Chapter Six (part 1)

Wednesday - early morning...

Emilia Finch woke to a tray in her lap, nearly upending the thing. "What? What's happening?"

Miss Prudence only laughed. "No need to be so skittish. I'm just bringing your drinking chocolate and toast, Miss Crewe."

"I never bring you chocolate and toast in bed," Emilia grumbled.

"And don't think I won't be expecting it in the future," Prudence said merrily. "All the other ladies maids are doing it. Well... that's not true. It started with Dora saying she always brought Miss Poole a tray first thing, then Evie was quite enthusiastic about following suit for Lady Adele, since she's very eager to please. I decided it must be the very latest trend and 'Emilia would never want to miss out on it,' I thought to myself."

"Did you really?"

"No." Prudence shrugged. "It was mostly because we barely talked last night, and Evie said you were still abed and I've so much more to tell you."

Emilia shook her head, grappling for her spectacles on the night stand so she could see the clock — dratted things, but they had their uses. "It's half past six in the morning? I never wake you so early. This Evie person--"

"Well, perhaps you should. I'd certainly tolerate it with chocolate!"

Emilia frowned heavily as she sat up. "I wish you'd stop acting as if this is such great fun."

"But it is." Prudence perched on the edge of the bed, taking a corner of toast and biting into it. "Now, let me tell you all these things because I've been saving them up. First, I find your underthings much less constricting than mine. I never knew how hard I had it before this."

Emilia nearly choked on her chocolate.

"Not that I'm saying my lot is so hard, mind you. Obviously, the staff have it much harder and I made sure to tell them so. I got on with them very well," Prudence went on. "I mean, not all of them. certainly not the housekeeper or Mr. Byrne's valet. Stodgy old thing. He thinks I'm a revolutionary. Me!" She giggled. "I was only saying that expecting servants to attend at all hours is unreasonable and—"

"Yes, I can imagine what you said." Miss Prudence had, through much trial and error, helped her dress for bed and also regaled her with tales of how unfair she found the lot of the servants. Last night, Emilia was too relieved the night was over to be alarmed, but now she worried whether this "Miss Finch" would give her a reputation for rousing the rabble before this was over. "Can't you simply do your job quietly? I've done it for years and never managed to start a riot."

"Oh, it's nothing like that," Prudence said, still munching on toast. "Their employers should at least care for their education. Do you know many of them can't read more than the label on a bottle? I'm simply opening their eyes to the injustices they face."

"Well, I've barely opened mine to anything." Emilia yawned. She shouldn't be so exhausted. They hadn't even danced last night, but perhaps anticipating it, knowing she'd have to do the lady's movements rather than the male parts she'd got herself used to when practicing with Miss Charity, was exhausting enough as a thought. "Miss Prudence, I'd prefer if you don't—"

"I wish you'd call me Pru."

Emilia shook her head. "It will be enough to call you by my own name. And I'm not one for such familiarities."

Prudence stared at her a moment, then turned away. "Yet you let Charity call you 'Em' to her heart's content."

"Miss Charity is... different," she finished carefully. That was a mild way of putting it. Even before Charity's little adventure, there had been a closeness between them that she couldn't imagine having with Prudence.

"We share a secret now. Surely that will make us a bit closer."

Was she mistaking it or did Miss Prudence look... hurt? "Well... I can't call you anything except Emilia until this is over," Emilia cut in, forcing a smile. "My, but you're as energetic as your sister today."

Prudence sighed, then smiled a little. "I confess, I find this change of identity quite refreshing. Mr. Whoever's valet even flirted with me. Pinched me and everything. I would have stomped on his foot if I'd been Miss Crewe, but—"

"You should have stomped on his foot as Miss Finch," Emilia said, horrified.

"Oh, he didn't pinch my bottom, if that's what's worrying you. He just pinched my cheek and said I was a cute little—"

"I don't care where he pinched you. I would never have allowed such a thing." Lord knew, she'd been cornered a few times, but she'd always managed to get out of it with tart enough words, or harsh enough action when necessary.

