weigh during he season, wih all he rich ood and

midnigh suppers. Did Lewis Upchurch preer willowy women like

Miss Lyons? Apparenly so.

Leaving her breakas unouched, Margare reurned o her bed-

chamber. From he botom o her dressing ches, she lied ou hemahogany wriing box where she kep memenos o her aher. She

raised he beauiully carved lid and breahed deeply. Te aroma rom

a sache she had made o her ahers pipe obacco enveloped her in

is earhy, spicy amiliariy. Oh, Papa. How I miss you. . . . She ngered

her ahers hingshis New esamen, wo leters he had writen o

her, his specacles, and an old pair o his gloves. She gripped he limp

leaher ngers. Wha she wouldn give o hold his hand once more.

Ta aernoon, Margare bid a poignan arewell o her siser as

her moher and Serling looked on.

Caroline was reurning o Miss Highowers Seminary or Girls,

where Margare hersel had atended years beore. Loah o say in

he own house alone wih he Benon men, Margare oered o

ride along.

Her moher hesiaed. Joanna Macy Benon was a all, handsome

woman, hough her once air hair had darkened o a mousy brown and

ne lines marred her ace. She was a ew years older han her dashing

new husband, and all he complexion creams in London could no

disguise ha ac. Nor could her hin smile belie her deep unhappi-ness. For hough Serling Benon had pursued her wih deermined

admiraion and charm, boh had quickly aded aer he wedding,

leaving he new bride conused and desperae o righ whaever i

was she had done wrong.


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Julie Klassen

25

Her mohers eyes, wide and vulnerable, shied o Serling beore

reurning o Margare. My dear, you know I would enjoy your com-

pany, bu he barouche would be ar oo crowded wih Caroline andher school riend. No o menion heir many belongings.

She glanced again a Serling, eager or a look o approval. Te wo

o hem clearly had oher reasons or waning Margare o remain

in Berkeley Square.

A ew hours laer, her broher was packed and ready o leave as

well. Gilber had plans o spend he nal ew weeks o his erm break

a a riends counry esae, riding and shooing, unil boh boys hado reurn o Eon in early Sepember. Margare was happy or him,

knowing he missed counry lie as much as she did, bu sad or hersel.

How lonely she would be.

Blinking back ears, she embraced him and kissed his cheek.

Whas all his hen, ey? Gilber proesed her igh hold and

grimaced a her ears. Come on, Mags. Im no going away orever.

I shall see you a he end o nex erm.

She orced a smile. O course you will. I am only being silly.

He winked a her. Well, nohing new here.

Alhough hey did no speak o i, Margare knew her young

broher was aware o he ension in he house. She did no wan

him o worry, so she socked him on he shoulder on his way ou he

door, as any good siser would.

Aerward, Margare wen back upsairs o dress or dinner. She

dreaded he hough o dining wih only Serling and Marcus. How

uncomorable ha would be. She perused her wardrobe, apaheic

abou wha o wear. Where was Joan? She pulled he bell cord o

summon he maid o help her dress. Several momens passed, bu no

one came. Finally she heard he ellale cliter-clao Joans worn-o-he-nail hal boos in he passage ouside. Bu he ooseps hurried

righ pas Margares room.

She pushed open her door. Joan?

Joan, rushing oward he sairs, urned back a her call.


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26

Did you no hear he bell?

Joan looked pale. Can sop now, miss. Teo says Mr. Murdoch

wans o see me wihou delay.I was clear rom her sricken expression ha Joan eared she was

in rouble. Margare wondered idly wha he girl had done bu dis-

missed he hough. She had enough problems o her own. Bu i is

ime o dress or dinner.

A he opposie end o he passage a door opened, and Marcus

Benon sepped rom his room, already dressed in evening atire.

Joan siened and hurried away. Marcus icked a rown a he maid,beore urning a speculaive gaze o Margare. I was he rs ime

she had seen him all day.

He saunered oward her. Don hink I didn know wha you

were abou las nigh.

No waning o be alone wih him, or risk his ollowing her ino her

room, Margare urned and walked oward he sairway, preending

she had no heard him. She would no boher o change or dinner.

Wha did i mater?

He roted down he sairs beside her. Trowing yoursel a Lewis

Upchurch like hask, sk.

Margare brisled. I did no such hing.

A he landing, he sepped in ron o her and blocked her way,

cornering her agains he wall. I canno say I am sorry he rebuedyou, my swee. For he could never eel or you he way I do. He ran

a nger down her arm, and she jerked away.

