Truly None of My Concern
I’m not sure I’ve done the right thing.
It’s unsettling.
I normally know my duty, and I do it. There’s little to ponder. But now, I fear I’ve misjudged. I shouldn’t have written to Miss Flanders myself, and yet, what else could I have done? Hugh must not be left to his own devices with the poor girl, and simply instructing a servant to attend to her felt—wrong, somehow.
“ Did you hear me, Inglebert?” Father’s voice cuts through my reverie, and I start, nearly dropping my fork.
“Not during dinner, Conrad,” Mother says in her honey-sweet voice. The fizzing gasolier above the table turns her fair hair into a halo. “You can talk business later.” Mother insists on a weekly family dinner, no business allowed, so the four of us are gathered in the palace’s smallest dining parlor, although I don’t know what we’ve been speaking of.
Father harrumphs his assent, though Hugh gives me a narrow look across the table. I’m glad he is too busy chewing a stewed eel to interrogate me on my absent-mindedness .
“I have some news,” Mother changes the subject—at least, I suppose she changes the subject. “My maid Livia is going to be married.”
“Marriage!” Hugh shudders. “Most terrible news, indeed!” His gaze slides back to me. I raise my eyebrow. He hadn’t seemed so averse the night of his impetuous, inebriated promise.
“I hope you’re not implying that marriage is a thing to fear, Fitzhugh. Your father and I have always been happy together.” Mother raises her thin eyebrows at Father, who mutters something about Hugh settling down someday around his mouthful of eel.
“Livia’s match was all my idea, you know,” Mother continues. “She’s fallen in love with the very footman I wanted for her!” She sighs and sips absently from her wine glass. “I must give them a generous wedding present.”
“You’ll give the boys romantic notions of love-matches,” Father grunts.
“Not Luke,” Hugh says. He spears another bite and looks at me, spite glimmering in his blue eyes. “He’s responsible , you know.”
“You married for love, Conrad.” Mother’s laugh tinkles through the room.
Father grunts again, but it’s affectionate. “And I had no idea what I was getting into!”
“I presume you’ve started courting the princess already, Inglebert?” Mother lays her fork down. One footman silently steps forward from his place along the wall, taking her plate with its half-eaten eel, and another follows with the next course.
“I began a letter.” I allow the footman to clear my place.
“It was very stupid,” Hugh interrupts. “You didn’t send it, did you?”
I flatten my lips.
“I still think we should leave you out of this,” Father says as a plate of mutton and redcurrant jelly is set in front of him. “It’s none of your business. Let me and King Alvaro arrange everything.”
Mother lays her hand on mine and gives Father a pointed look. “Oh, let the boy try first, dear. Perhaps he can woo the princess on his own. You got me, you remember.”
Father rolls his eyes.
Hugh grins and leans forward in his chair. “Do you want to know how he started his first letter to her?”
I cough. “So, Mother, you are in need of a new maid, then?”
“Oh, yes. And it is so difficult to find someone who’ll be properly discrete.” Mother takes a tiny bite of her mutton.
Hugh looks at me, eyes brightening. “Ah!” He beams at our mother. “I believe I have just the thing! Or person, I mean!” Foreboding slithers down my spine. “I know an absolutely charming young lady who needs a job, and I’m sure she’d be just the girl for you, Mother!”
“Oh? Are you acquainted with many servants?”
Hugh turns to me. “You were just telling me to fix it, and here I am, fixing it! What a happy idea!”
“But who is she? And where did you meet her?” Mother presses, but Hugh gives her a blissful smile.
“I never told you to—” I begin at the same time that Hugh says, “I’m sure you’ll love her, Mother!” He scoops jelly onto a spoon, self-satisfaction oozing out of him.
He must be referring to Miss Flanders, but I cannot argue with him without inviting a rather awkward line of questioning from my parents. Hugh doesn’t know I already sent a message to Miss Flanders yesterday, nor that she made no reply. I’ve spent the day trying to convince myself that it’s none of my concern, but if Hugh's going to interject himself again …
I take a bite of my own jelly. It’s tarter than I expected, and I pucker as I reprimand myself. I offered aid to Miss Flanders, and there’s nothing more I can do for the girl. Hugh will probably forget all about it by morning.
“Lord Travis told me you raised taxes on the Ramsfeldshire road, Father.” Changing the subject seems my wisest course of action. “I thought you were going to wait until after the province stabilized. ”
“Can’t afford to wait,” Father says. “We need a generous bride-price if you hope to catch Princess Islabetta.”
