Emilia didn't manage to sleep well that night, either. She woke before the cock had even thought to crow with her covers tangled about her legs. That part wasn't unusual, but waking without aid was rare for her. She'd considered closing her eyes again, but decided against it.

She needed to look in on her father before she left. As she took the short route across the damp fields at dawn, she thought about what Mrs. Douglass had said. No surprise. Mrs. Douglass had said a lot and she'd done little else but mull over all of it while sleep escaped her, but one sentence kept echoing, as if Mrs. Douglass was walking beside her and whispering it.

Children shouldn't be beholden to their parents forever.

She felt strangely miffed at the words. Though Mrs. Douglass had started out talking about Ian and Charity making their own life away from their parents, she knew Mrs. Douglass had been directing it at her -- or her father. She and Cook had said some variation of it over the years. And it was truly unfair.

She was not beholden to her father. Her father never said an ill word about what she did or where she went. She came and went as she pleased... as long as he was taken care of.

If she worried about him, that was her own business. He never meant to trouble her.

Yet when she let herself into his rooms and saw that the boxes of cloth had now been replaced by crates of vegetation with flies hovering over them, she reflected that he did a spectacular job of troubling her without trying.

"Papa?"

"Oh, aye, Em. Is that you?"

"Would else would it— agh!" She'd started to mutter under her breath, but the smell wouldn't let her finish. "I was just stoppin' in," she called out loudly, putting her handkerchief over her nose.

Her father moved into the kitchen. "Terrible smell, isn't it? I suppose you get used to it."

She wasn't surprised her father was up with the dawn. He often was when he got a new big idea — usually because he hadn't slept. "Do you?"

"It's a bit ripe, aye. But I had to collect before they burned it or buried it." He came into the kitchen, dressed in — by the look of it — yesterday's clothes. "Can ye believe some people throw all this away?"

"Yes. Very easily," Emilia choked out.

He gestured to her basket. "What is all that?"

"Bread, ham, edible things." She waved hand around the room. "Papa, what is all this?"

"Mulch... in time, at least. Very valuable stuff. Crops live or die without the right mulch and I have an idea on how to make it better."

She didn't know much about mulch, but she'd heard the word, here and there. "But what about the quilts?"

"Oh, that!" He swiped a hand outward dismissively, swatting a few flies while he was at it. "These village girls. Don't have no work in 'em. Expected wages up front."

Expected wages at all, Emilia corrected him, though she kept it to herself.

"Hard to get a business off the ground," he was saying, "when no one wants to put in the work."

Especially you, she thought, but didn't say. "And how are you to get workers for... this?" She tried to gesture to the crates of rotting fruits and vegetables, but couldn't keep her handkerchief from her nose for long.

"That's the best part. It don't need no work. Only time and a bit of tendin'. I asked Mrs. Hall if she might let me take a corner of the yard for it."

"Then why is it in here?"

"She said she needed to think on it first. Oh, and she wanted to see you before ye go. Must want to hear about your adventures." He smiled, shaking his head. "I told her I didn't know if you would have time, busy as ye are, off to parts unknown. Off to Cambridgeshire now."

"Yes, in a few hours."

"You've a restless spirit. You remind me of that traveling wizard. You remember the one. He—"

"He had a lot of trouble staying anywhere long enough to share his wisdom, always lookin' for a new kingdom," Emilia said, irritated. She didn't have the patience for a story this morning.

"But he finally learned, didn't he?" Her father didn't seem quite as pressed for time. "He learned—"

"To chew his food thoroughly before swallowing. Very important." she droned, not in the mood for this. "Is Mrs. Hall awake?"

"I think I heard her plodding about an hour ago," her father said, still at his leisure. "Not sure if it was above or below. Been up so long, I don't know."

"I'll find her. I'll be back after." After paying her extra for yet another scheme taking up her yard or her stables or just for her troubles. She was likely annoyed and Emilia didn't blame the woman. Her father keeping his own strange, unpredictable hours was bad enough, but his big ideas seemed to spread beyond the space he rented. Mrs. Hall could have shoved him out when he tried to start his own perfumery — which had made the place nearly unbearable for over a week — but she hadn't, for which Emilia was grateful.

