“Come along, you can harass him later today,” Mrs. Gilpe says, reaching out to take Gwen’s arm and guide her up the stairs after him.
“Do you know who Lady Demeroven is?”
“Wife of Lord Demeroven, I’d imagine,” Mrs. Gilpe says flatly.
“Really. To Father. He almost fell over when he saw her and she couldn’t get away fast enough. She practically dragged her daughter, Beth, out of the room.”
Mrs. Gilpe purses her lips. They clear the landing to the second floor and head down the hall. Father’s door is already firmlyshut. Gwen goes to prod, but Mrs. Stelm leans out of Gwen’s room.
“Didn’t die in a carriage crash then,” Mrs. Stelm says gamely, grinning beneath her bonnet cap, a few of her ribbons half fallen out and framing her face.
“You weren’t really worried, were you?” Gwen asks as Mrs. Gilpe ushers her into her room and the two of them get her situated to begin releasing her from the monstrosity that is her dress.
“Not really,” Mrs. Stelm assures her. “Though Mrs. Gilpe was... concerned.”
“For you,” Mrs. Gilpe puts in, passing behind Mrs. Stelm with a nudge to her waist to begin unlacing Gwen’s skirt. “Your father can stay out all night if he likes. You still have some honor to protect.”
“Some?” Gwen exclaims. Mrs. Stelm slaps Mrs. Gilpe’s arm.
“As long as your father was in eyesight, it doesn’t much matter,” Mrs. Gilpe says.
“Barely let me out of it for the second half of the evening,” Gwen grumbles as Mrs. Gilpe finishes undoing her buttons. “It was like he thought if I turned away Lady Demeroven would somehow appear again.”
“Lady Demeroven?” Mrs. Stelm repeats. They briefly disappear when they lift her skirt over her head. “They spoke?”
Gwen glances between her housekeeper and lady’s maid as they exchange a series of narrowed eyes and eyebrow raises. “Who is this woman, what did she do?”
“No one,” Mrs. Gilpe says firmly.
Mrs. Stelm rolls her eyes, laying out Gwen’s skirt and bodice to air overnight.
“But—” Gwen says, looking to Mrs. Stelm.
Mrs. Stelm just shrugs and turns back to undoing clasps of her corset while Mrs. Gilpe undoes the hoop cage and lowers it to the ground.
“An old acquaintance, I’m sure he was just surprised.”
“He was more than surprised, it was like—”
“Time for bed,” Mrs. Gilpe insists as she deftly pulls the pins from Gwen’s hair. “You need to look at least somewhat rested for this afternoon. You’re not sixteen anymore.”
Gwen gapes and Mrs. Stelm scoffs. “Mrs. Gilpe, really.”
“Bed,” Mrs. Gilpe says firmly, pushing Gwen toward her already turned-down sheets. “Good night.”
“It’s morning,” Gwen protests, watching Mrs. Gilpe take Mrs. Stelm’s arm and practically drag her out of the room.
“Sleep,” Mrs. Gilpe says sternly, before shuffling Mrs. Stelm out into the hall.
The door shuts, and Gwen stands staring out at her slightly disheveled room completely nonplussed.
***
Gwen twists her hands together as she and Father trod along the walking path beside the Long Water. The clouds haven’t lifted and the park is awash in a dull gray-hued light that does nothing for either of their moods. She barely slept, and Father doesn’t look much better.
All her plans of subtly divining information out of him seem to fall flat against his listless mood. She stares around at the other families set up along the path, with their overlarge tea sets and tarps, the girls in bright colors, mothers equally doneup. She feels a bit shabby by comparison in her dark navy dress and cape—but it’s cold.
She can see one of the younger girls shivering. She looks back pleadingly, but her mother forces her to stand at the edge of their wilting picnic blanket to smile at the young men, who are more interested in the sculls on the lake than the girls along the path.
