“I wasn’t.”
Fiona gave her a sidelong glance. “So ya came into Weavering Street yesterday, but couldn’t be bothered to join us?”
“I meant to, but—”
Mrs. Budgeon popped her head in the door. “Here you are. I have just come from the green bedroom. Why is that bed not yet made? It is nearly eleven.”
Margaret glanced at Fiona, but Fiona trained her stony gaze on the pillow in her arms.
“It’s my fault, ma’am,” Margaret said. “I fell behind today, but I’ll soon catch up.”
“You had better.” She turned to leave, then paused. “Thank you for helping out, Fiona.”
Fiona nodded.
Mrs. Budgeon asked, “Have you seen Betty?”
Fiona looked at Margaret.
Margaret faltered, “Um... yes. Last I saw her she was in one of the other bedchambers.” Well, that was true to a point, though the bedchamber had been her own.
“When you see her, tell her I need to speak with her.”
At that moment, Betty appeared in the doorway, looking sheepish. “Here I am, Mrs. Budgeon. I am terribly sorry...”
The housekeeper said, “You are responsible for overseeing the duties of the under maids, but Nora is not new any longer and must learn to complete her duties on time herself. You and Fiona cannot continue to cover for her.”
Betty’s mouth dropped open. “But... I—”
Margaret said quickly, “That’s what Betty is always telling me, Mrs. Budgeon. I shall do better in future. I promise.”
Mrs. Budgeon studied her. “Very well. We shall let it pass this once. I knew yesterday’s idleness would exact its price.”
“Right you were,” Margaret agreed.
In the doorway, Betty nodded, her pale countenance and red-rimmed eyes hinting at just how high a price it was.
Chamber maid wanted who can dress hair,
clear starch, read & write, bear moderate confinement,
work well at her needle, dress a young lady, is sober &
honest & well behaved. Apply Mrs. Lambe, Stall St.
—Bath Chronicle,1793
Chapter 13
Margaret stood waiting in her room in her wig, shift, and undone stays when Fiona knocked on her door the next morning. She had been expecting Betty.
“Betty’s already hard at work. Makin’ up for yesterday, no doubt. She asked me to help ya with yar stays this mornin’.”
“Thank you, Fiona.”
“It’s a favor to Betty, mind, not you.”
Margaret turned her back to Fiona. But Fiona circled her, surveying the long stays of ivory linen which came down to her hip. The shoulder straps and satiny gusseted cups supported, while pretty stitching decorated the front.
