Chapter Sixteen 

 

Annette sits at the dinner table, and for a rare moment, deeply appreciates all of the harsh corrections Sister Pullwater made of her table manners. The Sister had been insistent that Annette learn as close to the proper decorum at the table of gentry as possible, and sitting across from the wealthy and powerful residing in Lamishton, Annette is grateful not to be making too much of a fool of herself. After a brief moment of tension when Samantha introduced a collar as her guest, expertly explaining a vague justification, Annette settled into a functional normality at the table. She pokes at her soup bowl, surprised food for the wealthy wasn’t as good as she expected, and listens to Admiral Revier Deveroux go on and on about his various travels. 

“-found that I quite enjoyed the summer air by the gulf. Combined with the lovely and persistent sea breeze, why it could be close to paradise, truly,” he insists. 

 Revier is not what Annette expected. She’d always thought of him as an old, soldierly man descending into the twilight years of his life, kept socially relevant only by acquisition of a beautiful wife, and she’s both surprised and disappointed to find she was so wrong. He’s a spritely and youthful man, no older than his lower-thirties, with a wide smile and a pleasant laugh. He wears his sideburns in fashionable mutton-chops, and he’s a dashingly handsome man. He and Samantha would be easily seen as one of the most attractive couples amongst the gentry, and Annette feels a pang of guilt. 

“Should my fleet be commanded to rejoin them once more,” he continues, sneaking bites of his food between excited words, “I would be most pleased.” 

“And what of the conditions of the natives?” a woman sitting across from Annette pips up. She’s plain and homely, and her fashionable dress seems deliberately styled to be modest and simple. She’d introduced herself as Elizabeth Hayle, wife to Arthur Hayle, the baron. 

“How do you mean?” 

“I have heard differing accounts,” she elaborates, seeming to gently recall stories told to her. “On the one hand, that they are comely and eager to accept the gospel, and on the other, that they are savage and brutish.” 

“I suppose the truth lies somewhere in between,” Revier shrugs, waving his spoon haphazardly as he does. He sets it down, then suddenly perks up once more. “I recall one time, I was aboard the HMS Martinet, the newest ship in the fleet, when one of the natives attempted to board us with a canoe! A canoe! I turned to the First Mate, a portly fellow by the name of-,”

Annette stops listening, hunkering down to sit through yet another one of Revier’s endless stories. To her right at the table, sitting between herself and Revier, Samantha leans over and whispers, “I promise dinner will be more interesting once Revier has exhausted his stories.” 

“I will endeavor to survive until then,” she mutters back. 

The tale continues for some time, and eventually it seems as though only the three men at the far end of the table are listening anymore. Lord Winchester, seated at the head, leans back in his chair as Revier regales him at his left, and Arthur Hayle listens patiently at his right. Across from him, Lady Patricia Winchester occupies the other head of the table, and Annette is surprised to be sitting at her right with Elizabeth Hayle across from her and Samantha right beside her. 

Disinterested in Revier’s bravado, Lady Winchester gathers Samantha’s attention and muses, “Lady Deveroux, I cannot help but wonder how you might have come across a guest such as yours.” Her head tilts at Annette. 

Samantha smiles politely. “I encountered her as part of an attempt to correct the wayward path of an old friend.” 

Lady Winchester’s face contorts into a disapproving glare at Annette. She’s a stern woman, with a rich sense of haughty dignity and a stubborn, entitled pride. She’s already dejectedly commented on Annette’s pinafore, remarking that it was hardly sufficient dress for a table of this status. “Indeed?” She crones. “She is the rebellious collar of one Cordelia Jones, is she not? You are once again freely associating with Miss Jones?” 

“Solely out of nostalgia and a fear for the state of her soul, Lady Winchester,” Samantha replies diplomatically. “Miss Baker here was briefly torn from the holy path as a result of Miss Jones’ teachings, and so I have taken her on as a spiritual ward in the hopes she might be turned into a correcting influence on Miss Jones.” 

Samantha’s way of speaking amongst the nobility is so strikingly different to Annette than the Samantha she was accustomed to. Around women like Lady Winchester, Samantha was a flatterer, a diplomat, and a gentlewoman, able to smoothly deflect barbs and critiques and repackage them in ways that somehow turned her own barbs into compliments. 

Elizabeth pips up from the other side of the table. “I didn’t realize you were so concerned with matters of piety.” 

“Consider it your influence, dear Sister,” Samantha smiles. Despite the fact that Elizabeth was Revier’s sister by blood, the differences between the two were stark. “Miss Baker was even raised at the orphanage at St. Bartholomew’s,” Samantha continues, “and so she has a great past of spiritual fortitude to draw upon.” 

Elizabeth allows a fond glow to decorate her pale face. “Oh, I adore the new priest at St. Bartholomew’s. He is the picture of an educated, pious, model Christian.” 

