"Beg y'r pardon," she says, averting her eyes. "I'd just finished up the hallway…. And I was fit t'tend y'r room, thinkin' you'd be out. Don't know your patterns yet, y'see."
"Oh, my patterns are like clockwork, Miss, believe me…one of those cuckoo clocks," you mutter, trying to wrest your tunic out of a four-pawed grip.
The maid snorts a laugh. You give her a closer look. If she's amused by you, she has a highly refined sense of humor.
"I'm Bandochel."
"Audrey," she says. "Dressers dusted, floors mopped, conversations listened in on; here for all weathers, I am," she says with a wink.
She'd prefer that you put your clothes back on, you can tell—which you elect not to hold against her.