Emilia didn't know how long she could continue cowering on the floor. It felt as if both Mr. Byrne and Mary Hartley had already been staring down at her for ages, he with his hand still outstretched, wearing a concerned frown and Miss Mary with slightly narrowed eyes and a gaping mouth. She'd have to take Mr. Byrne's offered hand one of these days, possibly even stand and face the room, or even — Lord forbid — speak. But she was frozen and would likely remain so until Miss Hartley said something.

Emilia wasn't sure what that something would be. It could be anything from a startled laugh and a scoff off, "That is not Miss Crewe," prompting everyone to stare at Emilia in confusion and disgust.

Or perhaps something more dramatic like, "You have all been deceived by this brazen impostor!" After which Emilia would be cast out into the rain.

Or, worse yet, "Call the magistrate! This scheming girl is a servant!" after which Mr. Byrne would pull his hand away in disdain, Mrs. Baddeley would cry out in horror, and Sir Anthony would alert the footmen to seize Emilia until she could be taken away for her crimes. 

Miss Prudence would likely protest, then perhaps they would be thrown into gaol together. Miss Prudence wouldn't be there long if her family had anything to say about it, but Emilia might waste away there indefinitely. Were the prisons in Cambridge as terrible as the one in York, where she heard people often gawked at prisoners in the yard as a foul form of entertainment?

Miss Hartley said nothing, however. It was Mr. Byrne who spoke first, turning to Miss Mary. "Miss Hartley. How lovely to meet you again," he said, smiling slightly. "Pardon my distraction, but your friend Miss Crewe has had a little misadventure." He bent down further and took her hand, tugging slightly. Had his smile grown slightly warmer or was she imagining it? "As you can see, she still needs saving."

He had no idea how right he was. But Emilia allowed herself to be pulled to stand as she prepared herself for the worst, her legs shaking under her skirts as if ready to flee or collapse, but she felt a hand cuff her arm.

It was Mr. Byrne and she was torn between resenting him for preventing her escape and being grateful she had not crumpled to the floor. "You seem unwell," he said softly, leaning in. "Should I have something fetched, some smelling salts or your maid... Miss Finch, isn't it?"

She shook her head mutely, staring at Miss Mary, whose eyes narrowed further. Emilia winced as the girl opened her mouth, but Mrs. Baddeley appeared at her side.

"How lovely to reunite old friends. I was just saying to Miss Marbury what a delightful surprise it was to meet you in London, but we had no notion we'd be seeing you again so soon. But Miss Hartley... You have yet to meet the rest of our merry party at all and we can't have that," Mrs. Baddeley chattered as she pulled her away. "Now, you know Sir Anthony, of course. But this is Lady Adele, of a very old family that, if you can believe it, escaped France in The Terror..."

Emilia let out the breath that had been trapped inside her at the fleeting moment of relief as Mrs. Baddeley fussed over introducing Miss Hartley around along with the other new guest — Miss Marbury, she presumed — a generously-proportioned young woman in a dress that looked to be strangling her. Emilia only had the wits to notice such a thing because she recognized the trapped look in the girl's eyes, especially as Mrs. Baddeley drew Miss Marbury toward Sir Anthony.

Emilia barely had a moment to sympathize as she felt her own legs buckling, though she didn't fall.

Mr. Byrne was there, one hand on her arm and the other, possibly indecently, gripping her waist. "Miss Crewe, you truly look unwell. Let me call for—"

"I'm well," she lied absently, even as she leaned against him. His arms, now tightened around her, felt rather comforting, but she pulled herself away resolutely. "But perhaps I've over-exerted myself. I should retire."

"Then let me help you upstairs, at the very least."

"That won't be necessary. You see, I'm really not worth such concern," she said, letting out a mad sort of laugh as she strode away.

"What do you mean by—"

"You'll see soon enough."

He was right behind her as she reached the doors. "Miss Crewe, I must insist—"

"It's very kind of you to worry, but please don't." She turned to find him quite close, perhaps too close. At least Miss Mary seemed to think so, when she glanced to the side to find the girl watching their interaction with suspicious eyes. She looked poised to come their way when Mrs. Baddely, blessedly, pulled her attention to Mr. Walford.

It was only a temporary reprieve. She didn't have long before this ruse was exposed. After that, Emilia wouldn't matter to anyone in that room, including the man in front of her.

