Satisfied that the guest room was simply a guest room, Sybil headed to the door to continue her investigation. She was just about to exit the room when she heard low voices out in the corridor.
She froze with her fingers on the door handle. Her heart pounded with alarm and indecision. Should she dive under the bed? Crawl into the armoire? Hurl herself from the window? The list of possibilities bounced through her brain.
The voices faded as quickly as they’d come. Sybil sagged against the closed door in relief. The correct answer, she realized, was the easiest: She was dressed as a maid, so all she had to do was act like one. Mentally, she erased her list of increasingly panicked evasive actions and replaced it with a simple: Stay calm.
She hoisted her basket and swept back into the corridor with renewed confidence. The coast was clear. Nonetheless, she wasted no time ducking through the next door she found.
This, too, was a bedchamber. Larger than the last one, and filled with trinkets and fripperies. If she had to guess—and Sybil did not like guessing; guessing was for people who did not make lists and schedules—she’d just entered Heloise Vanewright’s quarters. An enormous painting of her hung above the fireplace.
The room held no visible armoire, but there was another door. Sybil tried the handle and found the door led to a dressing room containing not one but two enormous mahogany wardrobes.
She flung open the doors to both and was rewarded with towers of fancy frocks. Sybil dug into her basket for the list she’d made of the most easily identifiable pieces, and began unfolding and refolding each gown one by one hoping to find an undeniable match.
None of the dresses accommodated her.
After half an hour of frustration, Sybil put everything back how she’d found it. She hurried to press her ear against the door to listen for others, then stepped back out into the corridor and continued on to the next room.
These quarters were even larger than the last. Feminine artifacts, including a fancier version of the hand cream Sybil’s mother used, indicated she must have found her way to Lady Vanewright’s rooms. As with Heloise, there was no armoire inside the bedchamber. Instead, a door led to the dressing room.
Sybil was unsurprised this time to find two giant mahogany wardrobes brimming with expensive gowns. She went to work at once, checking each item carefully against her detailed list.
Fifteen minutes later, she was no closer to having uncovered the secret hiding place.
Her shoulders slumped. Dejected, she arranged everything as it had been before her arrival. She trudged out of the dressing room and into the bedchamber—only to come face-to-face with a pink-cheeked maid carrying a folded pile of laundry.
“Eep!” squeaked the maid.
“Um.” Sybil cleared her throat and motioned vaguely behind her. “I was just…”
“I know you’re in a hurry,” said the maid. “I’ve been here less than two days and if I learnt anything, it’s that us maids are always in a hurry. Me, I was meant to finish the beds early this morning, but I got assigned two other chores at the same time. I cannot lose this post. Changing linen will go ever so much quicker if you would be so kind as to—”
“Of course.” Sybil took the stack of bedclothes from the maid and tried to match her own accent to the maid’s. “In your cleaning, have you come across a collection of ladies’ frocks anywhere other than the two dressing rooms?”
The maid frowned in thought as she stripped the bed of its soiled linens, then shook her head. “No, I’ve not seen anything of the sort on this floor. Though I’ve not been in every room of the house belowstairs. How big of a collection?”
“Very big.”
“Enough to fill a trunk?”
“Or two.”
“Good God. What it must be like to shop for a purchase like that! I’ve not seen anything of that volume, nor would I know where to direct you. Have you asked Mrs. Hurley?”
This was presumably the housekeeper.
“She’s next on my list,” Sybil said.
The maid smiled. “If anyone knows, it’s her. She’s run ragged tonight, what with the ball and all, but if it’s an emergency, I could try to—”
“Please don’t,” Sybil interrupted as they pulled fresh bedclothes over the mattress in tandem. “I wouldn’t want to look like I cannot do my job.”
“Oh,” the maid gasped. “Of course not. I won’t breathe a word of your question to anyone. I know exactly how you must feel. Pulled in too many directions at once. Thank you ever so much for your help. I hope we both can catch our breath one day.”
The maid scooped up the dirty linen and hurried from the bedchamber without waiting for a reply.
Sybil’s heart clanged against her rib cage. She’d passed for a servant to a servant! She didn’t know whether to be thrilled or mortified.
In any case, there was no sense hanging about Lady Vanewright’s private quarters any longer, so she headed back out into the corridor.
