by Patty Jansen
Nellie bowed.
“Do sit down,” Madame Sabine said, gesturing a beringed hand at the couch opposite her. She spoke with a Lurezian accent, because that’s where she grew up, and she had the dark curly hair that showed her heritage.
Nellie’s cheeks glowed. It was hot in here compared to the kitchen.
Madame Sabine wore a dressing gown with open sleeves, which displayed her fleshy, pale-skinned arms, something the local women would consider scandalous.
Nellie didn’t want to sit down. She had not been invited to sit in this room since the queen’s death and didn’t know what to make of this reclusive, pampered woman. She didn’t want to look at—but couldn’t look away from—Madame Sabine’s dimpled thighs, visible in the space where the sides of her gown fell apart.
And she had to sit, because Madame Sabine was the Regent’s wife, and when she ordered something, it had to be done. So Nellie sat at the very edge of the couch.
The floor was waxed and polished to within an inch of its life. The light from the window reflected in the gleaming surface.
The windows were meticulously clean, and the collection of porcelain, gold, silver and glass statues against the wall bore not one speck of dust. A poor girl came every day to clean all these, many of them grotesque figurines from the Belaman Church, which Madame Sabine attended.
“You asked for someone with herb knowledge,” Nellie said, keen to get this over with as soon as possible. The sickly sweet smell made her feel queasy. “Tell me what you need. A soothing tea? Calming oil? Something to soothe your mind before going to the banquet? I don’t know as much about herbs as Mistress Graziela, but I will do my best.”
“Ah, the banquet,” Madame Sabine said. “I have such terrible indigestion that I fear I won’t be able to attend.” She put her hand on her lower stomach which, had she been a younger woman, might have been swollen with child, rather than with too many sweet cakes.
“I can give you something for that, too,” Nellie said, straining to get up.
“No.”
Silence.
Nellie met her eyes. “You don’t want me to help you?” Then why had she asked for Nellie’s attendance?
“I do, but it’s not about the ruddy herbs.”
“I’m sorry?”
Nellie searched the room for evidence of glasses of wine or empty carafes. Surely, Madame Sabine had to be drunk to be using such sailor’s language?
Had she perhaps disagreed with Graziela?
“You heard me. It’s not about the herbs, but asking for herbs is the only way my darling husband will get me someone to help me.”
This was getting ever stranger.
Madame Sabine rose, with a groan, heaving all her frills and wobbly bits off the couch, and let the dressing gown slip from her shoulders. Underneath, she wore only an underdress that was white and so thin that Nellie could see her smalls and singlet through it.
Nellie stifled a gasp. She was not unused to her mistress undressing in front of her; Mistress Johanna had done that many times. But that was a long time ago, and Mistress Johanna had not been so . . . voluptuous.
“I guess I can’t excuse myself from my own son’s banquet, much as I detest these occasions where men get drunk and the women spread nasty gossip about each other. So. I need someone to help me get my corset on.” As Madame Sabine went to the clothes wardrobe, she turned her back on Nellie, and Nellie almost let out another gasp.
Across Madame Sabine’s back, visible through the sheer fabric, were a number of horrific scars, like bright red slashes across the soft skin of her lower back.
They were about the width of a thumb and ran parallel to each other across the small of Madame Sabine’s back.
They looked terrible, horrific, and excruciating. Whatever in the Triune’s name had caused those? Had she been struck with a whip?
Madame Sabine returned with the corset and gave it to Nellie, meeting her eyes. Daring her to say something or ask?
But Nellie had not kept out of harm’s way by using her mouth. She had earned her succession of jobs through keeping it shut so that was what she did now.
She helped Madame Sabine put on the corset. It was big enough to fit two women her own size. The laces were very long and tangled up easily, and Nellie’s hands were sweaty, because it was warm in this room and she was dressed for the cold kitchen, but also because looking at those terrible scars—and pulling the laces tight over them—made her nervous. She kept wanting to ask if it was painful, but that would mean acknowledging that the scars were there. Maybe Madame Sabine wanted that—and Nellie didn’t want to hear about the terrible injuries that had caused these, because it could not have been anything good.
