“As long as she is a guest at Villa De Lacey, she is ‘Madam Bouffant,’ a widow from Paris. And she must look presentable,or the others will get suspicious.”
“You can change her hair all you want, miss, but that will do naught to save her soul.”
“Eliza.” Bridget made eye contact with her lady’s maid in the mirror. “This is important. You haven’t told the other servants the truth, have you?”
“Of course not. I have nothing to say to those cod’s heads you hired.”
“Good, so you’ll see to her hair, then? Make her look like a lady of Paris?”
“If she’ll permit me entrance to her room, I will.”
“What do you mean?”
“She wouldn’t let me into her room this morning. I tried the door, but it were locked. So I knocked, and she shouted for me to leave.” Eliza inspected Bridget’s hair and started to rearrange the pins.
“How strange. Perhaps it was too early for her.”
Eliza pressed her lips together in a disapproving line as she continued to fix Bridget’s hair.
“What is it?” Bridget asked. “Do you know something?”
Eliza shrugged. “Only that there were strange noises about the house last night. Lots of comings and goings during the wee hours, there were.”
“Really? I heard nothing at all. Perhaps you were dreaming.” Bridget had been so tired that she’d fallen asleep the moment her head had touched her pillow. She had no reason to doubt Eliza. Still, she thought it best to downplay the maid’s comment. If Madam Bouffant’s lover had snuck into her room last night, it was best for the servants not to be gossiping about it.
“Lots of comings and goings,” Eliza muttered again as she went to the wardrobe to fetch Bridget’s clean mourning dress.
As Eliza helped her into the black dress, Bridget glimpsed herself and her lady’s maid in the mirror. Eliza’s pale face and grim expressionwere accentuated by her heavy bombazine gown and oversized black bonnet. Lady Darby’s words came back to Bridget. She was a cruel woman, but she had a point. Their mourning attire did make Villa De Lacey appear rather drab and depressing.
“I was thinking,” Bridget said carefully as the lady’s maid buttoned her dress, “it might be better if you wore a black ribbon to commemorate my papa instead of full mourning dress. It’s only that with Aunt Marianne and I dressed in full mourning as well, the household is starting to look a bit too melancholic.”
Eliza’s fingers froze on the button she was fastening.
“The master has only been dead mere months, miss. This is still a house in mourning.”
“I know. But we shall have to keep that in our hearts because our very survival depends upon making sure the guests at Villa De Lacey have an enjoyable experience so that they will tell their friends to come and maybe even return themselves.”
Eliza pursed her thin lips and stepped away from Bridget.
Bridget reached for Eliza’s hand. “You mustn’t think I don’t appreciate your loyalty. I don’t know what I’d do without you, honestly. It’s a difficult time for us all.”
Eliza nodded again and pulled her hand out of Bridget’s grasp. Clearly, Bridget’s suggestion had wounded the maid. Bridget was about to say something more when an ear-piercing shriek—so loud and bloodcurdling that Bridget’s heart almost stopped beating from fright—sounded in the hallway outside. Both she and Eliza momentarily froze before Bridget jumped to her feet and the two of them raced out of the room.
Several guests, still dressed in their nightshirts, peeked out of their bedroom doors, and some had filtered into the hallway where they stood clustered around Lady Eamont.
“What has happened?” Bridget asked.
“My ring!” Lady Eamont emerged from the cluster of people wearinga robe as if she were the star of a Greek tragedy. She held out her hand and cried dramatically, “It’s gone! My ring is gone!”
“Gone? What do you mean?” Bridget asked.
“My emerald-and-diamond ring. The one Lord Eamont gave me for our anniversary. It’s been stolen, I tell you! Taken right off my finger.”
The audience of onlookers gasped.
Lady Eamont turned to her husband and clutched his arm as if she would faint. “Oh, my lord, who would be so cruel as to snatch that precious ring from my finger as I slept?”
“Taken off your finger?” Bridget frowned. “That makes no sense. You must have removed it and then forgotten where you put it. I am certain it is still in your room.”