Did you really hink ha i he had no oered marriage beore,

he would do so las nigh, or all your bating o lashes and auning

o dcolleage?

Anger and moricaion singed her ears, bu she could no reue

he charge.My dear Margare. I am no he blind ool Upchurch is.Iam no

immune o your charms. Why do you insis on puting me o? I

have been paien hese many monhs, bu I grow weary o waiing.

Te warm, swee words soohed her injured pride. His nger


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Julie Klassen

27

ickled her arm once more, sending shivers no alogeher unpleas-

an down her spine. Like his uncle, Marcus embodied a masculine

persisence and condence she had always ound appealing. Was herown condence so lacking? Would she always be malleable in such

handslose sigh o her scruples and sel-worh?

Oh, Margare . . . He kissed he back o her hand, and or a mo-

men she allowed him o hold i. Would i really be so bad o marry

Marcus Benon? He was a good-looking young man, hough more

han a year her junior. He had an elegan bearing even or his sligh

heigh and was admired by many girls. And Marcus waned her,waned o wed her. How happy Serling would be. Even her moher

would approveno because she liked Marcus, bu because she

was desperae o please Serling, who seemed deermined no o be

pleased wih her on any accoun. Margare could buy peace or he

household. Blessed peace.

Bu a wha price?

She squeezed her eyes shu and shook hersel menally awake.

Wha was she hinking? Any ineres Marcus had in her was purely

mercenary, manuacured or his uncles sake. Oh, ha her moher

had never old Serling o her pending inheriance!

Marcus mus have misaken her sillness or acquiescence, or

he suddenly grasped her shoulders and pressed his mouh o hers.

She jerked away. I have never given you leave o use my Chrisianname, Mr. Benon, she said coldly. Much less o kiss me. Please

remember ha in uure.

She hurried down he remaining sairs, bu no beore she heard

him swear under his breah.

Aer enduring a srained dinner wih only he hree o hem a heable, Margare reired o her room early, waning o avoid he men and

weary aer ossing and urning he nigh beore. She pulled he bedside

bell cord o summon Joan o help her undress and bring her some

warm milk. Five minues laer, she pulled again. Sill, no one came.


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28

Grumbling o hersel in irriaion, Margare salked o her door.

I no one would come o her, hen she would go down hersel and

srech her resless limbs in he process. She had never venuredbelowsairs here in Serling Benons house. Bu as a girl, she had

spen many an hour in he warm kichen and sillroom o Lime ree

Lodge, enjoying a snug aernoon baking biscuis wih Mrs. Haines

or lisening o he housekeeper and nurse swap sories o heir lives

beore enering service.

Margare descended wo ighs o sairs. Ten, passing silenly

along he ground oor on her way o he basemen seps, she heardmued voices coming rom he sudy and paused ouside is door,

which was slighly ajar. She sidled closer and pressed her ear o

he crack.

I have ried. Marcuss voice.

Ten ry harder. Serling.

Wha would you have me do? I have been as charming and a-

enive as I know how. She does no like me.

She once did. When you rs came.

Well, apparenly she has revised her opinion. She is cold o me

now.

Ten warm her. Have I no placed you here under my very roo ?

Given you every opporuniy?

Marcus grumbled somehing Margare did no hear.And las nigh I saw her alking wih Lewis Upchurch. A man

who paid her every atenion earlier his season. I ear she will sir

his ineres again, and we shall lose her.

Lose her money, you mean.

Need I remind you ha whoever marries he chi will conrol

her inheriance?

Bu i she does no marry, she will conrol i hersel.And no doub spend i on gewgaws and alderals and I know no

wha. A glass clinked agains he able. Serlings voice had risen, bu

he moderaed i once more. I shall insruc Murdoch no o allow

Upchurch o callnor any oher genlemen, or ha mater.


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Julie Klassen

29

And I ell you, Uncle, Lewis Upchurch is no longer ineresed

in Margare.

Le us hope you are righ. Even so, i you have boched hings asbadly as you say, we can have her eloping wih some opporunisic

buck while were no paying heed.

Marcus said, A good hing he inheriance is a well-kep secre.

I everyone knew, men would be beaing down our doors. Sarcasm

curled his voice. I onlyyou had known, Uncle.

You orge yoursel, Marcus. Serlings cool voice held an under-

curren o warning. Now, he grited ou, I don care how you doi, jus ge her o marry you.

Wha do you sugges?

Did I no pay or your educaion, Marcus? Can you really be

such a simpleon?