Annette gulps back a choke of knowing laughter, forcing herself to hide her reaction behind a neutral expression. She’s nearly successful, and the little smile that creeps onto her lips is carefully masked into a shared sentiment. 

“Miss Baker is a radical though,” Lady Winchester harps once more, “isn’t she?” 

Samantha deflects, “Only in the sense of her radical devotion to the Lord God.” 

“But she escaped service and supported the further destruction of property,” Lady Winchester’s eyes stare down Annette, who sinks back into her seat. 

Samantha takes a breath and fights to spin the conversation differently. “In her spirit wages a great battle between obedience and waywardness, as one might expect from one born in such lowly places. It is my hope to assist in redirecting her angst towards prayerful consideration of the sacraments, so that she may do likewise with Miss Jones.” 

Annette is amazed at how convincingly Samantha feigns piety, and even as the noblewoman’s foot playfully taps her own under the table it feels almost impossible to believe it was the same woman who had seduced Annette so often. 

Lady Winchester folds her arms across her chest. “It seems a hopeless task to restore a sinner such as Miss Jones.” 

To Samantha’s relief, Elizabeth perks up next. “There have been far more wicked souls who have returned to the flock, Lady Winchester.” She bows her head respectfully and turns to face Samantha. “I believe what you are doing is quite admirable, dear sister.” Her smile then meets Annette’s restrained expression. “I admire your courage in accepting Lady Deveroux correcting influence, Miss Baker. It speaks well of you to obey her direction.” 

It’s impossible for Annette to hide her smirk, wondering how the table would respond if they learned exactly how often Annette had obeyed Samantha’s commands. She feigns a warm and appreciative smile to cover it. “She has been nothing if not instructive.” 

“I was indeed hoping Miss Baker could learn more of the charity you and your husband partake in, dear Sister,” Samantha presses forward. “It would be an effective antidote to the poisons of radicalism.” 

“I would be delighted to-,”

“My husband tells me Miss Baker was quite forward and disrespectful in her speech towards him,” Lady Winchester interrupts curtly, her scowling eyes glaring down at Annette. 

Samantha attempts to defend her once more. “Miss Baker’s reeducation is still a work in progress.” 

Lady Winchester huffs. “And must her education come at the expense of polite society?” 

Samantha sits forward and quickly redirects the conversation. “Are you aware that Miss Baker is twice-born?” 

Annette feels her stomach drop suddenly as the three women now turn their gazes towards her, scanning her over quickly and aggressively. She stares back at Samantha, shocked the words could fall out of her mouth so quickly, but the noblewoman doesn’t meet her eyes. 

“How incredible!” Elizabeth exclaims. 

“Truly?” Lady Winchester leans in. 

“I could never tell,” Elizabeth nods excitedly. “That is most remarkable indeed, Miss Baker.” 

Annette sits quietly, unsure of how to respond. Samantha presses forward, explaining, “As such, the graces of… well, let us say that Miss Baker might sometimes be less of a natural learner in these ways compared to a woman of your esteem and condition, Lady Winchester.” 

She isn’t sure what to say, but Annette moves as though to speak, only to have Samantha’s foot tap hastily against hers under the table. The meaning is clear and leaves Annette frustrated: don’t say anything. 

Elizabeth continues grinning happily at Annette. “Yes, but matters of following God’s callings must be so much more defined in her spirit. The holiness of obeying the call to be reborn is quite admirable. You have my respect, Miss Baker.” 

“I…” Annette stifles a sigh. “... thank you.” 

“Might you now inspire her with your great generosity and charity?” Samantha encourages her sister-in-law. 

“Of course,” Elizabeth affirms. “Mister Hayle and I are both moved by a great variety of causes - most recently assisting in the efforts to restore Kereland in the aftermath of its horrid famine.” 

“Miss Baker is Kerish.” 

“Then you will no doubt appreciate our efforts. Mister Hayle has been working on plans to help modernize their farmlands as best as possible, so that they might not run short on food again.” 

Annette stomachs her sour feeling and states, “I thought Mister Hayle’s business was primarily oil and steel.” 

Elizabeth nods. “He and his business partner, Mister Benton, work on a great many things. I believe Arthur would take all business upon his shoulders if he could,” she looks over at her husband to her left and smiles warmly. 

“Broad shoulders they must be,” Annette mutters. 

Elizabeth thankfully laughs politely at her jokes and continues. “Imagine if all could be as successful as his company. It is as the Lord says to his faithful, ‘To he who has, more will be given, even unto abundance.’ My Arthur must be trusted greatly by the Lord to be responsible for so much.” 

Samantha finishes her next bite and nudges, “Tell her also of your work with the children.” 

“Oh, how I adore them!” Elizabeth exclaims, and for a moment it’s difficult not to be a little jealous of the wishful exuberance and innocence of her being. “The Lord has not yet blessed me with children of my own, but I have opened a number of orphanages across Kereland and Emril, and indeed I see our wards as my own children.” 

