waiting for a friend,” she said.
“I could be one,” he said, and she burst out laughing.
Just as his eyes lifted behind her, she heard the door open. She turned and saw Miss Lizzie, her eyebrows high in censure. Bridget found herself blushing though she’d done naught.
“Bridget, whatever are you doing?” asked Miss Lizzie, her silver gaze fixing on the man in the hack.
“I’m off for the evening,” said Bridget.
“And you snuck out from the back? I’ve been in the sitting room this entire time. Does Father know you’re out?”
Bridget felt her heart skip a bit. The accusation leveled against her was a bold one. She needed to address it, and quickly. “I found it just as easy to come down the stairs I was on, and there was no craft about it,” she said. “It’s my night off of the fortnight, and your Father does know that’s my due.”
“I fail to trust he’d approve of roadside discussions with men as they pass,” said Miss Lizzie. “This is not a reputable practice.”
“I was the driver who brought her here,” said the man in the carriage. “I was only asking after her settling in.” He looked uneasily at Bridget and broadcast a sort of apology with his eyes.
“From the seat of your carriage, calling out like a commoner,” said Miss Lizzie. “This is the home of Andrew Borden. It is not a harlot’s port.”
“Miss Lizzie!” said Bridget, stepping back in horror and, in doing so, losing her balance on the uneven stone steps. She managed to catch herself before she fell to the ground, but her entire body felt the affront of the hard surface radiating up through her shoes, the jolt in her bones.
“I can see I’m causing more trouble than I’m helping, so I’ll pass along,” said the man. “I hope you are all right, miss.”
Bridget didn’t answer him, and only looked at her shoes. How could Miss Lizzie voice such an odious, preposterous idea in front of the man?
“Your place in this household requires a certain degree of respectability,” said Miss Lizzie. “Come back inside at once.”
Her jaw sore from the snapping of her teeth as she stumbled, Bridget walked back up the steps. Miss Lizzie opened the door, and she was just about to step inside when she heard Mary Doolan call out, “You’re after going the wrong way!”
Bridget looked at Miss Lizzie’s face, half-shadowed as she was inside the home now. She was a study of gloom and sunlight, her nose the silhouetted wall in the ombre garden of her face. Yet in that complex field, Bridget saw clearly the argent eyes and their message.
“I cannot go with you this time,” said Bridget.
“But you must!” protested Mary. Fearlessly, she mounted the steps to stand with Bridget. “I couldn’t help but overhear the exchange, Miss Lizzie. I can’t vouch for the decorum of the driver, but Bridget’s only after a bit of fun, clean and decent, at the Irish hall. ‘Twas not her fault he called out to her.”
“What mean you by ‘a bit of fun?’”
“’Tis only dancing and the playing of our traditional tunes. Singing, too. I’ll pledge her propriety and return her safely later tonight.”
Miss Lizzie hadn’t looked at Mary at all, only kept her eyes on Bridget. “You will need to mind yourself,” she said. “You can’t bring shame to this house.”
“I will mind myself,” Bridget said.
“I’ll mind her, too!” said Mary gaily. “Now let’s get along, or we’ll miss the beginning.”
Miss Lizzie’s reply was the closing of the door between them. Wordlessly, the two Irish women went down the steps and onto the street again. Mary set a rapid pace so they were soon away from the house and able to speak freely.
“She’s a case, ain’t she?” asked Mary.
“I’ve no idea her problem. Did ye hear what she said? Implying me a harlot!”
“Calm your boilin’ blood and don’t let her spoil your one night out. She’s just fashed no handsome lad ever calls out to her! You’re pretty, and you’re Irish, and she’s dissatisfied with her own sad lot in life.”
“I didn’t hardly answer him,” said Bridget.
Mary stopped and cast Bridget a look of exasperation. “You can’t put any credence in what she suggested of your character.”
“I put credence in it if it costs me my post!”
They walked on a bit until Mary, in a low voice, said, “I’m sorry, Bridget, and I know my boldness isn’t always welcome. I don’t want you to get into trouble for my sake. But sheets and bloody linens, all you did was stand there a half moment waiting for me!”
“I ought to have gone out the front door and told where I was going. I think that’s the root of her anger. She must’ve looked out the window and seen me talking with him.”
“But then you’d earn it for daring to use the family door rather than the servants’! And must you account for all your comings and goings? Lord knows we only get one night a fortnight, and it’s ours to do with as we wish.”
“That has been the case with my previous employers,” admitted Bridget. “But she has new rules for my conduct, and I’ll obey them.”
“She? Why she? Does she pay you? Or is it her father? It’s none of her business what you’re doing of a Friday night!”
“I know you are right, and yet I don’t know what I’d do if I lost this position without a good character.”
“There’s always a better spot somewhere else.”
“If I can get it,” said Bridget. “I don’t have your confidence.”
“Well, if worse comes to worse, you can live in the barn until they discover you,” Mary said. “And eat the pears off the trees, and I’ll bring you table scraps.”
“Good gracious! You sound as if you’ve thought of this before!”
“Your predecessor,” said Mary.
“Truly?”
“Indeed. Oh, and now here we are! Can you hear the music from down the street?”
A thin thread of sound came from a public house, but as soon as Mary grasped the door and opened it, the music flooded out loud, strident, unapologetic: completely Irish. It was the “Hayman’s Jig”, and inside the sets were already there with knees flying and skirts flouncing. Instantly, Bridget wanted to be on the floor dancing, too.
The space was small and cramped with so many bodies. There was a long bar with many golden taps, and tables pushed to the edges to create the dance floor. A smell of sweat and sodden wool from the men’s caps created a not-unpleasant whiff to the room, along with the overflowing glasses
