"...and who is the arbiter of what is or is not passe?" Miss Marbury demanded.

"Who, indeed!" Emilia answered forcefully. 

Throughout Miss Marbury's speech, despite her eyes glazing over, she felt she was getting quite good at where to toss in a demure "Very true" or a more impassioned "Precisely!" She'd often indulged Miss Prudence just so on long rides, when Prudence had a mind to be passionate about something, and Emilia had no way to escape it. It was best to let her get it out so Prudence could bury herself back in her book and leave her in peace.

"Fashion might dictate popularity for the moment, and I shall always treasure innovation," Miss Marbury said, "but that is no reason to toss away classic works. They should be given due respect. They are not old. They are immortal!"

Emilia was not quite sure if applause was in order, but she was tempted to clap her hands, if only because it seemed the speech was over. She quite liked the girl, but since she wouldn't know a sonata from a symphony, this speech was wasted on her. It might even be wasted on Miss Prudence. "Yes. Very well said. We must always respect the classics." That was a response Miss Crewe herself might agree with, what with her endless ramblings on the blasted Greeks.

"How lovely to meet a kindred soul!" Miss Marbury said, smiling widely and leaning over the table. "It is quite rare. I very often have no one to attend the opera or the symphony with me. I must always beg an escort or bring my maid."

"Your maid is quite lucky," Emilia said sincerely. In London, Miss Prudence was always going to see this or hear that and, more often than not, the only companion she brought was Carter. She wouldn't mind a trip to a show now and then, if only to see the gowns and hair on display.

"Meg is not so fond of it, the poor dear." The girl giggled. "I've pretended not to see the cotton in her ears. But my family has a box at Covent Garden. And I would be so glad, when next we're both in town, to have you as my guest."

How in God's name was this pleasant girl friends with Mary? Emilia decided to seize on that topic rather than promise Miss Prudence's attendance at the opera — even though it would serve her right for hatching this scheme in the first place. "Does Miss Hartley not attend with you on her visits?" she asked. "How often does she visit? You must be great friends to put up with traveling together. I've seen friendships torn apart over the lack of trunk space. Do you get on very well? Is she spending the remainder of the season with you?" It would help to know Mary's next movements.

Miss Marbury stared at her, silent.

Yes. Bombard the poor girl. That should work.

Emilia forced a laugh. "Forgive my curiosity. I've simply known Miss Hartley for a very long time and... and..." She could not think how to finish that, except ...and I don't know how anyone puts up with her!

"Oh, no. I was simply wondering what to answer first," Miss Marbury said easily. "I've known Mary since I can remember, though we've only met on her visits to London. Our mothers are very old friends and... Well, my mother considers her a good influence on me."

How could Mary be a good influence on anyone except the Devil, himself? Still, that it was a forced friendship made much more sense. And perhaps that meant complaints and possible pertinent details that might aid them.

"Mary never attends the opera with me. She says all the people there are doddering old fools." The girl shrugged. "To be fair, it is an older crowd, but I quite like that. The discussions are always very informed and never so concerned with fashion as with artistry." Miss Marbury laughed and plucked a scone from the generous pile on the table. "Perhaps I am an old woman myself, just a bit early. I'm finding more and more in common with them as the years go by."

"You obviously have an appreciation for wisdom beyond your years. I can tell," Emilia began. She'd always got the best gossip out of her fellow maids in London — even the ones who hated her advice — with a four-part strategy that had yet to fail her: flatter the speaker, gently insult the target, find common ground, then ask the question. "It's a shame Miss Hartley has no fondness for the opera or for those who appreciate the classics, but so many of us who do are left to feel as if we are the odd ones and it's so unfair," she sighed. A blatant lie, of course. She'd rather poke out her own eyes than read about Oedipus doing it, but she was Miss Crewe today. "Is she always so disagreeable?"

"Oh, no! I do not mean to disparage her," Cecilia said hurriedly. "I shouldn't want you to think Mary unpleasant."

Too late for that... was what she wanted to say. "Oh, I simply meant, on the subject of opera..."

"Well, I can quite understand how she longs for a more lively crowd. She's a much livelier girl than I. Usually, she prefers to stay with her more sociable friends, but since dear Miss Brennan moved to the country with her husband, she has to contend with me, even if I'm certain I bore her to tears. My mother is glad of it. She thinks Mary's influence might help me to... improve myself... in so many ways. And I am trying." She frowned at the scone in her hand, then slowly put it back with the others before pouring herself more tea. "Perhaps not as hard as I should."

