Chapter Twenty-two-A Seamstress of Secrets

Beatrix's eyes widened at her mistress's bold promise, but before she could muster a reply, Lola cut her off with regal impatience.

"What are you waiting for? Show me the way," Lola said, her voice brisk and unwavering.

Beatrix gave a quick nod and led the way, the hem of her skirt swishing nervously as they left the grandeur of the guest chambers behind. Down winding corridors and past curious glances, they made their way to the servant quarters, a world far removed from velvet drapes and gilded mirrors.

They stopped before a modest wooden door, the scent of soap and old cotton clinging to the air.

"What are we waiting for?" Lola asked, irritation creeping into her tone.

Beatrix exhaled and pushed open the door.

Inside, several maids were scattered across the room, mending garments, darning socks, or resting in hushed chatter. The moment they noticed Lola, silence rippled through them like a pebble in still water. Some rose to bow, others merely stared.

"Where is she?" Lola asked curtly, not one for formalities when her temper had been stirred.

Beatrix lifted a trembling hand and pointed toward a figure seated alone in the far corner. A young woman, head bent in thought, her fingers idle on a piece of muslin.

"You may all leave," Lola commanded.

Without hesitation, the maids scrambled to obey, brushing past one another in a flurry of skirts and murmurs. In moments, the room emptied, save for the three women.

Lola approached the quiet figure, her heels clicking on the stone floor.

"Are you Emmeline Fanshawe?" she asked, eyeing the young woman with calm precision.

Startled, Emmeline looked up, disoriented by the sudden solitude. Her gaze darted from the empty room to Beatrix, then finally to Lola, whose presence loomed with the certainty of nobility.

"I…I am," Emmeline stammered softly, rising to her feet. She made to curtsy, but Lola raised her hand.

"That won't be necessary," Lola said. "I need your help. With a dress. Beatrix tells me you're quite the miracle worker, and I'm in dire need of one."

Emmeline clutched her hands tightly, her fingers turning pale. "I'm sorry, my lady. That won't be possible."

Lola's brows lifted slightly. "And why not?"

"I've been given orders… that I am not to assist you. Should I do so, the consequences would be severe. I could lose everything," Emmeline confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lola studied her for a moment, then stepped closer. "And what if you didn't have to stay here? What if you had your own shop, your own name above the door, and no one to command what you may or may not sew?"

Both Emmeline and Beatrix looked at her, stunned.

"What do you mean, my lady?" Emmeline asked cautiously.

"I mean," Lola said, her tone softening but still laced with determination, "that talent such as yours ought not to be buried in shadows. I shall speak with His Majesty. I'll secure your release from palace service and have you set up in a shop of your own."

Emmeline gasped, then dropped to her knees, forehead pressed to the floor.

"If you truly do this, my lady," she whispered, voice shaking with emotion, "I will devote myself to you, body and needle."

Lola gave a faint nod. "Then let us begin. Time is no friend of ours."

"Yes, my lady," Emmeline said breathlessly, rising to her feet with a new purpose.

The three women exited the servant quarters swiftly, the halls feeling brighter with each step forward. Yet as they turned a corner, they nearly collided with a tall figure, cloaked, hooded, lingering in silence just beyond the pillar.

Lola's eyes narrowed. The figure did not move.

"Who are you?" she asked sharply.

The figure tilted their head… and said nothing.