Dragonfly Maid by D D Croix

Author:D D Croix [Croix, D D]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: s Court, A historical fantasy with supernatural servants in Queen Victoria&apos
ISBN: 9780990814672
Publisher: Fine Skylark Media
Published: 2020-03-24T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY

Garlands of white hydrangeas, peach roses, fuchsia tiger lilies, and sprigs of deep green foliage adorned the wood-paneled walls of St. George’s Hall. At the center, a bouquet on a round table towered over the tallest men, and ivory silk hung in wide ribbons from the ceiling to the walls, intersecting the colorful coats of arms belonging to the Knights of the Garter. The sight of it all stopped me cold.

“Don’t let Mr. Bailey see you gawking like that, or we’re done for,” Marlie whispered, referring to the Chief Deputy of the Household. “We’re already late.”

And so we seemed to be. A veritable army of footmen and maids had formed a line that stretched a good length of the immense hall, and pacing in front like a sergeant was the portly and monocled Mr. Bailey, scratching at his fussy beard and mustache as he bellowed orders like a military general.

Marlie waited until his attention was directed toward the far end of the room before she joined the line and assumed the same chin-up, chest-out position as the others. I followed her lead, though the line was so long I found myself straddling the vestibule doorway.

“I am aware of the discontent over our decreased numbers,” I heard him say as he turned and paced back our direction, “and that some have expressed concern over our ability to uphold our usual excellence in service. To that opinion, I say, hogwash. I am confident this staff is more than capable. Furthermore, allow me to remind you it is not only our duty to perform our tasks as they have been assigned, but rather our privilege to do so, for the sake of our Queen and country.”

I turned away, unable to stomach this insipid speech from a man with lily-white hands who had obviously never touched a broom or scrub brush in his life.

As rousing as he was trying to be, I could not help but think his time would have been better spent foregoing this lecture and letting us simply get on with our work. At least when he paced back the other direction, it left me free to take in the flowers and the silks. But then a group of workmen ascending the Grand Staircase caught my attention. They were muscling up wooden crates from the lower floor before disappearing into a side room.

I leaned toward Marlie and motioned their direction. “What are they doing?”

She only grimaced, her stern look imploring me to be quiet.

But it was too late. Mr. Bailey was already striding toward us.

“My apologies. Did you have something to add to the discussion?” Each syllable dripped with sarcasm.

“No, sir,” I muttered, but I couldn’t tear my eyes from the parade of crates being carted through the hall because one of the delivery men was indisputably Mr. Wyck.

Mr. Bailey wheeled around to see what I was staring at when Mr. MacDougall appeared at the stairs, carefully watching and directing the men and crates.

Mr. Bailey’s brow furrowed. “MacDougall!” he called out.

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