A room in the Crown

(They come from here.)

The room the housekeeper had shown Maggie was a pretty bedroom upstairs, with a bed spread with a sunny yellow coverlet where the footman laid Jenny down before.

"I think some more tea would do us all some good," Emma said, before he could leave. "Though, perhaps, a plainer pot...? And a cool compress."

"Very good, miss," he replied, leaving the room.

"I am sorry for... for embarrassing you," she said to Mrs Cotton, who was bent over her friend, loosening her stays.

Maggie looked up with surprise. What did the young lady mean? "That's all right, miss," she answered vaguely, busying herself with Jenny again. "Please don't trouble yourself. I can look after Jenny - Miss Ross."

Emma held out her vinaigrette again.

"You are married to Cotton? To Rifleman Cotton, of the 60th Rifles?" she asked.

"Yes, miss." Damn and blast that little vinaigrette! If it would make the young lady quit offering it, Maggie would take it for just a moment. She waved it under Jenny's nose for show, but there was really little point. Jenny was very deep asleep, and there was no reason for her to be wakened now. Maggie handed the silver bauble back with a smile. "I think she's just going to sleep for the rest of the night. Probably the best thing for her, really."

"Then, you must know my brother? Captain Vickery, of the 60th Rifles?" And it felt a little strange, even now, calling him 'Captain' Vickery when he had been 'Lieutenant' Vickery only a few short weeks before - the news of his promotion had been slow in reaching home.

"I... Do you want to stay with her, or shall we find another room?"

Oh. Maggie sat back and looked quietly at the young lady. Yes, she could see a resemblance now, and she vaguely remembered her saying something about her brother earlier. "Yes, miss. I know the captain well. At least, through my husband. How do you know my husband?" It was all a bit confusing. She reached down to remove Jenny's shoes and to unfold the blanket over her. "I'll just leave her here to sleep. There are other rooms through there I think," she said, nodding toward other doors in the room.

"I don't know him. Not in person, anyway - my brother writes home, and has mentioned him." And if the rifleman was anything like his wife, Emma's brother was in capable hands. "Captain Vickery has told me that your husband is very capable, as i see that you are."

Maggie smiled shyly at the praise. "Thank you, miss. I mean - or is it 'my lady'?" She racked her brains and tried to remember.

"Miss will do. I mean, I have a title, but only for introductions and addresses and things of that nature." Emma smiled. "Well, it would get to be tiresome if everyone had to call me 'the Honourable Miss Vickery' all the time."

Yes, that would be a bit ridiculous, Maggie thought, but she was not going to say so out loud. Instead she simply smiled and tucked Jenny in.

There was a knock at the door. "Oh, that must be the footman with the tea. I'll get it, miss."

Montreuil lifted the latch, pushed the door open and froze midway across the threshold. The room, which had been empty several minutes ago, was now full of women. He frowned.

Maggie raised her eyebrows at the man in the doorway, who had entered without waiting for her to open the door. He seemed puzzled. She looked behind him, and there was no tea trolley like the ones she had seen. "Yes? Oh... You're not the same footman. We sent for some tea." And he obviously did not have it in his pockets. "Sir," she added belatedly, in case he was simply a gentleman who had gotten lost. It would not do to offend one of the gentlemen.

And just when he thought this could not get any worse, she addressed him in English. "What is this place?" he demanded sharply in the same language, though heavily accented.

Maggie stared at him for a moment. No tea, and not even English. This was definitely not a footman. "Oh. It's The Crown. It's an inn. What... do you want?" She braced herself up to her full petite height, planting herself between him and Miss Vickery and the bed.

What on earth...? They were in England, weren't they? So what in the world was a foreigner doing here - and more particularly, one who sounded French.

And Mrs Cotton was shorter than she was, yet had determinedly put herself between the newcomer and her friend and Emma herself.

The little Englishwoman shifted to plant herself between him and the other two females. Doubtless in an attempt to forestall his animal lusts. Montreuil snorted. Really.

But this comically unimposing little Cerberus had asked him a question -- again in that infernal language of hers -- and he needed information and that, to his displeasure, necessitated furthering the conversation. "I want," he replied irritably, "to return to work. But I am afraid I do not know how I came to be here, much less how to get back."

"Oh." Maggie relaxed a little. He was just another confused inmate of this strange place. "I don't know. This room... The housekeeper set up this room so my friend could sleep. Are you French?" she asked suddenly. "I saw some other Fro- French lads downstairs, though that was a while ago, and I think they might've gone off to get baths. I washed their uniforms for 'em."