Her gaze hung on me. “Don’t fret. This will all be right as rain before you know it.”
I knew she was referring to herself, but also to our problem with Mr. MacDougall and Mr. Bailey. And I wished I believed her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Before I left her, Mrs. Crossey made me promise to do as she instructed. I did—reluctantly. It didn’t matter that I knew Mr. MacDougall to be complicit in Mr. Bailey’s scheme. It didn’t matter that I thought it was a mistake. I trusted her judgment, and right now that was more than I could say about my own.
I was pulling the door to Mrs. Crossey’s room closed behind me when the Queen’s sitting room door opened, and a peal of bubbly laughter followed. I turned back as though I meant to re-enter the room and kept my head down, kept myself out of the way and out of sight as much as I could.
“Come now, it’s a marvelous surprise.” It was Lady Wallingham emerging from the room. “I’m rather pleased to be included. You should be, too.”
I fidgeted with my gloves, pretending to be preoccupied as she entered the corridor.
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m pleased as well,” Lady Bassey countered. “I just would have preferred a bit of warning. I had arranged to ride.”
“It can be rescheduled, I’m sure.”
“Of course it can. But I dressed for it, and this frock is entirely unsuitable for a performance.”
Performance? What performance?
“And I sent my maid into town to collect a bonnet I ordered from the milliner. I hope she hasn’t already left. I rang the bell ages ago, and there’s been no answer. Oh, there’s someone. Yoo-hoo. Hello? Can I get your help, please?”
Was she speaking to me? I ventured a sideways glance. She was already approaching.
I turned to face her, keeping my head low. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Find Reed and send her to my room. As quickly as you can, if you please.”
“Of course. Shall I say why?” I braced. It was never a servant’s place to ask such things, but my curiosity—my fear—outweighed such propriety.
Lady Bassey didn’t seem to notice. “The Queen has invited me”—she glanced back at Lady Wallingham—“invited us to a musical performance this afternoon. I require her assistance to change into something appropriate.”
My pulse pounded in my ears like so many fists. “Not this evening? Are you sure?”
Mrs. Bassey’s eyebrows pinched over the otherwise smooth plane of her forehead. I lowered my head submissively.
“Yes. I’m quite sure.” The curtness of her words made it clear there should be no more questions, which was just as well because the full meaning of her words was now painfully clear. Mr. Bailey had expedited his plans. There was no time to waste.
I nodded once at Lady Bassey, assuring her I understood, and made a hasty shot toward the servants’ stairs.
I managed to slip through the door and out of the ladies’ view before stopping to catch my breath. It was a miracle my wobbly knees could keep me upright. I leaned against the wall and tried to calm my nerves. If the performance would be this afternoon, I had to find Marlie—and fast.
I dragged in a deep breath and clutched the Faytling at my chest beneath my blouse.
No time for fear. No time for hesitation.
I pushed every thought from my mind save one. Marlie. She would be in the kitchen, so that’s where I had to go as quickly as my feet could carry me and without drawing undue attention. With Mrs. Crossey still out of commission, Marlie was my only hope.
~ ~ ~
I rushed along the Long Gallery’s crimson corridor, past the drawing rooms and the chapel, until I reached a servants’ staircase that would take me to the kitchen. I found Marlie scraping potato peelings from her table.
“There you are,” she said. “Mr. MacDougall’s been searching for you.”
A cook stood on the other side of her, so I leaned close. “They’ve changed the performance time. We have to hurry!”
Her forehead crinkled. “But you said—”
“I know, but he must know we’re onto him.”
Disbelief, confusion, fear, they all cascaded across her face. “What do you suggest?”
I glanced over her shoulder. Cooks hovered at their stoves and oven fires, scullery maids ferried bowls and baskets of ingredients from the cellar and the pantry. Everyone was busy with something, and no one was paying any attention to us.
I leaned in again. “Make an excuse to get away. Meet me in the Rubens Room as soon as you can.”
She seemed to panic then mastered herself. “I’ll be right behind you.”
I didn’t ask how, and I didn’t stick around to find out. I hurried to the corridor that ran beneath the State Apartments until I found a narrow staircase far enough away that it could get me near the Rubens Room.
I did my best to navigate the unfamiliar corridors. After several turns, I was standing outside the anteroom that had served the gentlemen during the ball. I recalled the Rubens Room was just beyond it, but the sound of voices stopped me.
“Move it here by the window.”
I tensed. The voice belonged to Mr. Bailey. I expected he would be present, but it unsettled me nonetheless. Should I try to stop him now? Burst in? Cause a commotion? But he would only deny the accusation.
I needed a better plan.
But what?
“We’ll draw the curtains,” he continued. “The view over Eton is pleasant this time of day.”
“But the sun, sir. Won’t it blind the Queen’s view of the calliope?” It was Mr. Wyck.
Why was Mr. Wyck helping Mr. Bailey? My old suspicions returned.
“Hardly,” Mr. Bailey snapped back. “The Queen prefers a bright afternoon. Where is MacDougall? He was supposed to oversee this.”
“Yes,” Mr. Wyck muttered. “Where is he, indeed?”
“Are you questioning me?” Mr. Bailey growled.
“Not in the least, sir. It’s just typical, don’t you think? That he should find himself scarce when there’s real work to do? Men like him always leave the difficult work to others.