Still, she knew her father was on borrowed time. Perhaps a cottage, a southeast cottage removed from the village, was just the place for him. But it wasn't hers yet.

She finally found Mrs. Hall in the stables. "Mrs. Hall, how lovely to see you. I was just thinking—"

"I can't have it, Em," she said, her mouth tight. "I loved yer mother, God knows I did. And I put up with a lot for her sake. But for him to smell up my tavern with whatever this new business is—"

"It's mulch, he says." God, if she'd used up Mrs. Hall's good graces, where else might he live? "He only needs a corner of the yard." Emilia dug in her purse. "I'll pay extra. Just don't tell him—"

"Ye been payin' extra for years. And it ain't about the money," Mrs. Hall said, putting a hand on her arm. "It's about my reputation. This is a market town. I never wanted to be a long-term boarding house at all, 'specially not for a man who disrupts my clientele with his nonsense."

"He seems very sincere about this new—"

"Yes, he always does." Mrs. Hall shook her head. "But how long will this one last?"

"But it won't be for much longer," Emilia said desperately. "When I come back, things are goin' to change. You see, I've been offered a position..."

At that, Mrs. Hall seemed to listen more attentively as Emilia spun a tale worthy of her father, but perhaps without the fantastic happenings. Everything she said could happen. She could be housekeeper for the Crewes. Her father could end up in a cozy cottage on the southeast end, where he could have his own garden and bother no one. She could be free from worry.

She just had to accept the future that gave her those things... for the rest of her life.

After taking leave of her father, she was wondering why she had been so foolish the night before. Of course she should accept the position. Hadn't she just told herself it was the highest place in the house? Perhaps even in preparation for such a role, they might allow her certain liberties, like an empty cottage that no one was renting — a place to put her father if he truly had worn out his welcome everywhere else.

Still, it hadn't come to that yet, had it?

By the time she returned to Crewe House with the downstairs bustling, she was tempted to rush to Mrs. Douglass and tell her she accepted, but Mrs. Douglass was much too busy to speak to her as Dawes, their very old butler, had fallen asleep by the fire again, immune to the din around him.

But she watched Mrs. Douglass in action; settling an argument between the footmen as to which one had lower seniority and should be made to help Jeremy with the trunks, sighing with Cook over the price of a leg of lamb she'd purchased when all of the family would now be away, and warning every servant who passed her of the spring cleaning delights that awaited them if they didn't step lively.

"Now..." Mrs. Douglass took a deep breath and turned to her after all the others had been sorted out. "What did you want to ask me?"

Emilia shook her head. "Nothing. I'll go and prepare Miss Prudence, shall I?"

What she'd just seen would surely be her life going forward. It was certainly very busy, but she couldn't help but also find it...

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

"...so very boring," Miss Prudence frowned heavily as she turned another page. "I think this might be the worst book I've ever read."

"Then why are ye still readin' it?" Emilia asked, carefully setting another stitch with the rocking of the carriage.

"Charity assured me it was an experience not to be missed. I keep hoping this insipid Florentia will, at some point, either stop getting herself kidnapped or do something other than weep about it." Prudence groaned. "Now there's a highwayman who started out robbing her of her jewels, but he's left the jewels and taken her because she is the jewel of his heart. And they've known each other for less than a minute!" Prudence snapped the book closed. "I'm starting to think Charity just recommended this to torture me."

Emilia chuckled. "Aye, I wouldn't put it past her. She'd find that amusing."

"Well, this was the last book I had and I can't do it. I simply can't." Prudence sighed and pulled the curtain open. "And there's nothing but fields to look at. I know Carter stops for almost nothing, but do you think he'd allow a moment of rest for me to get another book to preserve my sanity?"

"Best not to trouble him. We're nearly there." Besides that, Emilia didn't want to ask Carter for anything. He was absolutely terrifying to everyone... except possibly Miss Prudence. "Surely ye can survive. Don't you have your sketchin' pad in that bag?" Emilia nodded to the enormous thing taking up the remainder of her seat.

"I can't sketch anything useful with all this rocking."

"Why does it need to be useful?"

