Be bold and ask about the girl.

"Ward servants have such varied skills, since few of them were trained to service," Rebecca comments coolly to Twilwell. "What are the...'other services' you mentioned?"

Twilwell clears his throat slightly. "Ah, well. Some of them are of a rather personal nature."

"Indeed?" Rebecca glances at the girl, whose eyes are downcast, thoughtfully. "But surely no such personal service could be underway here in the library. Unless...may I?" She rests her hand on the cloth that Ella was replacing when she and Twilwell entered. After a moment, Twilwell nods. Rebecca pulls the cloth away.

Stepping back, she takes in the six-foot-tall object she's revealed. "Hmmmm," she says after a moment, composure unruffled.

"It's called a herm," Twilwell offers. "In the Greek tradition."

"I see." There's another moment of silence, then Rebecca adds, "It has your face."

"I make no apology for that."

The "herm" is a bust, essentially - a square pillar rising from the floor surmounted by a well-executed marble bust of Twilwell himself. It has an unusual addition, though: near the center of the pillar, about where it would be on the...real thing...there is a carefully sculpted, life-size rendering of the male anatomy, protruding from the pillar, proudly erect. Rebecca swallows as she notices a sheen of moisture on the shaft.

"I did not mean to interrupt your servant's work," she says quietly.

Twilwell is watching her with barely concealed interest in his eyes. "It's quite all right. But do you mind if she resumes her duties?"

Rebecca gives a small, silent nod, and Twilwell in turn nods to Ella. The bond girl swallows, then slowly returns to the herm and kneels down in front of it. Clasping her hands behind her back, she opens her mouth and slowly envelops the stone member with it, wrapping her lips around its shaft and sliding her mouth along it as far as she can go. She begins to bob up and down on the marble cock, occasionally sweeping the underside with her tongue as she does so. Rebecca's breath hitches as she watches the girl worship what she feels - instinctively - is a replica of Twilwell's organ, and the sounds of slurping reverberate dimly in the library.

"Ella is most grateful that I saved her from her family's penury and ruin," Twilwell comments, having come to stand beside her. "As part of her gratitude, she does this for an hour each day."

"What is the purpose?" Rebecca asks, eyes still glued to the maid's bobbing head.

"Practice. Training." They watch in silence for a few moments, then Twilwell says, "Well! I suppose I had better finish this tour and let you be on your way?"

"Indeed!" Rebecca tears her eyes away, slightly flustered, and they depart the library, leaving Ella still on her knees behind them. Rebecca follows Twilwell back to the front door of the house.

"You truly have done a wonderful job improving this house already, Mr. Twilwell, despite your...unorthodox decorating," she remarks. "And I hope that we'll be able to enjoy your company in town and here at your home soon?"

"Of course!" he exclaims. "I wouldn't dream of taking up residence here and not becoming part of the region's happy life. Once I'm fully staffed, I hope to host a ball as soon as I may."

"I'll look forward to that," Rebecca tells him with a smile. As they emerge onto the front steps, though, her smile is arrested by a discomfiting sight, and a shrill voice.

"My goodness! Miss Foxhaven! I never would have expected to see you here." Rebecca groans inwardly as she sees two familiar faces standing at the bottom of the stairs: a rotund woman wearing more jewelry than is really tasteful, and a rail-thin, emaciated looking man in somber clothing.

"Mrs. Wagaton. Mr. Wagaton," she says grimly. Then, realizing it falls to her to make introductions: "Er - Mr. Twilwell, may I introduce you to Mr. and Mrs. Wagaton. Mr. Wagaton owns a number of businesses in town."

"The finest businesses in town!" Mrs. Wagaton declares, stomping her way heavily up the steps. Twilwell looks rather taken aback by this forward couple who have deposited themselves (quite literally) on his doorstep. "We do import-export, ironmongery, and a bit of lending, sir. A pleasure to make your acquaintance." She holds out her hand, which Twilwell (gentleman that he is) takes and gives a gentle, formal kiss. She continues: "But I am surprised to see you here, Miss Foxhaven! We'd thought to be the first to call upon our new neighbor Mr. Twilwell. You are he, I presume?" she asks suddenly, narrowing her eyes as thought suspicious that Twilwell might be an exceptionally well-dressed intruder.

"Ah - yes, I'm he," Twilwell says with bemusement. Mr. Wagaton, having followed his wife more sedately up the stairs, gives a stiff bow and holds his hand out to Mr. Twilwell, who shakes it hesitantly.

"Delighted to meet you, sir," Mrs. Wagaton continues. "We have so much to discuss with you! But Miss Foxhaven - are you a relation of Mr. Twilwell's?"

"No, ma'am, I'm not," Rebecca says coolly, trying to project disdain. "I was merely doing as you were. Paying a visit to a new neighbor."

"Hm!" Mrs. Wagaton's eyes dart back and forth between Rebecca and Mr. Twilwell. "And without a chaperone! Well, well, I know you well, you're a fine patron; I'm sure no harm can come of it. All the same, you'd best be off now, my dear."

"Of course," Rebecca says, struggling to conceal her irritation. Turning to Mr. Twilwell, she drops him a brief curtsey. "I hope that I will see you again, sir."

He returns her a bow and a smile. "I'm sure we will meet again, Miss Foxhaven. Thank you very much for welcoming me to the neighborhood."

As Rebecca mounts her trap and the driver pulls away, she can hear the Wagatons (mostly Mrs. Wagaton) beginning to talk Mr. Twilwell's ear off again, no doubt hoping to get him to join them in one of their various questionable business ventures. But she clucks her tongue in annoyance, for Mrs. Wagaton is a notorious gossip - by the day after tomorrow, the news that she was in Mr. Twilwell's home unchaperoned will be all over the county. Ah, well. Everyone knows that Mrs. Wagaton's stories are exaggerated, anyway. What harm could it do?

***

Back at Wimbly Place, Alice flounces into the sitting room.

"I'm boooooooooored," she declares to no one in particular. Looking around, she sees that her mother and Esther are sitting here, Esther reading, and her mother - Mary Foxhaven - working on some needlepoint. "Mama, may I go into town to shop for some ribbons?"

Mary Foxhaven is a thin, nervous woman, and she looks startled by the very question. "Oh - well - I suppose you may, dear. But do take one of your sisters with you, will you?"

"Not I," Esther says hurriedly. "I wish to finish my reading."

Alice rolls her eyes. "As though I'd ask you," she says derisively. "You're such a bore. Don't worry, mama. I'll ask..."