"You've been quite kind to me all along." She took in Mr. Byrne's bright blue eyes one last time, so warm and perplexed. "Your awful behavior to Mopsy aside," she added, forcing a laugh. "It was truly nice to know you, Mr. Byrne," she said quite sincerely before escaping the room.

She leaned against the door, a heaviness inside her. Why did she feel so strangely sad when she should be terrified? Then again, as she watched a pair of footmen disappearing up the stairs with an unreasonably large trunk she knew to be Miss Mary's, the terror eclipsed the sadness quite easily. She picked up her skirts, rushing down the hall and to the servants' stairs. They were always faster, anyway, and she'd best get used to them now.

Shouldn't she be relieved this was over? Yes, Mary would expose them, but Miss Prudence could carry it off. If she knew her mistress, she already had a grand speech prepared. Perhaps if she could get the girl downstairs before Miss Mary twisted this into something vile, it could be tossed off as a joke. Just a clever ruse. A wee madcap bit of mischief.

She opened her mouth to say that as she practically fell into the bedroom, but after rushing up the stairs and down the long hall and, at one moment, leaping over buckets of bathwater waiting for their new guests, she had no breath to get it out.

"Back already?" Prudence barely glanced up from her sketching book, lounging on her stomach on the bed. "Just let me finish this bit and then—"

"It's... You must... We..."

"Oh, my Lord! You look like you're choking." Prudence dropped her pencil and rushed to her. "Haven't I told you, time and again, how these stays pinch?" she tutted, turning Emilia around. "This is precisely why I hate dressing so formally for supper. I hope you believe me now."

"That's not what I... You don't... understand," Emilia gasped, trying to turn back.

Prudence only twisted her around again. "Now, I can't undress you if you don't keep still. And I do understand. I must present myself at my best and so forth," she sighed, "but I hope you'll have more sympathy for me after all this."

"It's not that," Emilia panted. "It's a disaster!"

"I quite agree! Didn't I tell you about these blasted tiny buttons? This will take ever so long."

"Hang the damned buttons," Emilia burst out, pacing away. "Listen..."

"Emilia!" Prudence exclaimed with delight. "I certainly agree with that, too, but I still need to undo you, so please be still."

"You be still!" Emilia, strode back and took her by the shoulders. "This needs to stop!"

"Yes! That's what I've been saying for years. The unnecessary and impractical adornment women suffer through! Oh, Emilia! I'm so glad we're finally understanding each other." Prudence's eyes lit up. "I can recommend so much reading on the subject. If Mama hadn't held my trunk hostage, I could—"

"Will you be silent for once and let me speak?" Emilia burst out.

Prudence blinked at her. "Well... There's no need to shout. I was simply excited to be in agreement for once and—"

"But we're not in agreement!" Emilia said loudly, then quieted, chastened. Even in her state, she knew screaming at her charge was badly done. "I'm sorry for shouting, but if you would let me finish—"

"Very well, I will. You certainly seem upset about something and far be it from me to—"

"You're still not letting me finish," Emilia said through her teeth, trying to keep her temper, "and there's not much time. We need to end this now!"

"End what? Obviously you don't mean female enslavement by fashion," Prudence grumbled, "which is really too bad, but go on..."

"This!" Emilia gestured between them. "This charade. It's over. We've been found out."

"Already?" Prudence grimaced. "Is it Miss Poole? I knew it would be. That girl is too clever by half."

Emilia shook her head. "No, it's worse. It's so much worse," she finished on a choked whisper.

"My, you look frantic. It can't be as bad as—"

"Yes, it can!"

"Oh, come now—"

"Isn't this interesting?" a voice cooed from the hallway.

They both turned to the girl, lounging against the door jamb and looking as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. Emilia, still in her state of abject horror, could only stare dumbly. Prudence also paled, but recovered quickly. "As I live and breathe! Mary Hartley!" she said with a patently false smile. "You of all... I had no notion that...What brings you to... What a delightful..." Or she hadn't recovered at all. There wasn't much that could tongue-tie Prudence Crewe. 

Not so bad, was it? 

Emilia would feel vindicated if she was capable of feeling such a thing at the moment.

"Yes, isn't it delightful?" Mary drawled, closing the door and leaning against it. "I came here expecting to be surrounded by absolute strangers, you know. Though I have met our host and know at least one of his guests quite intimately." Was she talking about Mr. Byrne? Emilia felt a drop in her stomach at the word intimately. "But not the ladies apart from dear Cecilia. So I was so very relieved to hear that my oldest friend was also in attendance."