There was no hope for it. Miss Marbury was too nice a girl to even gossip. "Well, I don't think you need any improving," Emilia said quite sincerely. Perhaps in her choice of dress, though...

"It's very kind of you to say so, but Mama would certainly disagree. And don't we all, no matter what, always need improving or, in my case," she stared at the cream she was about to put in her tea, then seemed to think better of it, "reducing?"

"You'd do better with a dress that fits you," Emilia muttered under her breath. Her mother obviously was one of the types who forced their daughters into frocks that were entirely too small, as if the pain will make them lose the pounds.

"Pardon?"

"I was just musing that your struggle to be your best fits you." Nothing to old Lady Sanderson's rhymes, but it was better than attempting, as Prudence Crewe, to advise these young ladies on their dress and hair... no matter how desperately she wished to tell Miss Marbury that her naturally lovely red waves, some of which had escaped her coiffure as if in protest, would be much prettier pined loosely, rather than forced into tight ringlets all about her head. "It's an admirable thing to strive to be better." Yes, she would hold her tongue.

"Mary is forever trying to help me. She insists a reducing diet, such as she has adopted, will help. I did promise her so faithfully that I would try, but here I am... eating things like..."

"Like food?" Emilia prodded, rather annoyed.

"I shall have to walk ever so far to make up for my transgressions."

"Your transgress—"

Here, the door opened. Perhaps luckily, since Emilia was about to tell Miss Marbury precisely where Miss Hartley's advice could go. Giving into her temper would only make things worse, if it got back to Mary.

"Well! Only two early birds at the table," Sir Anthony exclaimed as he sailed in with his habitual ease. "We must only hope the rest of them will heed our example."

"Then we have succeeded," Miss Marbury said, her voice suddenly much cooler. "They've all finished and gone off to fill the morning with useful pursuits. I really should do the same." She placed her napkin on the table and stood. "Perhaps I might practice on the pianoforte... if you would be so kind as to allow it."

"Allow it?" He laughed. "Aunt Dotty would have my head if I didn't. She's so fond of your—"

"Miss Baddeley is too kind, as ever," Miss Marbury said over him, dipping a slight curtsy before quickly quitting the room.

Sir Anthony frowned at the door for a long moment after she shut it. "Well... pleasant as always," he said before forcing a smile as he took his seat at the head. "Where is that aunt of mine, anyhow?"

"Er... Higgins said she is not coming down to breakfast," Emilia supplied, "but is eager to meet with the ladies later."

"So it is just the two of us... unless you aim to abandon me as well." He tilted his head. "Please say you won't?"

She really should. She would do best to avoid his flirting.

"I seem to have been abandoned by all today," he went on. "Even Byrne will be gone all day."

"Oh! Is Mr. Byrne not... breaking his fast today?" she asked, trying not to sound too interested.

"I'm sure he'll take something with him to his meetings." He laughed, piling his plate with eggs and bacon. "Though it would be just like him to starve himself for the sake of his precious work or... Don't the Papists fast on Friday?"

So Mr. Byrne was a Catholic? She supposed she shouldn't be surprised, as he was Irish. It would likely make his work harder, as far as wooing the other girls, if she knew the upper classes. Then again, weren't the French largely Catholic? She supposed Lady Adele might have no objection to the man. Perhaps they'd be engaged by the end of this party. 

How nice for them.

"Ah, wait... It's Thursday," Sir Anthony said on a laugh. "I suppose he must rejoice in suffering another day." He turned to her. "You must forgive me for teasing him in his absence. It would be more fun with him here. I do so detest being alone."

As much as she wished to avoid his attempts at flirtation, he truly did sound almost forlorn and she was tempted to stay.

At that moment, the door opened and the real Miss Crewe appeared, dropping a ridiculously low curtsy. "Beggin yer pardon, Miss, but there is a matter that begs yer attention."

"Ah, Miss Finch," she said, narrowing her eyes, rather annoyed at Miss Prudence's attempt at mimicking her. She softened her gaze as she turned to Sir Anthony. "I must beg your pardon, Sir. But I am very interested in continuing our conversation," she said, turning her eyes to Miss Prudence, "this afternoon, perhaps."

Prudence narrowed her eyes at that.

Sir Anthony seemed consoled. "I suppose it's just me and the kippers for now," he said jovially, standing as she did with a slight bow, then calling to the door, "unless you happen to be free for breakfast, Miss... Finch, is it?"

Emilia, in her own place, might have had a little giggle. He was only having a bit of fun, after all. But Prudence did not look amused in the least.