"But no one ever calls me cute! Besides, he was a harmless, potbellied old thing and—"

"And if you put up with it, you'll have to put up with a lot more from the younger ones, believe me!"

"Oh, very well. I'll put him off. Lord knows I know how to do that." Prudence moved to the closet. "Now, Miss Crewe, would you like the blue or the violet muslin? I won't allow you to wear the yellow. You'll surely get a tiny, little spot on the hem and I'll be forced to grumble about it every time I dress you after."

Emilia set her tray aside with a withering look. "Aye, but I'll insist on wearing it anyhow and sit myself directly in wet grass, perhaps roll around on a hill to be sure the grass stains are everywhere."

Prudence huffed loudly. "That's not how it happened at all! I was looking for a good vantage point and I slipped. It was very damp. It's not as if I set out to muss my clothes on purpose. Why must you always take it as a personal slight?"

Emilia sat up. "I never said I did. But I'm left with the work while you skip off and do as you please, never thinking—"

"Oh, let's not bicker. I am far too tired for it."

"Well, so am I!"

Prudence huffed loudly. "I can't imagine why you're so tired. You had this big bed all to yourself. Kicking all you please." She glanced around. "I'm quite surprised the covers aren't on the floor. Every time we had to share a bed at an inn, I wake up shivering."

"I doubt I had a chance to get to the kicking part of my sleep last night," Emilia said on another yawn. "There surely wasn't enough of it." She'd resolutely stopped counting the off-key chimes of the downstairs clock by the time she fell into nothingness. 

"I'm sure I got very little as well. My cot was very thin. I'm convinced the floor would be softer. Yet another thing I think the servants have a right to complain about," she said as she laid out underthings — or rather tossed them haphazardly on the bed. "And I'm doubled up with the scullery maid — the eager one I was telling you about, Evie — and she wouldn't stop chattering late into the night about how excited she was to be dressing a real French lady and asking me to teach her how to dress hair better. I've no idea how I'm to do that!"

"It's no worse than my lot. Miss Poole was expectin' me to defend your opinion about Mansfield. She didn't like you calling her insipid."

Prudence gasped. "Emilia! What are you doing? I'd certainly never call another young lady insipid... to her face."

"No, no. That Miss Price from the book by Miss... Radcliffe, I think."

"It's not by Miss Radcliffe. It's 'by a lady' and no one knows her name... yet. Anyhow, I stand by it. Fanny Price is an insufferable, prudish thing. No witty lines and no endearing flaws. I suppose even my mysterious lady can't get it right all the time." Prudence leaned forward. "What did Miss Poole say in her defense?"

"Something about being on the outside. I don't even remember, but I suppose now I'll have to read it or I'll ruin your reputation."

"Can't have that. Perhaps they have it in the library. I'd love for you to read it so we can discuss it." Prudence clapped her hands. "How I miss my books. Last night, I had nothing to read except your old fashion pages and that housekeeper — Mrs. Stern, whose name suits her completely — looked quite shocked when I mentioned collecting a few books from my mistress. I dared not argue with her, so I told her I would leave it for tomorrow, but then I remembered that Mother had deprived me of all my books and my paints. How I wished that you'd given me some washing or mending to do. Even underthings. I'm not claiming I'd enjoy it, but it would have been something."

"There's no need for that yet," Emilia said hurriedly. She would hold off until it was absolutely necessary. She'd worked too hard on these clothes, under and otherwise, to see everything shrunk, torn, and stained now, as they would surely be if Miss Prudence worked unsupervised.

"If you simply tell me what to do, I'm certain it will be easy enough to—"

"What do the servants say about Sir Anthony?" Emilia cut in, changing the subject eagerly. 

"Hmm. They'd not much to say about Sir Anthony, really. He rarely came up."

