While preparations for the masquerade ball were underway downstairs in the long gallery, Matilda was upstairs in her lady’s chamber, applying another cold compress to the forehead of one Edith Hornbrook. Edith did not take the news of her son’s new love interest well, suffering fainting spells and episodes of great emotional duress. Tilly, knowing her ladyship well enough to understand that a good dose of TLC would help her recover more quickly, showered her with attention.
“There, there, My Lady. Just lie back against this fresh linen and let me sooth your burning forehead, brush away your worries.” Tilly dipped the cotton cloth into a bowl of water, where rose petals and freshly picked herbs floated.
“Tilly, you can’t brush away my worries. No one can.” She moaned and turned her head away, then reconsidered. “Oh, Tilly, what would I do without you?” Edith did not look at her handmaid, but the expression on her face, around her eyelids pressed together in what looked like agony, let Tilly know she was needed, even loved, by this seemingly callous, cynical woman. In return, Tilly willingly gave her usual loyal support and care. She had been with the family since Henley was three years old, having taken over from a woman whose mother and grandmother had been chambermaid and nanny on the Hornbrook estate, going back for generations. No one seemed to know the real story of why they left after so many years of loyal servitude, but after Tilly had asked once, she knew better than to bring up the subject again. Instead, she took over the duties to Mistress of the house with an eagerness that won over even Edith’s stone cold heart, which made Tilly more than content in her position.