Meanwhile, Madame Sabine chatted about how much she disliked the dinner guests.
“You must have gone into that room where Baroness Viktoryia was holding her tea party where they all gossiped about me.”
Nellie wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement. If Madame Sabine didn’t want the other women to gossip about her, wouldn’t the best option be to turn up to these events?
“I can only guess what they said. That I’m ugly, or only from a low family. I wonder which of them is going to try to poison me this time.”
Apparently, at a previous occasion, Madame Sabine had accused one of the Regent’s cousins of putting poison in her food, but plenty of other people disputed this. For one, Nellie knew Wim tested everything that entered and left the kitchen for this reason.
“I wish I could just stay here and let the men have their orgy, but yes, I know, it’s my son’s birthday, even if I barely recognise the cuddly boy I loved. Have you seen him recently? Have you heard the way his father teaches him to talk? Have you seen his behaviour?”
Nellie had seen this and she was glad she stood behind Madame Sabine, and could pretend to be busy with the laces of the corset. It was not appropriate for servants to comment on the behaviour of nobles in front of other nobles.
Madame Sabine continued, “And now my darling husband wants him married. I feel sorry for the poor wench who will have to put up with such a brat as my son. I hardly recognise him anymore, the way he’s strutting around in that dreadful peacock suit, rubbing his dick against any girl who comes close enough—what is your name?”
Nellie gasped, both from the crudeness of Madame Sabine’s words and the sudden change of subject. “Nellie.”
“Cornelia?”
Shudder. “No. Just Nellie.”
“All right. Just Nellie, do you think I should wear the red dress or the green one?” Just like that. One moment she accused her son of disgusting things—her own son, by the Triune—and then she asked a frivolous question about a dress.
“Uhhh. I like the red one.”
“Me, too. Red is a nice colour, don’t you think? If someone stabs me with a knife, the blood won’t show up as much as on the green one, and they won’t even need to change my dress before they put me in state surrounded by pretty flowers.”
Excuse me? What was wrong with this woman? Nellie missed a few loops on the corset and had to undo the laces to fix her mistake. Her hands trembled.
Madame Sabine chuckled. “Silly me, you wanted to say there are no flowers at this time of the year, so that’s that. I better not get stabbed in the heart, don’t you agree?”
“Yes . . . uhhh . . . I agree.” That was one of those questions where you didn’t know whether to say yes or no, and what was her obsession with the subject of death anyway?
Finally, the corset was done.
Madame then took a rose red dress out of the wardrobe and Nellie had to help her put it on. The dress showed rather a lot more skin than was customary for the local ladies of the court, but the scars were hidden under the corset.
“This is good,” Madame Sabine said, while looking at herself in the mirror, shaking her head so her curls danced around her head. Despite a proliferation of flesh, she was not unattractive. “No matter how much my darling husband’s
guests hate me, I will look respectable. Don’t you think?”
At one time, Nellie would have done anything for a dress like that. But those corsets weren’t comfortable at all.
“You look good, Madame.”
She laughed aloud and clapped her hands together. “Haha, you don’t have to be so timid. Tell me what you really think. Do I look like a dressed up cow?”
“Not at all, madame.”
“Well—I think I do. The noble women of this town all say so behind my back.”
“I don’t agree with that at all.”
“You don’t have to agree. But this dress is ridiculous, and this room is ridiculous. Look at all these frills!” She grabbed the bedspread and pulled it onto the floor.
Nellie stood petrified. She had no idea what to do or say except to keep silent.
“My husband wants all of this. My husband orders these things, because ‘I should look like a proper woman.’ But it’s ridiculous.”
Wouldn’t the solution be to order her own clothes?
