A Murder in Time(76)

“You shall need a new wardrobe, of course.” She lifted the teacup and saucer and handed them to Kendra. “I have taken the liberty of sending for the local modiste, but Mary shall begin by taking your measurements.”

They were sitting at a small table positioned in front of a window in Lady Rebecca’s bedroom, a generously appointed space with ivory silk walls, rich mahogany furnishings, and an enormous velvet canopied bed done in the colors of ancient amber. It suited her, Kendra thought as she glanced at the other woman. Despite her disfiguring scars, Lady Rebecca presented a quaint, old-fashioned picture, pouring tea from the dainty porcelain pot, wearing her high-waisted, blue-sprigged muslin gown with her auburn hair swept into a charming topknot.

“What exactly does a companion do?”

Rebecca smiled. “You don’t have paid companions in America? How very primitive.”

So are chamber pots, Kendra thought. “Primitive is a relative term.”

“Indeed. Well, a Lady usually hires a companion to see to her needs. Fetching one’s shawl or fan. Providing amusing company. Don’t fret, Miss Donovan. We both know that I didn’t offer you this position so you could entertain me. As you are no longer a servant, you will be allowed to attend the evening festivities. It will give you a chance to converse with people.” She paused. “Although I suggest you adopt a demure disposition tonight at dinner. Lady Atwood was not pleased with my unorthodox decision to elevate your status.”

“Did she give you a hard time?”

“She warned me that I’d be setting tongues to wag in the Polite World. As I care naught for the so-called Polite World, her argument fell flat. Lady Atwood’s a bit high in the instep but she is a good woman. Thankfully, the Duke supports my decision.”

She set down her teacup and saucer and rose from the table. “I shall ring for Mary before Mrs. Griffith arrives.”

Rebecca’s lady’s maid was a small bird-like woman that Kendra recognized from her first breakfast in the upper staff dining room, before her demotion. She gave Kendra a look, sharp with distrust.

“Please take off your clothes,” Rebecca ordered Kendra.

“I’m usually offered dinner before that request.”

“Pardon?”

“Never mind,” Kendra sighed, and began to strip. She couldn’t hide her scars, and knew the instant the two women saw them. Rebecca gasped.

Suspicion flared in Mary’s dark eyes. “Looks like ye’ve been shot, miss.”

“Yes,” Kendra said simply.

“How—never mind,” Rebecca said abruptly. “Forgive us. I understand all too well what it’s like to be stared at.” She turned to Mary, who began unrolling her measuring tape. “What is the gossip below stairs, Mary?”

“Everyone’s all aflutter at how ye hired the miss here to be yer companion.” The woman shot Kendra another narrow-eyed look as she looped the tape around her waist. “Miss Beckett says the countess was apoplectic.”

Rebecca waved her hand airily. “I am well aware of the countess’ objections.”

“Are ye certain ye know what ye’re about, milady?” Mary fitted the tape snugly beneath Kendra’s armpits, intersecting across her bosom.

“The countess may wish me to Jericho, but I know what I am doing.”

“This is about the gel in the lake, ain’t it? Talk is she be mixed up in that business, too.”

“I didn’t ask to be here,” Kendra muttered beneath her breath.

“Why’d ye come, then?”

Why, indeed? “I’m still working that one out.”

“Hush, Mary. Miss Donovan is not the enemy.”

“They think she’s queer in the attic. Hold still, miss.” She knelt down, measuring from waist to hem. “They may give ye the cut for supporting the likes of her, milady.”

“They wouldn’t dare. Not with the Duke of Aldridge lending his support. At least not a direct cut. You’ll need slippers, Miss Donovan. You can hardly wear those dreadful boots to dinner. And, oh, we really must do something with your hair. Mary, suggestions?”

“Why ever did ye cut it so short?” Mary gave Kendra an accusatory look.

“Some ladies have cut their hair . . . but this style is rather unusual, Miss Donovan.” Rebecca circled Kendra, tapping her chin critically. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Maybe I’ll start a new trend.”

Mary sniffed. “Not bloody likely.”

“I’m not so certain,” Rebecca said. “It is odd, but rather becoming. Still, we shall have to be creative, Mary. Miss Donovan is an Original.”

“What exactly is an Original?” Kendra asked.

“Someone who is unique, one-of-a-kind. You most certainly are that. Mary, we must make the most of it.”

The maid muttered, “We’re doomed.”

Rebecca rolled her eyes, but before she could respond to that dire prediction, Mrs. Griffith, the local modiste, arrived. She wasn’t alone. She was accompanied by two young women and five large trunks, which the footmen brought in. As Kendra watched in amazement, Rebecca’s bedroom was transformed into a dressmaking atelier. The five trunks sprung open to reveal countless bolts of fabric, trimmings, and fashion plates.