"It just does." Prudence waved her away. "I don't know how you're managing to sew."

"Pure skill," Emilia said, though she did hold her needle away as the shaking grew over a rocky bit of road. "But it is giving me the worst kind of headache."

Prudence humphed. "I know why. You should put them on." Prudence leaned forward to whisper. "I promise no one will see in here." She nudged at her sleeping brother next to her, who only snorted and pressed his face against the window, undisturbed in his slumber. "Even Ernie won't tell."

"Well, I would but... my goodness me!" Emilia shrugged. "I must have left the spectacles at home. Ah, well."

"No, you didn't." Prudence looked quite satisfied with herself as she pulled something from her insultingly large and unfashionable bag, unwrapping it. "You see, I had Agnes be sure to collect them from your room in case you forgot."

Emilia took the spectacles. "Dear Agnes. What a thoughtful girl. These shall surely be needed at some later—"

"Put them on," Prudence chided.

"I hate them," Emilia grunted, though she did put the blasted things on. "If ye ask me, the world looks much nicer in a pleasant little blur." She nodded at Miss Prudence. "Now I can see your wrinkled dress much clearer. We shall have to get a room at the inn for at least an hour when we arrive at the village."

"What for?" Prudence asked, oblivious as always.

"To freshen you up for your arrival." Emilia rolled her eyes. "Ye wouldn't let me curl your hair at the last inn, at least allow me to change your dress."

"But this one is comfortable. Why stop when—"

"You look like you've been traveling," Emilia said firmly.

"Because I have been traveling. I'm sure no one will care if—"

"For heaven's sake, I look better put together than you do!"

"Yes, I meant to say. You look lovely." Prudence smiled, as if that would make it all better.

Emilia smoothed her own dress, a doe-colored one with green accents that had been the product of two outdated gowns between Prudence and Charity. She did think she'd made them into one very passable traveling frock, but that was entirely beside the point. "You are meant to look lovely. Think of me," Emilia tried. Prudence had often proclaimed herself on the side of the working classes, after all. "What will the other lady's maids say when I look my best and my mistress looks like she just wandered out of the forest?"

"Oh, please don't quarrel with me," Prudence groaned. "I'm already heading toward the most tedious two weeks of my existence. If you won't be my ally in this, I don't know who will."

"I'm only suggestin' a moment to refresh yerself, perhaps put on the green dimity. It would look so much more—"

"There's little point in changing dresses now when I'll have to change for supper in a—"

"Will the two of you kindly stop arguing about dresses?" Ernest Crewe shifted, his head moving from the window to loll against his sister's shoulder. "I'm trying to sleep the rest of this torture away."

Prudence pushed his head off her. "No one asked you to be here. In fact, if you hadn't volunteered to escort us, I might be happily home right now."

He sat up straighter, yawning and stretching expansively. "Perhaps I agree with Mama."

"In torturing me?" Prudence snorted. "That I can believe."

He yawned again. "It might be for your own good. I hear Pembroke's taken with you."

Prudence rolled her eyes mightily. "I can't think how. I've met him twice and we barely—"

"He's a good enough chap. Maybe the others are, too. Perhaps you'll finally come out of this with a husband," he sighed, a teasing note in his voice. "Mama and I have despaired of you for too long.

Prudence lifted her chin. "I've got through five seasons in London without a husband, with many more men than this. Two weeks with only four men should be nothing."

"Well, good luck with it," Mr. Crewe said distractedly, looking out the window. "Are we near?"

"We're almost to the village," Emilia supplied.

"Excellent." Mr. Crewe clapped his hands. "I'll hop out there before Carter takes you two on."

"You aren't escorting us to Sculthorpe? At the very least, I thought you'd want to see Mr. Byrne," Prudence said with the greatest disdain, "since you and Lord Headless find his parties so fascinating."

"Not this kind of party. If Byrne escapes unmarried, I'll congratulate him later." 

"So you've changed your opinion on marriage in the last thirty seconds?"

"Perhaps I have," he grumbled. "My hopes have been crushed, as you well know."

"Balderdash! You were no more in love with Little Miss Shallow than--"

"Her name is Elizabeth Tallow."

