The Lady in Disguise

Chapter Twenty-Four

Emilia froze at the top of the servants' stairs as Mopsy attempted to pull her down with a slight whining protest, likely smelling bacon.

"Yes, I know you want your breakfast," she hissed. "So do I. But we must be careful not to be seen." Of course, that would be very difficult, considering the clanks and noises from the kitchen were in full force.

Whether Mopsy understood or not, the dog sat on his haunches with a grumble. Evie had not come to collect him and, hence, wake Emilia. It was now nearly seven and Emilia might have slept even longer had she not been awakened by paws bouncing on her stomach, followed by sloppy kisses.

At least, this time, she wasn't rushing about in her nightdress and bare feet. She'd been sure to don slippers and a dressing gown so Prudence Crewe wouldn't have the reputation of a wild girl who roamed about her hosts' houses half-dressed — not that Prudence herself would care. She'd likely enjoy being considered so free-wheeling and eccentric, but Emilia certainly didn't want to help her further... distinguish herself.

Now she had only to work out why she had Mopsy. If she said she found him roaming about upstairs, then he'd be considered a very bad boy for escaping the kitchens, which he was meant to be protecting from rats. Then again, what if he was up there chasing one? Yes! A very big rat, which he had chased with such fervor that it would never be seen again. She was just thinking of how to describe his heroics as she descended the stairs when she heard a voice she'd not expected, at least not in the kitchens.

It was Mr. Byrne. She wasn't quite sure how ready she was to see him after last night's events. But he didn't seem to be concerned about that. He seemed to be quite heated about last night's supper.

"...and I think you should give me some sort of warning," he was saying, "before you torture me, and the other guests, with those disgusting mounds of—"

"I didn't hear no peep out o' no one else but you." That was the cook now, Mrs. Doyle. Having heard her only once was enough to know. All cooks were loud, but Emilia had never heard such a big voice come out of such a small woman. "Sir Anthony gave his compliments, on those in particular, I'll have you know."

"Hang Sir Anthony," Mr. Byrne growled. "He'll eat anything you put on his plate."

"Because he knows what's good for 'im. It won't hurt you none to eat your vegetables."

"I eat plenty of vege—"

"Them's what's in season and I ain't caterin' to your whims when I got ten guests who got no complaint. Brussels sprouts are an acquired taste and you got to eat 'em to acquire it."

"Well, I don't want to acquire it," Mr. Byrne was saying, sounding a bit more like a petulant boy than a grown man. Emilia held in a laugh.

"Shall I just slap a plate of plain eggs and toast on your plate for every meal? Would that make you happy? Hard-headed, Southern Irish. Don't eat nothin' unless it's bland as—"

"I eat many things and I'd rather be hard-headed alone, than domineering to boot, like you Northern Irish! I've a good mind to fire you for your insolence."

"And I've a good mind to quit because of yours!"

"Very well. Out on the street with you!"

Emilia's laugh died immediately. She found herself rushing down the rest of the stairs. "How dare you speak to Sir Anthony's servants in such a manner!"

Mr. Byrne turned to her, looking red-eyed and worse for wear, but that was no excuse for such behavior. She wouldn't stand for a guest berating servants in her presence, not when — as Miss Crewe — she had some power to stop such abuses.