“Perhaps she’s not the best choice, then.” I shouldn’t feel this reluctant to pursue her; even though I haven’t met the princess, I’ve always known that I must marry whomever my parents choose for me. It is my duty. There’s no reason to drag my feet now.
“Business, my dears,” Mother yawns before steering the conversation to the number of families coming to the city for the upcoming social season, dropping some broad hints to Hugh about which young ladies he should pay special attention to. One of them will surely catch his eye, freeing Miss Flanders from his notice.
Hugh listens to Mother, but when she looks toward her plate for a moment, he gives me a slow grin and a wink.
My further involvement will be required, after all.
HESTER
“And then Mistress Hardinge made Rhea take the entire hem out and redo it!— Hester! Are you even listening?”
“Yes!” I glance at Chemmy. The evening air has turned her nose pink, and she’s frowning at me. “Mostly.”
“Liar. Tell me what you were dreaming about.”
“Honestly?” I breathe a laugh. “I was wishing we had more cheese.”
Chemmy laughs, too. “You shouldn’t have been so rude to Prince Fitzhugh if you wanted more cheese.”
“ He’s not the one who gave it to us in the first place.”
“I still think you should go apply at the palace. You can’t convince me you enjoyed working for Corthope today.” Chemmy looks around as if she’s afraid my new mistress will be lurking in the crowds, ready to pounce on anyone who would defame her .
“She wasn’t that bad,” I say. “Only scolded me twice, and once was mostly my fault.”
Hooves sound on the cobblestones behind us, so we scuttle to the side of the narrow road, hugging the walls of a pawn shop. The sound slows, then stops. Curious, I toss a glance over my shoulder.
It’s Hugh—of course it’s Hugh. Why wouldn’t it be? How silly of me to assume that I could simply live in peace for twenty-four hours!
Why did I go to that ball?
I huff in exasperation and try to cover it with a cough. Hugh grins down at me from his phaeton, so I curtsy. “Your Highness.”
“Oh, don’t bother with that nonsense,” he says. “I was just heading to call on you! What good luck that we ran into each other!”
Beside me, Chemmy is gaping—positively gaping! Mouth hanging fully open, eyes wider than I believed possible, actually holding onto the wall for support.
“Your friend can join us.” Hugh says. “There’s enough room in my phaeton for three—if you don’t mind sitting close.” He winks. I roll my eyes.
“This is Chemmy,” I say. “Chemmy, Hugh.” My introduction lacks any sort of formality, but Hugh—ever gallant, if ever thoughtless—hops down from his perch and drops into a sweeping bow. The tails of his orange riding coat flutter behind him. “But we don’t need a ride.”
“I’m calling on you anyhow. You may as well ride with me.”
“Last time you wouldn’t let me out!” I accuse. Hugh’s eyes widen innocently. “Don’t try to lie about it, either!”
“I never lie,” Hugh says. “Perhaps I did not put you down quite where you wished. But if you ride with me now— ”
“No, thank you!” I say, tugging Chemmy’s arm so we can walk away. “You’ve gotten me into quite enough mischief! Besides, you don’t even know where I live.”
“Don’t I? You forget I have many informants at my disposal.” Hugh winks and falls into step beside us, leading Kelpie and the phaeton behind him. “Think of your friend! You’re depriving her of joy!”
“Chemmy doesn’t want to ride with you either!” I look at Chemmy and sigh at her wistful expression. “Don’t tell me you do. ”
Her voice is barely more than a squeak. “It—it would be a great honor, wouldn’t it?”
Hugh reaches around me to shake Chemmy’s hand. “Exactly! Come along, Miss—er—Not Smith!”
Chemmy gives me an apologetic glance, but lets Hugh boost her up into the tall phaeton. I prop my fists on my hips and glare at the pair of them.
“Well, Miss Smith,” Hugh says once Chemmy is perched on the seat, quivering with excitement. “Don’t you think we need a chaperone?” He flashes a smile and holds out a hand.
“I don’t owe you anything for the ride, then, if I’m chaperoning,” I mutter. I don’t know if Hugh hears, but I think his smile grows a bit sharper as I allow him to hand me into the phaeton. He climbs in after me so that I am in the middle.
And when he said it was close, he wasn’t lying.
The three of us are squeezed as close as a group of piglets trying to stay warm, so tight that I’m afraid Chemmy might fall out when we go around a turn. She clings to my arm, expression alternating between terror and exhilaration. I’d like to scoot away from Hugh, but I fear I’ll push Chemmy right out if I do, so I resign myself to being far too close to him for a few minutes. At least it’s warmer than walking.