“Indeed?” Annette tries to smile supportively but doesn’t quite succeed.

“I hope they are as lovely as your time at St. Bartholomew’s.”

Annette gulps back a snort of laughter. “It truly was a distinguished experience.” 

“We even have an education program I am quite proud of,” Elizabeth relates. “Many of our children learn the skills required to work in a factory, and by the time they are old enough, Mister Hayle graciously offers them a place in one of his own factories. Guaranteed employment!” 

“How generous of him…” 

Lady Winchester seems to resent not having the platform of conversation for some time, and speaks up. “Well, it compares little when set against the overwhelming service the gentry performs for society.” 

Elizabeth nods deferentially. “Oh, I did not mean to make such a comparison.” 

For a moment, Annette is confused, until she realizes suddenly that despite being fabulously wealthy, the Hayles were not nobility. Neither came into wealth or land by birth, and the story went that Mister Hayle and his partner, Mister Benton, built their business up from nothing. They were new money, finally trying to get a seat at the table of old, old money. From Annette’s vantage point, it was often difficult to remember how stark that distinction was amongst the upper class. 

“What service does the gentry perform?” Annette asks. 

Lady Winchester lets out a dismissive and incredulous laugh, and by the silence that follows declines to answer her question. 

Samantha once again comes to Annette’s social rescue. “I believe it could be beneficial to Miss Baker’s education to hear it explained in your expert words, Lady Winchester.” 

The Lady of the house sighs, tilting her head to the side and deciding to deign to answer the request. “Why, we steward and govern the land, of course.” Her voice, which was always so proper and dignified, becomes even more distinguished. “We provide a model for how society ought to be, and demonstrate for the lower classes what they ought to aspire to in their conduct. Though,” she adds for a moment, gazing over to Samantha, “not all of those from humble origins succeed in this task as Lady Deveroux has done.” 

“You flatter me, Lady Winchester,” Samantha smiles. “I hope that Miss Baker, too, may learn from this example.” Her foot taps Annette’s under the table once more. 

“And while the barons of industry and their kin might believe themselves to be a model in a similar way,” Lady Winchester continues, “their money does not obey the noble and necessary selection of birthright. Mister Hayle might have the manners and favor of gentry, but he has learned this from us, not the other way around. He is wise and good enough not to intrude upon our sacred duty.” 

Annette for a moment recalls the spat between Mister Bembrook and Lord Brimwell. A fight over a land claim seemed to have quickly turned into a heated dispute over Bembrook’s attempt to gain status as a member of society, and according to Lord Brimwell’s letter, it seemed as though the gentry were not happy to invite him into their world. 

– – – 

 

“It has been a pleasant surprise to meet you, Miss Baker,” Revier tells her, arriving in the wing of Lamiston that was set aside for the Deveroux’s visit. “I wish more collars had your intellect and beauty.” 

Annette shudders slightly, realizing that the occasional glances he had made at her all throughout dinner might have been suggesting something more than just polite curiosity. “Thank you, Admiral Deveroux,” she replies simply. 

He turns about the lounging room, smiling brightly at both Annette and his wife. He was the sort of man who became somehow even more social after a few drinks. “And it is lovely to see my wife direct her educational focus to a case such as yours. Despite your past, or perhaps because of it, I can hardly think of one more in need of her attentions than you are.” 

Samantha shares a knowing look with Annette, who restrains a sigh and a smirk. “I do believe Miss Baker is in need of them now, my Lord,” the noblewoman informs him. “I should like to gather her thoughts in response to dinner.” 

Revier’s face washes with a forward and flirtatious grin. “I was hoping to likewise receive your attentions tonight…” He pauses for a moment, then adds, “... with a different matter.” 

“Perhaps tomorrow night, my Lord?” Samantha deflects. He looks a little disappointed, and Samantha sighs and adds. “Perhaps in an hour.” 

He nods, satisfied, and steps over to kiss her before retreating back to his bedroom. Annette smirks and calls after him, “I thank you for your colorful stories!” 

“Don’t encourage him,” Samantha grumbles after the door closes. 

“He’ll not be receiving my attentions tonight,” Annette shrugs. 

“Nor mine,” she shakes her head. “He’s likely to play with himself for the next few minutes then pass out with a hangover before I even make it to bed.” 

“Charming.” 

Samantha tightens her shoulders then drops them to release the tension and the breath she was holding. “At any rate, come sit with me on the balcony. It is a lovely night.” 

“I really ought to be leaving-,”

“I am not letting you walk back to Bellchester so late,” Samantha waves away Annette’s concern, guiding her out through the wood-and-glass doors. “Besides, I was not lying, I still wish to discuss your miseducation.” 