Emilia didn't believe a word of it but Prudence, perhaps still foolishly believing she could gain the upper hand with this one, agreed hastily. "Yes! I am also very glad to see... erm... This really is a..."

"That was at first, of course," Mary said over her, sailing in and looking about the room as if she found the bed hangings fascinating. "Imagine my astonishment when I find Byrne calling my old scullery maid Miss Crewe," she finished triumphantly, not even glancing at Emilia. "I immediately wondered what sort of underhanded trickery the girl was trying to pull."

"Underhanded? No." Prudence laughed nervously. "This is really just a lark. You'll laugh when you—"

"But when I hear him mention her maid, Miss Finch," she said, lazily toying with the cosmetics on the dressing table, "I knew someone must be her accomplice and it stood to reason..."

"Congratulations. you've worked it out," Prudence said, sounding impatient now. "But you see, it's not what it—"

"Indeed I did," she said, patting her curls in front of the mirror. "I've been told I'm very perceptive. Not that I'd ever say it, but people are always telling me so, but perhaps they are right. I understood everything almost from the moment I stepped in the room and I carefully considered exposing this scandalous pretense on the spot, out of kindness for our poor host, of course..." She was dragging it out, obviously enjoying herself if her self-satisfied smile was anything to go by. "But then I thought better of it."

"Well, good. Because we weren't planning to carry this beyond—"

"No. I decided I must investigate further." She lifted her eyes to Prudence and shook her head. "I truly didn't wish to be right."

"This is only a bit of fun! Parties in the country are known for this sort of thing. Why, I heard Lady Caroline Lamb laid herself out at a supper, clothed only with—"

"Really, Prudence, at your age, I'd think you'd know better—"

"I am barely a half-year older than you," Prudence muttered.

"—than to aspire to the antics of one such as Lady Caroline," Mary tutted over her. "I should not like to see you live in such infamy."

Emilia was positive that wasn't true. Miss Mary obviously relished the discomfort of others. She knew her quite well. Emilia may have been with the Crewe family for five years, but she'd been at Hartley Hall just as long. She'd dare say she knew the girl's true nature better than Miss Prudence did.

"Infamy?" Prudence scoffed. "This is nothing near infamous. If word got around London, I dare say most people would laugh."

"Would they? But what about Yorkshire? What about," Mary drawled slowly, moving closer to Prudence, "your mother? Will she be amused, do you think?"

Prudence paled visibly as the girls stared at each other, postures tense and eyes hard. Emilia knew nothing frightened Prudence Crewe quite like running afoul of her mother... for more than the usual reasons. If she didn't feel so sorry for the girl, she'd feel almost smug at the idea of Prudence finally considering the repercussions of her actions.

"Very well, Mary," Prudence said, swallowing hard. "What do you want?"

"Me?" Mary cooed, her eyes were as wide and guileless as a doe's. "To help, of course!"

"To... What?"

Mary suddenly laughed, practically dancing away. "You should see the expression on your face. My word! You look positively terrified!"

"I do not." Prudence scowled now.

"You do so. But you shouldn't be. I shan't tell." Mary smiled widely — rather like a cat hovering over a mouse-hole. "That would ruin the fun!"

"Yes, of course. The fun," Prudence repeated dully.

"What a marvelously clever ruse! I only wish Cecilia and I had not arrived so late, but Mama was being ridiculous about the whole thing," she said with a pout. "Can you believe she wanted me sent to my cousins in Cheapside? But it all worked out as it should. One might even call it serendipity."

"I can think of another word for it," Prudence said under her breath

"Come now, I must know." Mary either didn't hear or ignored her as she moved to the bed and tossed herself upon it, looking toward Prudence and patting it as if they were dear old friends having a gossip. "However did you manage it? I thought Sir Anthony knew you well. Cecilia even says there are rumors that he means to court a Miss Crewe, but I told her that couldn't possibly be true."

Emilia gritted her teeth at the barb and it wasn't even aimed at her, but Prudence barely reacted except for a slight roll of her eyes and a slyly amused glance at Emilia before joining Mary on the bed. "I suppose you're right about that. He doesn't know me well at all or this wouldn't have happened, but this was not planned between us. It rather fell into our laps. You see..."

