A knock rattled the door.
She jumped. “Who is it?”
“Lucy, Miss Beth.” The door handle clicked, and the maid entered, her long, dark hair pulled back in a chignon. A white apron covered the front of her black dress. “Thought you might need help cleaning up this morning.” She offered a tentative smile and curtseyed.
Morning Fawn ran a hand over her hair. “Thank you, but I can look after myself. If you could just empty the pot.”
“You’ve had a rough night.” Lucy closed the door. “And I’m in no hurry to get to Miss Thea’s room or Mrs. LeBeau’s either.” She strode over to the trunk, picking up a discarded stocking as she went. “I’ll help you find something pretty.”
“What’s it matter?” Morning Fawn grabbed her brush from the washstand. Half of her brain felt as if it were still asleep. “No one’s going to see it.”
“Sometimes it’s good to look pretty for yourself, Miss.” Lucy pulled out a petticoat, followed by a blue floral-print dress.
“I’m not up to flowers, Lucy.” She brushed through her tangled ends. Cacti would be more of her style, far from here.
As usual, Lucy didn’t listen. She never did when it was just the two of them. “You get that dirty one off, and I’ll take it down with me to the sewing room when I finish here.”
Morning Fawn blew out a breath and picked up the water pitcher for another drink.
“I could pour you a cup of water, you know.” Lucy laid the clean clothing over the back of the cane-bottom chair and stepped behind her. “I’ll help you with the top buttons.”
Their gazes met in the mirror. Lucy’s eyes said it all. She felt sorry for Morning Fawn.
I don’t need your pity. Morning Fawn bristled but held her tongue. She couldn’t afford to lose the closest person she had to a friend this side of the frontier. Outside this room, she couldn’t even carry on a decent conversation with Lucy, not if any of the LeBeaus or Owens were within earshot.
The dress slipped off of her shoulders, and she shimmied out of the remains of a day she longed to forget. “Did you see Lieutenant Reynolds this morning?”
The maid exhaled and scooped up the discarded garment with long, slender fingers. A triangle-shaped scar marred the back of her hand. “I saw everyone at breakfast.” But the way she gnawed her lip hinted there was more.
“And?”
She dodged Morning Fawn’s gaze. “You’ve got bruises, Miss Beth.” She pointed to a dark black-and-blue mark on Morning Fawn’s upper arm.
The way her hip felt, there was probably one there, too, and her ribs. No surprise. Jumping from a horse. Scuffling with Reynolds. Then, being manhandled by Owens. No wonder her body told her she should be in bed.
“It’ll heal.” Morning Fawn rubbed her arm. “But I want to know about the lieutenant. What are you not saying?”
Lucy wet a washcloth in the basin and gently touched it to the bruise. “He showed up at the hen house when I was there. Claiming he likes eggs and wanted to inspect the hens. But that’s just what he said.”
“What was the real reason?” Morning Fawn took the washcloth and skimmed it over her face.
“To ask questions about you.” Lucy unbuttoned the petticoat at Morning Fawn’s waist and let it fall to the ground. “And I tries to say as little as possible.”
“About me? What kind of questions?”
“About your medicine, mostly.”
“And why’s he so almighty concerned about that?”
“Didn’t say.” Lucy’s brow furrowed. “But he wouldn’t let it be until he had some answers. I was a bundle of nerves, him being a white man and all and us being alone.” She handed Morning Fawn a clean chemise and drawers and turned toward the bed. “I told him it was the first time in months they’d given you laudanum, and they usually put it in your food. That it only comes to what it did last night when they figure out you haven’t taken it.”
The soft linen hung loose in Morning Fawn’s hands. Her humiliation a matter of conversation. It was none of this man’s business. “What did he say to that?”
“Nothing.” Lucy shrugged and yanked the blankets off the bed. “Looked real serious as if he was studying on something, then thanked me and left.”
What was he up to? Maybe he hoped for a repeat of last night. Or an even friendlier reception. He’d live to regret it if he dared come near her again. If Reynolds had any decency or honor, he wouldn’t have snuck into her room. But what should she expect from a man who traded her for money as if her freedom could be measured in coin? Last night, he’d seemed almost…kind. A delusion of her laudanum-soaked brain.
She yanked the rest of her garments off and scrubbed.