Samantha reclines on a small couch that has been placed on the terrace, and gestures for Annette to light the small fireplace in the corner. It wasn’t usual as far as Annette was aware to have a fireplace in such a place, but with the chill air she does appreciate it. Once it’s lit, she turns around to see Samantha gesturing for her to take the spot next to her on the sofa. Seeing no other seating option, Annette relents, gently sitting on it as far from her as possible. 

Annette sighs. “You wished to discuss dinner-,”

“I should not have ended things with you the way that I did,” Samantha declares, laying back and facing Annette with her legs outstretched. She’d slipped off her heels before sitting down. 

“Truly, I am over -,”

“Allow me to speak,” she interrupts once again. She stares at Annette for a moment to see if the girl would grant it, and Annette shrugs and gestures for her to continue. “I could have - I should have been kinder to you at that moment.”

“You called me ‘pitiful.’” 

“I didn’t mean it.” 

Annette shakes her head. “You said it nonetheless.” 

Samantha looks away at the night sky for a breath, then turns back to say, “Consider this my apology, then. A heartfelt one.” 

“Very well,” Annette shrugs and allows silence to fall over them. She would be lying if she said she never thought about Samantha anymore, but these days it was often out of a sense of curiosity at how she would react to Annette and her present actions. 

“I worry,” Samantha says after a few moments, “that my rejection is the cause of your radicalism.” Annette makes to speak, ready to rebut her claim, but Samantha stops her once more. “I worry that my spurring of your desires is what drove you to associate wealth and status with malevolence. It has sent you spiraling down a path of great recklessness and fury.” 

“And here I thought you enjoyed my daring and my cleverness.” 

“This is no joking matter, Annie,” Samantha pouts. “You have committed serious crimes.” 

“So I’m ‘Annie’ once more?”

“Annette…” Samantha sits forward, a look of consternation on her face. She takes a breath and resettles herself. “You could have had safety within my home, shelter from such dangerous ideas. I regret that I turned you away from this opportunity.” 

“And yet you did,” Annette looks away, feeling a bubbling of pain push forth as she recalls the sting of rejection. “It’s the past.” 

“And I should like to make it right.” 

Annette furrows her brow. “By forcing me to endure the scorn of the gentry over dinner?” 

“By showing you they are people, the same as you and I.” Samantha’s voice fills with a sense of duty and insistence. “Some are more pleasant than others, to be sure, but they are people nonetheless.” 

“With enough money to buy and sell a continent.” 

Samantha lets out an exasperated groan. “Must it always be about the money?”

Annette declines to answer, instead letting silence come between them once more. She debates her next words, then quietly recalls, “You outed me to the table.” 

Samantha waves a hand to dismiss her concern. “To insulate you from Lady Winchester’s worst criticisms and to gain you Mrs. Hayle’s respect. It is simply how the diplomacy of conversation works.” 

“You implied my womanhood was suspect and that I lacked it’s natural inclinations,” Annette frowns as she looks over the noblewoman with dismay. 

“It was rhetoric, dear,” Samantha defends. “You know I value your womanhood greatly.” She sighs, then looks back at her longingly. “I’ve missed you.” 

Annette sits back as surprise enters her expression. “You’ve missed me?” 

Samantha nods, her face somber and sincere. “I’ve attempted to replicate your warmth in my bed, but thus far no one excites me as you did. I wish you were mine once more.” 

“So you might toss me aside once again?” 

“I did not appreciate you the way that I ought to have,” Samantha admits, her eyelashes batting apologetically at her. “Allow me an opportunity to remedy this.” 

Annette stares down the apology and the commitment that she had wanted from Samantha for so long, the one she hated to admit she craved, and pushes aside her past feelings. She’s surprised to find they subsided less than expected, but she squares her shoulders back into the cushion and asserts, “I am with Cordelia now.” 

“We both know she is incapable of treating you as she should,” she tells Annette, her own history with the detective bubbling forth. “Besides,” Samantha shrugs, “I am with Revier and it has never stopped you.” 

Annette puffs out a breath. “That’s different.” 

“But it isn’t different,” Samantha insists. “You simply find it convenient for your conscience to discount him. Perhaps I truly love and adore him.” 

“You don’t believe in love.” 

“Not with him,” Samantha lets out a long breath. She shifts forward once more, closing most of the distance between the two of them. “Annie… I implore you, give me an opportunity to prove your affections for me still remain.” 

Annette shifts to the edge of the couch at Samantha’s approach. “You will find those affections to be in the possession of Miss Jones.” 

“Dear,” Samantha follows her, her hand resting on the cushion next to Annette’s head. “I, of all people, understand her charms. But I assure you, she grows bored easily and will not be by your side eternally.” 

“Of the two of you, only one has abandoned me.” 

Samantha dodges her concern and presses on. “And yet prior to your affair with her, you would often complain to me about how fickle her feelings were to you. How unfair her expectations were,” her hand drifts down to gently rest on Annette’s cheek. “As soon as she is minorly disappointed, you know she will leave you behind, all alone.” Her other hand slowly finds its way onto Annette’s thigh, “I, on the other hand, have only erred in such a way once, and have clearly learned my lesson.” 