Maybe the Regent wouldn’t let her?
“Do you still need me, Madame?”
Madame Sabine turned to Nellie as if she had forgotten she was there. She laughed. “No, you can go. I frighten you, don’t I? A woman who speaks up does that to people, even other women. When you were a girl, didn’t you get told not to yell, and be all hush-hush, and by the gods not to offer anything that looks like an opinion on anything that isn’t a piece of clothing?”
Nellie wanted nothing more than to get out. She wanted to run to the door, sprint out of the room and down the sweeping staircase—
“Wait.”
She froze. Turned around, her heart thudding.
“My husband can’t control me. He can ban me from having anything to do with the guest list for my own son’s birthday. He can tell my sons I’m not good in the head. He can spread rumours about me that aren’t true. But he can’t control me. He tells me to keep my opinions to myself, not to speak to the staff and cover up all of our sordid disagreements. You’ll probably expect me to tell you to keep quiet about the things I’ve told you, but no. I want you to tell other people. If someone asks you about me, I want you to tell them exactly what I said.”
Nellie nodded, her mouth too dry to speak.
“Yes, Madame.”
And then she was free. She opened the door and walked out as calmly as she could.
“Let me accompany you down,” Henrik said.
Nellie had forgotten that he would wait, and gasped. “Oh, you frightened me.” Nellie clutched her chest.
“Are you all right?”
“Uhh. Yes.”
“She can be a bit of an odd one sometimes.”
Only sometimes?
They walked back down the private quarters to the upstairs landing, where the servants were hoisting up the chandelier, and into the foyer where Lord Verdonck was welcoming another guest.
The group of young nobles was no longer hanging around, but Casper stood on the gallery watching, his hands in his pockets and legs wide. Els crossed the foyer, swaying her hips. He followed her with his gaze fixed on her backside. Rubbing his dick against any girl who comes close enough.
Shocking.
Disgusting.
The truth. She’d have to keep an eye out for Els with her pretty smile and her blond hair. If he tried to touch her, she’d slap him in the face and knee him in the groin and nothing good could come from that.
“Look, I’m sorry to have gotten you involved,” Henrik said as they went down the second staircase to the kitchen.
“It’s all right.”
“No, it is not.” He stopped her by putting his hand on her upper arm. “She has upset you. I’m sorry. She is a strange person. But she was furious and demanded someone help her now that Graziela has gone.”
“What do you mean, has gone?”
“She has left town. No one knows where she is.”
“Is this because she has artisan magic?”
His eyebrows flicked up. “Do you know about that?”
Nellie hesitated. “I have a friend who . . .” No, she couldn’t say much about Jantien, because Henrik might even know the men who had driven Jantien’s husband out of town by order of the Regent. “A friend’s husband had to leave because of it. He had a tailor shop.”
He nodded, his face grim. “The Regent has ordered that any person who uses ‘unnatural qualities’ leave the city. Madame is angry with her husband, even if only because of Graziela.”
“I’m sorry.” She didn’t know what else to say. If anything, he had to carry out the Regent’s orders, and that would be so much worse if he didn’t agree with them.
“No. I am sorry. I am weary of the games and politics of the rulers. I don’t believe anything good will come from this. At least I’m aware of the rules and can stay out of the way. I don’t like it when people get involved who need not be.” And after a short silence, he said, “I hope you had a nice birthday at least.”
Chapter 12
NELLIE SPED DOWN the rest of the staircase and didn’t stop running until she was in the corridor.
Her cheeks glowed, her heart thudded.
She had wondered how Dora and the others had known it was her birthday. Wim had even said a guard told him.
That guard was Henrik, but how did Henrik know?
How? How?
Unless back when she was a young girl and had admired him from a distance, he had taken more notice of her than she realised and remembered things about her.
Unless she had been wrong that he never saw her back then.