Emilia let Prudence tell the tale, as she was still too frightened to speak. Prudence, as the daughter of a baron, had the luxury of laughing at Mary that Emilia did not.

Emilia well remembered the first time she had attended Prudence to tea at Hartley Hall, her stomach in twists all the way there. Prudence had noted her slow, trudging steps with amusement.

"Good Lord, we're not visiting the gaols, you know. It's just Hartley House."

Emilia had forced a nervous laugh. "I don't see much difference between the two." Most who'd worked there likely considered prison a step above, especially those forced into serving Miss Mary directly. During her years there, one lady's maid had left for an illustrious career as a laundress in Wales and another preferred gutting fish in The Colonies. And they weren't the only ones. 

"Was it truly so bad there?" Miss Prudence had pried. "I have heard rumors, but not from you." 

Nor would she. Though Emilia liked a bit of gossip as much as the next girl, she'd only been working for the Crewes for a matter of months then, and had only weeks ago started dressing the girls as a bit of a trial. She rather wanted the latter to eclipse her duties in the kitchen. And that was not likely to happen unless she could prove herself discreet enough for a position of such intimacy. Telling tales would certainly not help. Especially not in a town as full of busybodies as Pickering.

Besides that, with Miss Charity's imagination, she'd like as not exaggerate everything to the point of dungeons and shackles. "Hartley Hall is a fine manor," she'd said vaguely, "but I prefer Crewe House on the whole."

"Still not telling, I see. Very well. I won't bother you about it," Miss Prudence had sighed, "but I can't say the same for my mother."

Yes, Lady Crewe had also pried a bit, but Emilia made sure to keep all responses tactful as to her treatment from the Hartleys, diverting things by enthusiastically responding about her new life at Crewe House, which gratified Lady Crewe enough that she even sometimes took Emilia's advice about adorning the girls with less ruffles.

"Is it Mrs. Hartley you fear meeting again?"

Emilia didn't answer.

"Or is it Mary?"

Emilia stiffened and moved forward. "It's neither," she lied. "I left with proper notice and I..."

"So it is Mary. I thought as much," Prudence said wearily. "If it helps, I don't relish the thought of this visit either. I'd be the first to admit Mary and I are not thick as thieves, but she is quite an agreeable friend," Prudence had shared merrily as they walked on. "She's so easy for me to contend with."

Emilia turned to Prudence so sharply she nearly tripped over her own feet.

"Truly, she is," Prudence insisted. "She only invites me when she has something to boast about," she'd said with a laugh.

Emilia soon learned that it was the same between their mothers. Though Lady Crewe and Mrs. Hartley claimed to be old friends, she suspected their bond was about as genuine as the one between the girls. Mrs. Hartley loved to have Lady Crewe over, first of anyone, when she had a new gown or carriage. Emilia had heard some talk about the past. That the lady now known as Lady Crewe, but then known as Constance Abbot, had stolen Lord Crewe right from under the nose of the woman now known as Mrs. Hartley, but then known as Deborah Bickford. Emilia supposed the other woman wanted to convince Lady Crewe that, though she had a title, it was nothing to the money Mrs. Hartley could dispose of.

But Emilia, even in her early days at Crewe House, thought Lady Crewe had made the better match. The house was not as fine, to be sure, and Lord and Lady Crewe might complain about each other, but she saw more genuine affection between the couple in her first weeks than in all five years she'd slaved under the Hartleys.

"Now Mary is quite spoiled, so she has something to boast about more often than I do," Prudence was saying, "but it's really just with each new season, so it takes very little of my time. I need only be bothered when a new instrument has become the vogue, or when fashions for riding habits change or, even rarer, when the horses themselves go out of fashion. One year, it was ponies, another was all about mares, and now I've only to enthuse about her new gelding. The only choice is whether to sigh wistfully or stomp my foot in envy. Which do you think I should do, so I can end this visit and get back to my work?"

Since Prudence's work meant staining her dresses with paint, Emilia shouldn't encourage it, but she couldn't help answering, "I suppose the envy would satisfy her more."

"Yes, you're quite right. A much more expeditious end to things." Prudence laughed. "I could also compliment her to hasten things further, but she's always in such a rush to do so herself, bless her. Saves me so much trouble." She nudged Emilia. "She's nothing to be afraid of. She's too ludicrous to inspire fear."

Emilia had felt bolstered by her words at the time... though it didn't last long.