Hugh grins down at me. “Would you like to help drive?” Deftly passing an arm around me, he presses one of the reins into my hand, then keeps on holding it. “Here, I’ll teach you.”
“I’ve driven before, as it happens.”
“But not a phaeton! Yes?”
I really should be more annoyed than I am. He cost me my job! And yet, there’s some sort of charm to his boyish enthusiasm that keeps me from being truly angry. My mischievous puppy comes to mind again .
I’ve never been more relieved to turn down the alley where our boardinghouse is. After Kelpie comes to a stop, Hugh hops down and lifts out first Chemmy, then me. His fingers splay around my waist and linger there much longer than necessary, even once I’m on the ground.
“Really, Your Highness!” I say, and he lets me go, but his cheeky grin doesn’t falter. I roll my eyes and follow a blushing Chemmy to the house. I hesitate in the doorway. Hugh’s tying Kelpie to a hitching post down the street. Does he really mean to come in? What cheek!
“Well,” I say with false cheer as he swaggers toward me, “thank you for the ride. And I hope you have a good evening.” I’m being rude—and to royalty! What would my mum say!—but I don’t want to encourage whatever silly notions Hugh has. Besides, Mistress Mungon is strict about gentleman callers.
Hugh grabs my hand and pulls me to himself. “I shall,” he says. “I plan on spending it with very pleasant company. Don’t you want me to come in?” He looks around at the exterior of the four-story building crammed in the middle of the row of narrow houses. I suppose it had once been whitewashed, but only bits and flakes of dingy gray remain on the weathered walls, and a dead vine twines about the doorway. The street itself receives only intermittent sweeping, and various sorts of refuse pile up in corners and nooks. A lamp post marks the far end of the alley, but it’s too far away to illuminate us, and I can’t make out his expression in the fading light of dusk.
He’s still holding my hand. “Chemmy will wonder what’s happened,” I sputter, pulling away and darting through the door.
He saunters through behind me into the narrow entryway with its fitful lantern and row of shabby cloaks. Chemmy curtsies from the doorway of the common room while I add my own cloak to the line. Hugh takes off his hat and hangs it on a hook. I scowl. Who said he could use our hooks?
“Can we offer some tea, Your Highness?” Chemmy’s voice quivers about two octaves higher than normal. She motions him into the common room, blessedly deserted for the moment.
“Tea! Delightful!” Hugh takes the seat Chemmy offers and beams. “What a charming house!” Chemmy pours the tea with shaking hands, and Hugh accepts it as though it were the finest bone china instead of an old chipped cup.
An awkward silence descends. Chemmy doesn’t know where to look, and her cup rattles against its saucer from her trembling. Hugh seems content to sip his tea and simply smile across the room at us, his blue eyes gleaming in the lamplight.
I can’t take it anymore. I blurt, “And how is your family, Your Highness?”
“Oh, very well. Luke is as fussy as usual, but that’s to be expected.” He eyes me when he mentions Lucas, and I squirm. Hugh doesn’t know—he can’t know—that I still see his brother’s face when I close my eyes. Can he? “He encouraged me to come, actually,” he continues, setting his cup on the side table.
“He did not,” I say, pinking.
Hugh leans forward, clasps his hands over his knees, and grins. “Encouragement is found in many forms, Miss Smith! But enough about Luke. Do you want to know why I’m here?”
I raise my eyebrows.
“I’ve found you a new position!”
“A new position?”
“I still feel terrible about what happened at that ghoul’s place.”
Chemmy sputters on her tea.
“She is a ghoul,” Hugh insists, wagging a finger. “I’ve never seen anyone so colorless!”
“Are ghouls common in the city?” I ask. “I didn’t know.”
Chemmy rolls her eyes—she probably doesn’t believe in ghouls any more than she does in the Folk—but Hugh laughs. “I can take you to the graveyard after dark tonight and we can watch for them, if you like.” His eyes sparkle. “But I’m getting distracted, Miss Smith! Luke told me I owed you a new position.” I open my mouth to interject that I’ve already found one—he doesn’t need to know it’s worse than what I had before!—but he doesn’t notice. “My mother has been looking for a new lady’s maid. What could be more perfect?”
My mouth hangs open, but no words come out. I would’ve been less surprised if he suggested I go work in his father’s gold mines or join the military as a drummer. I was less surprised at his suggestion that Mistress Hardinge is a ghoul!
