The Lady in Disguise

Chapter Eighteen

"It's over and done," Prudence Crewe scoffed.

"It's neither over nor done." Miss Poole said, handing up another book. "He's escaped before. He could do it again."

"From Elba, yes. He was free to do as he pleased there." Prudence put the last tome in place, pulling it forward to match the others. "Not on Saint Helena. It's too far off and they say they have him under guard day and night."

"It's not as if he has no allies left. Even here in England, Bonaparte's considered a rather romantic figure," Miss Poole countered. "Byron's still writing a never-ending ode to him, and if he has that sort of support here, then I can only imagine, in France—"

"Byron can write all the odes he wishes," Prudence broke in, hopping down the library's ladder. "Boney's only romantic because he's tragic now."

"He's tragic for now," Miss Poole said, "and I thought you liked Byron."

"I like most of his work. But for every Childe Harold or stirring speech in the House of Lords, there is also the odd Hours of Idleness or sap-filled verse to some poor lady he'll likely torture if he wins her. His behavior with them is certainly not beyond reproach, if you ask me. And I—" Prudence stopped, realizing Miss Poole was very close now, and staring at her strangely. "I mean, if you ask Miss Crewe. She's really the expert on such things, not I." She moved herself and the ladder to the other set of shelves.

Really, Emilia was quite the expert on Byron's exploits, as she was quite voracious for gossip, but she had no thoughts on the war, apart from relief it was ending so she might find her favorite French face creams in the shops again. 

Pru really needed to control herself. She'd been much too free with her opinions today. Arguing about the military was something frowned upon within their sex in the first place, let alone if one was a servant talking to a naïve young lady.

But it did feel so nice to discuss such things with someone.

Papa might entertain her thoughts on such subjects sometimes, but the moment they disagreed, he'd pat her on the head and attribute her very wrong opinion to her sex, though he'd often give her more to read on the matter, which she liked. But when she came back, if not in agreement with his opinion, suddenly it was her age that was the problem — and there was no reading matter capable of improving that, apparently.

"It's funny but, the more we talk, the less you mention Miss Crewe," Prudence heard Miss Poole say behind her.

"Oh... Well... It should be assumed it's Miss Crewe's opinion as I... I learn most things from her."

"Is that so?"

"Aye, Miss. Shall we do the agricul... er... plant books next, Miss?" She started as she turned to find Miss Poole even closer now, and still staring.

"Yes, agriculture," Miss Poole finally said. "You had it right the first time, yet you changed course. I wonder why."

"I wasn't quite sure that was the word. Glad to know I—"

"You are allowed to have opinions of your own," Miss Poole tilted her head, "at least in my eyes."

"Well, that's very kind of you."

"There's nothing kind about it. It's essential," Miss Poole said, rather passionately. "No matter the person, their thoughts and feelings, their opinions should be heard. So I wish you wouldn't keep pretending..."

Despite the fact that Pru quite agreed, she held her breath. Damn it, Miss Poole had found them out for certain this time.

"...not to be as bright as you obviously are," the girl finished. "I am not fooled, you know."