by Bree Verity
"How dare you. How dare you make this my problem." Her voice deepened as she spoke, and she felt the uncomfortable sensations of her nails forming into talons. "You should leave."
"No." Phineas grabbed her wrist.
A portion of her anger sizzled through their skin connection, and for a moment, Phineas' eyes were as dark as Fenella's, then he blinked, and they were back to bright blue. He shivered a little.
All of Fenella's anger signs fell away all at once. The sensation left her breathless.
"What did you do?"
"I redirected your anger into me."
"How?"
He shrugged again. "A simple blackdark spell. One they taught me."
"Who is 'they'?"
Phineas sighed, apparently resigning himself to giving Fenella at least a little bit of information. "They call themselves Ravyn. And they need you. Specifically you, Fen."
She raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest.
"You see, they have a little girl under their care. She's been infected with soul sickness."
"Oh, for goodness sake," Fenella flung the words out, turning and stalking away as she did, her wings beating a tattoo of annoyance against the air. "Soul sickness isn't real. It's a tale told to children to make them behave."
"But it is real." Phineas grabbed Fenella's arm again, turning her to face him, and she was startled to see the sincerity in his eyes. "I've seen it." He shivered. "And it's something I never want to see again."
Fenella was unmoved. "This is all too impossible," she snapped. "First you show up telling me there's more of us who can do blackdark, then you tell me that old wives' tales are real and that soul-sucking bacteria actually does exist - I can't believe you Phineas. I just can't."
"I can show you."
"No!" She shook off his hand.
Phineas grew snappish. "Well you either have to believe me, Fen, or I can show you, but one way or the other, you're going to have to come and help."
"What do you mean? Why do they suddenly need me?"
"Because they need us. They need twins."
Chapter Eleven.
Walking along the narrow back corridor to the guest rooms, Diana decided to tell Maisie who she was. After all, she reasoned, she had not actually agreed to Fenella's rules - and besides, she had no interest whatsoever in cleaning up after the guests. Maisie would treat her carefully and deferentially, and Diana would get opportunity to sneak about and find out what she needed to about her two suitors.
"Maisie?" Diana stopped, and Maisie turned back, her face curious. "I have a confession."
"A confession?" Maisie's eyes sparkled as she crossed her arms over her chest. "I love me a good confession. What is it?"
"I am not who you think I am."
"No?"
"No. I am actually Lady Diana Dartmore."
Maisie regarded Diana speculatively for a moment, then with a tiny shake of her head, uncrossed her arms and continued her way down the corridor.
Diana ran after her and turned her by the elbow to face her. "It is the truth," she whispered.
"Very well, your ladyship," replied Maisie with a sarcastic curtsy, "but that does not get our rooms cleaned."
"But I cannot clean rooms. I'm Lady Diana."
Maisie turned suddenly; all friendliness lost from her face. "Oh, so that's what this is all about is it? I'm fairly easygoing, Annie, but using a daft excuse such as that to try to shirk your duties annoys even me."
"But it's not an excuse," Diana replied, starting to feel desperate. She placed an imploring hand on Maisie's arm. "I've been changed into a housemaid to better understand my two suitors?"
"Two suitors? And just who might they be?"
"Why, Captain Littleton and Mr. Carling of course."
Maisie's reply was acerbic. "Of course. So, what's the plan?"
"While I'm a housemaid, I can wander around with much more anonymity. And I can get into the guest's rooms."
"So?" Maisie was suspicious.
"So, I can go through their things and look for... whatever I can find."
Maisie held up a hand and closed her eyes as if she was in pain. "So, while I clean the rooms, you wander off and ransack Captain Littleton and Mr. Carling's rooms?"
"Well, it sounds dreadful when you say it like that, but..."
"Annie." Maisie clapped her hands in front of Diana's nose, and she jumped.
"Come along. We have rooms to clean."
