Hinchley - or Chester Romilly, as he had been renamed for the night - tugged at his collar, his gaze darting out the windows of their rented carriage.
"Stop that," Hopkins scolded.
Hinchley tugged at his cuffs instead, stopping only when Hopkins sighed aloud. He consciously clasping his hands together. "Sorry. I don't understand how you can be so calm, sir."
"This isn't my first campaign, Uncle. And you'll find that high society is rather easier to blend into than working-class - just smile a little, talk even less, and if someone asks you something, lie and then excuse yourself before they have a chance to think it over. Proper lords and ladies won't dream of pressing the matter even if they're dying of curiosity. Remember, you're just here escorting your niece."
"Right," said the constable, sounding not the least bit convinced.
Hopkins gave him an exasperated smile. "Just think, you could be the one in the dress."
At that, Hinchley chuckled, some of his usual easygoing nature finally reasserting itself. "Of course, si- St-Stella. Miss Stella. Sorry."
"It's alright. Just relax, you'll do fine."
"Thank you, dear."
"Much better."
Something similar to a drouble, though FFnet and Wordcount disagree on exactly how many words there are.
By the by, there's a nice little picture of Hopkins up on my dA (which is, in fact, the thing that started this entire arc). You lot should totally go check it out. [/shameless plug]