He was a married man, by the Triune. She remembered the day he married a girl called Martha. They looked so pretty together. She was a nice girl. They had two daughters. What was he even doing talking to her like this?
Nellie’s heart was still racing by the time she came to the kitchen.
The smell of bread pervaded the kitchen.
The kitchen workers had cut one loaf up and were sharing it for their morning break in one corner of the big kitchen table while the rest of the table was taken up with food that still needed to be prepared.
Someone had brought eggs for making pastries and sauces. A basket contained chicken eggs and duck eggs and goose eggs.
The fire was already going, and the pig hung to roast. Two kitchen boys turned the handle.
A man delivered a crate with jars of plums and a basket of apples.
There was so much food, you’d never know that people in the city went hungry.
“Come sit down for a break,” Dora said.
“No time,” Nellie said.
She grabbed a piece of fresh bread from the table and continued on to the linen room to put her apron back on.
She was afraid of the questions, she realised. Afraid of what she should say about Madame Sabine. There was clearly something wrong with the consort. Why did she talk like that about her husband and son? Why did she have those horrible scars? Why did Nellie have to see that and then be told to tell everyone?
Madame Sabine was trying to make a point, but what was it?
Els and Maartje came into the kitchen, both giggling.
“Really? Is that what he said?” Maartje said.
“He did. And he asked me for a dance and I said I was too busy, and he said he would—” Els stopped talking when Nellie stepped in their way.
Nellie pointed to the door to the scullery. “Dishes.”
Els huffed. “Yes, yes.”
The two sisters scurried into the scullery, and then Maartje said, “What’s wrong with her?”
Nellie strode to the door. “I heard that. I told you I want no trouble with any of those young guests upstairs. No matter what they say, they don’t care about you, they are not worth getting in trouble for, and you are far, far better than they are.”
“We were only joking,” Els said, putting on a sad face. Oh, she was a good actress.
“But I was not. There is a lot of trouble brewi
ng with all these important people here. I want no trouble from you.”
“But we are only talking.”
“That doesn’t matter. Whenever these men have an argument, they try to blame it on someone else. You have to keep your head down and do the work so that they don’t notice you to put their blame on.”
“But what if what they do or say is wrong or disgusting?” Maartje asked. She was far darker of skin and hair than Els, and not as smart or dangerous.
“You keep your head down.”
“But what if you don’t want to because it’s unfair?”
“You keep your head down. Don’t forget who is paying for your food and who owns the roof over our heads.”
“But what if they do something to a friend or your family?” Trust Els to be contrary, always wanting to have the final word. And yes, she would protect her sister if anyone tried to harm her.
“Has any of that happened to you?”
“No, but—”
“Then don’t worry about it until it does. And when it does, see me. Keep quiet, because making a fuss only creates more trouble for everyone, including the people you are trying to protect. Remember that.”
They nodded, albeit sullenly. Nellie would love to see the thoughts in Els’ head, because her thinking would have moved far past these sorts of things.
“How is your mother?” she asked.
“Oh, she is fine, thank you so much.”
Hmm. Nellie didn’t miss that Maartje raised one eyebrow. She could see the girl think, Our mother?
Also, fine was not the way one would describe the cramps women got when juniper berry tea took effect. They were ill for days whether the remedy worked or not. And most often, it didn’t.
So either the berries were for herself—which was hard to believe, because she didn’t seem to have suffered any cramps—or for a friend. But why not speak the truth? Nellie would have given them no matter who was the recipient.
She resolved to keep a closer eye on the girls.
The girls continued to clean dishes in silence.
Word came from upstairs that people were starting to fill the hall, and so Nellie helped the kitchen hands carry the first dishes upstairs. They arrived at the top of the stairs to raucous applause from all the guests waiting in a long line to be allocated seats. Most of these people were locals. Nellie recognised some city councillors, some merchants, the palace’s account keeper, the cousin twice removed of the Estlander Duke and some other minor nobles.