Emilia came back to the present, where Miss Mary was still peppering Prudence with questions about the incident that started all this. "So your maid was mistaken for you," she began, still pointedly ignoring Emilia, "while you were taken for a servant? I still cannot believe it — though I suppose the latter makes sense. You really should hire someone with more of a sense for fashion, Prudence. Haven't I been saying so for years?"

Emilia opened her mouth, perhaps to point out that she was still in the room, or perhaps to inform Miss Hartley that Prudence would be dressed in the first stare of fashion at all times if this servant had her way.

Prudence, however, leapt to her defense... sort of. "It was my own fault. I refused to freshen myself at the inn while Emilia, as always, looked impeccable." Prudence tossed her a sort of conspiratorial smile, but Emilia knew Mary wasn't likely to accept that answer, nor anything that contained compliments to Emilia... or Prudence... or really anyone but herself.

"A maid dressing above her station? Such a thing would not be tolerated in a more fashionable house, but I suppose in your family—"

"You mistake me, Mary," Prudence broke in. "I was dressed below mine."

"Still, it's a true shame you can't afford better help, but do go on..."

Whatever Prudence had to say to that, Emilia didn't hear it over the roaring in her ears. It was always thus with Mary Hartley. It's as if the girl took great pains to make sure those around her felt disdained and dismissed. And Prudence might find it ridiculous, but for Emilia... it hurt.

She hated to give the beastly girl such power over her, but she'd worked at Hartley Hall from the ages of twelve to seventeen — those years when she felt the most awkward, the most unsure of herself. Having someone like Miss Mary, honing in on everything she already found wanting in herself, then giving her even more to ponder... It was as if every awful thing Mary said echoed in her mind.

"Mother, must they send up that gangling thing to do the fires? She looks like a bundle of twigs herself."

"I know she works in the scullery, but must she be so dirty?"

"Oh, I've called for the wrong one. Isn't it funny how girls who end up in service are so plain? You never see one without confusing her for another."

Every maid suffered her disdain but Emilia, already at the lowest position in the house, felt as if sand was being rubbed roughly into a wound that would never close. When she started at Crewe House, she was shocked and grateful to find that not all daughters of the gentry behaved in such a way. Prudence was kind, even if she was so tragically uninterested in fashion, but Charity... the girl followed her about as if she knew absolutely everything. It was nice to be treated with respect, even if it made those visits to Hartley all the more unpleasant.

In between complimenting herself and bragging about her newest presents, Mary seemed to love nothing better than finding fault with Prudence in comparison. And sometimes she managed all three.

"I wish I had as much time to read as you do, truly. But I am forever in music lessons. I told my teacher the flute and harp were enough, but he is forcing me to learn the pianoforte as well. Says my natural talent is too strong to be ignored. Some call it a blessing, but I insist it must be a curse."

"Are you still riding that old mare? I think it's very kind to let the poor thing continue."

"Wasn't it exhausting at the assembly last Friday? Didn't you find it... Oh, but I forgot. You didn't dance at all. I am quite envious, always being forced to dance every dance."

When Prudence refused to give her the reaction she was fishing for, she would often turn her derision to Emilia, who couldn't hide the expression on her face as the barbed comments landed.

"I must go through two maids every year. But you seem quite content with whatever the kitchen throws your way. It's so charitable of you."

"How refreshing you are, Prudence. I wish my maid stop adorning me with jewelry. It must be so freeing."

Even when Emilia began fighting to dress Prudence better for their visits, Mary still found something to say.

"What a lovely morning dress. I had a similar one some three years ago. I wish I could have worn it longer, but Mama simply insists I have new things every season."

Emilia drew herself back to the present, which seemed too much like the past. "But surely they must suspect," Mary was saying, "I suppose anyone could dress the part, but there's no hiding that coarse Yorkshire accent."

Ah, yes. Emilia would be remiss to forget that jibe.

"Can someone come tell me what this one is trying to say? I can't understand a word."

That had been on her first day, when Emilia had made the mistake of asking Miss Mary directly as to whether she wanted the fires banked. She suspected the girl was just pretending not to understand, still Emilia had taken great pains since then to practice speaking properly, with more refinement. And she thought she'd done the job. Her own accent only peeked through when she was too frustrated or tired to care.

Luckily, Prudence was at her defense. "I think Emilia speaks very well. Indeed, her accent is as fine as any London miss."