Annette feels a shudder descend down her spine and she removes Samantha’s hand from her cheek. “I have given you my-,”

Samantha quickly lifts herself up to straddle Annette’s thighs, pinning her down just as she was moving to leave. The noblewoman hooks her fingers underneath Annette’s collar, pulling her neck forward and tilting her head up to meet her gaze.
“What are you do-,”

“You could be my chambermaid,” Samantha promises, her voice low and filled with intent, “ensured of my night affections and devotions. I would require your services…” she leans her neck down and whispers into Annette’s ear, “... constantly.” 

Annette pushes back from her as best as she can and shakes her head. “You have already rejected-,”

“And I am offering it to you sincerely now,” Samantha sits back and her eyes meet Annette’s, trying to communicate the honesty in her words. “Allow me to buy your contract. You’ve already seen my ability to negotiate conversation and maintain a cover story for your protection tonight.” She pulls her lips closer. “Be mine, Annette. I beg of you.” 

“I don’t think I should -,” 

“Don’t answer yet,” Samantha affirms. 

“I will anyway, my answer is-,”

“Kiss me and prove to yourself that you still want this,” she insists. “I know that you do, and you owe it to yourself to experience this joy. And if you somehow feel nothing, I’ll allow you to walk away.” 

Annette scowls and glares at her. “I’m not going to do that.” 

Samantha shakes her head and presses into Annette, pushing her back into the couch and kissing her. The noblewoman’s hand latches onto the back of Annette's head while the other maintains hold of her collar, pulling Annette closer and closer as her tongue slides into her mouth. 

A small part of Annette sighs at the feeling of being kissed, adoring the attentions and affections, but she pushes past it quickly. An overwhelming feeling of frustration replaces it, and she fights Samantha’s grip, succeeding in lifting the woman off of her a moment later. She slips out from the couch and paces to the other side of the balcony. 

“You feel it!” Samantha looks at her delightedly, victorious on the couch. 

“I assure you I do not,” Annette frowns, waving away Samantha’s insistence. 

“I could tell that you wanted it, only to choose to push it away.” 

“Then listen to me choose once more,” Annette declares, “Goodnight, Lady Deveroux.” 

She storms out of the balcony, slamming the heavy door behind her and leaving Samantha alone. Annette leaves the Deveroux’s shared wing of the house, once again returning to the winding hallways of Lamishton. Inside, she resents Jarl for placing this mission upon her, and decides she’s had enough. Regardless of the darkness outside, she was returning to Cordelia tonight, and would not be stopped. 

But, it is as she begins to make her way towards the front doors, something inside her pulls her back. The feeling, the ever present sense of investigation pries its way forward into her mind, insisting that she take this opportunity. She's not likely to be given entry to a place like Lamishton ever again. She takes a long breath, slips away into a dark side room, and waits for the night to lull its residents to sleep, a small part of her wondering if she was right to place so much faith in Cordelia’s affection. 

 

– – – 

 

Once resolved that the final servants errands had been accomplished in the night, Annette slips out of her hiding place and descends upon the massive home. She removes her shoes, tying them together and slipping them over her shoulder, and allows her stockinged feet to move across the marble floors without a sound. She’d spent the last hour or two plotting out where she expects to search, trying as hard as possible to recall the layout of the house well enough to create a working mental map. 

She first makes her way to the dining room where she’d initially met Lord Winchester, stopping in the hallway of portraits once more to inspect the man at the end of the row that had appeared familiar earlier. It’s difficult to make out the portrait’s features in the night, but a close inspection confirms her suspicions. A nameplate at the base of the frame reads clearly: Darrius Winchester. 

So Darrius is his brother, Annette concludes, still trying to place where she had seen him before. Her best guess is that he might have been someone Annette encountered at the Hasting’s Ball, and that he simply looks distinct enough that he left an impression in their short encounter. 

Right next to Darrius’ portrait is his brother, the Winchester Annette was familiar with: Lucian. The two brothers hardly appear to be siblings at all. Where Lucian appears polished and proper, once again donning his military appearance for the sake of portrait, Darrius is surprisingly rugged and unkempt. His red beard, far lighter than his brother’s dark hair, is tangled in places. His skin is rough and already wrinkling despite appearing to be no more than forty. 

Annette continues, testing the door to Lucian’s dining room. She’s relieved to find it unlocked, so she quietly peaks in to confirm it’s empty, and once confirmed, she carefully makes her way inside. She immediately moves her way over to the small cabinet in the corner where Lucian had pulled out his writing supplies. She pulls open the drawer, hoping her luck would hold out, and sighs lightly to see he had taken the response letter with him. 

