Dragonfly Maid

lay my hands on that frame without being noticed.
I was so lost in my thoughts that I hardly noticed the women behind me. Not until someone mentioned the Slopes.
I set down the last log, brushed the residue from my gloves, and leaned back.
“But, Lila, are you sure she was discovered on the Slopes?” said a pale and timid woman I believed to be Lady Wallingham, the widow of the Queen’s former equerry and the most recent addition to the Queen’s household. “Not closer to the river? The riverbank would be more likely, wouldn’t you agree?”
My breath caught in my throat. Were they speaking about me?
“It was most certainly the Slopes,” replied the one named Lila, who could only be Lady Lila Bassey, a close confidant and frequent attendant of the Queen. She sipped from her cup and set it again in its saucer. “It was a farmer’s daughter. She was coming over the hill to make a delivery to the kitchen. She was attacked near the trees. That’s what I heard the guards telling the Master of the Household. The man was beside himself, as you can imagine.”
I stared at the logs on the grate, but every inch of me was riveted to the conversation behind me.
“Odd, wouldn’t you say?” The soft voice was keenly accented with a Scottish burr. It had to be Lady Merrington from the Highlands, a daughter of an earl who had returned with the royal retinue.
“Odd? How so?” Lady Wallingham leaned back, intrigued.
“Why was she found near the trees if she was coming from over the hill?” Lady Merrington said. “It’s quite off the path, isn’t it?”
“I hardly know the particulars,” Lady Bassey said, already sounding bored with the conversation, “but no one’s likely to be allowed out there now. The guards were discussing how to cordon off the area by order of the House Steward.”
I recalled my earlier encounter with Mr. MacDougall. Was that why he was so curious where I’d been? Had he already been aware of the death?
“Did they say anything else?” Lady Wallingham asked, giving voice to my own question.
“Nothing I heard. They clammed up at the sight of me, but I can only imagine the distress it’s creating with the Queen’s masquerade only a few days away.”
There was an “oh dear” and an “oh my” then silence, until:
“What a tragedy,” Lady Wallingham said with a heavy sigh. “I do hope you’ll write to tell me what they discover. I’ll be afraid for you, both of you, knowing something is out there.”
Her words flooded me with fear, an eerie foreboding of something lurking in the empty space of my lost hours.
“I’m sure there’s nothing to be concerned about,” Lady Bassey said, “but I will write if there are any developments. I wouldn’t be surprised if you were back before they learn anything, however. When did you say your sister is due?”
“A fortnight is the doctor’s guess. But the last child was early, so who’s to say? My sister always enjoys a house full of people doting on her, though. I wouldn’t put it past her to draw out the proceedings as long as possible.”
She sighed again, then the conversation turned to the whims of difficult family members.
My mind wouldn’t be diverted from the farmer’s dead daughter, however. Had she been attacked near the path I was on? Had the killer been nearby as I walked about? That shadow in the trees, could it have been… but then another, even more terrifying thought occurred.
Had Mr. Wyck killed her?
Had he planned to kill me, too?
That thought—that fear—pushed everything else from my mind.
I sat there, frozen, until somewhere deep within me, a tiny voice broke the spell. Get out of this room.
It was reason tearing through my fears. I had to get back to Mrs. Crossey, so I could tell her what I’d learned.
I removed a match from the box beside the fireplace and took one out to strike.
“What’s taking you so long?”
My heart skipped, and I whipped around to see the parlor maid hovering over me. Only it wasn’t a parlor maid. It was Abigail.
Her mouth curled into a sneer. “You shouldn’t still be here. The Queen is expected any moment.”
“Of course.” I rose to get away. Eager to get away.
“Wait a moment,” she said, “I’m going to make sure you didn’t take anything.”
I opened my mouth to tell her to look all she liked, but the opening of the door stopped me.
Before I could step aside, she was in front of me. The sovereign herself.
My chin dipped to my chest, and my knees bent till they nearly buckled. “Your Majesty.” Speak only if spoken to. I stared at the ground and hoped—prayed!—she hadn’t noticed my breach.
It didn’t work.
“My goodness. Rise, child.” Queen Victoria’s throaty voice belied her stature, standing as she did only a hair over five feet, but she had long since mastered the ability to command any room she entered.
I glanced up to beg forgiveness, but she was hoisting the plump Princess Beatrice in her arms while her ladies surrounded her and fawned over the royal toddler.
Without hesitation, I took advantage of the distraction, grabbed my empty basket, and rushed from the room.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I ran down the stairs with the empty basket as quickly as my feet would carry me. Mrs. Crossey needed my help with the servants’ breakfast, but I had someone else to see first. And fast.
Dodging eye contact with every page, footman, and maid I passed, I made it to the kitchen courtyard in record time. Only then did I slow down, inching along the winding path between patches of rosemary and thyme, sage and mint.
“Where are you?” My eyes searched for movement among the morning’s gray clouds. My dragonfly had to come. She had to.
I walked and listened for her buzz over the scraping of my boots. It couldn’t be a coincidence that a girl had been attacked—killed!—so near to where I’d been. And I was more convinced than ever that Mr. Wyck’s presence