Matilda stared at the slipper. Hester had told her they were new. Not expensive, of course—there had been no reason to expect expense—but new.
"Why did no one tell me?" she asked.
Mrs. Bell looked ashamed. "Because no one thought you'd complain."
The words settled quietly. They hurt more than Matilda expected. Not because they were cruel, but because they were true.
Mrs. Canning wrapped clean linen around her heel. "There. You will rest tonight."
Matilda lowered her gaze to the slipper. "Please do not blame Sarah for bringing them to me. She only followed instructions."
Mrs. Bell gave her a long look. "You were bleeding through your shoe, and you're worried about the maid?"
"Sarah lost two days' wages last winter because I mentioned that my room had no coal."
Mrs. Canning went still.
Matilda continued before either woman could answer: "Mrs. Dracott said the servants had become careless because I encouraged complaint. Sarah was blamed for failing to notice the grate was empty."
"She had been told not to supply that room until the following morning," Mrs. Bell said quietly.
"I know." Matilda folded her hands in her lap. "That is why I did not mention the shoes."
Mrs. Canning's expression changed—not pity, something harder. "Miss Dracott, silence may protect a servant for a day. It may also teach the person causing harm that there will never be a cost."
Matilda looked at her bandaged foot. "I know that now."
A soft knock came at the door. Mrs. Bell opened it to a footman carrying a folded note on a tray. "From His Grace," he said.
Matilda's pulse changed. Mrs. Canning accepted the message and handed it to her.
The note was brief: the Duke of Wexborne had recovered a manuscript page belonging to Miss Dracott, and wished to know whether she wanted it returned that evening or the following morning. That was all. No command, no assumption, no mention of blood. Matilda read it twice.
"What shall I tell him?" Mrs. Canning asked.
Matilda looked toward the closed door, imagining the page in Robert Duncombe's possession. Her correction. Her hand. Hester's name printed below music Matilda had written.
For years, she had told herself the arrangement was temporary. At first, Hester had only asked for help polishing a melody. Then Matilda had supplied a passage, then an ending, then an entire composition Hester called "collaborative," although Matilda had written every note. The next program had credited Mrs. Hester Dracott alone.
Matilda had protested once. Hester had reminded her how difficult respectable employment could be for an unmarried gentlewoman without family money. She had mentioned references. She had mentioned gratitude. She had smiled. After that, Matilda had learned to disappear from her own work.
"Tell him I should like my page returned," she said.