Chapter Text
SOPHIE DIDN'T EXPECT COMPANY.
Especially when the night was so dark, it casted a penumbra over Mayfair itself.
Maybe she was a little bit grateful, because it could conceal her and the redhead.
The young woman wore a cloak, but she could see the curls peeking underneath.
She came walking quietly down the sidewalk outside Genevieve's boutique. In different circumstances, Sophie wouldn't— shouldn't be here, but the dirtied boots she's holding needed cleaning, which belonged to her master, Rosamund Li…
A sigh escaped her lips. She didn't anticipate that the boutique would be closed and that she had no way of calling home.
Alfie and her mind were basically one. He'll call a carriage for her.
But as she looks at the woman beside her, other thoughts occupy her mind.
What could a young woman like her be doing out, without a chaperone? The brown of Sophie's maid's attire wasn't hidden by the moon when the woman saw her, and it's clear as day what she was, even with just the lamppost, and the hand-me-down cloak that was more of a shawl.
Sophie eyed the leather bag slung on her left shoulder, with scrolls peeking out.
Whoever this woman was, she reminded Sophie that she missed the latest Lady Whistledown paper,
which was her last straw.
"Do you have Lady Whistledown's latest?" She asked before she could regret it.
On second thought, she had no regrets at all.
Where was Alfie?
The young woman's head was bent. Sophie didn't fixate on what she could be staring at, but now her head swerved, with those eyes looking at her in wonder.
"N— y-you read Whistledown?" she asked, her tone high-pitched. Her eyes were blue and bright. She looked to be about Posy's age, which brought a smile to Sophie's lips.
"Yes," was her reply. Lady Whistledown brought a much needed escape from the humid afternoons spent on her knees wiping Rosamund and Lady Araminta's bedrooms, and days where her spine might crack from standing and rearranging books and other house items for hours.
But all she said was: "I'd go mad if I didn't read the new issue."
The redhead grinned. Or was it a smirk? Sophie blinked. Maybe the fatigue was getting to her.
Sophie had no way of knowing because the young woman's head turned again. She pushed the scrolls down.
"I don't. They're…" A gulp. "Fluff."
All Sophie heard were lies. She's had enough conversations with Posy to know a young girl's reluctance when she sees it.
But she is acting with sense. Who would ever mingle with a maid?
A maid, holding her master's boots. She was afraid that if she placed them on the floor, then Rosamund would find something new to affront her with.
It was a feeling that she was tired of tolerating, at least for tonight.
This young woman— whose name she doesn't even know, and one she'll never know— was still staring off in the darkness. Sophie can barely see her curls now, which made her heart sink.
Maybe she truly was bashful, judging by her stutters. But what bashful woman would go out on the streets with no chaperone? And carrying mysterious papers, nonetheless…
If Posy was here, she'd talk this young woman's ear off. If anybody can charm strangers, it would be her.
Sophie wonders whether this young woman will be able to hold her head high one day, and whether she can see her do it. Not as a maid but—
Sophie shook herself before she thought of even more outrageous things.
She'll always be a maid and nothing more.
She will never see this young woman again.
Clip clop echoed the sound of horses down the street.
She's sure of it.