Her tone brooked no nonsense, so Diana, shoulders heavy, followed her into the first room, wondering just how she might persuade Maisie of her identity, and with the vague sense that she was about to dislike the next few hours very much.
* * *
Her face red with exertion, Diana grasped the back edge of the coverlet and flicked it. But unlike when Maisie did it, it just ended up a tangled mess across the bed.
"How on earth do you do this?" said Diana on a drawn-out moan. "I simply cannot get it right."
Her arms felt as if they were about to drop out of their sockets, and her legs collapse under her. Her feet were screaming at her, and she felt as if her entire body was covered in grime.
Maisie grinned. "Here," she said, taking it out of Diana's hands and expertly casting it so it lay almost perfectly across the bed.
Diana tottered to a chair and sat down, running a hand across her forehead.
"I am telling you, Maisie, I was never supposed to do housework," she said, for perhaps the tenth time.
And for the tenth time, Maisie cheerfully replied, "You'll get used to it. It's really not that bad once you get used to it."
"I do not wish to get used to it. I want my old life back."
Diana was sweaty and tired and grumpy. They had been cleaning rooms now for two hours, and Diana had seen firsthand just how disgusting her parent's guests could be. Soiled linens, beautiful gowns and jackets dumped on the floor, and as for the contents of the chamber pots, well, she had no words.
She had insisted to Maisie time and again that she was Lady Diana, that she had no business cleaning up other people's messes, but Maisie had just nodded, or grunted an assent, and then made her do the chores anyway.
But at least now they were in Mr. Carling's chamber. They had seen him exit the room several minutes earlier, which meant it was their turn to run in, clean up, and run back out again. It was a point of pride for Maisie to be as invisible as possible, and while Diana did not necessarily agree with the necessity of working so quickly, she certainly did not want to have the occupants of the rooms standing right there when she reached under the bed for their chamber pots, or discovered sheets stained with goodness knows what.
Heaving herself out of the chair, she moved over to the dresser, where a collection of Mr. Carling's personal items lay - fobs, watches, a comb - nothing out of the ordinary there. Except for the small envelope with something inside it.
Diana opened the envelope and took out the contents, which looked like a very thin sheaf for a knife of some sort.
"What are you doing?"
Maisie seemed horrified, and Diana quickly put the sheaf back in the envelope and put it back on the dresser. "Nothing," she said, hoping that her guilt didn't sound in her voice. "I was just curious what was in the envelope. Do you know?"
"It's a prophylactic," said Maisie, coloring.
"A what?"
"You really are naive, aren't you? A prophylactic. You know. A man puts it over his..." she waved her hand, "when he wants to..."
Diana stared at her, no idea what she was talking about.
Maisie sighed. "He puts it over his shaft when he wants to bed some girl."
Diana was still confused, so she was pleased when Maisie said, "Never mind. Just don't touch it."
They tidied the rest of the room, Diana pleased to see that Mr. Carling wasn't anywhere near as filthy as some of the other guests. But there was nothing that stood out that would particularly make her choose him, or not choose him. She could only hope she might
find something in Captain Littleton's room.
They were just finishing up, when Diana felt the color drain out of her face. She blinked to try to keep her eyes from going out of focus, but she was not able to keep herself from stumbling. "Maisie?" she said uncertainly, reaching for her companion.
Immediately, Maisie was beside her, guiding her into a chair. "You've come over all pale like," she said. "It's no surprise. Trying to do the work we do without any breakfast in you at all is bound to be a problem. Where is that toast I gave you?"
Diana pulled the napkins out from her pocket - inside, the toast had disintegrated into crumbs. She looked pathetically from it to Maisie, who sighed.
"Fine. I'll go find you something else. But you sit there quietly, alright? Don't try to get up or you'll do nothing but keel over."
Diana was only too happy to obey Maisie's instructions. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall, listening to Maisie's footsteps trip away down the corridor.
"Fenella?" she whispered, hoping that her fairy godmother would appear and turn her back into herself. But there was no response.
