“Well, well. Such finery for a housemaid. A castoff from yar last mistress?”
“Um... it belonged to one of the daughters, yes.”
Fiona nodded and stepped behind her, pulling the single lace through the many holes with more force than necessary.
“Thank you,” Margaret said through gritted teeth, and waited for Fiona to step from the room.
“Let’s have the rest, then,” Fiona said.
Margaret preferred no audience when she pulled her petticoat and day dress over her head, in case her wig should slip. “Thank you, but I can manage the rest on my own.”
Fiona stuck out her lip, as though impressed. “That’s somethin,’ I suppose.”
———
Two hours later, her first round of duties completed, Margaret went downstairs for breakfast. On her way to the servants’ hall, she passed the housekeeper’s parlor. From within, Mrs. Budgeon hailed her.
“Nora?”
Margaret veered into her doorway. “Yes, Mrs. Budgeon?”
The housekeeper looked up from the tea she was measuring. “It seems you made quite an impression on Miss Upchurch yesterday when you took it upon yourself to help her dress and arrange her hair.” Her tone was not complimentary.
“Betty was busy elsewhere, ma’am. I only meant to help the one time.”
“In future, you are to see me before promoting yourself.”
“I had no intention of promoting my—”
“Do not interrupt me.”
Margaret swallowed.
“Nor will you make any further changes in your assigned duties. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Very well.” Mrs. Budgeon avoided her eyes and took a deep breath. “It seems Miss Upchurch would like you to dress her hair once again. You will attend her immediately after your breakfast.”
“But... I...”
“It was not a suggestion, Nora.”
“No, ma’am. Yes, ma’am.”
———
Heart pounding, Margaret scratched on Miss Helen’s door. A proper lady’s maid had no need to knock before entering her mistress’s bedchamber. But there was nothing proper about the maid trembling at Helen Upchurch’s door. She wondered if Helen really wanted “Nora” to dress her hair, or if she had another reason for summoning her.
“Come.”
Whispering a prayer, Margaret pushed open the door and stepped inside. Helen was seated at her dressing table, fully clothed. Betty had obviously been there before her.
Helen glanced up at her in the mirror. “Nora, was it?”
Mouth dry, Margaret nodded.
“Kindly dress my hair, please.”
