Chapter Seven (Part 1)

Emilia was starting to rethink her alliance with this dog. She had now twice been landed on her bottom because of him, first in the dirt and now in the water.

This had all seemed like such a brilliant idea an hour ago.

Having often romanticized the idea of being a lady of leisure, she thought she would enjoy indulging in an afternoon nap, but she found it very boring. She had only lasted a few minutes, staring at the canopy above her in consternation, before she was satisfied that she had tried her best and naps were certainly not for her.

Besides that, she couldn't stop thinking about that sad little lair in the ruins. That poor little dear. He should have a bed by the fire, not a scratchy blanket over cold stone. He was such a friendly thing and she was certain that he was less likely to be chased off if he was just a little more presentable. Having skillfully groomed young ladies, she thought she was certainly capable of doing a passable job of it with a dog.

She just needed to secure Miss Prudence's help first, which the girl was surprisingly eager to provide. Prudence claimed she was bored out of her wits and running out of ways to pretend to look busy. Rushing about collecting the items – a bucket, soap, a rope, an old horse brush, some scissors, and a ham bone – gave her a much-needed appearance of purpose among the other servants.

"What is all this for? And what on earth are you doing with that?" Prudence asked, gesturing to the mud-colored dress Emilia was stepping into.

"To rescue me from my boredom," Emilia said, pulling it up over her arms. "And I'm wearing it, if you'll do me up."

"But you hate that dress." Prudence narrowed her eyes. "Are you about to destroy it for good? I wouldn't be surprised."

"Nonsense. I'd rather keep it around so you don't destroy all the others. It's only when you wear it in company, I—"

"For the last time, my mother is not company and wearing a gown for supper at home is a waste of time and effort!"

"Oh, do stop arguing and button me up."

"Well... Yes, Ma'am." Prudence curtsied.

Emilia rolled her eyes and turned her back. "I can cure your boredom, too, if you'd listen."

"Are you going to teach me the secret ways of the lady's maid? Is that what all this is for? I should learn. Evie keeps looking to me as some kind of expert and I am running out of ways to put her off. Perhaps if you—"

"What do ye imagine I'd teach you with a rope and a bucket?"

Prudence shrugged. "Perhaps it's like when Ernie runs about with sacks of grain after a night of eating — or drinking — too much?"

"If you must know, it's for the dog. I've found where he lives and I mean to catch him and bathe him."

Prudence laughed. "So you mean to force me to practice on dogs before I work my way up to grooming you?"

"No, I'll do this alone. Two people might scare the poor dear away." And the day she let Miss Prudence do anything to her hair would be the last day she called herself a lady's maid.

Prudence shrugged. "It's just as well. I'm rather more of a cat lover. But what am I to do? Come, you must give me something."

Emilia turned to her, adjusting her collar. "I bid you to go the library and choose several books that might interest me."

Prudence's eyes lit up. "Are you finally taking my recommendations again? I know you found the Greeks a bit dry, but there are much better novels than that rubbish Mama reads, I promise."

"The books are for you."

"Oh! That's even better."

"You can sit in here and read the afternoon away. Just tell the others you were mending something."

"Hmm, is that what you do when you're supposedly 'mending something'?" Prudence slid her a sly glance. "You can tell me. I won't tattle."

"No, I'm usually actually mending something."

"You're no fun." Prudence skipped to the door, then turned back to her. "But you are a very fair employer." She opened the door and dropped a ridiculously deep curtsy. "Aye, Miss Crewe," she said loudly. "I'll find you a book straight away."

Emilia huffed and shooed her off.

Having easily found Miss Prudence something to do, Emilia truly thought the hardest part would be catching the dog, but he'd trotted up to her enthusiastically when he'd seen the bone, though he did give the bucket containing her other tools a suspicious sniff. And he'd not protested about walking with her makeshift leash. He didn't even pull too much. She wondered if he belonged to someone before. What kind of heartless fiend would leave such a darling boy to wander the woods?

Of course now, staring up at Mr. Byrne and a very unapologetic dog who'd just toppled her into the water, the boy in question seemed less darling.

