Page 13 of A Mayfair Maid

With a deep sigh of resignation, Lady Lydia put down the cloth and took the gown. She held it out before her. Her keen eyes traversed the fabric taking in every detail and alteration. Then, they flickered from the gown, to Marilee, and back again without a word. She pursed her lips.

“Who did this?”

“M-me,” Marilee stammered. Curse her nerves. She could not read Lady Lydia to tell if she was pleased or irate. Judging by her mood, it might be best if Marilee start running now. She took one slow step backward.

Again, Lady Lydia inspected the frock.

“You?” she narrowed her eyes and seemed not to believe Marilee’s admission.

Marilee nodded. “The sleeve was ruined, and…”

“You didn’t, by chance, take this to the seamstress?” she pressed turning the gown this way and that. The manner in which she spoke, with a curl of her lip, made Marilee think that she would be extremely put out if even a shilling had been spent without her approval.

“No, my lady,” Marilee dipped into a slight curtsy and kept her eyes downcast. Perhaps the subservience would save her. “I have some skill with a needle.”

“I’ll say,” Lady Lydia grinned. “This is brilliant.” She put down the dress and picked up the damp cloth again to hold it against the burn on her neck.

Marilee had an unaccustomed feeling of sympathy for the lady. Burns did hurt.

“Come in.” She waved with the opposite hand. “You may dress me.”

Marilee released the breath that she had not even been aware that she had been holding. She followed Lady Lydia into her chamber and did her best to advert her eyes from the shattered vase still lying in the doorway. Lady Lydia was already busying herself at her dressing table and mumbling about the ineptitude of servants these days.

“I also fashioned a bandeau,” Marilee offered when it seemed she would be left standing in the middle of the room like a statue, “to match the gown.”

Lady Lydia turned and accepted the band of fabric that was meant to be woven into her hair.

She grunted with disgust and at first Marilee thought it was in relation to the headpiece, but then she spoke. “I shall not let that fool anywhere near me or my hair again.” She fingered the glittering beads that had been added to the headdress and seemed to be lost in her own thoughts for some time. Then, she looked up at Marilee with her piercing blue eyes. “You would not happen to be as good at dressing hair as you are at sewing gowns?”

It felt like a trap. The last thing Marilee wanted to do was dress and primp this lady after the tumultuous scene she had just witnessed. She was doing well keeping a low profile in the laundry and that, as terrible as it may be, did not include having vases thrown at her person.

Still, if she wormed her way into Lady Lydia’s good graces, it could be to her benefit. Or her downfall. A part of her wondered what happened to the maid preceding the one that was just ushered away by Mrs. Cavendish, but one thought of Miss Caroline had Marilee nodding. She would suffer this lady’s temper if it meant finding a way to freedom for her and the lady of her true devotion. Decision made; she spoke.

“If I might be allowed to boast I would dare say that I am better with an iron than a needle,” Marilee muttered. She did her best to sound demure, but she also wanted Lady Lydia to be enticed by the prospect. If she were in service to the lady, perhaps even fortunate enough to become her personal maid, then she might have a chance to get out of the house. Ladies often took their maids about with them. Could Marilee dare to hope?

“What of this?” Lady Lydia revealed the angry burn once more and chuffed with annoyance. “I cannot go around looking like some charred lump of meat.”

“If we lay your curls just so, so that they drape down your back… pull them up out of your face and allow them to cascade over your shoulder… it should cover the mark,” Marilee offered. “Put a salve on it at night and it will fade in a day or two. A handkerchief filled with snow will keep it from bubbling for the time being and soothe some of the hurt.”

Lady Lydia’s features broke into a devilish smile and Marilee felt at once like the mouse that had been caught by the cat. A toy to be used for her pleasures.

“Just so,” Lady Lydia nodded. “Call for what you need and then get to work. Tell Mrs. Cavendish that you shall only spend half of your days now in the washroom. From now on, you serve me.” She waved Marilee towards the door as she put the wet cloth back on her hurt.

Marilee had no doubt that she now had two full-time jobs, but if the change helped her to escape, it would be worth it. She hastened to collect the snow and find the housekeeper. She did not know if this development was a boon or a curse, but as she came across Peggy in the hall, she hoped it was the former.

“Are you certain?” Peggy had worried at first. “I’ve never seen a maid last more than a month with Lady Lydia. She is a terror.”

“I know what I am doing,” Marilee promised. Then, she dropped her voice to a whisper. For the first time she decided to wholly trust Peggy. She had to. She had to trust someone or else she would delve into madness. “You cannot escape from down here, we know that. Perhaps the opportunity lies above. I have to try.”

Peggy grasped her in a firm hug and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“Please be careful,” she muttered into Marilee’s ear. “I cannot lose you too.” With a swelling of her heart, Marilee knew that Peggy had taken to their friendship just as firmly as she. More than ever, she was determined to free them both of this prison. To free everyone who had ever or would ever be trapped here. She did not know how it was to be done, but something in her, deep in her bones, told her that she was one step closer.

Next, it was on to Mrs. Cavendish. When she relayed Lady Lydia’s demands, the housekeeper was not impressed.

She grabbed Marilee by the shoulders and pulled her close that she could hiss at her nose to nose. “If you muddy this up, there will be hell to pay. Do you hear me, girl?”

Marilee nodded. She had never seen Mrs. Cavendish nervous, but it was clear the housekeeper felt that her own fate hung on a knife’s edge. Marilee tucked that bit of information away with a hint of pleasure. Perhaps Mrs. Cavendish was not as all-powerful as she wanted her staff to believe. Perhaps, if Marilee arranged for the housekeeper to be back into Lady Lydia’s good graces, the woman might be indebted to her little captive, Kate.

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