She sat there for a few minutes and must have dozed off because the next thing she heard was an exclamation.
"Good god."
She sprang up out of her chair, face to face with Mr. Carling, who seemed just as startled to see her as she did him.
Tongue-tied, she tried to come up with a reason why she should be poking around in his chambers, then realized she was not Lady Diana, but one of the servants. It was not unusual that she should be there.
"I am terribly sorry," Mr. Carling was saying. "I did not know you were there, and then you snored a little and..." He smiled, and Diana blushed scarlet.
"I am sorry, Sir," she said. "But I came over faint and Maisie went to get me something to eat because I did not breakfast..."
"You are very well spoken for a housemaid," Mr. Carling said, which deepened Diana's color.
"Yes, I am in straightened circumstances. This is my first time as a housemaid."
"Is it indeed." Mr. Carling looked at her appraisingly. "You should sit back down if you are faint."
"Oh, no, I am quite alright..."
Maisie came around the door announcing, "All I could get you was some bread and cheese and a mug of..." She stopped, realizing Mr. Carling was in the room. "Apologies, sir." She bobbed a curtsy, and Diana realized, too late, that she should have done the same.
"It is of no consequence," he said, turning to the dresser. "I just came to collect some of my things. I shall be out of your way in just a moment."
Diana and Maisie stood uncomfortably silent while Mr. Carling pored over his accessories and picked out the ones he wanted. Then he turned and beamed on them both.
"It was a wonderful surprise to find two lovely young women in my chambers. If only it could happen more often."
Diana smiled and was bewildered that Maisie's brow clouded as she flushed and looked down.
Mr. Carling took Diana's hand. "What is your name?" he asked.
"D... Annie, sir."
"Annie. I hope you feel better soon." He bowed over her hand and left the room.
Maisie waited for his footsteps to disappear before she turned to Diana, an outraged expression on her face.
"Why did you do that?"
"What?" Diana was perplexed at the aghast look on Maisie's face. Her face flushed with guilt, although she did not know exactly why.
"You cannot be that ignorant."
Diana's color heightened with anger. "I am not ignorant."
"You are as ignorant as the greenest country bumpkin, straight off the farm."
"Whatever do you mean?"
"Did nobody tell you about men?"
"What about them?"
Maisie groaned and her eyes rolled upwards. "Heaven preserve us," she murmured, then, taking Diana's arm, she propelled her to the servant's stairs, and up to their shared bedroom.
Once there, she sat Diana down, handing her the mug she was still carrying, which contained a little frothy, fresh beer, and the bread and cheese from in her pocket. Diana set to munching away, watching curiously as Maisie marched back and forth in front of Diana, apparently not certain where to start. Then with a long-suffering sigh, she stopped and looked Diana in the eye.
"All men, given the opportunity, will take advantage of you."
Diana nodded. "Yes, I know. So, we avoid putting ourselves in potentially troublesome situations."
"Perhaps that's all a well-bred young lady needs to do, but a housemaid needs to do more than that to take care of herself. And that means no smiling and flirting with the guests."
"Why ever not?"
"Because you'll make them think you are an easy target."
Diana's hackles rose. "Just because I smile at them?"
Maisie nodded. A sour note entered her tone. "We give no reason at all for the gentlemen in the house to notice us. If Mrs. Fletcher discovers you smiling at the gentlemen, she will turn you off."
"But that's not fair."
"Who ever said life was fair?" Maisie's eyes were blazing now. "I've known a perfectly innocent girl turned off because she refused the advances of a gentleman, who then told the lady of the house that the girl had been the one making the advances. I've seen more than one girl's innocence taken, either through her own foolishness or by force. If a girl gets herself pregnant out of wedlock, she can expect never to work in a fine house again. Do you understand my meaning, Annie?"
Diana's head was ringing. "But that's not fair," she said again, her voice little more than a whisper.
"That's our lot, love. Most of the time, we're fine. But we don't draw attention."