"We must stop meeting in this manner, Miss Crewe," Byrne said, holding out a hand.

She stared at it numbly, her face hot in contrast to her bottom, still planted in the cool stream. She'd never been clumsy. She'd, in fact, prided herself on never having broken a dish in nine years in service. But she was quite sure by now that this man must think her an absolute clod.

He lifted an eyebrow, his hand still offered. "Never fear. We've met before. It is I – Lord Swindon."

She felt herself blushing again as she took his hand and let him pull her up. "Thank you, Mr. Byrne."

"Ah, so you do know my name. Here, I'd thought myself and Lord Swinton were interchangeable."

"That was only at first," she lied. As if she could confuse him with anyone else. Still, it was better to continue to pretend confusion than admit she was still on the verge of calling him and everyone here either m'lord or m'lady. She lifted her chin, keeping her back and her very wet bottom to the stream to preserve some semblance of dignity. "I am slowly becoming more familiar with everyone here."

"So I see. You seem very familiar with him." He nodded to the dog, who was now barking at the bucket, half in the stream, as if it had offended him personally.

She supposed it had. His grand escape had come the moment she'd dumped it over him.

"I try not to judge people by the company they keep," Byrne went on, "but your friend is loud and ill-mannered. Perhaps one of the ladies would do better."

"Well, they are all napping."

"And why aren't you napping?"

"I tried, but found little use in it. Sleeping in the middle of the day," she scoffed, scooping up the bucket. "Sleep comes when work is done and not before," she said before she thought better of it.

"Work?" He stared at her dubiously, as if she didn't know the meaning of the word.

Rather than embarrassment at her blunder, she felt rather annoyed – and not only for her own sake. She might have her complaints about Prudence Crewe's carelessness, but there was not a lazy bone in the girl. "I have many things I do. I paint, I... I read, I organize libraries and, when the mood takes me, I wash dogs. So if you would leave me to it..." She held out her hand for the rope he was still holding. The dog on the end of it was now rolling in the mud as if to negate her earlier efforts.

"I'm afraid I can't. If you end up in the stream again, you might catch a chill."

"It's very warm today. And now that I've got m'self wet, I'm even more determined to finish. You simply startled us. Rex and I were getting along quite well before."

"Rex?" He stared at the dog, his paws in the air as he wiggled his way more firmly into the mud. "Rather too regal a name for him, don't you think?"

"I was trying it, but no. I suppose it doesn't suit him. He's not like these nobles at all."

"These nobles?" he repeated.

Oh, dear. How was she to correct that? She was meant to be the daughter of a baron, after all. Still, must he repeat everything she said so doubtfully? "I... I don't consider myself to be like the others. I am very interested in... in political things."

"Such as?"

Why must he ask her to clarify? And why, oh why, did she never listen when Miss Prudence was ranting? "The rights of women," she began vaguely, "the rights of workers and... and the welfare of animals," she finished triumphantly, getting back to the matter at hand. "This dog's welfare would greatly improve with a wash."

"In what way?"

"If you must know, I was thinking he might be domesticated. The kitchen staff might make use of him to chase off unwanted vermin."

Byrne chuckled and shook his head. "I know the staff here quite well, and according to them, he's the most unwanted vermin in these parts."

"That's not what I've heard. My mist... er. My Miss Finch tells me—"

"Ah. Your maid. I met her in the library."

"Yes, my maid," Emilia said eagerly. "She was gathering books I might enjoy. She is very intelligent and I trust her judgment."

"You do?"

"Aye, I do. And she says half the staff think he's a darling!"

Byrne grunted. "Yes, I suspected as much. I suppose that would explain why he's so well fed, the little beggar."

"There's no harm in having him look his best. Perhaps the others will take to him then. And Sir Anthony, too. You've made it clear you don't like him, but it is Sir Anthony's decision, is it not?"

Byrne opened his mouth as if to argue, then closed it, frowning. "And what of the dog? He doesn't seem to want this bath of yours," he said after a moment, gesturing to the little imp, still rapturously rolling in the dirt. "Quite the opposite."

She finally snatched the rope from him. "He just doesn't know what's good for him yet."