Mary made a disbelieving moue. "How interesting." She finally speared Emilia with a look and Emilia longed to be ignored again. "I suppose even a servant can be trained to ape their betters."

Prudence's ears reddened and her eyes narrowed, always a dangerous sign. "I think you are confusing servants with dogs, Mary. How disappointing, with your excellent powers of perception that you can't tell the difference. Furthermore—"

Emilia was ready to stop her before she goaded Mary into revealing the whole thing as nastily as possible.

"Oh, I'm only teasing," Mary tittered. It was another one of her tricks. When she managed to go too far, it was all a merry little joke. "And it's really lucky for both of you that I'm here. I'm sure this entire thing was about to fall down around your ears. Why, look at her." Mary looked Emilia up and down. "So ostentatious. The way she's dressed is most definitely drawing too much attention."

Prudence was still fuming. "I think she looks very elegant."

"Precisely the problem. You are certainly not known for elegance, Prudence dear."

"Careful, Mary. One might think you mean to offend."

"Oh, Pru! You know I don't mean it badly. Fashion is such a bother," she rolled her eyes. "I wish I could be as effortless as you, truly! The way you care so little for how you look is positively brave."

Though Prudence wasn't likely to care about that comment, Emilia was quite ready to tell Mary exactly what she thought of her garishly pink, over-adorned, out-of-season...

A knock sounded at the door before she could even hiss in enough breath to speak.

"Come in," Emilia and Prudence both called out eagerly.

A girl Emilia didn't recognize entered, curtsying hastily. "Beggin' your pardon, Miss Hartley, but Miss Cecilia said you might be in here with your friend and I—"

"And what?" Mary cut in shrilly. "Haven't I told you I dislike being interrupted?"

The girl winced. "Aye, you have, but it's past ten and—"

"Cecilia might allow you to push her about on this nonsensical schedule, but I am not subject to such whims," she snapped before turning to Prudence, then correcting herself and laying eyes on Emilia, her smug smile growing wider. "You really must be firm with them or they trod all over you."

The girl smiled, but it looked very tight and terribly tired. She was swaying on her feet, quite obviously gripping the door to stay upright. "I just thought to inform you that your bath is ready and might go cold soon."

"Then why didn't you say so in the first place? I'll be there in a moment. Leave us."

"O' course." The girl nodded to Prudence and Emilia. "Very sorry to interrupt, Miss—"

"Miss Crewe," Emilia supplied with what she hoped was a smile kind enough to balance the set-down she'd just received. "And there's no need to apologize. This is my maid, Miss Finch. And you are..."

"Oh, I just go by Meg."

"Well, you must have had a long, wet journey, Meg. I hope they take good care of you downstairs." Emilia said.

Meg's smile relaxed slightly. "It was quite the—"

"Are you going to prepare my bath or stand here gadding about?" Mary demanded.

"No, I'll... I've..."

"Go!"

Meg disappeared and Mary turned to them, sighing. "You see, that sort of thing is why you two so sorely need my help. One does not thank a servant any more than one would thank a horse."

"One should treat a horse well," Prudence seethed, "if one doesn't want to be thrown into the dirt."

"How droll." Mary laughed as if this were just some bit of banter. 

"Don't you have a maid of your own?"

"Of course I do. Mama has already selected a new one for when I return. This last was a flighty thing. Didn't work for us two weeks before she up and took a position in Botany Bay."

From what Emilia knew, Australia was nearly ten-thousand miles away from Hartley Hall. She wondered if the poor girl considered it far enough.

"But really, I've come just in time. The two of you must remember who is Miss Crewe."

"Miss Crewe would think it a kindness," Emilia said, moving closer to Prudence, "to inquire after a servant's welfare when she looked so obviously exhausted."

"Yes, she would," Prudence agreed, squeezing Emilia's elbow.

"The poor girl likely wanted to finish her work so she could get to bed herself." Emilia had been in such a state many times. She'd been often stuck waiting at the library door while Prudence finished "just one more page." But she'd never been snapped at.

"Oh, my!" Mary's eyes grew wide. "You may be right. Yes, she must be tired, tending to both myself and Cecilia." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "What an excellent idea. We must do something to help poor little Maggie."

"Meg," Emilia corrected, though she did not like where this was going. "And what idea—"

"If the girl is so overworked, perhaps we should lighten her load. I'm sure, between the two of you, I can be seen to just fine."