Wha do you mean?

Come now. Charm and atery never ail, a leas where Macy

women are concerned. Woo her, ater her, make love o her. And i

all else ails . . . compromise.

You are no suggesing . . . ?

Why no. You have done he like beore.

Marcus hissed, Bu she is a lady.

And will be resored o respecabiliy as soon as she weds you.

Margare pressed a hand over her mouh, siing a cry o ourageand swallowing he acid climbing her hroa.

Milk orgoten, she sole back upsairs. Te vile lechers!

Reaching her room, Margare pushed a chair agains he door,

doubing i would slow a man or long. She paced back and orh

across her bedchamber. She was no mach or Marcus physically.

I he orced himsel ino her room, she would be a caged bird, a

cornered hare.One o her ahers sermons came o mind, he one abou how

everyone migh ake advice rom young Joseph. When Poiphars

lascivious wie ried o seduce him, he did no bar himsel in his room.

He ed.


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Julie Klassen

31

Te ears in Joans eyes sparked ino anger. And who else would

be blamed when he money urned up missing? Is always he maid.

I hough . . . I hoped he would no noice.A man like him?

I was oolish. I see ha now.

Bu you won go and ell him i wasn me who ook i, will you?

Margare hesiaed, hen shook her head. I am araid no. No

ye. I canno le him know I have any money.

Joans ace motled red and whie. O all he bacon-brained lies . . .

Margare reeled. How dare you? How ungraeulMe ungraeul? Te cords in Joans hroa suck ou. Wha have

you ever done or me? Is me whas done or you all hese monhs,

up working beore you rise and aer youre in bed. And or wha?

o ge he sack or aking money you sole!

Te venom in her maids voice shocked her. She had never known

Joan el his way abou her.

An idea sruck Margare and she changed ack. Where will

you go?

Joan snied. o my sisers. No ha you care.

I do care. I . . . I wan o come wih you.

Joans brow puckered. Wih me? Have you any idea where Im

going?

Your sisers, I believe you said.My siser, who lives in a run-down enemen in Billingsgae?

Youve never venured ino such a neighborhood, Id wager. And

wih good reason.

Le me go wih you. I need o leave. Now. Bu I canno go any-

where alone a nigh. I is no sae.

Is no sae where Im going eiher.

We shall be saer ogeher, Margare insised. Look, I only ookha money because I needed i o escape.

Escape? Why should you need o escape? Joans lip curled. Mr.

Benon won buy he new silk sockings you se your hear on?

Goodness. Now ha Joan had no pos o proec, she allowed her


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32

ongue ree rein. Margare bi back an angry reor o her own and

said earnesly, No, I need o escape because I ear or my virue.

Joans eyebrows rose. Young Mr. Benon?Margare nodded.

I is unwaned atenion hes giving you, ell his uncle.

Who do you hink pu him up o i?

Te maids eyes widened. Bu, why . . . ?

I will explain laer. I expec any minue or him o come hrough

ha door, and I don wan o be here when he does.

Joan crossed her arms and asked sullenly, Why should I help you?Obviously not out o afection or loyalty, Margare hough wryly. Be-

cause I will wrie you he mos atering characer reerence youve

ever read. Why, when Im hrough, S. Tomas himsel wouldn

doub your abiliies.

Joans wary expression soened. Very well. Is a bargain. Bu I

only plan o say wih my siser unil I nd anoher place. Youll have

o leave when I do.

Agreed.

Joan surveyed her head o oe. And youre no going anywhere

wih me dressed like ha.

Margare glanced down a he ounced day dress o whie cambric

muslin shed ye o change ou o, her mind quickly skipping o he

oher gowns in her wardrobe.Bu Joan had oher ideas. Teres some old clohes o poor Mrs.

Pooles up in he atic. She was reerring o he belongings o an

ancien housemaid whod died, ben over her pail and scrub brush,

a ew monhs beore. Ill ech you a rock and cap rom here.

Wha is wrong wih my gowns?

Nohing. I you wan Teo o ollow us and every pickpocke in

London o harass us.Ta was rue. I he ooman saw her coming downsairs dressed

o go ou, he would be on her rail beore hey reached he sree.

I shall be back direcly, Joan said. Meanwhile, cover up ha hair.

