Never Land the First Fish

Chapter Twelve, Part 1

"Your stitching is strong, and your fine work is excellent." Miss Kilbrierry tested a mended seam, nodding her head as she laid the dress across her lap. "I will forever be grateful you were able to save the rose petal gown. It has been my favorite gown for three seasons."

Julia hadn't felt such a sense of satisfaction since the schoolroom. It had taken Julia four days to repair the ballgown that Miss Kilbrierry had been prepared to discard. It was the loveliest pattern Julia had ever seen, beaded pink rose petals across a deep green velvet skirt, all stitched by hand, rent by a random nail in the prop room of an opera house. It had taken an enormous effort in matching silks and beads and threads and fabrics, but it was now as though no damage had ever been done.

When Julia was a child, her aunt Bella had insisted she learn everything she might one day rely upon a servant to accomplish, even though her mother had proclaimed it a ridiculous exercise. "You cannot know if the housekeeper is honest, Jewel, if you haven't an idea of the effort required. And one never knows when one might need to mend a hem for oneself in an emergency." Of course, Aunt Bella had also taught her, along with Julia's cousins Toad and Almyra, Sally and Jonny Grenford, and Cousin John's children, how to shoot a pistol and long gun and protect herself with a knife, so she was not much concerned with propriety.

It was Julia's mother who had enforced the fancy needlework that had saved the snagged embroidery of the rose gown. Along with Julia's endless lessons in watercolors, pianoforte, and flower-arranging.

But none of those offered the sense of accomplishment she had when she received her first pay packet. She had enough to pay for two weeks' lodging, and any meals she didn't take at the boardinghouse, plus the fare for the horsecars, though Miss Kilbrierry continued to insist on sending the carriage when she was needed. And she could pay Maddox two dollars toward the debt she had amassed with Gills making herself presentable. And she got to work in a house bigger and more tastefully decorated than her parents' town house in London. The New York residence of Lord Rookscombe and his family was palatial and perfectly comfortable for Julia, but for having to enter through the kitchen door and not being welcome to sit on the furniture.

"When next I go to the modiste, I will bring you with me to speak to her about the gowns she is making. And she will make one for you, as a thank you from me, for saving the green velvet. Yours needn't be black, however, like all of mine." Emily's nose wrinkled.

Julia chuckled. "Yours needn't be black either, Miss Kilbrierry, but for performances, and you do not need any more costumes. Your wardrobe could use a bit more color for parties, and if you don't mind me saying so, as gorgeous as the green velvet is, and no matter how infrequently you wear it, it is three seasons old."

"You are one to talk. Your wardrobe could use a bit more style in general, Mrs . Marloughe. 'Just neat and tidy' does not become you, and I know why. Tell me true, Mrs. Marloughe: you are no lady's maid, or you would never speak to me so. You are a lady, through and through, so tell me how you came to be here, acting as my dresser, wearing clothes that are assuredly beneath you?"

Julia's hands shook and she coughed. "Miss Kilbrierry! I... I'm sure I've not--"

"I've been watching you at work for more than a fortnight now. You speak like the nobility, Mrs. Marloughe, and you interact as they do with both social superiors and inferiors. You make not the least notice of this enormous house. My father is a baron, and I spent my formative years in an English country house. There is no lady's maid in the world who warrants the sponsorship of not one, but two British lords, whom you treat as your equal—one of whom would make you a lady by marriage tomorrow, given your assent. No, my lady, you are a Lady; there is no question of that. I should only like to speak of you by your proper name and title, if you choose, and wish to hear what circumstance has brought you so low that you must hire yourself out to me."

"I see." Julia did not see. But neither did she see any way out of this. "I suppose you are correct, after all." She dropped a brief curtsy. "Lady Julia Marloughe, Miss Kilbrierry, and still your dresser, if you will have me. I am the daughter of a marquess, and the widow of a gentleman. It is only through a series of misfortunes that I am come to you, and I should not like to bother you with my troubles. I am just pleased to have the work."

"Please, do not upset yourself; your employment with me is not at risk for this revelation. Did I not just say how I admire your work?"

Julia let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Miss Kilbrierry."

"I do think you must call me Emily, and I will call you Julia. You must not have been widowed recently, for you do not wear black."

Julia felt the heat rise in her cheeks. She hadn't mourned Athol for half a minute, and she had no intention of starting now, but a lifetime of propriety died hard.

"Not too recently, no."

"I've seen no sign you have children. How did your husband die?"

"He... er... my husband... he, uh..." What was Julia to say? She and Gills had never discussed what the story should be, only that they should keep it straight between them. "He was beaten to death for a gambling debt."

One of Emily's eyebrows rose. "Ah, I see." From the subsequent look of pity, it appeared Emily did see. Julia flushed red again.

"My husband left me penniless on his death, Miss Kilbrierry--"

"Emily."

"Emily." Julia inhaled deeply, then let it out. She would tell what truth she could, so as to have fewer lies to remember. "My husband left me penniless and beaten within an inch of my life. Gills... Lord Joseph did his best to save me from both states—and a very good job he did, too—but by grand mischance, we ended up here. I am merely trying to end the entire exercise with my independence relatively intact."

Emily started, "Did you..." but she trailed off. "I see. I shall keep your story in strictest confidence, my lady, unless you should wish it. Shall I continue to call you Mrs. Marloughe, or would you prefer to be Lady Julia and be invited to the same parties I attend with Lord Maddox and Lord Joseph?

"If I will not go to those parties with Lord Joseph, I will not go with you either," Julia laughed.

The whole point of remaining anonymous was to stay out of the newspapers, and Gills and Maddox had both already been identified in the society pages. No, she was not a member of the ton now. She was a lady's maid. And she would be as long as she didn't want to hang for Athol's murder. No matter Gills had been the one to do it. He shouldn't hang for saving her life, but no one was waiting in England to help Julia. Like Gills and Maddox, she also had a powerful family, but hers would be firmly lined up against her, no matter what she did, and no peer would hang for murder when a fallen woman existed as alternate theory.

No, she would stay away from England and any New York newspapers that might make it to London.

"Mrs. Marloughe, if you please. Though you must call me Julia when we are alone. I can't tell you how much easier I am in my mind that you know the truth."

"The truth?" Maddox asked from the doorway. "My word." Julia startled. She hadn't known Maddox would be here today. Of course, she wouldn't; she could hardly expect her employer to consult her.

Julia shot Maddox a look meant to signify it was only a partial truth and he acknowledged her with a nearly imperceptible nod as he kissed Emily on both cheeks.

"I now know enough about Mrs. Marloughe to avoid calling her Lady Julia. And we've had enough truth to be getting on with. Julia, you may go for the day. I'll expect you at the same time tomorrow."

Julia couldn't decide whether to curtsy or not, now that she was a lady again, so she settled for the briefest of dip, which Emily waved off. "Dispense with the folderol. I will see you tomorrow."