Page 12 of A Mayfair Maid

Peggy mannedthe copper basins with only a little help here and there from Marilee. Kate, as she had to keep reminding herself that she was called, spent the majority of the day fashioning an elegant ruffled hem onto the rosy gown, and added some decoration where she had removed the damaged sleeves. The color matched the white lilies that had been preserved on the capped sleeves. Mrs. Cavendish had supplied enough ribbon that she was even able to add a smooth band beneath the bust line that would accentuate Lady Lydia’s thin form. All together the accents looked as if the dress had been made that way from the start.

Still, Marilee could not satisfy herself that Lady Lydia would be pleased. It was, after all, still just a gown. She fingered the last bit of brocade that remained from the removal of the sleeves, a long strip that would otherwise need to be discarded. She had already relocated the inked portion to the fire. She chewed her lip in thought and then snapped her fingers. Digging into the sewing basket once more she retrieved a small beaded embellishment that must have been removed from some other ruined gown ages prior. It was just enough to catch the light with a turn of the head. With her last supplies in hand, Marilee set about fashioning a bandeau that would perfectly match the gown.

“There,” she said when she had finished. Certainly, Lady Lydia could not find fault with a finished gown and matching hairpiece.

“Oh, Kate,” Peggy crooned from over her shoulder, “she has to love it.”

“For my sake I hope that she does,” Marilee intoned. She had finished with hardly a moment to spare. The lady had likely already begun preparing for her dinner party. If she hated the gown and decided that she had nothing to wear, Marilee might not survive the night.

She draped the garment over her arm and welcomed Peggy’s words of encouragement. Taking a fortifying breath, she set off for the upper floors where she would meet her fate.

CHAPTER5

Mr. Crowley paced the drawing room, annoyed with Lady Lydia, who had once again kept him waiting. He wondered if he could mention the new girl again or if that would only get the girl in trouble. He wanted to know the maid’s name, but Lady Lydia’s temper was such an unpredictable thing. She was acerbic, bitter and savagely shrewish each in turn. The last thing he wanted to do was cause trouble for the new maid.

His mind kept going to her petite figure, her sweet smile and her lovely curls. It was a shame that she had to cover those curls with a cap, but he supposed it kept the dust from her hair. She was indeed a ray of sunshine in this depressing household.

When he had asked Lady Lydia the name of the new maid, she had waved him off, saying “I’m sure I don’t know. Mrs. Cavendish takes care of all that rot.”

He knew that Mrs. Cavendish didn’t like him for whatever reason. Truthfully, the woman seemed to like no one. He could no doubt offer her a tincture of herbs that might help her disposition, but Lady Lydia would not want to pay for it and with his work amongst the poor, he had no extras to give away to the rich. In fact, he thought, Lady Lydia would no doubt benefit from the same herbs to cure her bouts of melancholia that alternated with bursts of anger and agitation. If he mentioned such a thing, he knew he would be sacked, and if he were sacked, aside from his financial woes, he would not see the new maid again. He could not risk it; at least not until he learned the woman’s name and if she had family nearby.

Oh, who was he kidding? He could not entertain thoughts of a relationship with the woman. He was tied to this sordid household whether he wished it or no. He had no way of paying his way free of his servitude to Lady Lydia. She had caught him like the black spider she was.

The thought was enough to drive him to melancholia. Well, he thought, at least he had the herbs to mitigate the symptoms.

He said nothing to Lady Lydia about the new maid. He only hoped he managed to see her again before she decided to leave the household.

* * *

Marilee could hear shoutingbefore she even knocked on the door to Lady Lydia’s chamber.

“You stupid, stupid girl!” the mistress was screaming. “Put it down. No, get away from me.” Something shattered, and a whimpered apology came in reply. “Go! Get some cool water!”

Marilee knocked louder, though she wondered if it was best to just turn around and flee.

“Open the door you imbecile. Then get out of my sight!” Came the reply from within.

Mrs. Cavendish came barreling down the hallway at the same time that a quivering young maid vaulted out of the room. She was crying and wringing her hands, going on and on about how it was an accident andshe hadn’t meant to… Whatever it was that had not meant to be done was, from Marilee’s perspective, yet to be determined.

“What is the meaning of this?” the housekeeper snarled.

“This idiot tried to kill me!” Lady Lydia pointed one long finger at the poor girl and dealt her a look of pure hatred as she laid a damp cloth on her neck.

“It was an accident, honest,” the maid wailed.

“What did you do?” Mrs. Cavendish rounded on the maid, not even taking the time to consider that she seemed truly apologetic and distraught. Marilee, pressed herself against the wall, still holding the gown in her hands, which she now clutched closer to her bosom, wrinkling the gown in the process. She prayed that she could melt into the woodwork. The last thing she needed was to be seen when the lady was in a temper.

“Sheburnedme!” Lady Lydia accused. Lady Lydia grasped the hair that hung well down her back and lifted it to reveal a smart burn on the back of her neck. Marilee knew that such things happened if a maid was not skilled enough with an iron, or if the object of the attentions did not sit still. She had herself once burned Miss Caroline and felt terrible for weeks after the event. Miss Caroline had never raged at Marilee, however, and had forgiven her friend the offense. Judging by the shattered ceramic that Marilee could see through the doorway, Lady Lydia had thrown a vase at the girl. Flowers were strewn on the floor and water dripped down the stairway.

“Get her out of my sight. I never want to see her in this house again, and Cavendish…,” She turned her full ire on the housekeeper, “I grow tired of your incompetence in keeping your girls in line. If you cannot do your job, I will find someone who will.”

Mrs. Cavendish did not wait to hear any more apologies from the maid but promptly grabbed her by the ear and hauled her off toward the staircase. The girl’s cries and pleading could be heard even once they were below.

Lady Lydia spun on her heel and made to march back into her room when her gaze landed upon Marilee as if noticing her for the first time.

“Who are you?” she snarled, not having found Marilee worth remembering from the prior evening.

Marilee said nothing but held out the gown by way of explanation.

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