by Erin Rye
She slid from under her heavy quilt. Forgoing her robe, for the silk brocade would whisper about her, far noisier than her light shift, she crept from her bedroom. Flittering between patches of moonlight that alternated with grim suits of armor, she placed each bare foot with precise care, aware of which boards would creak beneath her weight. One entire stretch of hall squealed like a piglet when her father or any of the more sizable staff crossed it, but Bridget could slip silently over even that.
She ghosted down the staircase with equal care. Outside, a night bird called, seeking or defending its mate, she knew not which. Within, all lay silent. In the foyer, a single candle burned. Bridget shielded her eyes from the glow least she be unable to see once she left its ring of light. She turned down the corridor leading to her father’s office, the stone floor of the main level icy under her bare feet.
Light flickered through the crack beneath the office door. She stopped. Who had entered her father’s office? He hadn’t passed down the hall. She would have heard him. Although, on occasion, she’d noticed her father could tread with near silence.
Her gaze left that unexpected glow and traveled the corridor. She could rouse the household, but what if her father used his own office? Or, worse, visited the rooms below.
She frowned at the suspicious flicker beneath the thick wood of the door. If she retreated to find a weapon, the intruder might disappear. The best course, then, was to peek through the keyhole and see who lingered inside, without them being any the wiser.
Less than a whisper in the shadows of the hall, Bridget crept to the office. She bundled the soft cotton of her shift so it wouldn’t pool about her and slip under the door, and knelt. Holding her breath, as if even that might be heard, she placed an eye to the keyhole.
A candle burned on her father’s desk. The slim figure beyond that glow quickly resolved into Fiona. As far as Bridget could tell from her vantage point, Fiona sorted through the drawer of clean sheets. Pursing her lips, she closed it and opened another, the one that held ink and trimmed pens. Fiona soon shut that as well. She pulled at the locked drawer, where Ollie’s letters were kept. Her eyes narrowed.
Bridget stood. Her papa paid well and deserved more loyalty than that. She pushed open the door. “Fiona, what the devil are you doing in Papa’s office?” Hands on hips, she glared at the maid.
Fiona gaped at her. She snapped her bowed lips shut and hurried around the desk. Bridget tensed, ready to make a grab for the maid if she tried to flee, but Fiona stopped in the middle of the room.
“Oh, Miss Sollier,” she cried. “I’m so sorry, Miss, but I need my letters.” Tears popped into her eyes.
Bridget frowned. Tears were easy to come by, but the girl’s tone rang with sincerity. “Your letters? Of reference? You need them now, in the middle of the night?”
“I do, Miss, or first thing tomorrow,” she said in the same weepy voice.
“Whatever for?” Bridget asked. Fiona seemed convincingly distressed. “Are you leaving us?”
“Oh no, Miss.” Fiona wiped at her cheeks. “But Mama said she’ll have at me with the rolling pin if I don’t bring them to her for safekeeping first thing tomorrow, and I didn’t get no chance to come ask earlier, and I was afraid Lord Sollier would say no, anyways, cause my Mama said, when she heard Lord Sollier kept them, she said a man would only do that if he was planning to force a girl to stay on, so he could—” She broke off. Her hands flew to her mouth as if she could shove the words back inside.
Bridget studied Fiona’s distressed countenance. Was that the source of the girl’s keen gaze, a life already filled with too much knowing? “I didn’t realize Papa had kept them.” Undoubtedly, her father had assumed Bridget would see them returned, the task passed to her even though he hadn’t permitted her final say in hiring the maid. At least he’d let her interview candidates with him. “Your mother is correct, your letters of reference are your own, and very important.”
Fiona nodded, eyes wide. She pulled her hands away from her mouth. “So, I may have them?” she whispered.
“Certainly, you may.” Bridget crossed to stand behind her father’s desk. She shot Fiona, who’d turned to watch her, a hard look. “You didn’t search the correct drawer is all.” Bridget pulled it open and leafed through the pages.
Not finding the girl’s letters of reference, Bridget took the pages out and sorted again, nearer the candle, to no avail. She shook her head. They simply weren’t there. She put the stack back in the drawer.
She looked up to find Fiona watching with keen, watery eyes. “I can’t seem to find them.”
“You mean, my letters are gone?” Fiona squawked.
Bridget frowned. “I’m sure Papa put them in the wrong drawer.” Perhaps that was the real reason behind his forgetting to return them. “I’ll ask after them first thing. For now, let me write you a letter to give your Mama, so she won’t have at you with a rolling pin.”
“But you can’t ask Lord Sollier, Miss,” Fiona pleaded. “He’ll think I don’t trust him, or I’m complaining, and he’ll let me go without a reference.”
“But if I don’t ask him where he put them, you’ll have no references at all,” Bridget pointed out.
Fiona nodded miserably, ringing her hands.
Bridget felt a stirring of pity for the girl, for her father’s temper was often uncertain. “How about, instead of asking Papa, I make a search myself in the morning? I’ll do it quite early, and excuse you from your morning duties, so you can take either my letter or your references to your Mama.”
“Oh, thank you so much, Miss,” Fiona said, her hands stilling.
“Now, come along. We both need sleep.” Bridget circled back around the desk. She lifted the candle and handed it to Fiona, who took it with a steady hand. Arm outstretched, Bridget ushered the maid from the room to the sound of the girl’s babbled thanks.
Bridget didn’t immediately go to bed. Instead, she retrieved the key to her father’s office and locked the door. She always woke earlier than he did, so it shouldn’t inconvenience him, and she would sleep better with the key under her pillow.
She was very surprised, the following morning, to find Fiona’s letters of reference right where she’d sought them the night before.
GET YOUR COPY AT SCARSDALE PUBLISHING
Other Books in the Marriage Maker Goes Undercover Collection
A Scoundrel in the Making
The Marriage Obligation
Rules of Refinement Collection
One Good Gentleman
Shameless
Redemption of a Marquess
A Marriage of Necessity
The Original Marriage Maker Saga
Worth of a Lady
The Marriage Wager
A Lady by Chance
How to Catch an Heiress
www.scarsdalepublishing.com