Page 32 of The Remarkable Myth of a Nameless Lady
“That who would get away? What are you about? You have not been assigned this room to clean today. Why are you crawling about on the floor?”
“I was…I had thought…I noticed…”
There truly was nothing Alicia could say that would be the right answer in this moment. If she’d confessed to waiting for the Duke, then she would at worst be called a liar, or even accused of attempting to curry the favor of His Grace. If she mentioned seeing the books askew and trying to straighten them, it might raise the question of how she had seen that from the door. Or worse, would draw attention to the damaged book.
No matter what she said, it seemed there would be trouble. Feeling somewhat faint, Alicia pressed her lips together, and only bowed her head.
“I have given you every chance…” Mistress Marigold said, her tone high-pitched, near hysteria. “I agreed to give you a chance, as a favor to…never mind who it was to. Others would not have been so agreeable. Your delicate constitution alone should have prevented you going into service. But this is three times now I have caught you away from your duties. Worse, to be inthisof all chambers…on the floor?”
Alicia wavered on her feet, willing herself not to cry, not to faint.
Mistress Marigold drew herself up, her face quite pale but for two bright spots of color upon her cheeks. “And then you have the audacity to…to arrange for an assignationhere! Of all places! Will you or will you not name the gentleman you were expecting?”
“There was no…” But that was not true, either. If the Mistress questioned the staff, would someone remember seeing a man escaping through the window, one who wore rough clothing? How long before there was a hue and cry over the stranger who had broken into the house and stolen from the Duke’s own private ledgers? Men were hung for less.
Alicia bit her lip and lifted her head, meeting the older woman’s gaze without flinching. So be it. She would not speak. There would be consequences, of that she was sure. If so, then she must pay them. She had known this could happen when she took the position, though capture by the enemy had seemed more…heroic…than this.
Mistress Marigold gasped, and darted forward, grasping Alicia’s chin and turning her head toward the window. “Child! What has he done to you?”
Alicia had forgotten the bruises already, the sting in her cheek one she was long accustomed to. She wondered how bad it was. Without a glass to check her reflection she truly had no idea. Her father had not been stingy with the blow, and she wondered if he had succeeded in blackening the eye, as he had on another occasion. “I…”
“Waiting for him to return, the devil. I demand that you tell me who has done this to you! Nor will you lie to me, lass. Was it the stableman, that one you make eyes at over breakfast? Or another such? Someone jealous of your trysts? You foolish thing. Never mind, you are clearly to be punished for your indiscretion. I will need to talk to His Grace myself, to be sure nothing was stolen.”
“Stolen! I have not—”
Mistress Marigold drew herself up. “Silence! I will not have you talking back. Go to your room this instant. I will say you were…indisposed. You bolted from the table quick enough this morning. I would suggest you think carefully what your hide is worth, for if we catch you in a lie, you will be treated accordingly. Oh, that made you pale enough. You are none too delicate to be whipped, my bonny girl. Now off with you. And no tricks!”
With that, she gave Alicia a hard shove toward the door. The girl stumbled, nearly colliding with one of the men, a houseguest of the Duke who was passing by in the hallway. Head down she gave a murmured apology and fled for the stairs that led to the servant’s quarters.
Alicia’s feet made soft thudding sounds on the floor as she ran, no longer caring whether she was seen by her betters. She passed the quiet rooms with the big glass-paned windows, aware that further punishment might be inflicted if she disturbed the guests of this house. She ran with the numbness of one who had already seen the most awful of all possible outcomes, and knew of a certainty that it could get no worse than this.
Fortunately, she made it down the length of the hall without anyone stopping her. She slipped through the door that separated the main house from the rooms where the work of the estate was done. Here she fled past sewing rooms and storage, the areas assigned to the weavers whose sole purpose was to create the broad lengths of linen the estate was known for. A voice called to her to stop but she kept going.
Alicia had been ordered to return to her room. What courage, that had propelled her down the long hallway in the main house, left her now. All that remained was for her to make it to her own room, where she might close the door and cry.
No. Not cry. She had done quite enough of that for one day.
Breathless now, she found her steps lagging as she climbed the long staircase that wound in circles up to the third floor where her room lay tucked under the eaves. The house up here felt too still and quiet, with nothing stirring. There wasn’t a soul in this part of the house, save her.
Heart pounding in her chest so hard that she thought it might burst, Alicia staggered into her room and threw herself down on the bed to catch her breath and think.
“I have done nothing wrong!” Alicia raised her hand to touch her cheek where her father had struck her. It was still warm, impressively so. He had indeed marked her. It was no wonder Mistress Marigold had been so startled to see her, and so adamant that Alicia needed to stay in her room where no one would see her indiscretion.
Though it seemed quite unfair that she would be blamed for the marks upon her face.Another injury I have done nothing to deserve.Once again, she knew this was not her fault. Her father was the guilty party, not her. Not that it mattered. She could have screamed that at him until she was scarlet-cheeked, and it would not have made a jot of difference. He thought himself infallible in his judgements and his punishments. And that made him all the more dangerous when he flew into a fit.
She shifted until she was lying with her head on a pillow, though whether it was her own or Meghan’s she had no idea. She enjoyed the luxury of lying in the center of the mattress, able to sprawl out without having to share the space. At home she only had a narrow cot. This thin mattress, old, with feathers escaping every time one turned over, was far too comfortable to her weary bones.
She found her eyes drifting closed, though she clung onto consciousness a short while longer.
“Mistress Marigold will have to deal with the problem…that being me…later. After the meal is over,” Alicia informed the room, needing to justify her slumber. It truly was slatternly behavior to take both pillows and to pull the blanket up over her head to block the light from the window that spilled across the wall behind her head.
So intent was she on getting comfortable that she quite missed the sound of the door opening. In fact, the first awareness she had that she wasn’t alone was in the thud of a boot upon the floor, the creak of protest the bed made when something heavy came to rest upon the foot of it.
“Meghan...?” Her cry was muffled, disappointed. She had hoped to at least gain some good from the day, and she was so terribly tired.
“Ah, my pretty, thinking to get away?”
The voice was not Meghan’s, the hand upon her shoulder rather large and heavy. Masculine. She felt him leaning over her, fingers pulling at the blanket, the soft chuckle. “Games? You wicked girl…”
