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The Maid of Chateau Winslow

Page 7

by Pippa J Frost


  I hurried after her. “But I thought—”

  Mrs. Potts held up a hand to silence me. “Stop, you damn fool!” she said to the servant. “Can’t ya see you’re making a mess of the place?” She whirled to gesture at the mess as a hare hopped through the powder. She gasped, then shouted, “Someone, get that hare!” The kitchen staff jumped, and the buttons on the bodice of her dress looked almost ready to pop.

  Scullions scurried after the animal.

  “Not all of you, you imbeciles. Two will do. The rest of you, back to your stations. Lunch is to be served within the hour.” She turned back to the servant. “You, clean up this mess.” She looked at me. “What was it we were talking about?”

  “The yards,” I said.

  “I will show you the way.” She swiftly exited the kitchen while scratching something down in the ledger.

  I picked up my pace. “But I thought the house and children were to be my responsibilities.”

  She came to a sudden stop, and I plowed into the back of her. I gasped and mumbled an apology, but she brushed me off as though I hadn’t spoken. Her mouth set in a tight line. “His lordship gave the orders. Do you think it wise to question his wishes when you’ve scarcely been hired?”

  I swallowed back panic. “No, on the contrary. I was curious, is all.”

  “Curiosity will get you nowhere here. You should stick to what you’re told and don’t pry into matters that don’t concern you. Understood?” The warning in her gaze discouraged all further inquiries.

  I inclined my head. “Yes, Mrs. Potts.”

  She walked on, then stopped at a door I’d seen servants coming and going from throughout the morning. “You go down to the stables and ask for Enzo. He’s the stable master. He’ll inform you of your duties.” She lifted a gray woolen coat hanging on a hook. “You’d best put this on.”

  I wiggled into the coat.

  “Well, off with you then,” she said curtly.

  Stepping outside, I lifted the collar of the coat to keep out the cold and went in search of the stable master. In the stables, a stable boy directed me to a man of small stature with gray-speckled muttonchops who was standing on an upside-down crate to brush a beautiful sable horse.

  Behind me, a horse nickered, and I swerved to find my mare craning her neck toward me. Stray bits of hay hung from her mouth. I smiled and moved in to rub her snout. “Hello, old girl.” She nudged me on the shoulder. “I see you’re well cared for.” Resting my forehead against her muzzle, I inhaled, finding comfort in her presence.

  “Found her and a few others roaming the grounds this morning,” a man said. I turned to find the stable master eyeing me from his post on the crate. “The coachman said he found a broken crate, a dead goat, and some scorched brush that must have choked out before it could take over the forest.”

  I left the mare and walked back to him.

  He jumped off the crate and craned his neck to look up at me. “I’m to show you what’s expected of you.” Wiping his hands on his leather apron, he sauntered out of the stables and led me to a pile of wood around the back of a small stone outbuilding. “You’re to restock each room in the house with wood.” He pointed at the mountain of pungent hay and animal waste mucked out from stalls. “This waste is to be loaded on the cart to be hauled away. When you have a full cart you can find Rafael, and he’ll haul it away. He’s a stout lad. You can’t miss him. He lost an arm in an accident when he was just a wee lad.” He looked me over, sympathy shining in his amber eyes. “Ain’t so sure you’re up to the task. A bit small, you are, but I ain’t one to question the master. You’ve got a full day ahead, so I’ll let you get to it.” He left.

  I stood for a moment, feeling overwhelmed and fighting back tears. Then I forced them back and set myself to the task. I filled my arms with wood and turned to head into the house, and caught sight of the earthmen spying on me from behind one of the outbuildings. They pressed themselves back against the building and out of sight.

  It was early evening by the time I finished carrying the wood inside. My legs burned from several trips up the stairs, and my arms dangled like hunks of meat hung to dry. As I shoved my shovel into the pile of animal waste I looked up at the mansion, and inside I jumped. From the window of his study, a solemn Lord Winslow stood observing me. When our gazes met he let the curtain fall into place, and for the first time I understood why I’d been assigned to the yards. He was testing me.

