Chapter 14
Charlotte had just finished dressing for the morning when a soft knock interrupted the quiet rhythm of her maid buttoning her gown.
Sally crossed the room to open the door. Standing on the threshold was the housemaid, Mary—her eyes downcast, hands clasped tightly before her apron as though she feared she might be turned away.
“You wished to see me, Miss?” Mary asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Charlotte smiled warmly. “Yes, I was hoping to ask a favor of you.”
That drew Mary’s gaze up, wide and uncertain. “A favor, Miss?”
“Come inside, and I shall explain.” Charlotte gestured towards the small settee near the window, sunlight pooling over its floral upholstery.
Mary hesitated before obeying, perching on the very edge of the seat as though afraid she might soil it. Sally quietly closed the door behind them.
Charlotte joined Mary, offering what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “You mentioned before that you have a contact employed in Lord Matthew’s household.”
“Yes, Miss,” Mary said slowly.
“I was hoping you could speak to her and ask if she has heard anything more about Lady Matthew’s disappearance.”
Mary blinked, startled. “What sort of information do you wish to know?”
“Anything,” Charlotte said, leaning forward. “Servants see more than they are ever credited with. We believe Lady Matthew was sent to The Chelmsford Asylum.”
“An asylum?”
Charlotte nodded gravely. “If that is true, and if the pattern holds, then we may only have a few months before she…” She trailed off, unable to utter the word. “Before she is lost to us.”
Mary gasped. “That is dreadful.”
“It is,” Charlotte agreed. “Which is why I need your help. I suspect Lord Matthew’s staff may know far more than they let on.”
“I can ask,” Mary said slowly, “but what if they know nothing? Or worse—what if they tell someone I am asking questions?”
“That is a risk we must take,” Charlotte said firmly. “And I shall pay handsomely for any information that reaches me.”
Mary bobbed her head, though her nervous fingers twisted her apron. “I can go now, if you wish it.”
“I wish I could go with you,” Charlotte said.
Mary’s eyes widened in horror. “Oh, no. You mustn’t. If you came with me—dressed like that—no one would give me the time of day.”
Charlotte glanced at Sally before asking, “What if I dressed as a maid?”
Mary looked scandalized. “No one would mistake you for a maid.”
“With the right clothing, they would,” Charlotte insisted. “I could ask the questions directly—without arousing suspicion.”
Mary hesitated. “It would be easier if you came, but—”
Before she could finish, Charlotte rose, determination flooding her. “Sally, may I borrow your uniform?”
Sally’s eyes narrowed. “This is a mistake,” she said bluntly. “You know nothing of servitude. And what happens when someone recognizes you?”
“No one pays any heed to servants,” Charlotte countered. “I shall walk to Lord Matthew’s townhouse, ask my questions, and return before anyone notices my absence.”
Sally’s brows drew together. “And if Lord Alcott hears of this escapade?”
Charlotte lifted her chin. “My brother will understand.”
“And if he doesn’t?” Sally pressed.
“Then I shall beg forgiveness later.” Charlotte softened her tone. “Please, Sally. If Lady Matthew truly is imprisoned in that place, she hasn’t time for us to be cautious.”
Sally’s expression faltered, and she sighed heavily. “Very well, but I still say this is madness.”
“Duly noted,” Charlotte said, already pulling her hairpins free.
A short while later, Charlotte stood before the looking glass hardly recognizing herself.
Gone were her muslin gown and fashionable curls.
In their place, she wore a plain gray dress with a white apron, her hair scraped into a modest chignon.
She tucked a few gold coins into her pocket for good measure.
Mary eyed her warily. “Shall we go, Miss?”
Charlotte drew a breath, her heart pounding. “Let us get this over with.”
They slipped down the corridor and descended the narrow servants’ staircase. The scent of baking bread greeted them as they entered the kitchen, where Miss Wendover, the cook, turned at once.
“Good heavens, Miss!” she exclaimed. “Why are you dressed in such a fashion?”
“Pretend you didn’t see me,” Charlotte said quickly, crossing to the back door.
“Where are you going?”
Charlotte opened the door, a wry smile on her lips. “Trust me—it is better if you do not know.”
Mary followed her out into the courtyard. “It is not too late to stop this madness,” she murmured.
“It will be fine,” Charlotte said—though her voice trembled more than she liked. This wasn’t about propriety. It was about saving a woman’s life.
They walked briskly along the pavement. Mary cast Charlotte a sidelong glance. “Lower your head and keep your eyes on the ground.”
“How will I see where I am going?”
Mary huffed. “Servants don’t see. They endure. Imagine you carry a heavy weight that must never be dropped.”
Charlotte obeyed, lowering her head. The world looked different from this vantage—grayer, smaller, and somehow lonelier.