He’s not given the letter to me, Annette muses, which means he is either dismissing my role as courier, or that he has yet to complete it. She debates between the two for a moment and decides that while either is possible, it’s still worthwhile to hunt it down. At the very least, it might be enough to simmer Jarl’s ire. 

She works her way back through the house, once again returning to the residential halls. She stops for a brief moment outside of the entrance to the Deveroux’s hall, feeling a tired wishfulness almost begging to stay. Samantha may not have always been good to her and Annette is still surprised by her forwardness and insistence this evening, but she’d be lying if the thought of returning to her wasn’t tempting. Cordelia hadn’t always been good to her either, and Samantha was far less likely to place Annette in situations of immediate danger. With Samantha, she could retire to the life of a beloved plaything, a jewel to be placed upon a lovely shelf and brought down when the noblewoman desired to play. 

The answer resolves in Annette without further thought: she’d get bored. Cordelia had revealed so much within Annette that the girl always knew was there but had pushed aside. Annette couldn’t bear the thought of simple domesticity or servitude, or even luxurious delight at Samantha’s side. There always needed to be something more, something greater. She had been so afraid of this impulse at St. Bartholomew’s, opting to hide it and relegate it to the backgrounds of her mind, but Cordelia had coaxed it forward, and now revealed, it was impossible to ignore. Samantha would always know how to make Annette blush and squirm, but she’d never replace the powerful sense of purpose Cordelia had unleashed in her.

The Winchester’s residence is further down, but Annette stops in her tracks once more. Lord Winchester had guests over, and not just any guests, but an Admiral and a baron of industry. It was not likely that he would be simply shut into his room this evening - men like them would be up, talking and smoking and drinking. She turns quickly and moves towards the opposite end of the house. She doesn’t know exactly where in the house it would be, but Annette knows one truth of unhappily married men and women: they stay as far away from one another in their homes as possible. 

The sound of laughter and the stench of cigars at the far end of the home provides her the answer she was seeking. She tiptoes forward to the curtain of light pouring out into the hall, created by the cracked open doorway. Annette takes a deep breath, forcing herself to embrace the risk, and peaks her head through the crack. 

Lucian and his guest aren’t to be seen in the study itself. It’s a small library, with a sturdy desk in the center of the room. Opposite of the door, Annette spots yet another balcony, its curtained glass doors stopped open to the night sky. The voices find her from the balcony itself, and a quick look reveals no one to be in the study itself. She scans the desk quickly and spots a handful of letters upon it. 

She nods quietly to herself, stealing her resolve and preparing a cover story. If caught, she would need to be an incredibly fast talker. Perhaps she could convince them she truly was Darrius’ agent, sent to investigate their dedication to the cause… whatever that cause was. She moves the door slowly, testing if it would make any noise, and opens it enough to slide inside. She creeps forward just enough to confirm that the flowing curtains would cover her entrance, then crouches her way forward. Inside the room, she can finally make out the two voices: Lucian Winchester and Arthur Hayle. 

“-plain isn’t she?” Lucian is saying, his voice slightly slurred. He coughs out the smoke of his cigar. 

“You’re not supposed to inhale it,” Arthur chides politely, the smirk on his face evident in his voice. 

“Yes, you are,” Lucian pokes. “It’s how a true gentleman takes a cigar.” 

“Coughing must be a mark of nobility then.” 

Lucian laughs. “Bastard.” 

“I do believe you were commenting on the plainness of my wife?” Arthur supplies, chuckling with him. 

“She’s terribly plain,” Winchester complains. “How can you stand it?” 

“It’s almost as though you’ve never heard of mistresses, dear fellow,” Hayle chirps back at him, sardonic and light. 

Lucian snorts. “With a wife such as my own, I’d pity the fates of any mistresses she discovered. They’d be dead within the week.” 

“Surely you must get out sometime,” Arthur teases. “Grab at a collar or two, at the very least.” 

Annette’s face grows sour and she returns to investigate the desk, carefully positioned in such a way that the heavy wood blocks most of her form. If either returned inside, she’d at least have a moment of cover to slip under the desk. She quickly scans the letters, and it takes a brief moment to recognize the one he was penning earlier. It’s unfinished, not yet wrapped or sealed in an envelope, but Annette swipes it nonetheless. She folds it as quietly as possible and slips it into her shirt. 

“Damn the consequences,” Winchester boasts, “I’d rather grab Revier’s wife.” 

“Even Revier has mistresses out in the colonies,” Arthur rebuts. “Truly, you ought to get out more.” 

Annette shudders, and for a moment feels protective of Samantha. She wonders whether or not Lady Deveroux knew, but decides it likely doesn’t matter. It’s not like Samantha’s hands were particularly clean on that front either. 

“Truly?” Winchester croaks, surprised. “With a wife such as that?” 

“He’s a fox,” Hayle tells him. “She knows who she married.” 