Her hair. Margare sared a her roubled reecion in he looking


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Julie Klassen

33

glass. Yes, her blond hair would be a beacon in he nigh. She hough

suddenly o he dark wig she had planned o wear or he masquerade

ball. She hurried o her dressing able and lied he wig rom is sand,examining i by lampligh. Decisively, she pawed hrough he drawer

unil she came upon a pair o scissors. Wih hem, she lopped o he

long curls mean o cascade down each shoulder, leaving only a simple

curly wig wih dark ringe across he orehead. I would do.

Joan had ye o reurn. Increasingly anxious o leave, Margare

decided she had beter begin changing wihou her. She slipped her

arms rom her gown, wised i back o ron, undid he ribbon ies,and le he dress all o he oor. She sood here in shi and says.

Heaven help me i Marcus comes in now. She slipped a peticoa over

her head, hen sa on he edge o he bed and pulled on wo pair o

sockings, hen her hal boos. She wen o her wardrobe and ound

he blue dress and whie apron she had worn as a milkmaid and laid

hem across her bed. Surely hey would sufce i Joan ailed o nd

somehing in he atic. Perhaps anyone who saw her would misake

her or a second housemaid, a riend o Joans come o call.

She pulled orh her plaines reicule and a carpebag, and began

sufng in a ew necessiies. Her mind raced, panicked and muddled.

Tink, she old hersel. Tink! Bu i was difcul o plan when she

had litle idea o where she was going or or how long.

Sill Joan had ye o reurn. Wha had happened o oresall her?Nervously, Margare ied her dressing gown over her underclohes

and slipped ou ino he corridor, ears aler or he sound o anyone

approachingriend or oe.

Which was Joan?

Margare ipoed oward he sairway and paused. Hearing voices

rom around he corner, she pressed hersel agains he wall.

Serling challenged, Were you no dismissed earlier his evening?Yes, sir, Joan replied.

Ten why are you sill here?

I was only packing my belongings, sir. Joans voice quavered,

unnaurally high.


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34

Packing only your belongings, I rus. Le me see wha you have

in ha valise.

is only clohes and he like, sir.Margare heard shuing and a clasp being unsnapped and

snapped. Be sure ha is all you ake or I shall hire a hie-aker o

hun you down.

Yes, sir.

Mr. Benon? Murdoch called rom he landing below. Sorry o

disurb you, sir. Bu ha man rom Bow Sree is here.

Wha man fom Bow Sree? Margare wondered.Tank you, Murdoch. I shall be down direcly.

Margare risked a glance around he corner in ime o see Serling

urn his icy blue eyes on he quaking maid. I rus you will see your-

sel ou and do no mischie on your way.

Joan nodded.

Be ou in en minues or I shall have Murdoch oss you ou.


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35

I wont be a cook; I hate cooking. I wont be a nurserymaid, nor a ladys maid, far less a ladys companion. . . .

I wont be anything but a housemaid.

Charloe Bron, in a leer o her siser Emily

Chpr 3

Ten minues laer, Margare urned rom her dressing able

mirror o ace Joan.

Well?

She wore an old grey rock Joan had unearhed rom he atic, he

apron she had worn as a milkmaid, and he dark wig pinned securelyover her hair.

Seaed on he bed, he maid sudied her. I changes you a grea

deal, miss. Bu I sill hink you need a cap.

Te only cap Joan had ound had yellowed beyond wearing.

Margare lied he small lace cap she had worn o he masquerade.

Joan shook her head. oo ne. She pulled somehing rom her

own valise. You may borrow my spare. Bu i you keep i, ill cosyou one o hose shillings.

Very well. Margare pulled he oppy mobcap over her wig and

looked a Joan or her reacion. Now will anyone recognize me?

Joan iled her head o one side. I hey look close hey will.


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36

Margare looked back ino he mirror. She lied a subby kohl

pencil and darkened her eyebrows, as she had mean o do or he

masquerade beore abandoning plans o wear he wig. She hen pulledopen he mahogany wriing box and rom i exraced her ahers

small round specacles. She placed hem on her nose and hooked

he arms over her ears. Again she aced Joan.

Wha abou now?

Much beter, miss. As long as you don alk, I hink your broher

could pass you in he sree and no know you.

Margare hough o he accens she had heard daily as a girl,spending hours wih rs her nurse and hen he housekeeper while

her moher was busy wih his sociey even or ha chariy. Nanny

Booker was rom he norh somewhere and Mrs. Haines rom Brisol,

she believed. Margare had made a game o mimicking heir accens,

hough now she wondered how charming hey had really hough

i. An wha i I changed mvoice? Would ya know me hen?

Joans eyes narrowed. I don alk like ha.

Margare quickly revered o her normal way o speaking. I know.

