“Help me dress.” Tasha rustled through a dozen gowns, searching for anything that didn’t smack of the impracticality Poppy must have filled her days with. She couldn’t go all CSI with bows on her ass large enough to take flight. Assuming they could leverage the excess baggage.
“You really should be in bed, Miss.”
The slight woman, barely more than a child, set the tray on a sea-worthy chest Tasha had missed in the few moments alone she’d had to case the bedroom. An antique so out of place—so masculine amidst the nauseating plumes and tassels—she thought immediately of Bracken. He didn’t seem to fit in here any more than that trunk.
Tasha seized a sheer Empire gown and laid it across the bed. Immediately, the girl took command of countless undergarments and layers, fastening and cinching until all that remained was the final yellow muslin.
“Did we see each other this morning?”
“Miss?”
“I’m afraid I’ve lost a bit of memory.”
“You sent Nattie away. Said you’d rather have the stable boy fix your hair than the mess she was making of it.”
“I said that?”
“Yes, Miss. Cleared the halls, you did.”
“Were there any visitors this morning?”
“Just Lord and Lady Devonshire.”
“Forgive me. I can’t seem to recall them at all.”
“Oh, Miss. Perhaps I should call the doctor again.” The maid frowned. “You’ve known Ellery since your days at the Abbey.”
“Sweet Jesus, I was a nun?”
“A volunteer, Miss.”
“Are they still here?”
“Nay. Lady Devonshire sprouted a nosebleed and they returned to the city.”
“What time was that?”
“Just before tea.” The girl collected Poppy's wrap Tasha had slipped into after her warm, but completely non-private bath. “Will there be anything else, Miss?”
“Tell Nattie I’m sorry.”
The maid hesitated, as if she’d witnessed Queen Anne, herself, break wind and she wasn’t sure if it were appropriate to acknowledge it. She bowed and scampered out the door.
Tasha crossed the room and placed the tray on the bed where Elvira had been. Her hands navigated the trunk’s hand-foraged iron lock, unlike any she’d ever seen. To discover Poppy's secrets was to find her killer.
“Looking for the key?” A rich, male voice resonated through the room.
3 comments:
"Hell, yes, I'm looking for the key." would be our lovely lady's response.
This Tasha is turning out to be quite the doo-dad, isn't she? Bow to make her ass take flight . . . I can so picture that.
Ok, LA, only you would think of Queen Anne breaking wind. Have you been in the research books, again? I didn't even know who Queen Anne was. Now, you're gone and thrown down the gauntlet. I'll actually have to research something for my next post.
Yes!! I love it. Ooooh. I can feel the mystery afoot :) You have most definitely thrown down the gauntlet, my dear LA.
Sherry
I SO do not DO this time period. I had to backload the Queen Anne reference to cover up for the fact that I know zilch about women's frippery of the time. I calculated that our dear sweet Andrea turn up the heat after my line :)
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