Page 56 of Not a Fine Gentleman

“Yes, just like the parlor maid is Mary, not… whatever her last name is,” Margaret said flatly.

“He’s very handsome.” Leave it to Rachel to see something that wasn’t there… much.

“I hadn’t noticed.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Rachel was practically chuckling now.

“There are too many layers of ill manners over him to see his face or form. He is no gentleman.”

Rachel snickered. “Strange. I always thought he had rather fine manners for a working man. Perhaps someone who is not quite a fine gentleman would be a refreshing change for you.”

Margaret clearly would not win this round. “Rachel, please. My head.”

Rachel’s voice softened. “Of course. Odd that you would get a headache. That seems very unlike you.”

“Yes. Being accused of murder is unlike me, as well. Please, just let me rest.” To add weight to her claim, she added, truthfully. “I slept very little last night.” Several sketches of the killer, and that horrible night watchman, now lay on a table nearby as Margaret had attempted to exorcise the demons whose faces and words haunted her at night.

“Of course,” Rachel said. “I hope you feel better.” The bed shifted as Rachel stood. The rustling of skirts and soft footfalls faded. A door closed with a click. Margaret waited to be sure her twin had really gone. The soothing compress quieted Margaret’s tension, and she relaxed her muscles. She took several deep breaths.

The door opened again. “Milady?” Taylor said softly.

Margaret removed the compress and lifted her head. Taylor stood in the doorway. Margaret motioned her in.

The woman closed the door behind her and approached. “Here is my oldest frock. I hope it’s satisfactory.” She held up a brown round gown that was at least ten years old with yellow flowers.

“Perfect,” Margaret said. “I promise to take good care of it and return it to you soon.”

“Not to worry, my lady.” Taylor helped Margaret out of her gown and into the borrowed one. “It’s a bit too short for you and too tight through here.” She gestured to Margaret’s bustline.

“No matter.”

“I brought you a cap if you want it.”

“Good thinking.”

Taylor placed the cap just so, shifting it twice as if she were styling Margaret’s hair. After removing her earrings and necklace, Margaret turned to the mirror to peruse her appearance. She certainly looked the part of a lower servant in an ill-fitting, hand-me-down gown. The white cap concealed Margaret’s carefully coiffed chignon and stood out starkly against her dark hair.

“It’s perfect.” Margaret turned to Taylor. “Now, I’m giving you strict orders not to disturb me in my chamber as I rest, and not to allow anyone else to do so, either.”

“Yes, milady.”

“Now, if someone asks you, you may speak truthfully that you last saw me in my bedchambers and that no one is to enter.”

The faithful lady’s maid nodded.

Margaret nodded. “Taylor?”

“Milady?”

“I’m fighting for my life, so your discretion about my borrowing your gown is critical.”

Gravely, Taylor nodded. “I understand.”

“One more thing. Please arrange to have my personal things, clothes, toiletries, and so forth brought here from Hennessy House.”

“Of course, milady.”

“Once they arrive, you are to pick out your favorite frocks and keep them.”

Taylor’s mouth dropped open. “Milady?”

“I will be in mourning and will have no use for them, so you might as well use them. Also, at present, I have no other way of thanking you for your help.”

“Thank you so very much.” Taylor’s genuine smile revealed her gratitude.

“Thank you for helping me.”

“Of course, milady.” The lady’s maid left.

Margaret waited until the corridor outside her room fell silent. She waited another moment, heart thrumming. All remained quiet. She peered about. Satisfied, she slipped out, closing the door behind her, and moved to the servants’ staircase. Again, she listened for the footfalls of a passing servant. Nothing. Still, she must make haste. She wouldn’t have long before someone would access the stairs.

The Finch household sat only a few blocks away, so Margaret would reach it easily enough. She sent up a silent prayer that she would reach it undetected, find Cora, whom she hoped would have an answer, and return with no one the wiser. The divine answer might be no, as it often was, but she asked anyway out of what little remained of her faith. Or pure desperation.