Prudence scoffed. "Do you mean for us to—"

"Yes, it is an excellent idea," Emilia cut in. "We shall work it out in the morning. Shouldn't you go? Now?"

Mary looked taken aback at her sudden agreement and dismissal. "I think we should discuss—"

"No one likes a cold bath," Emilia reminded her. She was ready to leap out of her skin if she spent one more minute with Mary Blasted Hartley. "We can discuss your toilette in the morning."

Mary looked like she had more to say, but she finally rose from the bed and sauntered to the door, looking very satisfied with herself as she turned to Prudence. "I dislike being roused too early, so see that you don't disturb me until I ring for you... Miss Finch." She giggled. "What fun we shall have!"

Then she was blessedly gone.

Prudence whirled on Emilia. "Why did you agree to that?"

"To get her out of the room. It worked, didn't it?" Emilia turned her back, finished with this night. "Could you undo me, please?"

Prudence groaned and started on the buttons. "Dashed tiny things. How am I supposed to be her lady's maid when I can barely be yours?"

"Well, you won't be doing it alone. I'm sure she means to torture both of us." And Emilia was too overwhelmed to care at the moment. "Or we could end this ourselves. You heard the girl. She likes to sleep in. Perhaps she can wake up to find we've already—"

"You forget that Carter is not set to come for us until the fortnight is up. And then she'll likely spend the rest of the visit torturing you."

"Not if you refuse to allow me to tend to her."

"You think she won't find a way? No, I shan't leave you to her tender mercies. At least, in front of others, she can't say anything too horrid to Miss Crewe."

"I wouldn't bet on it," Emilia said. "But why is she doing this? I know it's not to help you."

"I'm not quite sure. Obviously, I don't believe she truly wants to join in on the fun."

"No. Miss Hartley doesn't know how to have fun unless it's at another's expense."

"She doesn't frighten me with her ridiculous, snobbish, condescending, stupid—"

"Not stupid," Emilia corrected her as she stepped out of the gown. "Don't let her fool you. She's much smarter than she lets on. You'd do better to be afraid."

"Nonsense. Whatever it is she wants, I'll ferret it out. I'll likely have a better chance downstairs than up. There must be something I can find, something that can wipe that smug look off her face. She was pretty terrible to that Meg. I bet she'd be eager to share."

"I wouldn't be too sure. Not all of us tell tales."

"Nonsense, you're always sharing gossip. Your thoughts on Byron alone—"

"Aye, but that's other peoples' gossip. I don't tell tales about my own employers, and I never will," Emilia said primly.

"Well, I wish you'd change your mind," Prudence sighed sadly. "I'd wager you could tattle on Mary better than anyone."

Emilia couldn't help agreeing with that. But there was something about the way Mary had treated her that irked her so, the way she made her feel so low and insignificant, that the thought of sharing it with anyone made her stomach lurch.

"Worst comes to worst, I can always bribe her."

"With what?" Emilia asked, muffled under the nightgown Prudence had roughly tossed over her head.

"Money, of course. I have a strange feeling she needs it. Hadn't you noticed—"

"Aye," Emilia said eagerly, poking her head out. "Her trunk was the same from when I worked there." She'd noted it even in her panic. "And her carriage dress was so clearly last season. No one wears trains anymore."

Prudence stared at her strangely. "I'll have to take your word on that, but I mean--"

"She could have finally learned to practice economy, though."

"No, no! I was talking about the visits. They've been fewer this year. And they weren't so plentiful the year before either."

"But we were away," Emilia pointed out. "With the season and Charity's confinement in Scotland and..."

"But didn't you think it odd that, the last time she invited me to tea, all she had to boast over was a collection of ribbons?"

"Well... they were pretty," Emilia said weakly.

"They weren't a horse, nor a harp, nor even a gown, were they?"

Emilia considered this, pulling off her stockings. "She'd also been shopping in the village last I saw. Usually, she won't touch anything that's not imported from France."

"Mark my words, Hartley Hall has fallen on hard times. Now, I won't bribe her unless I must, but I bet I could manage her with fifty pounds or—"

"And where are you getting all this money?" Emilia huffed.

"Never you mind. Just rest assured, I won't let her bully us. We'll find a way." Prudence stood back. "Why don't I brush out your hair?"

"No, I'll..."

