Page 33 of Emma & Edmund

"Not particularly," Emma answered with an exaggerated cough. "I think I might say in bed a bit longer."

Heidi, already skipping into the room and in the process of pulling clothes for her mistress, looked at her with wide eyes. "Is everything all right, Miss?"

"I am just feeling a bit unwell this morning," she wasn't exactly lying, for the dream left her feeling wholly uncomfortable. Her brief words failed to stop the inscrutable look Margaret shot her.

"Unwell? Again? You just saw the physician. Is all the fresh air too much for you?"

"Perhaps it is."

In the other bed, Grace Campbell groaned, unwillingly pulled from her covers by her own, apparently strong, maid. "You are not alone, Emma," she barely squeaked out, her words weighed down by an unusual harshness. "At least you didn't stumble about the room like a drunkard."

Emma hadn't heard Grace stumbling about, and her blush returned with a fervor when she realized she was probably too far enthralled in her own mind to have noticed.

"Is it your stomach? Your head? I'll fetch the pharmacist, Miss Emma, if you just let me know-"

"I am all right, Heidi, truly, I just need more rest."

Her loyal maid's wide eyes told of the further questions and clucking that she wanted to perform, but she still nodded and tucked the duvet in around Emma's chin. "All right, Miss. I'll inform your brother and bring you tea in an hour. Are you hungry?"

"No, and thank you, Heidi. That'll be all for now." With a quick nod, Heidi reluctantly left Emma's side, shooting one last apprehensive look over her shoulder before leaving the bedroom.

The other girls leisurely readied themselves for the day, chatting as their day gowns were laid out and their hair freed from their curlers. Several times, their conversation wove in and out of topics Emma would normally want to contribute to, but bit her tongue.

Instead, she pretended to sleep through their fun. She needed time to think, to plan for the night ahead, and to be caught up in girlish excitement would strip that from her.

"Are you going to survive?" Margaret shot at Emma, once the other was dressed and ready, sitting on the edge of their shared bed. Whether Margaret had seen right through Emma's lie, she couldn't be sure.

"After a rest, I'll be as good as new," Emma assured her, peaking over the edge of the blanket. As she did so, she caught the incredulous look that Margaret had trained on her.

"Is that so?" Margaret only briefly looked away to watch as Grace left with a small wave before snapping her attention back to Emma. "Enough of this, Emma. I can see right through you. What is wrong with you? And please, tell me only the truth."

"Margaret, I-"

"I have been your friend since we were babes. Even here, I have made excuse after excuse for your odd behavior. You've gone missing, you've acted strangely, and you pretend as if I am the strange one for noticing. What is happening?"

Margaret's eyes bore into hers, demanding honesty.

God help her, Emma almost gave it. Almost opened her mouth and detailed the odd, unbelievable events, and the unfathomable being plaguing her mind. Perhaps Margaret could even help her make sense of everything, tell her she was truly hallucinating, or could even assist in helping Edmund...

"There's nothing to tell," Emma buried her face in the pillow below her, unable to meet her friend's eyes. "I just need rest."

Margaret said nothing, and again, Emma almost relented, almost lifted her head, and gave Margaret everything she wanted. Only by God's grace did Margaret, saving the final shred of Emma's will, sigh heavily, rising from the bed and leaving the room without another word.

Now alone, the crushing weight of her lies and hidden truths made tears form. How dare such a simple party go so poorly? This was meant to be her redemption, her triumph, and here she was hiding from friends, family, and potential admirers alike. All for some poor man she should never have met and possibly, once she leaves Belmont, will never see again.

She should hop up out of that fake sickbed immediately, don herself in the most beautiful dress she owned, and sweep into the party to take her rightful place as an eligible socialite.

Emma was about to do just that, indignation coursing through her, when a soft knock came at the door. For reasons she did not know, Emma's gut sank to her knees, and a strange fear dawned upon her. As if all of her secrets and lies were waiting for her just beyond the oak.

She almost ignored it, but that did not stop the second, louder knock. Throwing back the blanket, Emma stalked to the door intent on reprimanding anyone who was behind it, to remind them she wasn't feeling well and needed rest.

The words caught in her throat when a housemaid bent deeply upon seeing her. In her outstretched hands were two thick parcels, tied with a pink ribbon in place of twine. A note sat on top of it all.

"From the Master." Was all the explanation that came from the woman.

"From Edmund?" Emma clarified, unable to stop the familiarity in her voice, not missing the minute shock and appall that flashed across the maid's face before it was forced away into professional impassiveness. Breezing past Emma with ease, the packages were brought to the bed, and after another perfected curtsy, Emma was left alone once again.

For a long moment, her eyes darted between the door and packages, as if their simple existence would expose every one of her lies should anyone catch her opening it. It was a silly fear, she knew, but that did not stop her from pulling a chair in front of the door, tucking the back under the knob, before finally approaching the bed.

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