The Lady in Disguise

Chapter Thirty (part one)

Byrne was glad he'd not had much to drink last night, or the cacophony in the kitchen would surely drive him mad.

"Can we please quiet down?" he tried.

That didn't work.

It was a shame Mrs. Stern was still observing the Sabbath. She had a foolproof method of whistling between her fingers so loudly that any who heard it would grasp their ears and immediately cease talking. She also had a way of keeping everyone in order so that these meetings were not pure chaos.

Today, everyone seemed to have a complaint. Fletcher was still concerned about this "supposed village laundress" possibly encroaching on his territory. Mrs. Dudley, the supposed laundress herself, claimed she "ain't even touched his precious starched cloths and has no aim to."

The upstairs maids, with some shy support from Evie, claimed he was "ruinin' a good thing for all of us."

The footmen were arguing over Tony changing up the way dinner was served.

"It's too confusing," Sean said.

"I like it," young Declan said. "Keeps things interestin' for me. And Mr. Higgins didn't mind none."

"Mr. Higgins don't mind nothin' but his reflection in the mirror since Miss Crewe's maid drew him."

Higgins stopped studying himself in the warped mirror at the base of the stairs at that. "Pardon? I was not derelict in my duties at all. And I thought I made a very fine Roman soldier."

Sean crossed his arms. "At least I don't go in for none of that silliness."

Byrne found his mind drifting at the mention of Miss Crewe, even if it was truly about her maid. Apparently, half the house had been distracted by her fanciful drawings of them as mythical creatures or some other nonsense. He had heard several protests, mostly from Fletcher obviously. And while he expected Mrs. Stern to be as vehement in her complaints, once she rejoined them this evening, he didn't see much harm in it.

Or maybe he had a certain bias. If such silly endeavors made her maid comfortable among his staff, perhaps that was for the better. If things went as they should — as they would, he reminded himself — this Miss Finch would be making a life for herself in his household.

Last night's endeavors had been promising, not from anything Miss Crewe said. He'd learned enough about Miss Crewe by now to know that she said more with what she didn't say. And that wasn't only within her glances and her movements. No. There was the fact that she had yet to actually...

"I personally feel that we have yet to arrive upon an agreement upon this beast," Fletcher said, pointing disdainfully at Mopsy, who was laying in his pile of blankets, gnawing on one of little Ruthie's dolls.

Byrne was a bit annoyed at his ruminations being interrupted, but he did have a task this morning, so he'd best get to it.

"He ain't no beast," Mrs. Doyle protested. "He's a very good boy, he is. He chased off a fox this morning, who'd been aiming for the chicken coop."

"It was a cat," Sean groaned.

"So what if it was," Kitty scoffed. "It was after the chickens, wasn't it? He's a credit to this house, he is."

"This house ain't even our house," Timothy, the gardener, groaned. "And he's chewed up the handle on me best trowel."

"Enough!" Byrne yelled, glancing toward the staircase and the servants' quarters. He wasn't sure where Miss Finch or Dora, that maid of Miss Poole's, were, but he was just glad they weren't here to see the true chaos lurking below stairs, and that none of it belonged to Sir Anthony.