Ready To Obey

by Melinda Barron

  “Not long, about half an hour, maybe?”

  “Are you asking me, or is that the truth?” He took a drink.

  Maisie had still not sat down. She moved slowly to the table and took the chair he’d indicated. Then she took the glass and sniffed it. It was brandy. She took a small sip.

  “Why were you wandering the house? Were you looking for things you could take, like silver? Or paintings?”

  “No!” She banged her hand on the table. “I’m not a thief.”

  “But you are a liar,” he said. “I’ve been sitting here for at least an hour, and you didn’t go past me. Would you care to revise your time on how long you’ve been in places you shouldn’t have been? Perhaps you remember I asked you to retire after dinner.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  She waited for him to respond. Instead he sighed and emptied his glass.

  “It’s been a difficult day,” he said. “I can see that you haven’t taken anything, unless you’ve hidden it somewhere else to retrieve later. However, I don’t have the strength right now to discuss punishment for you breaking my edict of not leaving your room after dinner. Take my candle and go downstairs, and then come to my office in the morning so we can discuss it.”

  “As you wish,” Maisie said. She stood so fast the room spun. She grasped the candle and hurried toward the stairs. When she was in her room she sat down on her bed, still holding the taper. Her hands shook so badly she prayed she didn’t drop it on the bed and start a fire.

  She had to come up with a good tale about what she was doing out so late, one that he would believe. But what would it be? Maybe if she went to bed she would be able to dream of one.

  Right now, that was the only way she thought she would be able to weave a story that Mr. Cummings, already upset over his encounter with Vanessa, would believe.

  Maisie woke with a start the next morning, still clad in her clothes, when Mrs. Beale rapped on her door.

  “We have important things that need to be taken care of today,” Mrs. Beale said. “Clothes need to be pressed and prepared for a very important meeting tonight.”

  Would that be the council? The one that will help deal with the problem discussed with Vanessa last night?

  “I have an appointment with Mr. Cummings first,” Maisie said. She stood and smoothed down her skirts.

  “He is not worried about you breaking a small rule last night,” Mrs. Beale said. “We need these clothes readied. He said to tell you that you are forgiven for last night. Now, please change and come to the sewing room.”

  “I will,” Maisie said. When Mrs. Beale was gone, Maisie quickly took care of her ablutions before she changed her clothes. Once she was in the sewing room she found a mound of material, but no Mrs. Beale. Her mouth opened as she stared at the stack. There was no way she would be able to sew whatever they wanted by the end of the day.

  She picked at the top of the pile and realized it wasn’t material, but cloaks, ones that looked as if they’d been shoved into a wardrobe and left there for quite some time.

  “Someone will be here momentarily to build a fire,” Mrs. Beale said as she came into the room. She put down a flat iron. “These cloaks need to be pristine by the end of the day. There are nine of them.”

  “I can do that,” Maisie said. Truthfully she was thrilled that she wasn’t sitting across the desk from Mr. Cummings, trying to come up with an excuse as to why she was in the main house last night. She’d tried to think of a plausible story before she fell asleep, but she’d come up with nothing.

  Now it looked like, by some trick of fate, she wouldn’t have to come up with something at the last minute.

  “Take your time with each one of them,” Mrs. Beale said. “I will be down to check your progress before luncheon. Don’t work on anything else today.”

  “But the Cinderella costume,” Maisie said. Before she could continue her objection, Mrs. Beale held up a finger.

  “That is on hold for the time being,” she said. “The cloaks are your only concern. Now please, get to work.”

  Mrs. Beale left, replaced by two other people, one carrying a tray with tea and toast, and another who went directly to the fireplace. As Maisie ate the other woman built a fire.

  After she was gone, Maisie set the flat iron to heat and she picked up the first cloak. The cloaks were made of heavy wool, and Maisie knew that meant she would not be able to iron them. She would need to heat water and use a table to press out the wrinkles.

  She took the iron off the fire and set up the first cloak. As she worked she studied the intricate embroidery on the back. It was a crest of some sort. She didn’t recognize the design, and she didn’t really have time to look at it very closely. Doing this would take more time than she thought. Maybe after she was done with the first few she would be able to look at it more closely, but right now she needed to take advantage of the fact that Mr. Cummings was not questioning her about last night and get to work. Maybe if she did a good job he would forget about her transgression. But then again he didn’t know the full extent of it, and if she had anything to say about it, he never would.

  She finished the first cloak in quick time, but the second one had a rip in the muslin lining, and she meticulously repaired it before she steamed out the wrinkles. She was on the third one when Mr. Cummings appeared in the room.

  “Shall I have luncheon delivered to you?” he asked.

  “Yes, please,” she said. She continued to work, keeping her gaze trained on the material. He walked to the table where she’d laid out her finished products.

  “You’ve done fine work,” he said.

  Despite her resolve to stay silent and work she asked, “What does the crest mean?”

  “It is a private organization that is none of your concern,” he said. “Your food will arrive in about half an hour. Please continue to work as much as possible.”

  Maisie was surprised at how subdued he seemed, considering how nervous Mrs. Beale had seemed that morning.