  The sun had set when Mrs. Potts walked into the stable yards. “What are you still doing out here?” Her eyes roved over me as if wondering how I still stood. “The children need tending.”

  “I’ve not finished this task.” I shoveled another scoop of manure onto the cart. Exhaustion had set in hours ago, but I was determined to prove to his lordship that I’d take on any challenge he sent my way. I wouldn’t go back. I couldn’t. As I hoisted another shovelful onto the wagon, my foot skidded in the dung splattered in the yard, and before I could catch myself, I landed on my rear. Tears of frustration and defeat flowed freely down my cheeks.

  “Come now, lass, up you go.” Mrs. Potts bent over and thrust out a hand. “Don’t let him see you cry or give him the satisfaction of your defeat,” she said. Compassion softened her gaze as she helped me to my feet. “You’ve run out of light. Yara has drawn your bath. I’ll arrange for a chambermaid to tend to the children’s needs. You’re to join the family for the evening meal, and you can’t show up at his lordship’s table smelling like the stable yards.” Her nose twitched. “Let’s go get you cleaned up, shall we?” She turned and marched toward the mansion.

  I considered her position at the estate and concluded Lord Winslow had chosen wisely in selecting her as the head housekeeper. She gave orders and the staff jumped to obey, not out of fear, but respect. Regardless of her take-charge demeanor, I decided there was something likable about the strange woman.

  Inside, we climbed the servants’ stairs to the second floor and wove through the corridors until we reached a room in the west wing. “This will be your room.” She opened the door and stood back to allow me entrance.

  I stood on the threshold and marveled at the beauty of the chamber. Floor-length cream tulle curtains framed two large windows embellished with black wrought iron. Matching fabric hung from the pelmet over the rosewood four-poster bed, which was adorned with swan motif linens in various shades of cream, blue, and rose. A copper bathing tub sat in front of a crackling fire that enveloped the room in luminous warmth. Although I’d never been in the homes of the rich, I assumed a chamber of such grandeur wasn’t fitting for a servant.

  Mrs. Potts pushed past me into the room.

  “The room is one his lordship would offer his guest, not a servant. Am I not to sleep with the others in the servant quarters?” I asked.

  “Aye, this is true. But you’re to be near the children. This is the only chamber besides his lordship and the children’s in this wing.” She opened the doors of the armoire that stood in a shadowed corner of the room.

  “His private quarters are in this wing?” My voice hitched. The thought of his closeness unsettled me.

  “Aye, that’s what I said,” Mrs. Potts replied.

  I frowned at her back as she buried her head inside the armoire. Surely folks from Ireland weren’t also a bore like his lordship. Although I had met no one from England before, I wondered if they all were born without a personality. Did one not smile there? Perhaps it was a dismal place. In all my years, I’d never been past the village limits, and I’d often daydream of Nisse and what adventures he was having abroad. Then I’d consider what life would have been like if I’d left with Nonno when he’d come some years after my parents’ disappearance. The money he sent, my brother had intercepted, and although I’d never seen it, I always knew when it had come because Orell would return home with a new cloak and ale to last the week, or go missing for days on end.

  Mrs. Potts walked into the light with a gown made of emerald green, blue, and gold. She held
it up for my inspection. The gown’s bustle mimicked a peacock’s tail. My mouth dropped open in awe.

  “A gown fit for the ladies and duchesses of England.” She laid it out on the bed before returning to the wardrobe to fetch gold satin shoes adorned with gems that sparkled in the fire’s radiance. “These should suit. I will send Yara up to assist you,” Mrs. Potts said.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “What, lass?” Impatience pinched the corners of her mouth.

  “Why am I to wear a dress and shoes fashioned for high society? Surely a clean wool frock will do.”

  “Because his lordship insisted that you not arrive too plain for his liking. Now no more questions.” She spun on her heel and marched to the door.