“Do you think he’d allow me to-,”

“Absolutely no, you buffoon,” Arthur interrupts, laughing. Winchester joins him a breath later as well, and their cackles ring out over the night air. For a moment it sounds as though they might reenter the room, and Annette panics, hitting her head softly on the desk. She freezes, waiting a long, tense breath in case they heard her, but neither says anything. 

Annette debates remaining. She now had the letter, which was likely enough for Jarl. But then she thinks of Cordelia and knows she has to stay. How often would she get a chance to listen to the secrets of the wealthy, especially one who might be wrapped up with the Mallets in some unexplained way? At the very least, she might gather some information for blackmail, which could be useful in any case. 

“How much do you think it would take?” Winchester asks. 

“In matters like this?” Arthur ponders for a moment, then replies, “A few thousand pounds, though the profit from reduced labor costs-,” 

Winchester grunts and redirects him. “How much money for Revier to give me a go at his wife?” 

“And here I was, led astray by the promise of business,” Hayle grumbles playfully. “You’re not serious, are you?” 

“Of course not,” Winchester huffs. “But how much do you think?” 

Arthur shares a laugh with him, the laugh of two men acting as schoolboys on the prowl. “Two hundred and fifty pounds a touch.” 

Winchester lets out a rowdy cackle. “Some expensive prostitutes you’re visiting!” 

“She’s a noblewoman.” 

“Hardly,” Lucian coughs. “One hundred pounds.” 

“Ridiculous,” Hayle rebuffs. “Truly ridiculous.” 

“Thank you for humoring me, at any rate,” Lucian sighs and chokes on his cigar for a brief moment. “But for the other thing, it really only takes a few thousand pounds?” 

“It would take more for an entire country, of course,” Arthur concedes. Annette’s ears perk up, her mind working to try and decipher what they were speaking of. “But, for a county with only one major city? Few thousand. Most of it goes towards bribing the other guys.” 

Lucian whistles. “How many times have you done this?” 

“Once in the colonies as proof-of-concept; once in Kereland,” Arthur answers, then adds, “of course, in the colonies you’re dealing with proper slavery, so it is far simplier. Less regulation than the damned collars and all that.” 

“Brilliant,” Winchester exhales. “And it worked? Truly?” 

“Fabulously,” Arthur lets out a puff of laughter. “They love their revolutions.” 

Another tremble descends down Annette’s spine, and for a moment she’s entirely lost in their point. It seems unfathomable that two men such as them could be endorsing the revolutions, possibly even funding them. 

“Tell me this-,” 

A noise alerts to Annette’s right, and she quickly scrambles to hide, but is too late. Her eyes dart over to meet the surprised, but not too surprised, servant. The woman looks concerned, and a little amused, holding a platter with more whiskey and fresh glasses.

“I assure you,” Annette whispers, “I am not-,”

The servant shakes her head and keeps her voice low. “You should not be here, Annette.”

“You… what? How do you know-?”

The woman bobs her head at the door, gesturing for Annette to leave. Annette stares her down for a moment, but nods and departs. She exits the study, her blood pumping hastily in her veins, and finds a quiet place to hide in the dark for her. The servant exits a few moments later, leaving behind the platter, and meets Annette out in the hall. 

“I did not expose you to them,” she relates, and Annette lets out a sigh of relief. 

“How do you know my name?” 

“It’s infamous, from the papers, innit?” She smiles. “And, the other reason.” 

“Other reason?” 

“Allow me to explain elsewhere,” the servant directs, walking off down the hall and waving Annette to follow her. Annette is hesitant for a moment but joins her. The woman eventually leads her to the servant’s quarters, guiding her into a private bedroom that appears to belong to her. She lights a candle and invites her to sit. 

“What other reason?” Annette asks, taking a seat on the small bed in a room that reminds her of her own in Cordelia’s house. 

“Myra Pennywise,” the woman extends a hand out to her, and Annette shakes it lightly. 

“As in…?”

“The very same.” 

Annette lets out a surprised breath. “No. No way.” 

“Coincidences are spectacular, are they not?” Penny smirks. “Though I suppose Miss Jones never much believed in coincidences, did she?” 

“Except when she does. She’s inconsistent like that,” Annette grins. “You’re truly Penny? The Penny?” 

“It’s good to meet you,” she nods. “How is Miss Jones?” 

“Good. Quite good,” she clears her throat. “She’s sober. Or, at least she’s trying to be.” 

“God bless her. Has she been treating you well?” 

Annette has mixed success hiding her blush, and only manages to croak out, “Y-yes. It’s been good. She’s been good.” 

Penny laughs, thankfully not at her expense. Instead, it seems to be a laugh of solidarity, enjoying the shared experience of a mildly ridiculous person. “Did she clean at all after my departure and before you arrived?” 

“Hardly,” Annette smiles, recalling her first day. “She did not take kindly to me reorganizing, however.” 

“She was the same with me. Hated it every time I put things away and made the home functional.”

