The queen’s parlor maid had spent the morning of her half day changing sheets at Osborne House. Just before two o’clock, Lizzie passed through the gate, peering down York Street, afraid she’d missed the omnibus. She pined for the solace of her secret place. If the ’bus had gone, it would be another week until her next free afternoon.
Lizzie pulled a letter from her pocket and hesitated at the pillar box by Osborne’s gate. Her hand hovered at the slot. She hadn’t written to her younger sister since the summer. That was before it started up again. Lizzy sighed, thinking,Granny always said, let sleeping dogs lie.
But when the ’bus rounded the bend, Lizzie pushed the letter into the slot. She signaled the driver and climbed up, relieved to spot an empty seat in the crowded cabin. At least she’d avoid a windy, rocking ride aloft. As the road swung east around a curve, she watched the tall, square towers of the queen’s house vanish behind a stand of gray-barked ashes.
Lizzie settled in, tucking loose strands of auburn hair under her hat.She’ll help me. She’ll tell me what to do.The girl started to make the sign of the cross, then stopped herself, looking around at the other passengers, wondering if they’d noticed.She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer,Hail Mary, full of grace…
Warm weather lingered on the Isle of Wight, the trees showing just a trace of autumn yellow at their tops. The ’bus rumbled through green hedgerow alleys and rolled past golden fields. After a few miles, it rattled over the timbers of Wooten Creek Bridge, and her shoulder bumped the elderly rider beside her. The man smiled at her apology and looked back at his newspaper. As they passed the Old Mill Pond, its glassy surface turned gray, then blue, and gray again as clouds slid across the sun.
Nearly there.
The busman slowed and stopped just before Quarr Lane began its turn away from the sea. Lizzie hurried forward, one hand holding her bonnet in place, and handed the driver a sixpence.
“Don’t forget, lass. The last ’bus of the day returns at five.” He gave her a long look. “You take care in that lonely place.”
But Lizzie never felt alone there, and she wouldn’t be late. All the queen’s servants had watches to keep them on the household’s strict schedule, and she’d pinned hers underneath her shawl. Not that she needed a timepiece. As a child in Ireland, she had lived on a farm.In the days before… Lizzie closed her eyes. She wouldn’t think about that. But she knew the close of day by the churr-churring of the grasshopper warbler and cooling air that felt like a caress across her cheek. She’d be waiting for the ’bus long before moonrise.
’Tis a Hunter’s Moon tonight,she remembered. It would light her way on the dark walk across Osborne Park, the house towers glowing in the moonlight. Lizzie watched the omnibus disappear around the bend and stood for a moment in the sudden quiet. Then she pulled her skirts away from her boots and slipped through an opening in the hedgerow.
Across the road, a figure moved in the shadows of the trees.
Lady Aldridge and Julia sipped tea from the hotel’s flowery, red-and-yellow cups. An observer might have guessed they were relatives. They sat erect in their chairs, looking taller than most women even while sitting. Lady Aldridge’s hair was silver and Julia’s chestnut, but she and her great-niece shared the same high cheekbones, firm chins, and faces better described as handsome than pretty. The arch of their brows was identical, but not the eyes beneath. Julia’s were brown, and her aunt’s a cornflower blue.
“Well, my dear …” Lady Aldridge returned her saucer and cup to the table, leveling her gaze.
Julia, who knew her great-aunt well, thought,Tea, cucumber sandwiches, and interrogation.
“I’m not sure which surprises me more,” Lady Aldridge said. “That you absented yourself from the clinic for three whole weeks or that you traveled here like a lady, for once, in the company of your maid.”
“I thought you’d be pleased,” her niece said, smiling.
Julia had opened her clinic in Whitechapel five years earlier and was used to coming and going unchaperoned. But it was not merely the travel that worried her aunt. Lady Aldridge fretted about the long hours Julia devoted to the clinic. She thought her niece looked worn out on many evenings and told her so. Often.
“How are they managing at the clinic without you?”
“Doctor Barnes will come twice a week and every Saturday. Nurse Clemmie will send any patient needing more than routine care to the London Hospital.”
“High time you had a holiday. The sea air will soon put some color in those cheeks.”
“And Kate’s. She needed to get away.”
“Is she not well?”
“It’s Finsbury Circus that’s ill. The atmosphere in our neighborhood …”
“Atmosphere?”
Julia frowned, fiddling with her teaspoon. “It’s six weeks since you and Grandfather left London.”
“That’s hardly a lifetime. What has changed?”
“You’ve missed the vicious …” Julia pushed away her cup and saucer. “The guilty-by-association judgments from friends Kate has known for years. Fellow servants who work in the houses around Finsbury Circus.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The Manchester outrage in September, Aunt. You must have read about Sergeant Brett. The policeman who died in the raid. He was the cousin of a servant in Kate’s circle of friends.”
“But what has that to do with your maid?”