I finally recover my voice. “A—lady’s maid? Your mother’s maid? The queen’s maid?” I shake my head so vigorously that a hairpin slips free and pings against the floor. “Thank you, Your Highness, but I couldn’t possibly—”
“Don’t say that! I’m sure you’d be wonderful! And you could see me every day!”
I blanch at that thought. “If you think I’m going to take a position with your mother so that you can sneak around your big palace and pinch me when she isn’t looking—!”
“You’d like it, I’m sure.” Hugh leans back and takes a sip from the cracked cup, eyes gleaming with mischief.
I glance at Chemmy. She’s spilled her tea all over her lap and doesn’t seem to have noticed. She’s not going to be able to speak any sense into Hugh; I’m on my own here. I heave a long exhale.
“I already found a job,” I say to Hugh. “Another seamstress position, which will suit me much better.” It doesn’t suit me much, to be honest, but even not much is better than attempting to be a lady’s maid! To the queen! I rub my temple.
“Wouldn’t you rather live in the palace?” Hugh peers at me over his teacup.
“Not at all!” This is, perhaps, not quite true. Who wouldn’t exchange the monotony of Willowby Street linens for the life of a palace maid?
For a single, mad instant, I consider it.
Then I come to my senses. Hugh would plague me, and then grow tired of me, and then I’d be kicked out and worse off than ever. I’ll stay with the linens .
Chemmy is either making faces at me or having a spasm. “I hope you’re not trying to suggest I should do it!” I tell her.
“You could live in the palace, Hester!” she squeaks.
I scoff. “You don’t really think the queen would have me, do you? Imagine it! Me marching up to the palace and saying the queen needed me to do her hair! I’d be thrown out before I could finish speaking!”
“Mother will take you if I ask her to,” Hugh says. He leans back in the chair and crosses one leg over the other. “Don’t worry on that account.”
I ignore him. “Lucas would have a fit if I ever showed my face there again.”
Hugh’s face brightens. “And wouldn’t that be fun!” His blue eyes have that twinkling look in them again.
I shake my head firmly as I rise. “I suppose I’m grateful for the offer, but I really don’t need any help.”
Hugh unfolds himself like a wildcat rising from its perch. It’s not fair for any man to be so perfectly graceful all the time. “Don’t look so stern, Miss Smith,” he says, sauntering closer to me. “I only want you nearby, you know.”
“I think we’ve been quite close enough as it is. Anyhow,” I say, glancing out the window, “I’m afraid we’re going to be late for supper.”
“Sending me away?” Hugh chuckles. “At least do me one favor.”
“I don’t do favors.”
Hugh reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper. “Not for me,” he says with a sharp smile. “Luke is so worried about you—if you’d just write him to say you’re well—”
I narrow my gaze. “He is not worried about me.”
“You think I could lie to you, Miss Smith?” Hugh presses one hand to his heart and holds the paper out to me with the other. “He was dashed concerned when I told him you’d lost your position.”
“You shouldn’t have been talking about me at all,” I grumble. Did he—was he really—Lucas couldn’t actually be worried about—but he did write … A warmth steals through me.
“If you would only write the briefest note,” Hugh says. “It would set his mind at ease.”
I hesitate.
I was wishing that I had a way of replying …
“It’s not a favor,” I say, accepting the paper from Hugh. I turn and stalk across the room to the scratched desk. Mistress Mungon keeps it stocked for her boarders; writing letters is a perfectly respectable habit, in her opinion. Chemmy watches with round eyes.
“I should have chosen a different word,” Hugh says, teeth gleaming. “Careless of me.”
I don’t have time to agonize over what I’m writing, so the words come out jumbled and foolish. Well. I could never impress Lucas, anyhow. I blot the note quickly, fold it, and hold it out.
Hugh snatches it and tucks it back into his pocket with a bright smile. “Luke will be very gratified. I will deliver this with pleasure.”
I lead Hugh out of the common room and retrieve his hat, which he accepts by bowing and pressing a dramatic kiss to my hand. I wriggle away and curtsy; I must be getting better at it, with all this practice. “Good night, Hugh! Please don’t trouble yourself on my account anymore!” I hasten back down the hall without waiting to see if he knows how to open the door on his own.
Once I hear the latch of the door, and the rattle of his phaeton driving away, I sneak back to the common room to retrieve Chemmy. The poor girl is quite overwhelmed.
If only we had some cheese to restore us.