"Aye, sir," she said with a smile that verged on a sneer, "just as soon as I've finished me work. Perhaps... next month? But I can't even promise it, then, us servants bein' always told to wait upon further orders day and night."

Emilia gaped at her, rather expecting him to take offense.

But Sir Anthony only laughed and made a face of exaggerated contrition. "I won't hold you to it, then." He leaned toward Emilia. "I heard she was a bit of a revolutionary. How droll."

"Yes," she said, forcing a smile. "Very amusing."

Once she got Prudence on the other side of the door, she dropped her smile. "What on earth were you playing at?"

"What about you?" Prudence countered. "Why are you encouraging him?"

Emilia lifted her chin. "If you insist on presenting the worst possible version of Miss Finch, then I shall do as I please as Miss Crewe. How should you like it if I should present you as a simpering, mincing little..."

"I'm only doing it to hide my own accent. People might suspect if—"

"Aye, then you should hide your revolutionary nonsense as well!"

"The rights of servants are not nonsense to me. And they certainly shouldn't be to you. But we'll talk of that later." Prudence hefted a tray from the side table. "Would you look at this paltry thing? Tea with nothing but lemon, six raspberries, the thinnest sliver of toast I have ever seen, and dry, as well."

"Ah, yes. Miss Mary's breakfast," Emilia sighed, following her. "Her mother used to request something similar."

"Meg gave me the order, said it would be best to have it before I go up, lest she send me back down for it."

"Apparently, she's been trying to force Miss Marbury to eat the same."

"Good Lord, I hope she doesn't. Meg says Miss Marbury has a sweet temper. Subsisting on this will probably make hers as beastly as Mary's." Prudence smiled and turned to Emilia as she started up the stairs, the tray wobbling dangerously. "But I'm not too worried about Mary anymore."

"For Heaven's sake, mind that tray!" Emilia hissed. "It's bad enough we're ascending the main staircase and not the servants' stairs. It would be even worse if I had to carry it myself." She glanced around, hoping no one was witnessing this grievous error.

"Yes, yes. I've got it," Miss Prudence said, looking entirely too pleased with herself. "Would you kindly focus on what I just said?"

"That you aren't afraid of Mary? So you keep saying. Foolish of you, but—"

"I've never been afraid of her because she holds nothing over me."

Emilia wished she could say the same. Mary, despite the respect she'd gained at Crewe House, still made her feel like a low and dirty scullery maid.

"If anything, I hold something over her," Prudence was saying. "I managed to get something out of Meg, using my own particular skills."

"Good God, what did you do?"

"Nothing to be alarmed about. Do you not trust me at all?"

"I'd rather not answer that," Emilia muttered.

"I simply showed her some of my sketches of servant life."

"You've been sitting about sketching them, where they can see?"

"Just the bare bones of it. I've been filling in the rest when I'm alone 'doing the mending.' I'm convinced, when I have my paints again, I can truly flesh out—"

"That's not what I'm concerned about and you know it," Emilia said in a low voice.

"Well, you shouldn't be concerned. They love it. Mrs. Doyle wants me to sketch her as a Greek goddess. Kitty wants herself in a ball gown. Mrs. Stern isn't quite so keen on it, but—"

"Of course she's not. She's trying to run a household not an... artists' collective. Really, I'd think you'd know better than—"

"Before you censure me too harshly, it worked. I barely started sketching Meg as a princess when she gave me everything. Something about being immortalized really does loosen the lips." She laughed. "I should paint Ernest next and see what I can get out of him." She tilted her head. "Then again, he spills his own secrets so stupidly most of the time, so it wouldn't be much of a challenge."

"Yes, but what of Mary's secret?"

"Oh, it's a good one." Prudence smiled widely, before declaring, as if it were the most scandalous thing ever. "Mary is not supposed to be here."

"Is that all? I think we've all heard Mrs. Baddeley lamenting the uneven numbers, but—"

"No, don't you see? She was not given leave. Her mother actually forbade it. Meg only saw a bit of the letter, but there was something about how she wouldn't allow her to attend a gathering of rabble and marry below herself. From what I know, Mrs. Hartley wants a title for her and nothing less will do, so I wondered what's wrong with poor Lord Swinton... Well, apart from the age and the bug fixation. But this is Mary we're talking about. She'll want someone young and handsome. I'd wager she's after Sir Anthony and, apparently, a baronet isn't good enough for her darling mama."