"Ah, now you sound like a politician. Making decisions for the rest of the unwashed masses. You English. Always thinking you know better."

"You English?" she echoed, hoping to give him a taste of his own... repeatings.

"As an Irishman, or one of the unwashed masses—"

"I never said any such thing!" So that was where his accent was from.

"You didn't need to. Your kind makes decisions for my kind. Much like this poor soul," he went on with an exaggerated sigh. "I feel for him."

So he was having fun with her. "I thought you said he should be thrown in the well." She tugged at the rope, but the dog just rolled over again and again, now twisting it over him.

"He might prefer that to this bath of yours."

"Nonsense. Now I must concentrate on my task, if you'll be kind enough to—"

"Very well." He shucked off his jacket and tossed it over a bush, then began rolling up his sleeves.

"I wasn't askin' you to help."

"Either way, I'm offerin'," he countered with a slight smile.

She wasn't sure if he was mocking her or if he genuinely wanted to help. Either way, she wasn't having it. "I think I can manage to wash one small dog if I can bathe—" She stopped herself. There was no way to finish that sentence that didn't either expose her work or have her talking about baths in the presence of a man.

Luckily, he didn't seem to catch her latest blunder, glowering at the dog. "He's not so small."

"Yes, he is. He's quite a little thing under all that fluff. Perhaps I should call him Fluffy."

"I wouldn't call it fluff. I wouldn't even call it hair. I'm not sure he's not a dirty mop that came to life."

"A mop?" She found herself smiling. "I suppose he has that look about him, but not for long." She tried to tug him to the water again. "Perhaps I should call him Mopsy. Will you come, then? Mopsy?"

"Sounds like a girl's name."

She dropped her smile. "Because only girls use mops, I reckon."

Byrne shrugged. "I don't make the rules, I only enjoy them."

The dog let out a slight yip and continued rolling. "Well, Mopsy likes it. Now if you'd leave us..."

"But I simply can't leave now. I must witness how you're going to accomplish this unaided." He stood back, folding his arms. His bare arms. They looked quite tan for a member of the gentry. Also corded with muscle.

She tore her eyes away. "Very easily. I was nearly done before I was interrupted," she said with a significant glance his way, avoiding his arms. She knelt by the stream, filling her bucket again, then patted the water. "Come on, darling. There's a good boy. Come on, Mopsy."

The newly-named Mopsy did stop his rolling, but only because he seemed to notice the spilled items near her feet, the ham bone among them. He darted for it, but she picked it up and held it away.

"No, the bone is for after." She patted the water with her free hand. "In there. That's a good boy."

He didn't come near the water, but instead started jumping for the bone as she struggled to hold it out of reach.

"Are you certain you need no assistance at all?" Mr. Byrne droned.

"None," she said, wincing and squeezing her eyes shut as one of Mopsy's paws tried to find purchase on her face.

"I can't watch much more of this."

"You are free to leave whenever you like." She felt the bone leaving her hand and then the paw leaving her face. She opened her eyes to find Mr. Byrne holding the bone up high, the dog on its hind legs, eyes following it as he moved it back and forth.

"You want this?"

The dog jumped toward it, but Byrne kept it out of reach.

He stepped to the side, holding it over the water before taking his other hand and snapping his fingers and pointing. "There," he said in a deep, rather commanding growl.

Mopsy plodded into the water, then turned to stare up at him expectantly.

"Sit," Byrne barked, still holding the bone.

Mopsy plopped his bottom down in the stream, still staring at the bone and Byrne.

"Stay. Wait." Byrne held out his hand. "The rope. I'll hold it. You wash."

Emilia could only stare between man and dog, feeling like a bystander to their silent agreement, and it took a moment to realize he was talking to her.

"Go on, Miss Crewe. I can't say how long he will last."

Emilia quickly handed him the rope and picked up the bucket.

*******************

Pru had meant to pick out three, maybe four books, but now she found she couldn't rest until at least one shelf had been put to rights. Maybe two. Despite the library's appearance of organization, these books had been grouped with no order as to titles or authors or even subject.

