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I t seemed to Millie that several things happened all at once.

She brought Lady Bentley along, first of all. Perhaps she ought to have written ahead to warn Dot and Silas, but the matter simply hadn’t occurred to her. They were all so interwoven at this point, all so practically incestuous, that it was hard to keep straight who meant what to whom.

In any event, Dot was taken aback by the surprise.

“I’ve brought a cake,” Lady Bentley offered, holding up a covered ceramic dish. “I know it’s silly, but the ladies might enjoy one last luxury before they depart.”

Millie grimaced.

Dot stared.

“Oh!” Ember Donnelly exclaimed. “Who doesn’t love a cake?”

As soon as they were inside, Dot grabbed Millie by the arm and steered her into the kitchen pantry, presumably to lecture her for her lack of foresight.

But instead—

“My father found out what we were doing,” Dot told her, sounding just as she had when they were children and Dot had toppled the entire Christmas cake onto herself.

“Did he?” Millie replied, suddenly worried that now her father would find out as well.

“He went mad,” Dot said through her teeth. “Pacing and ranting and calling me his perfect little fool. And then …”

Dot trailed off then, cracking the pantry door to look one way and then the other. “Then,” she continued in a hush, “he kissed Mrs. Knox. Right on the mouth!”

“He did what!” Millie gasped.

“He did! And he said something about the ridiculousness of servants and masters. He didn’t think I saw. But I saw!”

“Well, did you talk to him about it?” Millie pressed, somehow both aghast and enthralled.

“Of course not!” said Dot. “How do you bring something like that up?”

“Well, did she kiss him back?”

Dot stared at her for a long time. Silent. And then she nodded.

Unfortunately, before they could delve any further into it, the men had arrived. All of them.

They had only been expecting Freddy and Cresson, but here were Silas and Abe too, all grumbling amongst themselves about who and how and when until Freddy threw up his hands and stalked away from them entirely to go see to the preparation of the carriage.

Well, Millie reasoned, she supposed Silas lived here. So that explained his presence, but the other one …

“What’s wrong with Freddy?” Silas muttered, scratching at his head, but neither of the others answered.

Instead, Mr. Cresson moved into position to explain the route and specifics to the young ladies who were departing this evening, both of whom were currently being served slices of unexpected cake by a dowager countess. If they were confused, they hid it well.

And then Abe decided it was his turn to intercept Millie.

“What are you doing here?” Millie hissed before he could begin his nonsense.

“Observing,” he answered with half a smile, “supervising.”

“Abe.”

“I didn’t want to be left out,” he said, holding his hands up as though that would prove his earnestness. “And I wanted to see you. I’d suggest you drag me to court over it, but there are too many people in this house who actually would.”

Ember appeared next to them, a plate of half-eaten cake in her hands. “Hullo,” she said innocently. “What are we plotting over here?”

This was not the careful exit they had planned for the poor fugitives. They didn’t seem to mind, though. Both women were huddled over either of Mr. Cresson’s shoulders as he walked them through a document.

Any time one of the women spoke, Cresson went respectfully silent, then answered, holding the asker’s eye to ensure that he was doing so clearly.

“Just some light mutiny,” Abe said with an affected sigh. “Care to join the cause?”

“Maybe later,” Ember said with a chuckle, like she was just happy that someone had finally humored her.

She was watching Mr. Cresson too, a thoughtful glint in her eye as he paused every so often to check that both Gretchen and Paula were following what he was saying.

And now Abe was watching her watch Cresson with a similar glint, and MIllie felt awfully confused.

“He is a welcome surprise,” she said, just to attempt to join their thought process. “Terribly competent.”

“Yes,” said Ember Donnelly, her voice suddenly soft. “Terribly.”

A few moments later, Cresson looked over at them and waved Abe over, though for what reason, Millie could only guess.

“You know,” said Ember, “I think he’s a little sweet on me.”

Millie startled, cutting her eyes to the other woman. “Abe?” she asked sharply.

Ember laughed. “At ease, soldier. I meant Mr. Cresson.”

“Oh.” Millie looked back at him again.

He didn’t seem so knock-kneed as she remembered, she realized. Now, in his element, he was fully a man, though all the same …

“You’d have him for breakfast,” she said to Ember, and Ember nodded, not looking very pleased by the fact but also unwilling to argue it.

Freddy seemed content to simply wait outside rather than come back into the fray, and Millie, despite herself, admired him for it. It was mild outside, and horses were far less chaotic than people.

These people, anyhow.

By the time everyone was satisfied to send them off, the cake was gone, Lady Bentley looked accomplished, and Millie felt completely superfluous.

She hadn’t even gotten any cake.

In the end, her biggest contribution seemed to be a sincere well-wishing before the girls vanished into the night. Part of her thought perhaps she should have told them about the manifesto, though of course she knew that was guilt, not logic, speaking.

And another part, a smaller, louder, less civilized part, felt proud that they were getting away because of something Millie herself had done.

They watched from behind the curtains as the carriage vanished down the street, collectively breathing a sigh of relief as it went.

Yes, it wasn’t quite done until Freddy reported back from Dover, but all the same, it felt like they had done it.

As everyone pulled back, looking at one another with the breathless, speechless impact of something so overwhelming, it was actually Mr. Cresson who spoke first.

He smiled at Millie, and a dashing smile it was too, and said, “Miss Yardley! I heard the good news at dinner tonight.”

“Oh?” Millie replied, uncertain what good news that would be.

“Deepest congratulations,” this practical stranger replied, turning his hat around in his hands. “Mr. Murphy may be a bit rough around the edges, but I’m certain he will make you a fine husband.”

Millie didn’t remember much after that.

She remembered the collective turning and staring.

She remembered the swarming.

She remembered the tumult of questions.

But the specifics? Those were lost to time itself.