Emilia rather hoped not. Sir Anthony seemed too pleasant to be saddled with the likes of her. But it couldn't be him because, last night, Mary had said something...

I have met our host and know at least one of his guests quite intimately.

So she wasn't talking about Sir Anthony. And it couldn't be Lord Swinton, vain and quite disgusted by insects as Mary was. She supposed it could be Mr. Walford. He wasn't very old and he was tall and rather handsome to look at, if a bit gangling, but he was also quite poor, from what she'd heard. His passion for architecture hadn't led to much success in it. It had to be Mr. Byrne. She'd suspected it from that moment last night, when Mary stared at the pair of them as if she wanted to slap someone — and Emilia was certain who.

Had he flirted with her, too? Worse, had he made promises to her when they'd met before? If he had, and he then proceeded to flirt with Emilia — and possibly every other girl, as she ought to keep reminding herself that she wasn't special — then he was a worse libertine than Evie's words had let on. In that case, he was perfect for Mary and she wished them a very unhappy life together!

Or she would, if she didn't feel so sickened at the idea.

It was the oddest thing but, above her as he was, he never seemed to act so. She even felt a sort of kinship with him after their conversation down at the stream, unruly dog and all. He'd talked of his past, which was no richer than her present. He'd raised sheep and sheepdogs, dealt with hunger, and with a mother that he'd said was "ill by the end," which could only mean he'd lost her. He didn't deserve someone like Mary on top of all that.

"Whoever she's set her sights on," Emilia seethed, "no one should have to deal with a girl with her nose so high up in the air, it's a wonder her feet even touch the ground!"

"Emilia!" Prudence laughed. "As delightful as I find your sudden willingness to tattle on Mary and would dearly love to hear more, we must save that for after." She stopped short of the door. "How delicious this will be. I can imagine her, smug as ever, thinking she has us under her thumb... until we reveal her secret, that is," Prudence said on a conspiratorial whisper, "after which, we can negotiate in our favor."

"And what if she doesn't care?"

"I'm certain she will. But I do have some more cards up my sleeve just in case."

Emilia didn't get to question her on what that meant as the door opened.

"I thought I heard whispering out here." Mary gasped, pulling the door wider. "Come in before someone sees me in this state and... Oh! I see you've brought my tray." Mary inspected it as Prudence passed her with a disappointed moue. "I wish you'd come to me first as I fancied a poached egg this morning." She tittered. "But I can't expect you to know that. Still, I hoped this one," she gestured to Emilia, "might have instructed you on how things worked. Then again, she never did get it right, the poor dear. It's no wonder we let her go."

"Aye, and how convenient that I was let go just as I was leaving for a better paid position," Emilia said, unable to help herself. "It worked out so nicely for all of us."

Mary closed the door as Emilia barely got clear of it, jumping away before it clipped her shoulder — something which didn't seem accidental to Emilia, despite Mary's "Oh!" of seeming surprise.

Prudence didn't see the whole business as she placed the tray on the dressing table. "Well, if it's poached eggs you want, the cook said there are all kinds in the dining room."

"Oh, I never go down to breakfast." Mary strolled to the bed, propping herself up against the pillows. "It's always set too early and I refuse to show myself while still puffy from sleep."

"Yes, seeing you now," Prudence said, sighing and gesturing to her face, "I suppose that's for the best."

Mary's eyes narrowed dangerously as Emilia slapped a hand over her own mouth, then faked a coughing fit. Better than letting out the guffaw that nearly escaped. Miss Prudence might be her most persistent headache, but she certainly had her moments.

"Well?" Mary prodded, her voice a bit cooler now. "Bring it here. I'm positively starving!"

"I doubt this will help," Prudence muttered, though she did pick up the tray and place it in Mary's lap. "And I thought you didn't want to wake before ten."

"Did I say that? No matter." Mary tittered. "I simply bounded out of bed this morning, so eager to start our little ruse!"

"Ours now?" Prudence muttered.

"Yes, ours! And I have quite a few ideas on how we are to best succeed," Mary said as she selected the toast from her meager tray. "First, we must get this boring business of mine out of the way, however. Now as to my dresses–"

"Not so hasty," Prudence said, holding up a hand. "I'm not certain this lady's maid business will work out after all."

Mary blinked at her. "But last night, we agreed—"

"Not truly. I'm certain we were all tired when we came up with that nonsense. In the light of day, things are much clearer."

Mary sat up straighter. "Is that so?

**********************

This is gonna be...

A) so fun!

B) such torture!

C) such fun torture!

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