  After she left, I crossed the room and ran a hand over the fabric of the dress and lifted the shoes to inspect them. Were they also belongings of the late Lady Winslow? I considered what she may have been like. Had she had Zuna’s gentle nature or Farrah’s beautiful auburn tresses? Had her marriage to Lord Winslow been one of love or circumstance? I looked around the chamber and lamented the unbearable tragedy they’d suffered.

  I moved away from the bed and discarded my clothing before stepping cautiously into the washing tub. My body sang as the water soothed my aching muscles, and I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, reflecting on the day. My thoughts turned to Lord Winslow. I’d endure his company and satisfy my hollow stomach, as the stew and bread served at lunchtime hadn’t curbed my hunger.

  A soft knock on the door made me open my eyes.

  “Miss Wolf? It’s me, Yara.”

  “Come in.” I sank deeper into the murky water, hoping to conceal myself.

  The door opened, and Yara’s pleasant face peeked around its edge. “Good evenin’, how are you faring?”

  “Fine.”

  She stepped into the room, and carefully crossed to me. “I ain’t looking to have a recurrence of this morning. We will do this your way.”

  “I concur,” I said with a small smile, and glided the oatmeal and honey soap bar over my legs. “Two baths in one day, I’ve never been so clean.”

  “More baths than a lady takes. But after a day in the stable yards, you need one.” She lifted a pitcher, and I knew what was coming next. “You ready?” Her hand halted in midair.

  Needles prickled my flesh as I watched water drip from the spout, but I gulped back the anxiety gathering in my throat and nodded.

  “All right, you just lean back, and we will make this as painless as possible.” With gentle swiftness, she poured the water over my hair, taking care not to let it trickle over my face. My fingers gripped the tub and my chest pounded, but when Yara’s voice rose in song I tuned in to the nostalgic sound of her voice as she softly sang the “Kühreihen,” a song sung by farmers and cattlemen as they herded their cattle in for milking. Vater had been tone-deaf, but as he’d belted it from the fields Mutter had hummed it from the cottage. Now, tears flowed, masked by the water trickling down my cheeks as Yara rubbed the rosemary-infused castile soap through my hair.

  When both my hair and body were clean, Yara held out a silk bathing cloak, and I stepped out of the tub and wrapped the luxurious cloth around myself.

  “How long have you been employed by the Winslow household?” I asked.

  She crossed to the vanity, and with her back to me, she said, “Most of my years. Why do you ask?” Tension stiffened her body.

  “Curiosity, I suppose. The earl seems a bit disgruntled and not the friendly sort.”

  “Cantankerous knobhead, you mean,” she said under her breath. Did all in Lord Winslow’s household have the same distaste for their master? “He’s a bit of a hard one.” She adjusted trinkets that didn’t need fixing on the vanity. “He’s become as dry as a glass of his best port,” she said, swinging to face me.

  I arched a brow. She grinned. “Me and my man sneak down to the cellar and nab us a taste from time to time.” She shrugged before her face tightened. “When Lady Risette died, it broke his heart. He used to be quite cheerful and charismatic, but life left him with decisions he wasn’t equipped to deal with.”

  “Caring for the children?” I said.

  “No one chooses to lose a loved one.” She gathered the bottom of the gown and held it out to me.

  “I suppose not.” I stepped into the dark swell of fabric and poked my head through the neck hole of the gown. “I lost my parents.”

  “They died on ya, did they?” Sympathy reflected in her eyes. “My mum died with consumption when I was the ripe age of eight. I found a job as a cinder girl and have worked as a servant since.” She pulled out the brown velvet-upholstered bench in front of the vanity and waved me forward.

  “A servant? All your life?” I lowered myself onto the bench, then stood and arranged the flounces of fabric before seating myself again. I wondered why the affluent had to dress themselves in endless layers of fabric.

  “It ain’t all bad,” she said. “At least I got a place to lay my head at night and two square meals. Ain’t as inviting as the dishes that line his lordship’s table, but better than the scraps my mum and I could conjure up. Looks like you haven’t had a much better go at it yourself.”

  “It’s all I’ve ever known.”

  “You ever want more in life?” she asked.

  “Doesn’t everyone?”

