When she reached her door, she saw Mary knocking. “Oh, there you are, miss! I wondered what became of you.”
“I hope you have not been waiting long.”
“No, miss.”
Rebecca asked, “You have not seen a nun or someone dressed as one, have you?”
“No, miss. Don’t tell me you’ve seen the ghost of the abbess!” Mirth twinkled in the girl’s eyes.
Rebecca sighed. “Never mind.”
The two entered the room, and Mary began helping her undress. Rebecca found her gaze lingering on the maid’s reflection in the mirror, head lowered, mobcap half covering her face, apron over a dark, nondescript dress. An idea struck.
“Mary, I wonder if you might help me with something?”
“’Course, if I can.”
“I need to speak to Mr. Oliver. Privately. But no one gets into his room except you. Except a ... chambermaid.”
“What are you saying?”
“MayIdeliver his breakfast tomorrow morning?”
“Mr. George won’t let you in.”
“Not as me, perhaps. But as a chambermaid, he might.”
Mary’s eyebrows rose. “You want to work as a maid?”
“Just for a few minutes. Unofficially.”
“Un-oh-fishal ...?”
“In secret. Just between you and me.” Rebecca gestured toward her attire. “Perhaps I could borrow your apron and cap?”
“I couldn’t let you wear these,” Mary said. “I have to attend to my duties properly dressed.”
“I understand,” Rebecca replied, feeling defeated. She did not want to get the girl into trouble.
“But I do have an extra set,” Mary said, brightening. “You could wear those, as long as you return them no worse for wear.”
Relief and terror warred within Rebecca. What was she doing? “It would only be for a short time,” she assured the girl. Hopefully not too short, for that would mean he’d refused to talk with her. Refused her request.
Mary nodded. “I’ll bring them to you when I finish for the night.”
“Thank you. And keep this between us, please.”
“If I may be so bold, I’d say the same to you, miss. I don’t want anyone to find out either. I’d lose my place.”
Half an hour later—time Rebecca had spent in doubts and second thoughts—Mary delivered the promised articles of clothing, carried over her arm, covered by a towel. She delivered instructions as well.
“I’ve given it some thought. Monsieur Marhic has a keen eye. Instead of you going down to the kitchen, I’ll prepare a tray myself and meet you outside your room at five till nine. You can carry the tray from here.”
Rebecca expelled a jagged sigh. “Thank you, that does sound less risky.” Especially as the chef might remember speaking with her in the dining room.
“Keep your head down,” Mary went on. “No one looks at maids anyway, except Mr. George. Usually when he sees me coming with the tray, he rises and knocks on the door for me. If he asks, say you’re new. Later, I can deny everything if need be.”
“Very well. Sounds a simple plan.” Rebecca inhaled a long breath, solidifying her resolve. “And truly, it’s not as though we are doing anything illegal.”