"And his friends? There's this odd one, a Mr... Byrne, I think it was," she finished -- as if it was so hard to recall. It was silly to ask about him, but servants were always most likely to know everything.

"Him? Oh, yes. That was odd." Prudence took another piece of toast, thoughtfully eating.

"How?"

"All of the servants seemed to know him quite well. Perhaps he just stays with Pembroke a great deal."

"I suppose he must be." Throughout the evening, she often saw him nodding to or even conferring with the servants, even though he was just another guest. It felt curious to her.

"Rich as Midas, but not a word against him. So nothing interesting there," Prudence sighed. "Really, all the talk was about that wild dog. Apparently, he's been making off with their things — brushes, wooden spoons, bridles, balls of yarn, a little cloth dolly belonging to the housekeeper's daughter. The theories vary as to what his purpose is. Some think he's been trained by a local thief, but since he's just stealing bits of nonsense, others think he's just looking for something to chew, my little maid friend insists he may be the cú sídhe, a fairy dog who howls from his rocky lair and those who hear it are soon to die. A few of the others agree. Quite a few Irish down there, actually. I'll have to learn as many stories as I can."

Emilia had to laugh. "You'll have to tell your sister about all of that. She's sure to favor whichever notion is the strangest."

"Aye, and write it into a terrible tale."

"I think he's taking things in the hopes someone will give chase." Emilia had thought him a playful sort.

"Either way, half the servants adore him and the others think he's a menace. There was much lively debate." Prudence grinned. "I rather preferred dinner in the servants hall. Everyone talking and laughing, no one telling you to remove your elbows or not to speak while eating. Some of the footman playing cards and dice."

Emilia supposed she could give servant life that. Supper last night had been much more solemn than what she was accustomed to. It almost felt like dining in church in comparison.

"Well, go on. Finish this up," Prudence said, gesturing to the toast that was left and the cup of chocolate. "This is only the opening salvo to the real breakfast. And I need to get you in my morning dress for it. I think I'll get it right easily this time. I'm certain."

Emilia reflected that at least Prudence had lessened her task as she ate the remainders of toast and drank the cooling chocolate. As for Prudence's confidence about her skills, it was misplaced. It still took her many tries and lots of grunts and even minor curses as she worked through the buttons and laces.

Breakfast was not attended well at first. In the beginning, it was only herself and Mr. Byrne and a footman who was obviously trying not to scratch under his wig. Mr. Byrne looked rather surprised to see her and hurriedly gathered the correspondence next to his cup and saucer, standing and bowing.

"You are here quite early, Miss Crewe." His tone was nearly accusing.

"I... tend to rise early," she said, hesitating in the doorway. "If you would rather go back to your letters, I shan't disturb you."

"No, I was quite finished." He slid them into his lap, placing his napkin over them. "I only mentioned your early habits because... I hope you had enough rest."

"Aye, I did. Thank you, M'lord."

He lifted an eyebrow. "M'lord?"

Dear God, she'd responded as if he were Lord Crewe. She forced a smile, trying to save it. "I'm so very confused," she said, affecting a languid tone, "I met so very many people last night. Aren't you Lord Swindon?"

"Swinton," he corrected, his eyes narrowing slightly. "And no. I'm Mr. Byrne."

"Oh. I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," he said, taking his seat again. Mr. Byrne seemed to have nothing more to say to her after that and didn't look her way again. To her relief, of course. Last night, she'd found his constant glances her way unsettling so she was quite glad he was so obviously finished with it now. She didn't catch him once through breakfast... though she only looked his way to be sure he wasn't looking.

The silence, along with her bit of toast and chocolate before, left her unable to eat... until the footman uncovered the platters as Mr. Walford joined them. It did smell rather nice. It would be rude not to have a bite of sausage... and eggs, maybe some more toast since Miss Prudence had left her only one slice and some potatoes might help hold her until lunch. It would be a shame to not also have a half of a nutty bun, but really she may as well have the whole thing. Leaving a half spoiled the display.