  “I guess we do.” Silence fell between us for a few moments before she said, “If you could ask for just one thing, what would it be?”

  My mutter, the ache in me cried. “To go to bed without being hungry,” I said.

  “Is that all? There must be something more.” She screwed up her face and lifted the silver brush engraved with a rose. She pulled it through my hair, stealing a glance or two at me through the looking glass.

  “Someday, I hope to marry,” I said.

  “I don’t think that will ever be part of my future.” Her expression grew sad.

  “Why not? Didn’t you say you had a lover?”

  “That I do, but he isn’t available.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “You see…” Her pale skin flushed, and her gaze fastened on a lock of hair she’d pulled the brush through. “He is married.”

  “Married!” I gasped. The memory of a woman’s discarded petticoats on the ground and the moans and Vater’s bare buttocks inside the Romany’s wagon hauled at my heart. My anguish over his infidelities pained me as though they were yesterday. At a tender age, I came to understand that the first man in my life would never be my protector or my hero. Wasn’t it every child’s birthright to have parents who loved and protected them? Perhaps, but life was no fairy tale. Vater’s perfidious behaviors had fueled arguments between Mutter and him. I had often wondered if Mutter’s pride had kept her from divorcing him and returning to the comforts of Nonno’s home.

  “I didn’t know he was married, or I would have given him the boot. It was only after I’d fallen for the bloke that he told me he had a wife and three children.” I opened my mouth to speak, but she hadn’t spoken her piece and continued with, “I know that doesn’t make it right, but I’ve loved no one in this life but my mum. It was always just her and me, making our way in this empty world. Some days I miss her so much it hurts.” Her voice quavered.

  Yara’s longing bled from her dark eyes, and I wanted to grab her hands and say, Me too. I yearned to tell her my story, the truth that had brought me here. That I was a farm girl who had lived a stone’s toss away. A woman who was given against her will, I might add, to the son of one of the richest men in the canton. No amount of hunger would have me racing to Helias’s home or his bed.

  Tears dropped onto Yara’s cheeks.

  “Do not cry.” I took her hands in mine and squeezed them earnestly. “We all have our wrongs in this life.”

  She snorted and used the back of her hand to wipe her nose. “You? I don’t believe it. You seem to be so innocent…perhaps a wee bit naive.”

  “I assure y
ou, I am not innocent.”

  “All right then, name it,” she said.

  I looked at her in confusion.

  “The one thing you’ve done in this life that would make me believe you behave like anything less than a Sister escaped from the convent.”

  “Secrets are that for a reason,” I said.

  “Do you like chocolate?”

  I studied her, puzzled. “Sometimes, when I was small, Mutter would treat me to a piece when we’d travel to the village.”

  “I will make you a deal. If you tell me your secret, I will meet you in the pavilion after the house has settled, and I will share my stash of chocolate.”

  “Where did you get it from?’

  “Why, the kitchen of course.”

  “Aren’t you afraid of Mrs. Potts catching you stealing?” I said.

  Her eyes twinkled. “She’d have to catch me. My years of being a pickpocket in the slums have made me swift and undetectable.”

  I couldn’t hide my displeasure at taking things that didn’t belong to you.

  She crossed her arms over her full bosom. “See, there ya go being all self-righteous. Ain’t you ever taken anything that didn’t belong to ya before?”

  “No.” I worried about her judgment.

  “I knew it. You’re too good for the likes of me. Ain’t done a thing wrong in your life.”

  My desire for her to like me and to secure a friend at my new home pushed me to reveal something I’d kept a secret. “When I was eleven,” I started slowly, “I spied on my brother’s friend while he bathed in the river.”

  Her hand flew to her mouth before she dropped it and gasped with glee. “You didn’t! Well, I’ll be. Maybe you ain’t so innocent after all. Did he catch you?”

  I thought of Nisse’s smooth flesh tanned by the sun. “No.”

  “Did you like what you saw?”

  Heat rolled over my face, and I dropped my gaze.

  She jabbed me with an elbow. “Out with it. Ain’t no use holding back now.”

 

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