“She complained about that to me,” she giggles. 

“I’m sure she did,” Penny joins her. “Does she still do the thing with the laundry?”

“Which do you mean?” Annette asks, her voice light and amused. “Always getting bloodstains on white cotton or never turning her shirts inside out?” 

“Both, I suppose.” 

“Less bloodstains,” she replies. “And I’ve given up on the other battle.” 

“That’s wise.” 

Annette marvels at the sight of Penny, finally able to put a face to the name she had heard semi-often in Cordelia’s home. Her first servant had clearly left an impression, and much of Annette’s habits were measured against Penny, for better or for worse. 

Myra Pennywise was a short and curvy woman, with a wide face and lovely dark hair. She was somewhere in her later middle years, certainly older than Cordelia but still younger than the Winchesters. Her hands are strong and soft, and she wears a pleasant smile most of the time, decorating her round cheeks. 

“I knew your contract ended with her,” Annette says, “but somehow I never realized you left and took up another contract.” 

“I’ve been a collar for most of my life,” Penny states neutrally. “These days, I get to take my pick of the best spots for myself.” 

“Winchester seems…” 

Penny chuckles and understands her meaning. “He is at times an adolescent boy trapped within the body of a man far too old to act in such a way. But, the work here is surprisingly light with so many servants, and the countryside is lovely.” 

“Thank you for not revealing me to either of them.” 

Penny nods. “Were you listening for the sake of curiosity? Or has Miss Jones finally convinced someone to become her sidekick?” 

“Closer to the second,” Annette admits. “Though, I’m not her sidekick.” 

Penny shakes her head, the air of a woman who has seen too many things to believe anything otherwise covering her. “There’s only enough room in her head to focus on herself, dearie. Don’t overextend yourself or get into further trouble for a woman who won’t look past her tea. You’ve got to keep yourself safe.” 

“I’m a partner in her investigations.”

“Miss Jones doesn’t have partners, or friends,” Penny shrugs. “Seen it enough myself in my time there. She’ll use you ‘till you’re spent and then she’ll move along when she’s bored. I was smart and kept my distance from that emotional carnage.” 

Annette feels a prickle of defensiveness in her chest. “That’s not the Cordelia I know.” 

“It’ll come out eventually. Best to stay clear and keep your distance before she implodes once again,” Penny waves away her objection. After a moment, she adds, “And please, tell me nothing and ask me nothing about your time here in Lamishton. I’d rather keep my hands clean.” 

“I believe she is a remarkable woman,” Annette asserts, feeling a bristling warmth in her chest and face. “She’s become something of a friend of mine.” 

Penny’s brow lowers. “You are aware she’s a…?”

“It seems many people were aware of her lesbianism before I was.” 

“Now, I don’t have much of a problem with it myself,” Penny holds up her hands, “but you’ll want to be careful of associating too closely with her if you want to take on more respectable owners after this contract.” She lets out a breath, seeming as though she’s passed along all the warnings and advice weighing on her. “Might I fix you a cup of tea?” 

“No,” Annette says quietly. “No, I best be getting to bed.” 

Annette stands and bids Penny farewell, feeling a sour taste in her throat. She exits the servant’s quarters, pausing for a long moment in the hall. She sighs, once again confused that no one seemed able to see past Cordelia’s flaws enough to understand the beautiful person underneath. A small part of her wonders if she was truly as naive as Penny seemed to think she was; that perhaps Cordelia would dispose of her once Annette no longer interested her. She pushes away the thought as a hollowness fills her stomach. She sighs and pulls out the letter from Winchester’s office, unfolding it in a quiet corner of the house. 

 

Then it is so. I will follow through on my end. B&H will be pleased. 

 

This courier you’ve sent me is highly improper, and you know I despise this. If she is your ally, do not send her to me again. If she is your enemy, you ought to remove her. 

 

Annette lets out a low groan. Her risks paid off little. B&H likely refers to Benton & Hayle, implying they’re somehow wrapped up in whatever is happening, but this was already established by whatever strange conversation she’d overheard between Hayle and Winchester. She’d leveraged so much to gain this information, and while it might be enough to intrigue Jarl, he was not likely to be pleased with how aggressive she’d been in her pursuit. There wasn’t a chance Winchester or his mysterious brother, Darrius, would communicate in such a way again. Their lead was gone. 

She begins to ascend the stairs up to the room Samantha had offered to her, a small bedroom in their wing of the home, but sighs and halts halfway up. Annette wishes simply to be home, back in her own bed. She wants to see Cordelia, to let her hold Annette and know that she is safe. 

She rises the rest of the way and enters her room, plucking her coat off of the bed and feeling her decision settle in her chest. She slips her boots on once more and stops by the kitchen to poach a few morsels of food for the road. She makes her way out the front doors, hardly caring for the noise she was creating anymore, and begins the long walk home to see Cordelia.