  “I should be done soon,” she said. “One of them had a small tear that needed to be repaired.”

  “You have a good eye,” he said. “I would like to talk to you about this evening.”

  “Of course,” she said.

  “We are expecting a meeting of what we call our council, a group of men who deal with the business of running the school,” he said.

  “I thought you did that.” Maisie ran the iron down the cloak in front of her. “Or are these men your employers?”

  “I make most of the decisions, but for the more important ones we call the council together. Unlike last night, I expect you to stay in your room tonight.”

  “As you wish,” she said.

  “I hope I don’t have to repeat myself,” he said.

  Maisie shook her head, but she focused on her work, refusing to look into his eyes. Was that because she felt guilty for what had happened last night? Was she afraid he would see that she had witnessed his talk with Vanessa?

  “I would like a response to that,” he said.

  Maisie licked her dry lips as she schooled her face, hopefully. Then she looked up at him and said, “I will not leave my room after I retire tonight.”

  “Thank you.” He inclined his head toward the cloak on the table. “Mrs. Beale will be down around four to help you take the robes upstairs.”

  “Of course,” Maisie said. She wondered how many two or three word sentences she could get away with saying before he asked her to respond better again.

  After he left, Maisie stepped up her pace, working quickly to get all the garments done in time. She took very little time for lunch, eating the cold meat and cheese sparingly and then making sure to clean her hands afterward so as not to transfer grease to the material.

  When all nine cloaks were finished, she picked them up one by one to make sure she hadn’t missed a spot. Then she sat down in her chair and waited for Mrs. Beale. Her fingers and shoulders ached. She stretched her arms over her head
and listened as the clock struck four. She had made her deadline—with a few moments to spare.

  She sat in her chair and waited, and waited, and waited—for another half an hour. Then she stood and started for the stairs. Had she misunderstood? Was she supposed to bring the items upstairs by herself?

  Because of her miscue last night, she felt as if she was on thin ice, and she didn’t want to make another mistake. It was best to find Mrs. Beale and make sure instead of sitting around waiting for something to happen.

  She had just reached the top of the stairs when she took a step backward.

  “I just saw her an hour ago, what do you mean you can’t find her?”

  Fear rushed through Maisie. They couldn’t be talking about her. She hadn’t seen the headmaster since this morning.

  “She’s not in her room,” an unknown male voice said.

  “Find her!” Mr. Cummings’s words sounded almost like a growl. “If she is not here tonight we will all be looking for new employment tomorrow.”

  Maisie turned and hurried down the stairs. She sat in her chair and decided that waiting would be better than being upstairs when Mr. Cummings was upset. He seemed to be that way quite a bit. She wondered if they were talking about Vanessa. Maisie felt weird thinking of her with her given name, but something told her that Vanessa’s name was not Miss Parkinson.

  She waited for another half an hour, and the bang of the clock, before Mrs. Beale appeared.

  “Forgive me,” she said in a rushed voice. “We’ve had a bit of excitement upstairs.” The matron looked around. She glanced at the table where mounds of material set. “Has anyone come to see you today?”

  “Just you, Mr. Cummings and the ladies who brought food and built the fire,” Maisie said.

  “You haven’t seen Miss Parkinson?”

  “Not since yesterday,” Maisie said. “Has she gone missing?”

  “No, she’s gone unexcused, it seems,” Mrs. Beale said. “We are working on the situation. In the meantime, please help me take these to the dressing room.”

  Dressing room? Maisie wanted to ask if she meant the cloakroom, but decided she didn’t really know the terms used in a house this size, so it was best to not question things. She took half the robes and Mrs. Beale took the other half. They climbed the stairs in silence and when the matron turned toward the library, Maisie again wondered what was happening.

  Mrs. Beal stopped beside the doorway to the library and pressed a panel. It silently slid open and Maisie gasped.

  “I’ve never seen anything like that,” she said.

  “There are nine hooks inside,” Mrs. Beale said. “There are also a few chairs. I’m going to put these there. Make sure there is one robe on each hook. It doesn’t matter which one goes where. I’m going to leave you to your task. When you’re done please take your supper in your room.”

  She left without saying another word. Maisie stepped inside the long room. She put the garments on one of the chairs and then started to hang them, running her fingers down the material of each one to make sure it remained wrinkle free. When she was done she took stock of her surroundings. There were nine chairs to match the nine robes.

  Who exactly were the men coming to this meeting tonight, and what did it mean for her, or for the school? The school for courtesans, she reminded herself.

  Don’t think about that, a voice inside her head said. She took one last look at each cloak, but when she reached the end she banged her foot on something.

  “Ouch,” she cried out, grabbing her foot as she fell to the ground. There was another panel here, and it wasn’t closed tightly. She looked toward the doorway and found it empty. Turning her attention back to the second panel she pushed it as Mrs. Beale had done earlier. It slid to the right to reveal a storage space.

  Maisie eyes bulged as she took in the contents. There were various riding crops, including more than a few bats, floggers, and canes. There was also, much to Maisie’s horror, two stockades. There were also chairs and benches in the crowded space. Praying she wasn’t doing something that would get her caught, she stepped inside and wondered if the panel on the other side opened onto the library. Something told her it did.