"I cannot believe that any of the gentlemen I know would behave in such a way."
Maisie sniffed. "Believe it, your ladyship. Men will be men, no matter how blue their blood is."
Diana thought for a moment. "So, you think Mr. Carling had wicked intentions?"
"I don't know," Maisie replied with a shrug. "He made an off-color remark about having two girls in his room."
"Is that what he meant?" Diana's brows rose and her mouth dropped open. "I thought he was just being charming."
"He may well have been. But for the likes of you and me, we need to assume he wasn't."
"No. He could not have meant that. He is too much of a gentleman for that."
"And yet, your Mr. Carling carries around a prophylactic."
Diana's mouth dropped open as she finally understood the purpose of the item in the envelope. "You mean...?"
"He wouldn't carry it if he didn't use it."
"That is... just disgusting. Are all men like that?"
"Pretty much. At least Mr. Carling has a prophylactic. Some of them don't even offer that courtesy."
Diana felt the bread and cheese turn to a ball in her stomach. She shook her head, frowning. "No, I cannot believe it of him. There must be some other explanation."
"Believe what you will, Annie, just keep your eyes downcast and your words nothing more than a murmur when you are in the presence of any of the gentlemen."
"And what about the servants?"
"We have a different code," Maisie said, a note of smugness entering her voice. "We are all god-fearing Christians who know right from wrong. You see, that's the difference. The gentry? They pretend at Christianity while behaving exactly as they want. We behave as we do because we care for our immortal souls."
"So, I can smile at them? The other servants?"
"Yes, but only in friendship, or in a courting-type way."
A laugh caught in Diana's throat. "And just how does one smile in a courting-type way?"
Maisie laughed along with her. "Oh, I don't know," she said. "Maybe it's like this." She gave a titter, lifting one shoulder and batting her eyelids at Diana.
They laughed together for a moment, before Diana sighed. "Oh Maisie," she said, "I don't think I'll ever get used to being a servant."
"Well," said Ma
isie, getting off the bed. "You have the perfect opportunity to get used to it right now. We're off to finish our rooms."
And with a groan, Diana slid off the bed as well and followed Maisie out.
Chapter Twelve.
It was eight rooms later, in the middle of the afternoon, that Diana hit on an idea.
"Maisie," she said. "I think I've worked out how to prove to you that I am Lady Diana."
Maisie, who was scrubbing at the porcelain bowl on the dresser, stopped working and looked at Diana. "Are you still on about that?" she said.
Ignoring Maisie's disdain, she said, "If I can get Lady Diana to confirm it, would you believe me?"
Maisie laughed, not even lifting her head up this time. "Right. You know that Lady Diana hardly even sees us?"
"She does so," Diana replied hotly. "She knows everyone who works below stairs." She had visited with her godmother often enough that she had become acquainted with the staff silently undertaking their duties.
"And so she should," retorted Maisie. "But I'll bet you a day's wages, she doesn't know all of us."
"Well," conceded Diana, "of course not the ones who are just here for the party..."
"No, I mean the permanent staff," Maisie interrupted.
"Rubbish. She knows all of them," Diana replied confidently, then immediately frowned. Did she, in fact, know all the staff? She knew them all by sight, certainly, but by name?
"I suppose we'll get the chance to see, when you ask her to confirm she's not actually who she says she is."
Maisie was quite scathing, and Diana let the matter go. But she could not stop thinking that only if she had her identity confirmed, her whole day would be different. Or at least, what was left of it. It was already mid-afternoon, and Diana's stomach was growling for afternoon tea.
But before she could even sit down when they reached the kitchen, Cook shoved a plate of sandwiches at her and said, "Take this to the parlor. Maisie will show you the way." Another plate was pushed into Maisie's hands.
"Oh no," said Maisie with a firm shake of her head. "This is not our job to do. We have footmen for this."
"Well congratulations," sneered Cook. "Looks like you've been promoted to footman."
