The bewildering thing is that one is never quite certain during which two steps this remarkable occurrence might happen. —Phillippa, the Dowager Marchioness of Somerset “Miss Dovecote.” Eliza’s chest constricted at the rumbling sound of that voice. She turned to see David Abbot trotting down the lane after her and her friends. “I suppose you want us to walk on,” Drucilla said snappishly to Eliza. “I might have expected it. The lady’s maid and the valet surely won’t deign to stroll with the likes of us.” “Oh, go on with you,” Sarah said to the older woman. “Just because you haven’t a fellow wanting to walk you home from church, that’s no call to be nasty to one who has. We’ll see you at the house later, Dovecote.” Sarah only called her Eliza now when no one else was around. Even though they were friends, the traditions of the below stairs folk must be maintained with as much rigidity as the manners of the quality folk upstairs.