"Not for long. Now that she's  engaged to Viscount Hereford, she's--"

"Aye, thank you so much for reminding me. I've got a scrape on my hand. Perhaps you have some salt to rub--"

"Oh, do stop it. She was a vain, insipid thing. It seems you get your heart broken by the same sort of girl every season and you always recover quickly enough."

"Not this time. I'm inconsolable and in need of distraction." Mr. Crewe sat up straighter, clearing his throat. "Now that I think of it, my young friend, Templeton, lives in these parts." He let out a very unconvincing laugh. "Cambridge man, but I won't hold it against him. I might look in and—"

"Aha!" Prudence jabbed a finger at her brother. "I knew you volunteered for this little journey all too eagerly. I'd wager there's another kind of party not too far from here."

"Well... it's Spring." Mr. Crewe cleared his throat. "There might be the odd party here or there. How should I know? I only know a few other Cambridge lads who might benefit from my wisdom as a graduate of a superior school. Perhaps I'll stay just long enough to impart a few—"

"You're not fooling us, is he, Emilia?"

Emilia ducked her head to her sewing. Glasses or not, her headache was raging again after listening to all that bickering. "I'm sure I can't say." Except she could and she was more likely to agree with Miss Prudence, but she'd learned that Crewe sibling arguments didn't end any sooner with help from her. Even their parents couldn't stop the two of them when they started in on each other. The only one who'd ever managed to curtail them was Miss Charity — yet another reason Emilia missed her.

"I just knew it," Miss Prudence was saying. "I'd also wager Headless is lurking somewhere about."

"He is not! Stan happens to be in London on estate business." Mr. Crewe lowered his voice. "But he might look in on his way home."

"Aha!"

"Oh, what's one little party?" he pleaded. "Papa's away. The planting's well under way and Thomas said he can oversee the rest. If my journey home is delayed by a little, then what's the harm? Carter has agreed to it. I don't see why you—"

"So you've dragged poor Carter and Thomas into your deceit?"

Ernie scoffed loudly. "Poor Carter and Thomas? Between the two of them, I'm out a quarter of my allowance. Honestly, Old Stoneface is so daunting," he gestured vaguely above their heads, "I almost gave him the whole thing for his trouble, which is actually very little trouble. And I'll already be here to escort you home by the end. If you think about it, everyone is better off."

"You especially, I'd imagine," Prudence said sharply.

"Oh, good. We're stopping," Emilia chirped with gratitude as the carriage slowed. She gestured to the window. "What a lovely village. Perhaps we can step in somewhere and refresh ourselves for—"

"No time for that," Prudence broke in, glaring at her brother. "I need to write a letter to Papa and post it straight away."

"Pru, take pity on me," her brother moaned. "Father is working me like on ox and now he's talking of sending me to Sweet Briar so Grandfather can do the same. And my heart is broken! There's only so much a man can take!"

"I have no pity for you. I could be home right now, but you maneuvered your way into coming just so you and Headless can run about carousing—"

"Stan isn't even here yet. And if you write to Papa, then so will I." He stroked his chin.

She gave him a withering look. "About what? Do tell."

"I seem to remember a time in London not too long ago when I was to escort you to the theatre and you let me out of it." He narrowed his eyes. "You told me I could do as I wished, said you were going back to Aunt Muriel with a headache."

"I did you a kindness. I'd think you'd appreciate—"

"But later, Aunt Muriel thanks me for escorting you and tells me how much you enjoyed the show. I played along, which I'd think you'd appreciate. But I never knew why."

Prudence paled noticeably, but seemed to recover. "Well... It was Pericles, which is bad enough and then I heard it was a terrible production, so—"

"So why not go back to the townhouse? Where did you go?" he pressed her.

Her face went from white to quite red, which was strange. Miss Prudence was rarely flustered. But she seemed more than flustered now. "I... I don't recall. It was over a month ago. I think I might have—"

"And it wasn't the only evening you so kindly dismissed my escort with some excuse or another. Where did you go then?" He smiled as if quite satisfied with himself. "Where do you go, Pru?"

Emilia leaned forward at that. She wanted to know as well.

TBC

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

The mystery of Prudence deepens!