***
"I don't like this gown."
Mary Lambert sighed inwardly at the pronouncement that came after an hour of dressing, her mistress regarding herself critically in the glass. "Shall I fetch another?"
"No," the answer came as she had known it would, the protest voiced only to air a general dissatisfaction with the night ahead and life in general. "No, there is no time. People will be arriving soon."
Mary nodded, carefully patting down a stray strand of her mistress's golden hair, the sound of carriage wheels audible in the distance through the open window. Without further ado she slipped a fine shawl around the other woman's shoulders, aware as she did so just how fragile she had become even in the last few weeks. "I am ready when you are, my Lady."
The eyes that met hers in the mirror were worn and listless, darting away after a moment. "Let us go."
Mary nodded once more, moving to open the bedroom door. A few hours, she told herself, a few hours and it would all be over.
The Dead London Chronicles: Vol I, June 2016 Page 3
