The Lady in Disguise

Chapter Twenty-Six

Prudence drew in a deep breath as she opened the library door. There was something about a blessedly dry room filled with books that made her feel quite at home, even away from home.

The damp kitchens downstairs certainly did not compare, even though her sister often said she felt quite at home in the kitchens. Then again, Charity's enthusiasm for baking and the like was probably why. And while Charity's tales of the Recipe Wars of Balvenie were amusing, it was not an occupation that Prudence had any inclination for.

Though Prudence would say her time downstairs this afternoon had been more productive than others. She wondered if Charity would be proud of her use of art as a means of subterfuge during her little investigation. Charity would also like the fanciful little sketches she'd been commissioned to do in her time downstairs. She'd done the staff here for her own series, of course, but she'd also drawn them as mermaids, knights, royals, and centaurs. Charity would probably ask to be painted as a fairy the minute she visited next.

Mrs. Stern had not been impressed, of course. She never was. Prudence was tempted to draw her as a banshee. The woman had been even more prickly and efficient than usual.

"Is there some reason you have such time to sit, Miss Finch?" Mrs. Stern barked in her clipped German tones as everyone bustled about, leaning over Prudence. "Do you not have two charges now? You should be tending to your own work instead of distracting the rest of us from ours."

"I have finished my own work, Mrs. Stern," Prudence said easily. It was true, considering she had no work to finish anyhow.

"Strange, because I've yet to catch you doing any," the woman droned.

Yes, definitely a Banshee. Perhaps she'd draw her thus tonight. She often found that sort of thing helped ease her ire. She'd drawn Lord Headless' face on everything from dastardly demons to marauding minotaurs. It was quite soothing.

"I prefer to work in the peace of Miss Crewe's bedchamber." That was also true. Mrs. Stern didn't need to know what kind of work she did upstairs. Pru never liked to sketch where others might see if she could help it.

Mrs. Stern helped illustrate why as she plucked up Pru's sketching book. "And what is this?"

Prudence bristled. She truly hated when people handled her drawings, particularly when they were not yet finished, but she had to remind herself that she must put up with such indignities here. She couldn't whack the woman about the head, as she would if Ernie had done it. "It is Mr. Higgins, but as a gladiator in Roman times." 

"And you are encouraging this... nonsense?" Mrs. Stern glanced away from her, at Mr. Higgins himself, who was standing by the window, his head tossed back and his foot upon a chair.

"Tis the only time for it. This light is ideal," Higgins said, not breaking his pose. "Miss Finch insists it best highlights my athletic form."

Mrs. Stern tossed the book back to Prudence, rolling her eyes. "Athletic form," the woman muttered, slapping at Higgins' protruding belly with the back of her hand as she passed him.

He huffed in annoyance, but kept his posture.

She was partial to Greeks, herself. All the Romans did, to her mind, was take all the Greek myths and slap new names upon everything. Could they not create their own culture? Their own gods? Headless liked to argue about that, going on about roads and plumbing, as if his trips to Italy made him some sort of expert on anything. He didn't even read in Latin!

The Greeks were far superior, anyhow. They had the best poems and the best plays. But Mr. Higgins was not impressed by her representation of their battle helmets. And, as she'd learned in the last few years, sometimes artists must swallow their pride and cater to their audience.