An Undignified Heap of Red Calico
Of all the idiotic things I have done in my life—and I’ve done many—sending that letter with Hugh was the most idiotic.
I don’t even remember what I wrote in it, only that it was not fit to send to anyone, least of all the crown prince.
The c rown prince.
I wince, partially at my own stupidity, and partially because I’ve stuck my needle straight into my finger while mulling over my complete lack of common sense. I hurriedly pop it in my mouth before I bleed on the gray curtain spread over my lap.
Mistress Corthope narrows her eyes at me from her seat in the corner. “If you don’t have that set of draperies finished today, I’ll be docking your wages, Hester.” She sounds almost happy about it.
“Yes’m,” I mutter, trusting that my finger is done bleeding and returning to my hemming.
Push the needle in. Pull the thread through. In, out, in, out, in, out.
I’d thought Mistress Hardinge’s place was repressive, but at least she didn’t sit and watch her workers all day long, quelching any hopes of conversation. Jinna, the non-engaged woman I’d met in the alley last week, hasn’t so much as whispered since I’ve started.
The bell at the door jingles, and Mistress Corthope rises to see who’s come to patronize her business.
In, out, in, out. Pull the thread through. Wonder how poorly Lucas thinks of me now. Calculate how many more days it will take before I’ve saved up enough for my parents to move. Sew faster so Mistress Corthope doesn’t follow through on her threat to dock my wages. In, out, in, out.
Mistress Corthope returns, a strange look on her pinched face, lips pursing together for a moment as she surveys us. “We’ve been called for a job at the palace tomorrow.” A shudder of excitement quivers through the room. “Hester, you’ll have that piece finished tonight, no matter how late you have to stay. You’ll be coming with me.”
“What about me?” bursts Jinna.
“You’ll need to stay here to mind the shop, so you’ll have time to finish your work.” Mistress Corthope’s eyes glitter warningly. “I expect you to handle whatever else comes in, so make sure you don’t dawdle just because I won’t be here.”
“But why can’t I go? I want to see the palace! Make Hester stay here! She’s the newest!”
Something like a cold fat worm wriggles up my spine, but I’m not sure if it’s hope or fear. My rational mind says I should hope to stay here, that I’ve had enough of the palace, that I shouldn’t tempt fate by getting anywhere near Hugh again.
My heart wonders if Lucas would still be so understanding if I saw him again. Would his gaze still be kind? Would he ever smile at me?
Idiot. I bite my lip and bend back over my sewing.
“I can’t trust Hester yet,” Mistress Corthope says to Jinna. “I’d rather not bring her, either, but I can’t risk being short-handed at the palace.”
In, out, in, out. Ignore the barbs .
When I look up again, Jinna’s glaring at me, and I think I see her wipe her eyes on the back of her hand as she resumes gathering ruffles for a dainty white curtain.
Mistress Corthope is on edge for the rest of the day, and Jinna’s the only one who leaves at the normal time. I’m left squinting into the dusky light coming through the clouded windows, doing my best to finish before it’s fully dark. Mistress Corthope won’t light the lamps for me, but she will punish me for poor work.
When I’m finally done with my last hem, I rub the back of my neck, stiff from bending over miles of gray linen all day. Mistress Corthope takes her time looking over my work and tells me to sweep up before she dismisses me, and by the time I’ve donned my cloak and slipped into the alley, Chemmy, who usually waits at the end of the street so we can walk home together, is long gone and the skies are dark with drizzling clouds.
Nevertheless, I float home. Tomorrow I’m going back to the palace.
And I may even see Lucas again.
After a fitful night, I’ve determined that I do not want to go to the palace. I do not want to see either prince, and the fluttering in my stomach is all anxiety, no excitement. I’d gladly trade places with Jinna, but when I offer, Mistress Corthope only looks at me suspiciously, as if she expects me to raid her moneybox if left alone.
And so we head to the palace, a watery-eyed Jinna left to keep shop. Mistress Corthope doesn’t own a cart, so she hires a hansom cab to take us up. It’s squashed, and Mistress Corthope’s elbow is in my ribs, and my hip bone is nearly one with the side of the cab—but what fun! I’ve ridden in slow-moving farm carts, and I journeyed by coach on my way to the city, and I’ve experienced Prince Hugh’s phaeton twice now, but this is my first time in a hansom .
“What are you grinning at?” Mistress Corthope mutters.
“I feel like I’m a real Wellington-upon-Chesbury-ite now.” I watch out the window as the horse trots us toward the palace. “I’ve always wanted to ride in one of these.”
“The fare will come out of your wages,” Mistress Corthope warns, and it dampens my spirits, but only a bit. I wonder if Dad could be a cabman when I get him and Mum here. I can imagine him driving about with his flat cap on, work-roughened hands holding the reins, whistling as he clops along the city streets. I smile. Losing my position with Mistress Hardinge was a setback, but I’ll get them here yet.
We pull through the gates much sooner than I wish, and my enjoyment of the ride fades into apprehension as we near the palace. My stomach churns, my palms sweat, and I look around wildly, as if I expect Lucas to step out of the shrubbery and wave good morning.
He doesn’t.
We make it into the palace—yet another entrance, this one leading into the servants’ areas. There’s less marble and more stone, but overall, still opulent. It would be nice to work here—maybe I should have taken Lucas up on his offer.
Then again, I got here without his help, so I suppose I made the right choice.
An older woman, dressed in sedate black, introduces herself as the housekeeper and shows us through multiple winding corridors and up a staircase. She points out locations we’ll need to find later: the servants’ dining hall, the workroom, her office, the quickest route to the stables. I lose track almost immediately, but as long as I stay with Mistress Corthope, it won’t matter.
