Prisoners in the Palace by Michaela MacColl

maid to help her undress. Then, like a wave of cold water drenching her body, she remembered there was no one to call.
    I am the maid.
    With a sigh, she began disassembling her outfit. Separating the sleeves from the arm holes proved relatively easy. Her skirt slipped off with minor difficulty. But the bodice closed with hooks and eyes in the back. Only after a struggle that would have done a contortionist credit, did Liza manage to unfasten them. The rest of the ensemble came off quickly, but she was at a loss when it came to putting the pieces away in her trunk. It was a sobering fact: she had never tidied up after herself.
    Liza eyed the thin blanket and rubbed the scratchy sheets between her thumb and forefinger. Wrapping herself in her mother’s shawl, she ducked into bed, careful not to hit her head on the sloped ceiling. She shifted her weight half a dozen times before she concluded there was no section of the mattress that was not lumpy.
    She blew out her candle: Nell had given her only two for the entire week; she must learn to conserve. A tiny tear escaped her resolve to cry no more and in the dark Liza let it fall.
    Too soon after Liza placed her head on her pillow, there was a tap at the door.
    “Not now,” Liza said, half asleep.
    “Miss, unlock the door.” It was Nell’s voice.
    Sitting up, Liza slammed her forehead on the slanted ceiling. She touched the sore spot as she got up and made her way throughthe dark, freezing room to slide back the bolt. The coconut matting on the floor felt damp to her bare feet.
    Nell carried in a heavy tray with a pot of tea and a tiny piece of rock-hard sugar and a pitcher of milk. A lit candle stood on the tray. “Good morning, Miss. It’s six o’clock.” Her friendly face was a welcome sight in the cold room.
    “Heavens, I’ve never been awake this early.” Liza rubbed her eyes and looked at the tray. “Do I bring this to the Baroness?”
    Nell snickered. “Lordy, Miss, you don’t know anything. This tray is for you.” She stepped back into the hall and brought in a basin of cold water for Liza to bathe herself.
    “Oh, thank you.” Liza yawned and accepted a cup of lukewarm tea. “Nell, you’ve been very kind. Can I impose on you further? I don’t know what to wear.”
    “May I?” Nell carried the candle to look through the small pile of Liza’s dresses. “Most of these would do, but they are too dark.”
    Although she knew how little that mattered here, Liza said once again, “I’m in mourning.”
    “Not for anyone in the royal family,” Nell said flatly. “And that’s the only mourning a servant in this ‘ouse wears. Lady’s maids should be pretty to look at.” She held up a light gray dress. “P’raps this one, if we add one of these white collars,” she said.
    Liza pulled off her nightdress, and Nell helped her into her gown. Liza was particularly grateful to have someone to help fasten the row of tiny seed pearl buttons from the small of her back to the top of her neck.
    “Miss, ‘ow did you get yerself out of yer clothes last night?” Nell asked. “I’d ‘ave ‘elped if I’d thought of it.”
    “I managed,” Liza said, grimly recalling her battle with her bodice. “When do I wake the Baroness?” she asked over her shoulder.
    “Not until eight o’clock. The servants eat their breakfast at seven.” Nell stepped back. “All finished.” She yawned, and Liza suddenly noticed the wearied lines creasing her face.
    “Nell, you look exhausted,” Liza said. “When do you get up?”
    “At four o’clock, Miss. I’ve ever so much to do. I sweep and dust the Duchess’s drawing room, clean the grates, light the fires and wait on the lady’s maids.”
    “I’ve added to your work. I’m sorry.” Liza was ashamed to think her whole life, she had lazed in bed until ten o’clock in the morning, or even later.
    “It’s my job, Miss,” Nell said simply. “And I don’t mind ‘elping you. Yer a real lady. But Miss