And what a display it was. It wasn't as if she never ate well at home. She'd always got a taste of everything, especially when she worked in the kitchen. But there was something about those shiny platters, fine china and silverware that made the food even more appealing to look at... also to eat. Or was she just imagining it? Perhaps she'd buy herself a little set for her personal use. She did have a hundred pounds coming her way.

In the end, her plate was nearly as full as Mr. Walford's, something the deceptively slender man noted with approval. "Aye, Miss Crewe. We must keep our strength. Mrs. Baddeley promises we will be out of doors today and nothing whets the appetite like a stroll through nature."

Emilia's mouth was too full to do more than nod. Mr. Walford had no such inhibitions, talking on and on about his excitement to see the ruins in full daylight. When Lord Swinton joined them, he instructed them to to note any butterflies they see for his sake as those seen in "the first burst of spring" were rare.

Mrs. Baddeley was the next to arrive and, having heard the last, said she would add butterflies to the hunt. "Oh!" She covered her mouth then. "That was to be a surprise. Do promise you won't tell the others until I've made my announcement. But now you know. We are to have a scavenger hunt!"

Emilia was immediately wondering how to get out of it, perhaps an allergy...

Mrs. Baddeley grinned and clasped her hands. "I'm sure you will all adore it! I've had the footmen hide ever so many special items and clues all over. But perhaps we can add spotting a butterfly as a particular prize! I shall tell the others, but it shall be our secret until then!"

"Keeping secrets, Aunt Dotty? You naughty thing!" Sir Anthony strolled in.

"Oh, Tony! You are the naughty thing! Strolling in at past-eight with half your guests waiting for you," she tutted.

"I see they weren't waiting for me to eat," he tossed off, gesturing to the the plates as he took his chair. "But if any of you ever thought of doing so, don't. I'd much rather you eat than wait on my whims. I can't abide the idea of hunger for anyone, especially myself."

"Well, I shan't keep you in suspense either, not for long," Mrs. Baddeley said, watching the door, "if the rest of the party would just arrive. But it's only for you young people. Some of the tasks are quite vigorous."

"Sounds ominous, Aunt," Sir Anthony said. "Please tell us..."

"I shall tell one and all what delights are in store soon enough," Mrs. Baddeley said firmly.

Sir Anthony leaned toward Emilia. "Are they delights? Come now, tell me her secret!"

Emilia sat up straighter. "I'm sure I can't say."

"But you must. There is a vigorous game to be played, I imagine, and we shall need every advantage, yours and mine. You will be my partner, of course. I insist upon it."

"I hadn't decided to—"

"No, you are right to be cautious. My aunt is a sneaky thing and, if I recall, very good at hiding candies to keep me occupied. She used to play such games when I was a lad and she stumped me many times. I hope I've grown more clever now, but I must insist upon your aid." He grasped her hand — ungloved and everything.

That must be improper. "Sir Anthony, I..." How could she get out of it? Couldn't she claim illness? Wasn't the number uneven anyhow, surely no one would miss her.

A chair sliding from the table drew her gaze away. She saw Mr. Byrne as the source, standing with his papers tucked under his arms. "My apologies, Mrs. Baddeley," he said, bowing. "I've noted that we are short a player, with Miss Marbury still delayed. Might I be excused from this game?"

"Oh, but I wouldn't wish you to miss the fun!"

"I assure you, I have much correspondence to attend to. Some of it urgent. I beg your indulgence."

"You poor, troubled dear. Of course."

Emilia frowned after Mr. Byrne as he moved to the door. He seemed entirely too light in step to be poor and troubled. Now that he'd gone, now that the others were arriving and Mrs. Baddeley was announcing the rules of the game, there was no way she could escape.

Sir Anthony was grinning. "I know this estate best. We are sure to win the day."

That was not what she was worried about.

"Even if we don't," Sir Anthony went on, "I'd like you to see it with me."

Yes, that was the problem.

She took another nutty bun... for strength.

TBC

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