A Murder in Time(35)

Finally, a bed squeaked, and someone yawned. Kendra turned to see one of the girls push herself into a sitting position. She wore a nightgown buttoned primly up to the neck and a nightcap on her head. Blond hair, twisted in rag curlers, stuck out below the cap’s lace.

“Georgie—wake up,” she ordered the other bed’s occupant. She glanced at Kendra. “Who are you?”

“I’m Kendra Donovan. Your lady’s maid.”

“I want my chocolate.”

The imperious tone scraped Kendra’s already raw nerves, but she went to pour a cup of the hot chocolate.

“I shall wear my yellow muslin,” the girl said as she accepted the cup and saucer.

“I want my chocolate, too,” the other girl—Georgie—said, when Kendra made a move toward the wardrobe.

Veering back to the pot of chocolate, Kendra poured another cup. She brought it to the girl, who was wearing a similar nightgown and cap as her roommate.

“What shall I wear this morning, Sarah?” she asked as she sipped her chocolate. “I thought the blue morning dress Papa bought me. It’s ever so fine.”

“Hmm. I think you ought to wear the green muslin.”

“Oh. But what of Lady Louisa? She has a prodigious fondness for green.”

“Lady Louisa looks like a toad when she wears green.” Sarah dismissed the unseen woman with cool contempt. She lifted the china cup, and her blue eyes gleamed maliciously as she took a sip. “Speaking of toads, I can scarcely believe that Lady Rebecca was bold enough to show herself at dinner last night. I nearly cast up my accounts when I was seated opposite her!”

Georgette giggled. “I believe she’s the Duke’s goddaughter.”

“Nevertheless, they should be more considerate of their guests.” Sarah shifted her gaze to Kendra and arched a brow. “Pray, what are you doing, standing there like a simpleton? I told you—I want my yellow muslin.”

This had to be real, Kendra decided, as she walked to the wardrobe. Or she was a masochist to create such a delusion.

Opening the wardrobe’s heavy doors, she scanned the numerous frothy gowns crowded inside on hooks. Odd, how something as insignificant as the absence of coat hangers could send her heart hammering again in her chest. But a memory—something she’d read or heard—surfaced on how wooden hangers hadn’t become commercialized until 1869. And wire hangers wouldn’t put in an appearance for another ninety years. If she were having a mental breakdown, would her mind be so historically accurate?

Oh, God, she didn’t know. She pulled out the first yellow dress she saw.

“I said the yellow muslin—the yellow muslin, you stupid girl!”

Keeping her temper in check with an effort, Kendra replaced the yellow gown, and skimmed through the rest of the clothes. Finding another bright yellow dress, she pulled it out. “Is this the one you want?”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “Naturally. What kind of lady’s maid are you? You’re not even French.” She looked at her roommate. “One would think someone as powerful as the Duke of Aldridge would hire a French lady’s maid for his guests. At the very least, a Swiss one.”

Georgette made a sound of agreement. “And I shall wear the green muslin.” While she couldn’t pull off the same imperious tone as her friend, it was close enough.

If the situation weren’t so serious or bizarre, Kendra would’ve laughed at the irony. Here she was—onetime child prodigy, the youngest agent ever to make it through Quantico—taking orders from two snobby debutantes.

The girls got out of bed and disappeared behind the privacy screen. When they emerged, Kendra had found the green dress. She waited until they discarded their nightgowns and put on their undergarments, stockings, and garters. She had to lace up both girls’ stays before helping them into their dresses. After she finished buttoning them, Sarah flounced over to sit in front of the mirrored dressing table.

“Well?” She glanced at Kendra in the mirror. “For heaven’s sake. Stop woolgathering! I need my hair put up.”

Kendra froze. Put up? What the hell did she know about being a hairdresser? Her own hair, thick and straight-as-a-pin, required very little maintenance. Before the shooting, she’d worn it in a ponytail. Afterward . . . well, she hadn’t done anything except wait for it to grow, and then have it styled by Mr. Gerry at his swanky salon in Georgetown.

“What are you waiting for, you stupid girl?”

Where are the manners in this era? Kendra wondered, jaw tightening. She went over to Sarah, and began unwrapping her hair from the rag curlers. How hard would it be to pin up a few curls, for Christ’s sake?

Forty-five minutes later, Kendra admitted to herself that she was no Mr. Gerry, and would rather face a dozen psychopaths than endure another session struggling to subdue wayward curls with only a few ribbons and old-fashioned hairpins that were little more than long, thin wires, all the while suffering verbal abuse from a girl who probably couldn’t do basic math.

Goddamn it, she cursed mentally when one more wispy strand escaped the Grecian knot she’d been attempting on Sarah.

“Lud! What kind of lady’s maid are you?” Sarah declared angrily. “If you were in my household—”

“Shut up.” The words were out of her mouth before she realized it. Although talking back probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do, some of the tightness eased from the center of Kendra’s chest.