And I am no rying o ridicule anyone. Only o disguise mysel in

every possible manner.

Joan lied her chin in undersanding, hen dubiously eyed he

narrow carpebag. Is ha all youre aking?

Well, I canno ake a runk, can I? Nor do I wish o arousesuspicion when we leave by he servans enrance. Margare

ried hrough he crammed bag. I have an exra shi and he

milkmaid rock as a sparei doesn weigh a hing. A nighdress

and wrapper, slippers, comb, ooh powder, and he kohl. She did

no menion her ahers New esamen, nor he cameo he had

given her, wrapped in a handkerchie. She slipped a shawl over

her shoulders and looped bonne ribbons over her wris. Whaelse do I need?

Don orge some o ha nice paper or my characer, Joan said.

When Margare had slid a piece ino her bag, Joan blew ou a deep

breah. Well, is ime. She slapped her legs and sood.


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Julie Klassen

37

elling Margare o wai in he room, Joan picked up her valise

and crep down he corridor o lisen a he op o he sairs. She

waved Margare orward. Margare slipped rom he room, quielyclosing he door behind her. She ollowed Joan down he sairs on

ipoe, barely allowing hersel o breahe. Tey descended one pair

o sairs and hen anoher wihou encounering anyone coming up.

A he op o he basemen seps, Joan moioned her o wai while

she checked he passage below.

Te maids head soon popped back ino view and again she waved

Margare down. ogeher hey hurried along he narrow basemenpassageway, pas he kichen, o he service door a is ar end. Joan

opened i or her.

Margare had jus sepped hrough when a voice called rom he

kichen behind hem.

Joan? Whos ha wih you?

Margare hesiaed, unsure i she should run or urn around. Joans

rm hand on her arm kep her rom doing eiher.

is only my siser, come o collec me, Joan said. You heard I

go he push?

Oh, Joan. I did, he emale voice commiseraed. And sorry I

was o hear i.

I didn seal anyhing, or he record.

O course you didn. Id wager he mislaid he money or spen ihissel. Or ha nephew o his pinched i. No air is i?

No, Mary, is no air.

Going o your sisers, hen, are you?

Unil I nd anoher place. Joan gave Margare a litle shove, and

she lurched orward, ripping on he botom sep beore saring up

he ouside sairs.

Good-bye, Joan, and Godspeed.Margare reached sree level as Joan roted up he sairs behind her.

Les go, he maid whispered, wihou a backward glance.

Margare, however, looked over her shoulder several imes as hey

crossed he square, earing any momen he hovering ooman or


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38

Serling himsel would appear behind hem. Bu all was quie save

or he clicking o heir booheels and he disan clip-clop-clatero

horse hooves on cobblesones.Tey had made i.

Wha now? Shed known only ha she had o ge ou o Benons

house ha very nigh. In her panicked hurry she had no even le her

moher a noe. Even i she had, she knew very well Serling would have

read i. And los no ime in ollowing any uninenional clues i held

o nd Margare and drag her back. Wha would she have writen a

any rae? She didn know where she was going beyond Billingsgae.And Joan had made i clear his would only be a brie say unil she

ound oher employmen. Margare hoped i would buy her enough

ime o gure ou her nex sep. She would wrie o her moher hen.

Ahead o her, Joan srode briskly on, and Margare srained and

paned o keep up. On he nex sree, a man leaning in a shadowed

doorway leered a hem. wo miliiamen whisled as hey passed.

Margare decided she did no like walking London srees a nigh.

Joan? Joan, wai! Her voice shook. How ar did you say i was?

Joan glanced over her shoulder. Tree or our miles, Id reckon.

Margare swallowed. Perhaps she ough o risk going o Emily

Lahrops house insead. I could be no more han a mile or wo away.

She recalled he las ime she had gone o he Lahrops in Red

Lion Square. She had been vexed wih Marcus and Serling boh,and hoped o beg an inviaion o say wih Emily or a ime. Bu

she had no been in he Lahrops drawing room an hour when she

heard Serling Benons name announced and had o si here while

he lamened ha her moher had aken ill and needed her a home.

I had all been a ruse. Her moher was in perec healh, alhough

she had been sick wih worry, and quie pu ou wih Margare

or leaving he house alonehough she had never minded whenMargare spen ime wih riends beore.

A he end o he block, Joan waied or a pos chaise o pass,

allowing Margare o cach up wih her. Do you know where Red

Lion Square is?


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Julie Klassen

39

Joan looked wary. Yes. My cousin has a pos near here. Why?

