“I am thirty-two years old, and I have been putting on my own clothes for twenty-eight of those years,” Miriam explained, one gentle hand on Kara’s back, propelling her gently toward the door. “When I need help, I’ll let you know.” Alone, she leaned against the cold wall for a moment and closed her eyes. Youth and enthusiasm! She made a curse of the phrase.

Miriam dressed quickly and efficiently, then exited her bedroom to find Kara and a couple of servants waiting by the dining table, on which was laid a single breakfast setting. She was about to protest when she took one look at Kara and bit her tongue. Instead, she sat down. “Coffee or tea, whatever’s available,” she said to the maid. “Kara. Come here. Sit down with me. Cough it up.”

“I’m meant to dress you,” she said miserably. “It’s my job.”

“Fine, fine.” Miriam rolled her eyes. “You do know I come from the other side?” Kara nodded. “If it makes you feel better, tell yourself I’m a crazy old bat who’ll be sorry she ignored you later.” She grinned at Kara’s expression of surprise. “Listen, there’s something you need to know about me: I don’t play head games.”

“Games? With heads?”

Ye gods! “If I think someone has made a mistake, I tell them. It doesn’t mean I secretly hate them or that I’ve decided to make their life unpleasant. I don’t do that because I’ve got other things to worry about, and screwing around like that—” she saw Kara’s eyes widen—Don’t tell me swearing isn’t allowed?—“is a waste of time. Do you understand?”

Kara shook her head, mutely.

“Don’t worry about it, then. I’m not angry with you. Drink your tea.” Miriam patted her hand. “It’s going to be all right. You said there’s a reception this evening. You said we were invited. You want to go?”

Kara nodded, slowly, watching Miriam.

“Fine. You’re coming, then. If you didn’t want to go, I wouldn’t make you. Do you understand? As long as you do your job properly when you’re needed, as far as I’m concerned you’re free to do whatever you like with the rest of your time. I am not your mother. Do you understand?”

Kara nodded again, but her entire posture was one of mute denial and her eyes were wide. Shit, I’m not getting through to her, Miriam thought to herself. She sighed. “Okay. Breakfast first.” The toast was getting cold. “Is Brill going to the party?”

“Yes, mistress.” Kara seemed to have found her tongue again, but she sounded a bit shaky. She’s about seventeen, Miriam reminded herself. A teenager. Whatever happened to teenage rebellion here? Do they beat it out of them or something?