  The urge to press on it and discover if she was right raced through her. But she knew that was wrong. She was putting herself in danger of discovery just by being in this tiny chamber. She stepped back into the cloakroom and closed the panel. She took one final swipe over the robes before she stepped into the hallway.

  Mr. Cummings was striding down the hall as she exited the room.

  “Is all prepared?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “They’ve prepared a tray for you in the kitchen,” he said. “I hope I don’t have to repeat what we discussed this morning.”

  “No, sir,” she said. She brushed past him, and was almost to the end of the hall when he called her name.

  “Have you see Miss Parkinson today? Did she come down to see her Cinderella dress, perhaps?”

  “No, sir,” Maisie said.

  “If you see her, please let me know,” he said.

  “Even if it means coming out of my room when I’ve been told not to?”

  The edge of his mouth turned up. She couldn’t tell if he was trying to hide a smile, or a sneer.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “As you wish,” she said.

  Maisie hurried to the kitchen where she retrieved her tray. It was loaded with enough food for two people, or so she thought.

  “I don’t need this much,” she said.

  One of the kitchen maids hurried over to her. “We’re to be silent tonight, and I thought I’d add a little meat and cheese in case you were hungry later.” She smiled at Maisie, but her eyes were wide and said something Maisie couldn’t quite make out.

  “Who are you?” Maisie asked.

  “Megan,” the maid replied. “Now, go to your room before Mr. Cummings’s comes in and… finds you here.”

  “What is going on?” Maisie asked. “Are they having a meeting with the devil tonight?”

  “Just go and don’t ask questions, you twit,” Megan said. She pushed the tray toward Maisie, who picked it up and left before she said something she might regret. She took the stairs slowly so as not to trip and lose her dinner.

  When she reached her room she found the door closed. She was fairly sure she’d left it open when she’d left that morning. After placing the tray on her night table she looked around. Nothing seemed out of place, not that it mattered. She had nothing of value that could be taken from her.

  On instinct she knelt down and looked under the bed. There was nothing there. She stood and looked around once more. The only other piece of furniture in the room was the wardrobe.

  Maisie’s heart raced as she realized that the door was slightly ajar. She knew she hadn’t left it that way. Despite her unease she crossed the room and pulled the door open.

  Vanessa was crouched inside, her tear-stained face looking up at Maisie in an obvious plea for her not to yell and give the younger woman away.

  “They’re looking for you,” Maisie said.

  “Please, don’t tell them you’ve found me.” Vanessa’s voice wobbled, and Maisie felt sorry for her.

  “I’m sure they’ll come looking for you here,” Maisie said. “I’m not a very good liar.”

  Vanessa started to sob, and Maisie put her hand on her shoulder in an effort to give comfort. “You need to stop. If they don’t see you, they’ll surely hear you.”

  The younger woman hiccupped and took several deep, uneven breaths.

  “Are you hungry? They gave me more than enough food.” Maisie went to the tray.

  “Megan told me to hide here,” Vanessa said. “I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

  “Then it’s time you did,” Maisie said. She picked up some cheese and a glass of ale. Vanessa had not moved, so Maisie took the offerings to her. The fugitive ate as if it had been a week since her last meal. Maisie returned to the tray and
brought back some of the meat. Vanessa devoured that, too.

  “Are you hiding from the men who are coming here tonight? What did Mr. Cummings call them, the council?” Maisie asked.

  “Yes, my patron will be among them,” Vanessa said. “He sent me back.”

  “You’re his mistress?” Maisie wanted to hear Vanessa confirm what she already knew was true.

  “Yes, I’m his whore,” Vanessa said. “I didn’t do exactly as he wanted, and he said I needed more training.”

  Maisie looked away from her. “So I was right. Everyone in town thinks this is a finishing school. But it’s not, is it?”

  Vanessa laughed. “They turn lowly street walkers into courtesans. There is a group of men who choose their new mistresses from the offerings.”

  “That’s despicable!”

  “Nonsense, it takes young ladies off the streets,” Vanessa said. “I have a beautiful townhouse in London, clothes, jewelry, and anything else I want. He takes me on trips. His wife came to see me and told me she was thrilled he came to my bed instead of hers.”

  “We could run,” Maisie said.

  “No, my brother is after me, and you from what I hear.”

  Maisie stared at her. “What?”

  “My brother, Jack,” Vanessa said. “If I leave here he will find me, and I much prefer my patron to the group of men he’s made me service in the past.”

  Maisie’s heart went out to the young woman in front of her. “I’m so sorry. If this is a better situation, why are you running?”

  Vanessa sniffled, and then she laughed. “Because if I do he’ll punish me tonight, hard. And if there’s one thing I truly love it’s being punished.”

  Chapter 4

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” Maisie said, after Vanessa’s words had settled into her brain. Why would someone want to be punished?

  “It does if you like to be whipped,” Vanessa said. “Spankings are too tame for me. I like it when he uses a crop, or a flogger.”

  Maisie thought about the items she’d seen in the cloakroom, or rather in the small room between that and the library.

  “How horrid,” she whispered.