She made it to her chambers and fought her way carefully out of her gown—one of apparently several that the good nobleman sought to send her home with—and plucked the pins carefully from her hair, letting it fall in curly waves from where Greta had deftly styled it.
Striding across the room to the wardrobe, Beatrix offered up a silent but fervent prayer that her own clothes, simple yet sufficient, had been put into the pile. She sifted through several layers of new garments before thankfully locating her simple blouse and long skirts at the bottom. They had been cleaned, along with her apron, and Beatrix wasted no time donning the garments that more appropriately suited her.
Chancing to walk past the window, the sky outside now darkened, her reflection made Beatrix stop. Even in the distorted view of herself from the glass, she looked out of place in the ornate room. The light of the lamps shining against the lead glass gave her an otherworldly glow, as though she were a specter of some sort, come to haunt the mansion.
“I do not belong here… now, or ever,” she whispered at her skewed face. “This is not the sort of place where I could ever be received.”
Her macabre reflection only served to remind her that she had been playing at high class life these past two days, a pretender wearing a pretty costume. Nothing more. It had been an interesting diversion, to be sure, but through it all, she was only “Lady” Beatrix, daughter of a known criminal.
Beatrix searched the dressing table for the folded papers that Birdie had provided. Though they were rendered by hand and hard to follow, they would serve. She intended to be away from this place—away from the likes of Lord Bellton’s associates, with their fancy ways and sneers of disdain—as soon as possible.
“I shall be on foot for at least two days,” Beatrix surmised, studying the drawings and trying to decipher the names of the towns and villages between here and her father’s house. “I shall not beg for my food and lodgings, but will endeavor to work for them instead.”
She checked the time on the beautiful mantel clock that sat above the fireplace in her bedroom. Eight-thirty, according to its tiny machinery. It was a terribly late hour to be embarking on the journey home, but Beatrix didn’t wish to remain any longer. The sooner she struck out for home, the sooner this would be behind her.
A movement behind her caused Beatrix to turn suddenly, startled. “Oh! You gave me a fright!”
“Apologies, miss. But ya didnaw hear us knock? We waited, knowin’ ya had not eaten yet,” Greta said, shuffling her feet nervously at what seemed like an inexcusable intrusion.
Beatrix’s expression softened slightly as she beckoned to the maids. “Yes, I’m sorry, I must not have heard you.”
“Anyways, we brought ya yer supper…” Birdie said, eyeing Beatrix’s garments up and down. “Yer not thinkin’ to leave now, are ya? At this time of the night?”
“Oh miss, you cannot! You’ll get lost, or attacked upon the road!” Greta echoed, her face clouding over tearfully.
“I shall be fine,” Beatrix assured them. “I must go… now, I’m afraid.”
“Please, miss! Please, only wait til mornin’!” Birdie cried. “We’ll wake ya before the rest of the household, if ya want. Just wait til sunrise, or near to it!”
Beatrix pondered their fearful requests, and saw how it vexed them. Waking before the rest of the household would still allow her to be gone before Lord Bellton knew of it. Better yet, before either of his guests knew it.
“All right. I’ll wait, but you must promise to speak of my departure to no one. And promise me that you’ll tell me as soon as it’s safe to leave but before anyone should know that I’m gone!” she said sternly. “I have a long way to travel and do not wish to be delayed by anyone here.”
“Oh no, miss. We will naw let that happen!” Greta insisted. “We’ll have ya out the door before anyone notices.”
“Thank you, Greta. That is a great relief to me,” Beatrix said warmly. “But come, help me eat this supper. I cannot possibly have it all myself!”
Birdie and Greta exchanged a scandalized glance, unsure of whether or not Beatrix was serious. They waited until she portioned them out their own pieces of bread, slathered them generously with fresh butter, and held them out.
“Come now! I don’t bite!” she said, laughing. The girls darted forward and took the food, but they waited to indulge in it until Beatrix helped herself.
“Miss, pardon my asking, but do ya think the master favors ya some?” Birdie asked as they sat together and ate.
Beatrix winced, but tried to keep a pleasant air about her. “I wouldn’t think so, no. Why would he? We’re not of the same class, and I’ve only known him but a matter of days. We also did not set out on the proper footing, if you remember!”
Birdie giggled, but Greta nudged her sharply. “Well, don’t think less of us fer sayin’ so, but down in the kitchens there’s talk of that exact thing.”
“What?” Beatrix said, forcing back the memory of her conversation with Lord Bellton only a half an hour ago. “No, I’m sure it’s nothing more than silly rumors and invented stories. It wouldn’t be fitting for someone like the Marquess to take a liking to a commoner like me, remember?”
They continued eating in silence, Birdie and Greta catching one another’s eye when they thought Beatrix wasn’t looking. For her part, Beatrix’s mind raced. However could she manage to keep these tales from spreading farther than this household? The very fact of her dubious family name made any attention unwanted, especially if it came in the form of gossip among the nobles of the region.
“Well, goodnight miss,” Greta said, urging Birdie to rise after they had all eaten their fill and talked for the better part of an hour. “We’ll rouse you in the mornin’ in plenty of time.”
Beatrix bade them goodnight and readied herself for bed. Hopefully it would be an early time on the morrow in which she needed to be up and about, so this evening hour was ideal. To her dismay, upon finally climbing into bed and pulling the covers close, Beatrix was unable to fall asleep.
Her thoughts kept returning to the Marquess. He’d all but confessed his love for her, and though she’d managed to politely temper his advances, she found in the darkened room that she no longer wished to. He was fair of face, to be sure, but that sort of feature mattered not to her. All Beatrix longed for in a companion was a genuine love for fellow man and a kind heart that saw injustice and remedied it.
“The Marquess was surely neither of those things when we met,” she thought, “but now… I find him a much-changed man from my first impression of him.”