Could you please walk here wih me? My riend Emily lives

here, and perhaps she migh help me.Joan shrugged an apaheic reply. I suppose. isn ar ou o

my way.

Margare was surprised she agreed so readily. Joan was apparenly

eager o be rid o her.

As she rudged behind Joan along busy Oxord Sree, Margare re-

hearsed how o explain her predicamen o Emily, moriying hough

i was. Emily would be happy o have her, once she qui laughingover her cosume. Bu could she alk her parens ino allowing her o

say? Tey were unlikely o believe her word over Serling Benons.

Serling could be so convincing, so persuasive. He would have hem

believing his nephew he soul o propriey and her a deluded ninny

wih an overinaed view o her irresisible charms. Mr. Lahrop

would genly admonish her o be sensible and send her home wih

Serling wihou a second hough.

She shuddered. Perhaps insead o asking o say, she would ask

Emily o loan her enough money o see her ou o own and some-

where sae. Margare would pay her back wih ineres as soon as

she received her inheriance. She loahed he hough o borrowing

money rom riends. Bu she would have o se aside her pride. Pulling

he mobcap down more snugly over her black wig and specacles,she realized she already had.

Tey walked norh and hen urned ino quie and prety Red

Lion Square. Tere, Margare led he way across he squares cenral

garden. She paused behind one o he rees o survey he Lahrop

own house across he sree. Joan sood behind her. All was sill,

save or he icking ail o a horse harnessed o a carriage waiing

several houses away.Margare was abou o cross he cobbles when she realized wih

a sar ha she recognized he landau wih is brass candle lamps, as

well as he coachman a he reins. Margare rereaed behind he ree

once more. As she peered around i, he Lahrops ron door opened


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40

and Serling Benon appeared, ramed by lampligh a is hreshold,

speaking in earnes condence wih Emilys aher. Serling shook his

head somberly, appearing he perec image o concerned sepaher.Mr. Lahrop nodded and he wo men shook hands.

Serling had cerainly goten here quickly. She and Joan had

le perhaps only hiry or ory minues beore. O course hey

had walked, while Serling had a horse and carriage a his disposal.

Heor Marcus, more likelymus have come o her room soon

aer shed le and discovered her gone. Tank heaven she le when

she did.Clatering horse hooves galloped ino he square, and Margare

peered around he oher side o he ree. A man in a chimney-po ha

and cropped coa rode up, quickly dismouned, and ied his reins o a

pos. Te mans hurry sounded an alarm in Margares mind.Was his

he man rom Bow Sree Murdoch had announced beore Margare

le? Had Serling planned o hire a wachman bu now commissioned

he same man o nd and apprehend her?

Te newcomer roted up he walkway oward Serling and Mr.

Lahrop. Tere on he soop, he hree men spoke, Serling gesuring

and rowning. He pulled somehing rom his pocke and handed i o

he ofcious-looking man. She could no see he objec clearly rom

ha disance, bu based on he way he man sudied i, she guessed

i migh be a ramed miniaure porrai. Te one commissioned byher aher or her eigheenh birhday?

Evidenly, Serling had arranged or he runner o mee him a he

place he expeced o nd Margare. Where he would have ound her

had she arrived even ve minues earlier. Serling Benon knew her

beter han she realized, and ha hough riddled her wih anxiey.

Where could she go, where could she hide, where Serling Benon

would never hink o look or her?A ew minues laer, Serling depared in he carriage and Mr.

Lahrop rereaed inside, ye he runner remained, leaning agains

he ouside sair rail.

Well? Joan whispered.


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Julie Klassen

41

Te wachman, or whaever he is, is making himsel comorable.

I don hink he is going anywhere soon.

Well, I mustbe going soon, Joan said. Are you coming wihme or no?

Tere was no poin in saying. Serling had goten here rs. Even

i she managed o sneak inside and speak wih Emily, her aher would

insis on sending her home. I was no good.

Margare sighed. Looks like I am.

Joan echoed her sigh. Well, come on, hen.

Saying o he shadows, hey crossed he square and reurnedo he horoughare. Joan urged her o hurry, and soon Margares

houghs were consumed wih dodging ower cars, barrels, car-

riages, and horse droppings. And wih rying o keep sigh o Joans

blue rock as she scurried ahead. Soon, Margares ee were aching

and her side cramping.

Joan urned only long enough o hiss, Hurry! Weve go a long

way o go, and is geting lae.