“How is your family?” she asked.
“They’re alive,” Mary said after a moment. “That’s something, these days.”
“I’m sorry.”
Mary shook her head. “Don’t be. Everyone has burdens to carry, do they not?”
Before long, they reached a red brick townhouse lined by an iron gate gleaming in the morning light. Charlotte instinctively started towards the grand front entrance, but Mary caught her sleeve.
“Servants don’t use the main door. We go around back,” she whispered.
“Ah. Yes, of course.”
They wound their way around to a narrow courtyard. Mary knocked, and after a moment, the door opened to reveal a blonde-haired maid, her hair pulled back into a tight chignon.
“Mary! What are you doing here?” the young woman asked, startled.
Mary bit her lip. “My friend wishes to ask you a few questions.”
The maid frowned, her eyes darting between them. “What kind of questions?”
Charlotte forced a polite smile. “Might we speak privately?”
The maid stepped aside. “The cook is at the market, and the house is quiet for now. Come in.”
The kitchen was small but tidy, with copper pots gleaming on the wall and the faint aroma of lemon polish lingering in the air. Charlotte sat on the edge of a wooden chair, trying to seem inconspicuous.
“I’ve come about Lady Matthew,” Charlotte began. “Is it true that she is missing?”
The maid stiffened. “Who are you?”
“It’s all right, Martha,” Mary said, interjecting. “My friend only wishes to help. She’s trying to find Lady Matthew.”
Martha’s suspicion deepened. “And how could she possibly do that?”
Charlotte decided it was best to play her hand and hoped that Martha understood. “Because I believe Lord Matthew had her committed—perhaps even with the intent to have her killed.”
Martha’s hand flew to her mouth. “No… surely not.”
“I hope we are wrong,” Charlotte said. “But I fear the evidence suggests otherwise. Please, can you tell me anything—anything at all—about Lady Matthew’s disappearance?”
Martha leaned back in her chair, her hands clasped tightly in her lap as if weighing what could and could not be spoken. Her gaze darted to the kitchen door before she whispered, “There isn’t much to tell. One day, Lady Matthew was here, and the next… she was gone.”
“Does anyone know where she went?”
Martha shook her head slowly. “No one. Not even her lady’s maid, which is strange indeed. They were quite close. I cannot imagine Lady Matthew leaving without so much as a word.”
“Has anyone questioned Lord Matthew about her disappearance?” Charlotte pressed, watching the other woman’s face carefully.
Martha’s mouth flattened. “No one dares. But…” She hesitated, her cheeks coloring. “He has been enamored with the governess—Miss Talbot. The man has no shame. His advances are bold, and she does little to discourage him. The whole thing is an insult to his wife and is a scandal waiting to happen.”
“Has Lord Matthew ever mentioned The Chelmsford Asylum?”
Martha shifted in her seat. “No… but he did receive a letter from there.”
“A letter? When?” Charlotte asked.
“Yesterday morning,” Martha said, her brow furrowing as she tried to recall. “I remember because I was the one who placed it on his desk with his other post.”
Charlotte leaned forward. “Do you think you could obtain that letter for me?”
Martha’s eyes widened in alarm. “Obtain it? Miss, I could be dismissed without references—ruined!”
Charlotte slipped her hand into her pocket and drew out several gold coins. She set them on the table, the metal clinking softly against the worn wood. “I will give you more once the letter is in my possession.”
Martha stared at the coins, temptation warring with fear. “And if I am dismissed?”
“Then you will have a position at my townhouse,” Charlotte responded.
With a disbelieving laugh, Martha questioned, “Your townhouse?”
“Yes,” Charlotte replied, meeting her gaze squarely. “I am Miss Charlotte Winslow, sister to Lord Alcott, and I give you my word you shall have employment should you desire it.”
Martha turned to Mary, who nodded. “It’s true,” Mary assured softly.
Martha’s eyes narrowed as she studied Charlotte anew. “Then why are you dressed like a maid?”
Charlotte’s lips curved faintly. “Because I thought you would be more comfortable speaking to me if I appeared as one of your own. I am not here to deceive you, only to uncover the truth about Lady Matthew.”
“Why?” Martha asked, her voice carrying a note of wary curiosity. “Why should her fate matter so much to you?”
Charlotte rose, the chair scraping softly across the stone floor. “Because too many women vanish in silence,” she said, her voice trembling with restrained passion. “Because I refuse to let Lady Matthew be forgotten as if she were nothing more than yesterday’s rubbish.”
Martha studied her for a long moment. Then her expression softened, and she gave a decisive nod. “Very well. I’ll do it. And when this is done, I would like to come work for you, regardless. I’ve grown weary of Lord Matthew’s wandering eyes.”