From Euston Hall

[Cicilia Fitzroy]

A letter lands in the hands of Maggie Gladwin, addressed in a neat cursive pen smelling of a lightly scented rose perfume, she may open the envelope to reveal the signature of one Cicilia Fitzroy, Duchess of Grafton. It appears that Maggie’s former employer, then known as Ciel Hastings, Dowager Baroness, writes with both good will and a proposition even after Maggie’s quite scandalous betrayal a year or so previously.

Dear Miss Gladwin

I suspect that I am most probably the very last person you may hope to hear from at this time of year, but let me begin by wishing that you have a very Merry Christmas and a wonderful New Year! I hope the Duchess treats you kindly and has, as such, offered you the fortune you so desired.

Let me begin by confessing that I was very much hurt by what transpired, and that it has taken some time for me to imagine that the elevation from a lady’s maid to a Dowager Baroness to a Dowager Duchess (I know she is still a Duchess, but her son must be married at some point!) must have been too wonderful to ignore. Alas, it still hurt terribly, since I considered you a very close friend and invested more than enough in your wellbeing. Nonetheless, I do not write to rake over old memories or feelings, but to rather reintroduce myself and a new proposition.

I cannot be sure if you remember him, but I married the Duke of Grafton who has long since been a close and dear friend to me. You may have never even seen him, for I often sent the household out during his visits and, well, I am very very happy, though I must confess that a wedding ring was the last thing I had primarily wanted at the time, and if you do accept what I wish to say I must concern you with the matter of safety. You see, over the past few months I have been threatened and embroiled in disaster. I may tell you more in person, Maggie, for I cannot abide by saying such things over ink.

At any rate, I am out of the city for the Winter and will be beyond London for quite some time. But, we plan to return for the new season and host a rather merry affair to celebrate the wedding, as such I need someone who knows how to treat my hair just right and though I have tried other young girls to do what you did, they all fail to come to terms with the style I prefer! So, I write to you, at the very beginning of Yule, to ask if you would entertain the idea of returning to my station as my personal Lady’s maid! If you accept, I would love to write more familiarly with you, and indeed tell you all of what is expected of a Duchess! You would not believe the difference between this and what I have known!

Her Grace,

Cicilia (Ciel) Fitzroy.

[Maggie Gladwin]

Maggie returned to Devonshire House with its imposing walls, its gates, and its impeccable views of the Ton. Her employ was at an end with this family, but the routine of job demanded she stop in for one last check for any post that might have arrived for her in her absence, and she was not to be disappointed. Maggie recognised the handwriting and even the scent of the letter instantly. With little regard for the paper, she tore it open and devoured the words inside.

“Sorry to bother, I must reply at once. Can I use a sheet of the housekeeper’s paper?” She asked the bewildered Devonshire staffer who had handed the letter to her.

She tried her best to remember the lessons taught to her, to pen elegantly, but Maggie’s words were scrunched together messy, and wild. She had never written to a duchess before, but such novelty was lost on Maggie, as her hand rushed across the page to translate thoughts from her mind onto paper.

Your Grace,

It was very nice to get ye lettre, I do not get them often. I ‘ave thought much about how I left ye service, and I am sorry for how it happened.

Many ‘appy congratulations on your nuptials. I do not remember the gentle man in question, but if you are now marryed to him, he cannot be all that terrible.

As to ye offer, I accept with pleasure. I owe ye much, for your kindness, and your skill. You raised me from scrubbing soap to sewing silk sashes and I would be happy to get to know you again and ye new station. My current employer wishes to remain in America for now, so has released me from her service, and so I am back in London, and can be reached at the address below...

Ye obedient servant,
Miss Margret Gladwin

[Cicilia Fitzroy]

When Maggie had left Ciel’s employment, Ciel had been hurt terribly and deeply by the act of subterfuge. As a matter of fact, if the danger to her life had not pushed her to seek safety beneath the banner of the Fitzroys, perhaps she still would have dwelled in the dramatics of it. Still, so much had changed since they had last seen one another, let alone that her son had since grown a sort of character influenced by her new stepson.

Dear Miss Gladwin
I am sorry to hear that you are not being kept on, or that you will not experience the delights of America (though I do not know of them either, to be honest!), but I am sure we can whip up something just as exciting in Suffolk. Do you think you could make it to Euston Hall before the end of the year? We will be throwing a celebration and I am in such desperate need of someone who can help me get ready.

Your friend
Cicilia Fitzroy, Duchess of Grafton

[Maggie Gladwin]

Once again, long words drowning in rich, dark ink on fine paper found their way into Maggie’s hands. They were presently the only letters the girl received. Maggie’s replies paled in comparison penned with leaded pencil smudging the cheap paper that smelled of even cheaper pipe tobacco. Sitting in booth at the local free house, the most private place she could think of in the moment, she carefully printed her reply.

Your Grace,
I can be in Suffolk as ye need before years end. Indeed, I am not sure what will arrive first this letter or me. As for America, I don’t think the country side can match it for excitement – I ‘ave many stories I can share, but it will be lovely to be in nature again, fields and country manors I know.

Maggie’s pencil hovered above the paper. It did not seem right to end this letter with “Your friend, Maggie”, because the two of them were not - as much as either could wish it so - the invisible wall of fate made sure that they could not be equal. They had trusted each other once, but Maggie silently acknowledged she had some work to do there. So just signed it, Maggie.

Reply written, Maggie let the pencil softly drop to her lap and leaned back against the bench as the sounds of the pub returned to her ears. She jammed her lips together in a thin line, pondering her next question: Where on Earth was Euston Hall and how could she get there?