Arranged by size, that scowling man with the papers had said. She couldn't be bothered as to which one he was. The only person she'd met before was Pembroke. Was he Mr. Whosit or Lord Whoever? It was rather freeing that she didn't need to know him as anything but "sir."

As for Pembroke, by size was no way to arrange a library unless one never planned to frequent it. Though she supposed she shouldn't judge him too harshly. She'd done nearly the same one spring. In a fit of boredom after several days of rain and with no inspiration to paint with, she had arranged all of the books in Aunt Muriel's library by color. Even Charity, who didn't much care what went into a library's arranging, had agreed it looked very pretty, but that it was also very inconvenient. But tearing it apart and putting it together again had cured her next fit of boredom quite nicely.

She really should get upstairs, get to "mending something" so she could read in peace as Emilia suggested, but how was she to rest when this library could barely be called such a thing?

So here she was, plucking out all the poetry books – for her mistress' reading pleasure of course. As Emilia would rather pluck out her eyes than read poetry, or at least bathe a dog, Pru was simply eliminating them first.

She had found and set aside a copy of Mansfield Park. If Emilia was going to argue about it with Miss Poole, she should at least read it. Insipid as Fanny Price was, she was a better heroine than that weeping Florentia. And it would be so nice for her and Emilia if they could discuss a book they had both read for once.

She had also found a book of nursery rhymes that might do very well for Evie. The girl kept following her about, asking her how to get mustard out of a lace cuff or how to do a proper chignon. Prudence had been putting her off, telling her these things could not be taught until one was ready to learn them.

It seemed to work thus far, as Dear Evie had nodded, as if this was a fine bit of wisdom indeed, and asked, "How ever do I make myself ready, Miss Finch?"

Luckily, Pru had been saved by her mistress ringing for her. Considering her task had been – after collecting the nonsense for the dog – this library, she hoped she might use it to improve Evie's station. When she'd asked Evie if she could read, the girl had laughed. "What do I need readin' for?"

Much like this library's current state, that just could not and would not stand!

Perhaps she could convince the girl that reading was a crucial step in being a proper lady's maid. Of course, looking at her sad pile of books to borrow, only one novel and some nursery rhymes, and the much larger pile of books she'd displaced, she noted that she'd made more of a mess than she meant to. She really should put this back to rights.

But when she spied that original printing of Chaucer, she couldn't help sitting down for just a moment. It was in perfect condition, barely opened, not even dog-eared on all the naughtiest, funniest pages. Surely it had been neglected all this—

"Oh, pardon me!"

Prudence stood quickly. "I was mending something!" she exclaimed as the book slid from her lap.

The dark-skinned girl in the doorway just stared at her. "Mending what?"

Prudence couldn't help staring back. She knew this must be none other than Miss Vanessa Poole. Her maid, Dora, had described her appearance and Emilia had relayed the girl's opinions on Mansfield Park. Pru found both descriptions intriguing, but she really should stop staring.

"Dusting, I mean." Prudence picked up the volume she'd dropped, pretending to brush it off, blowing on it for good measure. "Have you need of the library, Miss?" she asked, though she would rather ask the girl what she so loved about Mansfield. For the first time in this experiment, Pru was rather jealous of Emilia. How she would love to have someone with which to argue a book's merits. Most of her arguments — mostly with Mama — revolved around the merits of reading itself and whether she did too much of it. Still, she was just a maid to this girl. "Very sorry, Miss. I'll be finished soon, Miss."

Miss Poole tilted her head. "Dusting with what?"

"Oh, Silly me. I've misplaced my... dusting broom." Was that what people dusted with? It sounded about right. "I'll go and fetch it." Pru started past her.

But Miss Poole stepped in front of her. "You work for Miss Crewe, do you not? I saw you from the window when you arrived." Her eyes narrowed. "Do lady's maids often dust houses not their own?"

"Aye, Miss. I mean... No, Miss. But I... I offered to help since the others are so overcome with all the—"

"I know very well what you are doing." Miss Poole blocked the door and shut it before turning back. "I suspect Miss Crewe put you up to it," she said, emphasizing the name.

Oh, dear God! Had they been unmasked already?

TBC