Page 35 of Emma & Edmund

It would be just her luck, Emma thought, if it were to rain that evening.

"Are you listening to me?" While as measured as always, Emma would be a fool to miss the cutting edge to Margaret's words.

"I am," Emma assured, "and I am aware. However-"

"There are no appropriate excuses. We planned and we practiced and you are doing your best to make sure all my hard work goes to waste. You want a good life, don't you? Why are you throwing this perfect opportunity away?"

"I haven't been well," Emma answered immediately, "I just need this one last day of rest, and I promise that tomorrow, I will be the model of your teachings."

After that night, she would have no reason to help Edmund ever again. And if, by some strange chance, his theory is correct, she soon would have no secrets to tell.

"Emma, you have not been ill a single day that I have known you. The moment we step foot in this house, you are struck with the oddest of ailments. Yet, no sickness that I know of makes one disappear. Or were you under the impression that I haven't noticed?"

"It's all a misunderstanding," Emma spoke around a grip of fear in her throat. "I promise that tomorrow, I'll be unafflicted."

Unconsciously, her attention darted to the ever-present tree line. She knew it was silly, that he shouldn't dare to be so close to the house in the daytime but couldn't ignore the feeling of eyes on her.

"This will be your final opportunity, Emma," Margaret said gravely, bringing them to a halt. " I cannot defend you beyond tonight."

Staring into Margaret's deep blue eyes, full of concern and apprehension, Emma should have given it all up right then. Should have told her childhood friend to forget tomorrow, that she would be in attendance that evening as her best and brightest self. If only the wind didn't whistle through the trees, drawing her eyes back to the forest.

Edmund might not have been there, but the ghost of him was. A constant reminder of him needing her, as no one ever had or perhaps will again.

And thus, despite what she knew would be best, Emma found herself waiting in her room for eight o'clock to arrive. She had excused herself an hour before, just before the first dishes of supper were served, and while there was no clock in the room, the ticking from the one in the hall was loud enough to ping into her heart as each second worked by.

She hadn't yet pulled out the clothing still hidden under the bed, hadn't even checked if they were still undiscovered, almost wishing that they had disappeared.

The laughter and clatter and clinking sounds of the endless party below drifted up the hall and under the crack in her door, beckoning her to join them. The sounds, and the desire they sparked in her, were only drowned out as the clock struck the hour.

On cue, just as the toning ended, a soft, short knock sounded at the door. At her croaking invitation, the same maid as before slipped through silently.

The young woman wordlessly guided her before the mirror, suggesting Emma sit with only the slightest pressure on her shoulder. "The clothes, Miss?"

Upon Emma's wordless point, the rough, dull clothes were pulled from the bed. "We don't have much time, so forgive me for the rush."

Setting the clothes aside, the cap was plucked from the top of the pile. With it tucked under one arm, the girl took a place behind Emma, deft fingers picking out Heidi's carefully laid pins. The curls were then repinned close to her scalp, destroying any perfected femininity built into them.

While the girl worked, Emma studied her face. She had to be younger than herself, and according to Edmund's story, no one had been brought into the house. Ever. This girl must have been born into this employment, born into the home's secrets.

Once the restyling was done, the flat brown cap slipped easily over her head, hiding any sign of length or curl, leaving her ears to poke out like small, exposed wings. Emma could barely meet her own eyes in the vanity mirror, suddenly feeling very silly.

The feeling didn't lessen when she was guided to stand, her bright yellow dress stripped from her with such speed, Emma hardly had time to notice.

"There isn't time, Miss," the girl urged when Emma resisted against her chemise being pulled off, held in place by her valiant corset.

"Please, grant my dignity at least this."

"Oh alright! We'll keep it on."

Just as quickly as her dress left, the final thin layer of fabric was hiked up around her hips, and quickly tied into a knot. Before she could protest again, the course shirt was pulled over her shoulders, tucked into trousers secured to her hips with a thick belt. Shapeless shoes were shoved on with such vigor that it almost knocked Emma off her feet. Flatfooted and uncomfortable, Emma doubted she would be able to walk naturally in them.

Standing back from her work, the maid studied Emma with a hand to her chin and eyes narrowed, quietly humming. "Oh!" Her face exploded in a triumphant smile as if she had just solved a great puzzle. Darting back to the vanity, she grabbed the jar of elderberry juice.

In front of Emma once more, she dipped a finger into the cosmetic liquid and with a flick, splattered it across Emma's cheeks.

Emma flinched with the contact, ire rising within her, and opened her mouth to admonish the girl. Just as the words were about to slip her lips, voices rang from the other side of the door, far closer than they had been before. With her heart in her throat, Emma froze.

Just as quickly as they came, the voices trailed down the hall. Still, Emma couldn't calm down, nervous energy coursing through her and stuttering her breath.

---