Page 13 of A Sorceress Comes to Call
“No, miss,” Alice said carefully. “You’re a guest, and the Squire wouldn’t hear of it. You leave that to us.”
“Oh.”
The older girl looked into Cordelia’s wide, worried eyes and smiled. “I imagine they do things differently in your home. You’ll find your feet here soon enough.”
Cordelia discovered that she was twisting her dressing gown’s belt between nervous fingers and stopped.
“Now I’ve laid out your gray gown,” said Alice cheerfully, herding her into the dressing room.
My gray gown? I don’t own a… oh. Cordelia eyed the gown in question. She’d always thought of it as blue, but there was no longer even a hint of color left to it. I suppose it’s my gray gown now.
Alice was acting as if it was perfectly normal for guests to arrive with almost no clothes and what little they had to be threadbare and too short. Cordelia didn’t know whether to be grateful or ashamed of the pretense. “Sit down here and I’ll do your hair for you, miss.”
Cordelia had never had anyone “do her hair” in her life. Was it painful? When her mother brushed it out, her scalp stung and smarted. But even that didn’t compare to the fact that someone else was going to far too much trouble over her. Last night, and now this morning too?
“Please, you don’t need to bother with me. I’m sure you have much more important things to do.”
Alice cocked her head. “You’ve never been in a great house before, have you, miss?”
Cordelia could feel herself blushing. “I… no?”
The maid smiled, not unkindly. She reminded Cordelia of Ellen. “You didn’t bring a lady’s maid with you,” she said, as if lady’s maids were something that a normal person might carry around, like a handkerchief. “So when you come here, they’ll assign a girl to take care of you. That’s me.”
“I don’t want to be a bother,” said Cordelia.
“You’re not. I’d far rather be looking after a guest than turning beds or blacking grates. So you’re not taking me away from anything. And before you panic,” she added, her eyes twinkling, “I’ll get a very generous extra wage for being your maid while you’re here, miss. The Squire’s very good to his people. So please don’t feel guilty about it at all.”
Cordelia swallowed. “I’ve never had my hair done,” she admitted. She usually just braided it up. When she was young, her mother had braided it. Sometimes she still did, when she was in a certain mood. Cordelia had learned to sit very still while fingers crawled across her scalp like insect feet.
“It will be fine,” said Alice soothingly, as if she were the master and Cordelia the servant. “I’ll do up your hair so that not even the Archbishop himself could complain.”
“Does he often complain about hair?” asked Cordelia weakly.
“Now that I don’t know,” admitted Alice. She reached her fingers to Cordelia’s head and Cordelia tried very hard not to flinch away from the touch. She wanted to squeeze her temples and shriek but that would have looked terribly bizarre, so all she could do was sit and try not to look strange.
“I know the village priest is always talking about maidenly modesty, so I suppose the Archbishop would too, wouldn’t he?” Alice said. Cordelia had lost her place in the conversation, but fortunately Alice continued on. “You have to figure that however much a priest is against something, an Archbishop is even more against it, don’t you?”
She continued in this vein of small talk about nothing in particular for several minutes, while Cordelia slowly relaxed. Alice was very good at combing out hair without tugging and there didn’t seem to be any hidden pitfalls in her conversation. She didn’t even really seem to need Cordelia’s input.
She was just starting to think that perhaps a lady’s maid was not the worst thing that could befall one when there was a knock on the door and her mother’s voice floated through. “Cordelia? Are you in there?”
Oh god, the door is closed! She nearly leapt to her feet in a panic, but Alice patted her shoulder as if she were a panicked horse and said, “I’ll just go answer that, never you fear.”
She went to the door with perfect confidence and opened it a crack. “Yes, ma’am?”
“I—oh.” Her mother sounded nonplussed. “Is this my daughter’s room?”
“Yes, ma’am. She’s being dressed now, she won’t be long.”
“Oh bah, I don’t mind about that.” Her mother’s laugh floated through the crack, pure and delightful and cruel. “I’m her mother, I’ve seen it all.”
“Then you’ll want to see her at her best,” said Alice pleasantly. “I’ll send her to you directly when she’s ready.”
Oh god, no… Cordelia bit down on her knuckle in horror. Alice was defying her mother. She would be punished. She would be made obedient, and she didn’t know what was coming. It was like a mouse standing up to a starving wolf.
“I would like to see my daughter,” said her mother, sweetness disguising the malice.
“Yes indeed, ma’am. Shall I tell her fifteen minutes? And may I suggest the Blue Drawing Room? It is more suited to a lady’s breakfast than the main hall, and I will have the cook send up something delicate and suitable for you.” Alice raised her voice just a little. “John Footman? Will you see that the Blue Drawing Room is ready to receive His Lordship’s guests in a quarter of an hour?”