Margare eyed he passing hackney carriages wih longing bu

knew she should no spend he litle money she had. She bi back

a groan and kep roting along, he carpebag swinging agains her

leg. Ahead, Joan srode smarly on, ever easward, her heavier valise

apparenly no burden a all. Tiry or ory minues laer, hey urned

souh ono Grace Church Sree.Te sree narrowed and darkened. Te cobbles gave way o uneven

paving, reuse-lled guters, and smells ha compelled Margare o

breahe rom her mouh.

Finally, Joan urned down a lane signposed Fish Sree Hill. Tere,

hey passed several old enemen buildings beore Joan pushed open

a narrow door. Margare breahed a sigh o relie. Her nex inhale

brough sal air and he rank odor o roting sh. Tey were close ohe river here, she guessed. And he docks.

oo ired o care, she ollowed Joan inside and up wo rickey

ighs o sairs. She sood, numb and mue, as Joan knocked soly

on he door o number 23.


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42

While hey waied, Joan urned and whispered, Ive had all he

rouble I care o rom your Mr. Benon. I hink i bes we don ell

my siser your name or who you really are. Peg has never been gooda keeping secres.

Margare nodded.

A ew momens laer, shuing and grumbling came rom he oher

side o he door. Ten a womans hoarse whisper. Whos here?

Peg, is Joan.

Te lock clicked, and he door was opened by a rowzy woman

very like Joan in appearance, hough several years older and a soneheavier. She migh have been prety once, bu her skin was rough,

her ace oo careworn or her years.

Good heavens, Joan. Whas happened?

Joan answered calmly, Ive los my place.

Her sisers ace crumpled. Oh no. Wha did you do?

Nohing. Look, is lae. Well alk in he morning, all righ?

Te woman nodded over Joans shoulder. Whos his, hen?

Joan icked Margare a glance. Shes wih me. She jus needs a

place a sleep or a nigh or wo. Come on, Peg, le us in. Well help wih

he children and give he place a good cleaningwhaever you like.

Te woman rowned. Oh, very well. Bu keep i down. Te chil-

dren are already asleep.

Tey sepped inside he dark room, which smelled o cabbage andsoiled nappies. Margare could see litle, as heir relucan hosess

spared no candle or hem o ge setled by.

Candles are dear, hey are, Peg explained as i reading her

houghs. Teres a bi o ligh rom he window, i you need i.

And embers in he sove.

Joan disappeared ino he aparmens only separae room. She re-

urned a momen laer and ossed somehing ono he oor. Margarerealized wih sinking dread ha she was mean o sleep on an old

blanke on he oor.

Margare sood here, waiing or Joan o help her undress. Bu

Joan ollowed her siser back ino he bedchamber.


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Julie Klassen

43

Margare whispered aer her, Joan?

Youre on your own now, miss, Joan said. I am a maid no longer.

She shu he door behind her.Well. She needn be so snippy, Margare hough, oddly chasised

as well as annoyed. She decided she was oo ired o undress in any

case and setled down aop he hin scrachy blanke on he oor,

hoping no mice or ras decided o join her here.

Margare awoke on her side, si. Her hip bone ached rombeing pressed agains he hard oor. Sunligh, lering hrough

sooy windows, shone on he grey wool blanke she had pulled

over hersel in he nigh. Likely i had once been he golden hue

o boiled wool. As she pushed i away, somehing urry brushed

her hand. She gasped and boled o her ee. A dark, hairy orm

ell rom her shoulder o he oor. She shrieked, only o realize i

was no a ra, bu her wig. She quickly ben and pulled i on. An-

oher creaure appeared beore her and she reared back and nearly

shrieked again. Tis creaure had a small pale ace, curained by

sringy ginger hair.

Hello, he litle girl said, saring a her. Who are you?

I am . . . Who am I? Margares brain was a og. She remembered

Joan saying she ough no give her real name. Probably wise. I Serling

came here o quesion Joans siser, Peg migh say Joan had been here

wih someone, bu no ha a Margare had been here.

I am a . . . riend . . . o Joans.

Is Aun Joan here, oo?

Yes. In your mammas room, I believe. She made no eor o

disguise her voice wih he child.

Te litle girl iled her head o one side. Whas wrong wihyour hair?

Margare reached up and realized her wig was askew. She righed

he wig and mutered lamely, Always a mess in he morning. You, on

he oher hand, have very prety hair. She said i hoping o disrac


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44

he girl. She did no wan her reporing o Serling or a runner ha a

blond lady wearing a wig had been here. Ta would give away her

disguise and make Serlings search all he easier.She eyed he girls sringy hair again. Or you could have. When

was he las ime you combed i?

