Livia was a friend. Jane couldn’t hate her properly. It would have made things easier. But Livia was sharp and beautiful.

It had only been weeks since Beaumont had elevated Livia’s status from servant girl to working girl, and in that time, she had managed to make sure the rest of them blended into the background like decorative wallflowers.

One of the girls, Anne, muttered bitterly. "We will never get noticed."

Jane shot her a look. "Lower your voice."

"What for?" Anne hissed. "So Beaumont can continue feeding her the good things while the rest of us fight over nothing?"

A few of the girls murmured in agreement.

Martha, seated on a stool leaned forward. "It is not right. Since she came up, Beaumont has been parading her like some court lady. Every gentleman asks for her now." 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝓃ℴ𝓋𝑒𝑙.𝑐𝘰𝑚

"Not every gentleman," Jane said.

Anne snorted. "No, you’re right. Some ask for her first, then settle for us when Beaumont says she’s already taken."

That one stung because it was true.

Jane looked toward the door, uneasy. "She didn’t ask for this."

"None of us asked for this," Martha replied. "Yet here we are."

None of them had dreamed of Beaumont’s house. But envy was easier than grief. The girls thought it was time for something to be done and the only way was to get rid of Livia.

In truth, they told themselves they would be doing her a favour. Livia did not want to marry the old man anyway. She moved through Beaumont’s house like a woman being led toward a noose. So perhaps removing her from the arrangement was mercy.

If Livia was gone, then the rest of them had a chance. The old man would have no other choice but to make a selection from among them. One of them could be dressed in better silk. One of them could be removed from this rotten house. One of them could become respectable, even if respectability came smelling of old breath.

"I say we do it tonight," Anne whispered.

Martha leaned closer. "Once we are done for the night, she is always on the roof. We just do it."

Anne ignored her. "It is easy. Beaumont will believe she did it herself. She has made it quite clear she doesn’t want the old man."

A murmur went through the girls.

"Yeah," another added bitterly. "Like she is better than the rest of us. Insolent bitch."

Jane folded her arms tighter, nails digging into her sleeves. "She never said she was better."

"She doesn’t have to say it," Martha replied.

"Isn’t that too excessive?" Jane asked.

Every face turned to her.

"Oh... oh... oh..." Bess suddenly straightened, as if inspiration had touched her. "We can cut her face."

Jane stared at her. "Are you mad?"

"What? If she isn’t pretty, the old goat won’t want her."

"And then she will tell Beaumont what we did," Martha said.

Bess frowned. "Right."

Anne sighed. "Well, I guess there is only one way out. We kill her and make it look like she jumped."

Jane closed her eyes. Livia’s face came to her then. Lord, please forgive me.

*****

Lady Bella walked to the withdrawing chamber like a lifeless doll. She would have preferred to remain in her rooms, wrapped in darkness, with the curtains drawn and the world kept politely outside. But the queen mother had given orders for her to socialise, claiming it would help her mood.

It would not. Bella knew that with the same certainty she knew her son was dead. Grief had not merely left a hole in her soul; it had dragged her status down with it, quietly, cruelly, without anyone needing to say the words aloud. That was how court worked. No one announced your fall. They simply stopped rising when you entered the room.

She used to be one of these ladies once. Pretty enough, well-born enough, useful enough. Then the king had taken special interest in her, and everything had changed.

She had become his favourite. And then she became pregnant. Suddenly, she was not just Bella. She was the mother of the king’s son. The king’s blood. The king’s pride. The king’s little miracle.

The only status higher than that in the king’s bed was queen. And with no queen seated beside him, Bella had lived the dream of every bored noblewoman.

They had hated her for it. Oh, how sweetly they had hated her. And now what was she? She was not the mother of the king’s son anymore. She was not even the favourite. The king had not called for her in a while.

She looked around the room. They were waiting for her to become ordinary again. And all these women here were only going to offer fake sadness and mock her behind her back the moment she left the room.

The ladies all rallied around her.

"Oh, my dear."

"Come, sit by the fire."

"You must take tea."

"Perhaps a little sweetmeat?"

They helped her into a chair as if she were made of glass, their hands soft and eager, their eyes sharper than needles. She sat there, her own eyes lifeless, staring past their faces while they fussed around her.

Then the princess breezed into the room. Her gown swept behind her, her chin lifted, her eyes taking in everything.

Everyone rose at once and curtsied except Bella. Madeleine stopped.

Her eyes narrowed into slits. "Lady Bella... how are you feeling?"

Bella only nodded in response. Madeleine smiled.

"Good to know." She took a slow step forward. "I was just wondering if you have some kind of injury on your lower body that stops you from acknowledging my presence."

Bella sat there in silence. Her hands remained folded in her lap. Her face did not change. Perhaps she had no strength left. Perhaps grief had swallowed even her manners. Or perhaps, Madeleine thought, the woman had finally decided that since she had lost everything that mattered, court etiquette could go to hell.

"I’m going to chalk that down to grief, Lady Bella," she said. "Some day, you will recover from it and we will be having a different conversation if this happens again."