All of this was all disturbing to her peace of mind, and she realized she hadn’t anyone in which she dared confide—the other maids were amusing, in their way, but a bit silly, and not nearly as conscientious about their work as she was. They were notthinkerslike Dot.
She would need to turn to her journal and write about it.
She suddenly realized she’d just nearly marched all the way to the third floor, toward her room where her journal was, when she was meant instead to be replacing the flowers in the vase in the sitting room. So she turned around.
On her way downstairs she encountered Mr. Pike himself, doing what he was hired for: effortlessly putting new candles into the sconces, because he could reach them, because he was so very tall anduseful, which was in part what Delilah and Angelique appreciated about him.
He turned and smiled at her. “Well, good morning, Dot. It’s the oddest thing, but I couldhave sworn I heard you in the crowd the night before. And I thought, surely not. It’s not her night off, and... well, it was adonkeyrace.”
“I don’t know how you could have possibly heard me,” she said stiffly. “There were so many people there.”
“I suppose it’s because the only person I could imagine shouting ‘Oh my good heavens! It’s fate I knew it was fate!’ at a donkey race... is you.”
It was a revelation to hear that Mr. Pike had formed ideas about what she might say, which suggested Mr. Pike was thinking about her when she was not around.
She wondered what hissweetheartwould have to say to that, if she knew.
If he indeed had a sweetheart.
As if she cared.
“Anyone might have said that,” she said quellingly.
He shook his head. “No one sounds like you, Dot.” He paused, as though he was considering what to say next. “I suspect that’s because there is no else like you.”
He said this so carefully it was impossible to know whether he considered this a compliment. She didn’t know whether she was pleased to hear it. She did suspect it was the truth. She had never considered herself in this light before, and so Pike had just given her a gift of sorts, something to ruminate upon. She generally considered herself the heroine of her own story, and this observation seemed to confirm it.
But Mr. Pike seemed to be searching her face for something. And his eyes, which were often full of amused glints when he talked to her, were somber. Even a little uncertain.
This uncertainty made her heart pang with sympathy, though she could not have quite said why. He seemed the last person on earth who would need it.
Her cheeks began to warm.
“Also, you’re remarkably loud when you want to be,” he added. Wickedly.
She sighed. She had indeed shriekedBOLLOCKS!without meaning to when he’d surprised her in the kitchen. Before then, she’d never cursed aloud in her life. She blamed him for this, too.
“I’ve been told it’s a useful skill,” she replied loftily. Their former guest Mr. Christian Hawkes had told her she could lead armies into battle with her screams, which he’d heard when he’d toppled bleeding through their door.
Then again, Mr. Hawkes was how Mr. Pike came to be hired at The Grand Palace on the Thames, thereby introducing a note of turmoil into the sprightly tune that had previously been Dot’s life. “And I thought we agreed we wouldn’t discuss that anymore, Mr. Pike.”
He cheerfully ignored this. “What made you decide to go to the donkey races?”
She was a bit embarrassed to tell him now, given that her belief in fate had been shaken. But then she recalled what Mrs. Brightwall had said, abouthow things like ponds and trees transform even when they stay in the same place. And she wondered whether fate was like that. Whether a donkey race might indeed have been fate, but the kind of fate that would unfold a bit at a time. Beginning with the journal she’d been able to purchase with the money she’d won on Shillelagh.
And then on to the startling knowledge that she could not bring herself to ask whether Pike might indeed have a sweetheart, because, like punching Mr. Pike and then surrendering her hand for gentle inspection, it might be both too painful and too pleasurable to know.
Leading next to that uncertain expression on Mr. Pike’s face that made Dot’s heart twinge.
Fate might in fact have as many plot twists asThe Ghost in the Attic.
“Because I liked the word ‘shillelagh.’ And I knew it was fate,” she told him, with great dignity. “Exactly as I said.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners. “I see,” he said gravely.
“I’ve work to do, Mr. Pike, and I expect you do, too.”
She swept past him to replace the draggled flowers in the vase downstairs.