Te litle girl shrugged.

Margare looked away rom he girl o survey her surroundings.

One end o he room housed a small sove, cupboards, and able

and chairs. Te oher end held a palle bed complee wih sleeping

boy and baskes heaped wih abric. Apparenly Joans siser was aseamsress o sors. Margare spied a piece o broken mirror hanging

on he wall by a ribbon and walked over o i, checking her wig and

cap and wiping a smear o kohl rom beween her eyes.

I wan breakas, he litle girl poued.

And I wan o be a housand miles rom here, Margare whispered

o he sranger in he mirror.

Peg sepped ou o he bedchamber, ying on an apron and siing

a yawn. She said, Ligh he re, will you?

Margare looked a he litle girl. She seemed awully young o

be rused wih re. I ook Margare a ew seconds o realize Peg

had asked her.

Margare had poked a many a drawing room re bu had never

acually laid one. She eyed he small sove. A bucke wih a ew pieceso coal sa a he ready.

Joan came ou o he room, a oddler on her hip. She glanced a

Margare, hen smiled down a he boy. Tis is litle Henry.

Named or his aher, he is. Peg pulled a sack o oas rom he

cupboard.

Papa is gone o sea, a boy o seven or eigh piped up. Margare had

no seen him rise rom he palle bed. I am going o sea one day oo.No or a ew more years, Michael. Don be in a hurry, Joan said,

an indulgen dimple in her cheek.

Margare caugh Joans eye, and nodded her head oward he sove.

Joan rowned a her, uncomprehending.


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Julie Klassen

45

Haven you go ha re li ye? Peg asked, no looking up as

she pulled a po rom he cupboard.

Um. . . . no. I am no cerain . . .Ill do i, Joan said in a long-suering manner, placing he child

in Margares arms.

A leas his was somehing Margare could do. Having wo sib-

lings many years younger han hersel, she knew how o hold a child.

Margare setled he child agains her and soon el dampness seep

ino her gown. Ugh. She wondered i she could manage o change

him. A Lime ree Lodge, hey had employed a nursery maid o dealwih soiled nappies.

Whas your name? he older boy asked her.

My name? Margare echoed supidly. Ah . . . Her mind whirled.

Elinor, she said, choosing her middle name.

Bu she goes by Nora, Joan added, perhaps nding he name oo

grandor oo close o her real name.

Make he porridge, will you, Nora? Peg said. Ive go six orders

o piecework o nish oday. Peg glanced up. You do know how o

make porridge, I rus?

Course she does, Joan said. You go abou your work, Peg, and

well manage breakas.

Peg nodded and crossed he room o he waiing baskes.

When her back was urned, Joan whispered, Peg makes hin gruelor he children. Is beter or heir litle somachs.

And cheaper, Margare hough, bu did no say so.

Six pars waer o one par groas. Can you manage ha? Unless

youd raher change Henry?

No hank you. I shall give gruel a go.

Laer, aer hey had eaen hin, lumpy, mildly scorched gruelwih neiher milk nor sugar, Margare umbled her way hrough

drying he po, spoons, and basins as Joan washed. As she did so,

she hough abou somehing Joan had saidha Pegs name and

address were recorded in Benons sa records as Joans nex o kin.


39/39


Serling migh very well pu wo and wo ogeher and knock on

Pegs door any momen looking or her. Margare shuddered. She

could no say here long.Aer he dishes were pu away, Joan sa down wih a wrinkled copy

o a newspaper a ew days old, reading hrough he adverisemens.

No knowing wha else o do, Margare pulled her comb rom her

bag and wen o work on he litle girls hair, unangling hen plaiing

he ginger srands.

Peg glanced rom her sewing o Joan, sill ben over he newspaper.

Any luck, Joan?Joan shook her head. I seems everyone wans maids-o-all-work

here in own. Tas one ae I should like o avoid.

Reaching he end o he girls hair, Margare looked around or a

ribbon or somehing else o secure i.

Peg ossed her a hin scrap o muslin. Here.

Margare ied he end o he plai, and he girl sroked her coppery

braid, smiling coyly up a Joan. Am I prety, Aun Joan?Joan looked rom her niece o Margare, hen back again. Prety

is as prety does, litle miss. You remember ha.

Te jab was inended or her, Margare realized. A he momen,

being prety seemed o litle use. Wha should she do?

the maid of fairbourne hall

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