"You've yet to let me do anything." Prudence picked up the brush, advancing on her. "Charity and I used to brush each other's hair before you came along, you know." Prudence paused. "Well, she brushed mine mostly, also hers. She said she enjoyed doing it so—"

"As do I," Emilia said quickly, knowing full well that Charity's enjoyment of the task only started the first time Prudence touched her with a brush.

"It was like she was trying to use it to drag me across the room. She nearly pulled me out of my chair on the first stroke! I'm glad you're so much better at it, Emilia. You're so good at everything."

Emilia truly did miss Charity. It had been a balm to her soul after years in the scullery, of being looked down upon, even by other servants, to be praised. Even though Charity had just been a child then, she'd been the first person to make Emilia feel like she was worth looking up to.

She felt strangely like she might cry, but she held it in. "I'm very tired and it... it relaxes me to brush my own hair."

Prudence frowned. "Very well, but you must allow me to do something some time. Mary was right about one thing — we need to make it clear who's Miss Crewe."

"We'll talk about it tomorrow." Emilia took Prudence's sketching pad and shooed her to the door. "Now, the both of us need our rest if we're to face the beast in the morning."

"But shouldn't we talk strategy before—"

"Aren't you exhausted? I know I am. Goodnight."

Emilia closed the door, then fell against it headfirst. She'd lied about being exhausted. She wished she was. Her nerves were jumping as she busied herself, re-doing Prudence's slip-shod work so everything wasn't hopelessly wrinkled. The girl was right about one thing. Emilia would have to give her some work to do, and teach her to do it properly, or the other servants would start to talk, but she couldn't think about that right now.

She blew out her candles and laid her spectacles on the night table, the rainy windows blurry before her. And not just because of the glasses...

She swiped at her eyes, annoyed with herself. She hadn't allowed Mary Hartley to make her cry since she was a child and she was a grown woman now. Shouldn't she be past such hysterics?

But it wasn't just Mary. It had been such a long and trying day, she could scarcely believe it hadn't really been a month.

She tried to dry up, tried to find the rain soothing, but there was no tranquility to be found in the lightning or the thunder or the whining and scratching...

She sat up, still sniffling. She knew that whine. As the thunder cracked and the whine turned into a yelp, she tossed off the counterpane and rushed to the door. She'd barely pulled it open before a large mass of fur jumped at her.

"Mopsy! You'll wake the whole house."

Mopsy's only response was to burrow into her nightgown.

"Aren't you supposed to be guarding the kitchen? What have you done to your lead?"

She knelt down to inspect the rope he'd obviously chewed through, which he took as an invitation to bathe her face in sloppy kisses.

She laughed. "Well, it's a sight better than tears."

Mopsy must have grown braver at her laughter since he rushed past her and leapt onto the bed.

"Oh, no. You are going back downstairs. I negotiated your stay here on the condition you—"

He let out a groan, stretching himself on the bed, digging his back into the mattress and batting the air with his paws.

"That's a very bad dog," she said, moving to the windows, intent on the curtain ties. "I'm sure they made you a nice, warm bed in the kitchen. Do you want to be tossed out? Now you stay still while I..." She trailed off as he whined at the thunder again, turning back to find him staring at her from the bed with pleading eyes.

"You sweet, little coward. You're leaving me no choice." She dropped the curtain tie and joined him on the bed. "I can't leave you alone to whine all night, now, can I? But this is just for tonight."

He let out a sweet, doggy sigh and huddled close to her as she pulled the covers back.

"Mr. Byrne was right about you," she said into his fur. "You really aren't much of a guard dog. You're just a very silly boy."

But he was also very soft and warm and, though she wouldn't have thought it possible after this night, she fell asleep with a smile on her face.

TBC

Thanks so much for the your patience. After all that happened this year and the lack of writing, it's taking longer to get back into the swing of things. But this is a nice, long one and I mean to make it up to you with what's left of the summer.

I hope to have the next up by next week, but if you are craving a little something to pass the time, I have such a great rec for you.

People around here have been sleeping on @KittyBeaver and perhaps it's because what she writes is hard to categorize. She writes hilarious romantic satire and her latest, Super & Superfluous, is insanely funny. It's a shame the Wattys did away with the comedy category or she'd be number one with a speeding bullet. It's like what would happen if you took Jane Austen's comedy of manners, and mixed it with the antics of superheroes and supervillains. I'm really enjoying it so far. Her clever takes on the time are surreal and silly and not to be missed!