The housekeeper’s gaze flickers over us as she leads us to a tall door, and she doesn’t smile when she speaks. “In here.” We follow her lead and step into a large room. As I look around, I meet Mistress Corthope’s wide-eyed gawk and grin at her; I’m not the only one overwhelmed by these surroundings, even if I am the country girl.
“This is the prince’s sitting room,” the housekeeper explains, tone grim. “He’ll need new draperies all through the suite.”
I gulp once at the mention of the prince, and once again at the mention of draperies. There are four windows in this room, and each stretches higher than my head. How many will there be in the whole suite?
Ten, it turns out. Four in the sitting room, two in a dressing room, four in the bedroom. And yes, I do blush when we enter such intimate locations.
“And the bed-curtains will have to match,” the housekeeper drones. “You can do that too, I presume?”
I’ve never seen Mistress Corthope gracious before, but she’s all scrupulous amiability now. “Certainly, certainly, my lady.” I think I hear her face creak when she tries to smile—she’s rather out of practice. The housekeeper does not return the expression.
“I don’t know why you were sent for,” she says. “There are many seamstresses in this city, so why you were requested for His Highness’ rooms—” Her gaze snags on mine, and my cheeks flare.
Oh.
Oh no .
If that arrogant, dunderheaded, foppish, foolish, Folk-taken, absolutely ridiculous Hugh had anything to do with this, I’ll kick him in the shins! I’ll spit in his tea! I’ll put a mouse on his pillow! I’m sure I can find a mouse somewhere in this blasted city!
Mistress Corthope is still simpering at the frosty housekeeper, and I take a moment to inspect Hugh’s rooms. I’m surprised by how austere they seem; I would’ve expected Hugh to surround himself with more luxuries.
Truly, I must be acclimating to the city, to think of this as anything like austere .
The rooms are large, but not cluttered, and everything is earthy shades of brown and green. It’s rather homey, actually, and I have to admit he has good taste; I wouldn’t have expected it, based on his outfits. I step nearer a tall bookshelf along one wall of the sitting room while the housekeeper continues to rebuff Mistress Corthope’s attempts to ingratiate herself.
Are these textbooks ? Surprising. Is Hugh interested in such dry titles as The Legacy of King Archibald IV: an Autobiography or An Analytical Treatise on Guilds and Unions ?
“Hester!” Mistress Corthope snaps.
I startle, straightening and spinning back to face my companions. “I’m sorry! I wanted to see Hu—to see the books!”
The housekeeper looks even more disapproving than before, which is quite the feat. I hasten back to Mistress Corthope’s side and try not to ogle a portrait of the royal family on the wall.
I don’t want to see if the painter managed to get Lucas’ brown eyes just right. What is it to me whether or not the artist managed to get the correct warmth in them? I am not interested at all.
A faint rap at the door, and a lanky maid peeps in the room. “Begging your pardon,” she says to the housekeeper, “but you’re needed in the back parlor.”
The housekeeper purses her lips and leaves, but not before giving us a last glare. Mistress Corthope curtsies—I didn’t know her knees could bend like that!—but as soon as the housekeeper has left the room, the gentility slides off her like a snake shedding its skin.
“Measurements, quickly,” she says, pulling a tape out of her pocket. “Though how we’re to reach the top of the window… ” She glances around the room, gaze landing on a solid chair in the corner next to the bookshelf. “You can use that. Check each, mind! We must make sure they’re all the same. I’ll get the bed-curtains.” She hands me a pencil and scrap of paper, also fished from the pendulous pocket, and disappears back into the bedroom.
I must admit, I’m a bit relieved to stay out here. I don’t want to think about Hugh sleeping. I shudder.
The chair is solid and heavy, but I manage it alright. Climbing onto the seat and reaching up on my tiptoes has me almost tall enough to reach the top of the window. I wonder briefly if almost is good enough.
Of course not. This is the palace .
I cast around, looking for something else to stand on, but there are no higher chairs, and standing on a book would be a sacrilege, even if the book is An Analytical Treatise on Guilds and Unions. I doubt Hugh would mind, but I can’t bring myself to do it.
“I’ve measured for bed-curtains.” Mistress Corthope walks back in from the bedroom, tapping her pencil against the paper. “I’ll be cutting them in the workroom. Come when you have the windows done.”
I duck my head with a “yes’m,” and she bustles out before I can ask what else I should stand on. I fidget with my own measuring tape, unwilling to poke around Hugh’s rooms, but knowing I’ll have to. Finally, I sigh and return to his dressing room. A quick glance shows me more chairs, but none taller than the one I’ve already nabbed, so I move to the bedroom. There’s another bookshelf in here, and I smile. Who would have known Hugh reads himself to sleep? If the titles are anything like the books from his sitting room, I suppose they would make it hard to stay awake.
I know I must hurry—Mistress Corthope will have my hide if I take too long—but I can’t resist inspecting the books on this shelf. They’re more of the same: history, foreign policy, and a surprising number on economics.
There’s little else of use in here, so I return to the sitting room. I suppose I’ll have to use a book after all, so I pick the one that looks the least interesting— Inquiry into the Nature and Origins of Public Wealth —and apologize to it as I balance myself. I’m still short, so I stack up a few more, and with their help, I’m able to reach the top of the window. I carefully unroll my tape.
Behind me, someone coughs.
Startled, I turn, but I'm not cautious enough. With a yelp, I slip off the precarious stack and land on the floor in an undignified heap of red calico and torn pages, with far too much ankle showing.