“Really?” Tay replied in almost the exact tone that the other girl had used, watching as an annoyed scowl creased the other girl’s features. “How absolutely fascinating.” She added the sarcasm with an almost vicious glee, watching as the girl’s face reddened slightly.
“Are you going to wash those?” The girl nodded at the greasy pans in Tay’s hands. “Or do I have to tell the cook you’re shirking on your first day.”
Tay watched as the girl glided past and gave a shrug, more irritated with the other girl than upset.
“Do you need help with the taps?” the other girl asked, a sneering note entering her voice. “I know you probably don’t have running water in Westford.”
“I’m fine, thank you.” Tay struggled to keep her temper as she reached out to turn on the taps. The water gurgled through the pipes and began to empty into the sink, steam rising from the hot water tap as it did so. Reaching down for the thick bar of dish soap and scrubbing brush, she set to washing the greasy pans. “Don’t you have your own work to do?” she called back over her shoulder, ensuring that her voice was loud enough to be heard in the kitchen. She was rewarded by the girl’s guilty flinch and near run from the scullery.
Left alone in the quiet of the scullery, hands submerged in warm, soapy water, she could finally relax and think. Darius had been watching for her, and he had known which room she would been given. That was strange enough on its own, but how could he hope to claim his payment if she was to be kept hidden? She quickly washed the breakfast pans and dried them. Stacking them carefully in her arms, she left the kitchen and fell headlong over the girl’s foot. The resulting crash reverberated about the kitchen, and all eyes turned to face her.
“Clumsy thing, isn’t she?” the other girl quipped as Tay picked herself up, her elbow bruised from the fall.
“You tripped me.” She rounded on the blonde, who affected a look of total shock.
“I wouldn’t,” the other girl answered, feigned innocence shining through her face.
“Pick those up”－Meg ordered as she crossed the kitchen to confront the pair of them－“and then wash them again.” She looked across at the blonde. “You can get on with the silver, Lora.” Lora gave a meek nod and rushed across to the other side of the kitchen, leaving Meg to stand over Tay as she slowly picked up the pans. As the last pan settled into place, Meg spoke. “I don’t need trouble in my kitchen.” Tay started to explain, but Meg overrode her words. “No backtalk,” she ordered in a sharp rebuke. “You’re the new girl here, and you need to learn your place.”
Tay swallowed the words that were gathering on her tongue and nodded dumbly.
“Now get back to the scullery,” Meg ordered, “finish those pans and then start on the laundry.” Tay nodded, feeling her cheeks flush with repressed anger as she hurried back into the scullery and returned the pans to the sink. The scullery door closed behind her, but not before she heard Lora give a snort of laughter as she spoke to one of the other kitchen hands.
In the relative quiet of the scullery, she examined her elbow, wincing at the sight of the bruised and reddened flesh. Turning on the cold tap, she held her arm beneath the ice-cold flow of water, hoping to numb the pain. Turning off the tap, she leant against the sink and tried to calm down. She had met girls like Lora before, and she had never failed to get on their bad side. Perhaps because she bit so readily whenever they started to poke at her, or maybe they saw her as an easy target. Either way, punching the girl in the face would not deal with the problem here. She glanced up and stared at her distorted reflection in the pots. Her eyes were bright with unshed, angry tears, and her skin was flushed. Reaching down, she ran the cold tap again and washed her face. She would just have to grin and bear it. Throwing the pans back into the sink, she added more hot water and began to scrub, wondering all the time what she had managed to get herself into.
Chapter 4
The week passed in a blur of new names and back-breakingly hard work. The labour never seemed to stop, and each night she stumbled into bed in a haze of complete exhaustion. The rest of the kitchen staff ignored her or barked orders at her, and she spent most of her days in silence. Lora was also becoming a problem. Barely a day went by without her performing some petty act of bullying. Scrubbing brushes would be taken and hidden in the pantry, buckets of dirty water would be ‘accidentally’ kicked over, and she would find black socks hidden in the lights laundry basket. So far she had managed to keep her temper, but it was becoming harder and harder to look the other way. The only saving grace was the food; plentiful and doled out three times a day, it helped focus her desire to remain calm. Biting her tongue at each childish action, she waited for her first free afternoon, and trip home.
Thursday, when it finally arrived, dawned bright, yet frosty. The typically amber-coloured sky was lit a pale gold when she finally drew back the thin curtains to her room. The bright colour lifted her mood, and even Lora’s pettiness could not dampen it. After lunch, she returned to her room and dressed in the sturdy boots and warm clothing that Darius had provided for her. Placing her maid’s clothing into the laundry, she headed down the stairs to the back door.
“Going to see your kids?” Lora called out through the open kitchen door. “Do they even have names or are there so many that they need numbers?”
Tay gritted her teeth and refused to answer. Pulling open the back door, she walked out into the crisp winter air with a sigh of relief. Picking up the pace, she hurried toward the back gate and swung it open, heading out onto the frozen street with a spring in her step.
The frost crunched beneath her feet as she headed through the alley and out onto the street. She glanced to the right and regarded the front of Darius’ home. It was as imposing at it had been the first time she saw it. Not for the first time, she wondered just what he wanted from her. A flicker at one of the windows caught her eye, and she stopped, peering through the glass with interest. Darius stalked across the room and stopped just before the fire. She couldn’t completely make out his features, but she could tell that he was acutely upset. Tay continued to watch as he turned to face the door and started to speak, his hands gesturing wildly in time with his words. Curious, Tay glanced at the doorway, and the girl standing there. The girl’s head was bowed, and her hands were clenched before her, in misery or anger, Taya couldn’t tell.
“What do you think you’re doing?” She jumped as an outraged voice sounded in her left ear. Turning to face the source of the voice, she bent her head at the sight of the elderly woman before her. Dressed in an expensive-looking woollen coat, the woman advanced on her. “How dare you spy into the homes of your betters?”
“I’m sorry,” Tay apologised quickly, trying to back away from the woman. “I didn’t mean…”
“Outrageous,” the woman continued, reaching up to prod Taya in the chest with the handle of her cane. “I should report you.”
Taya felt her stomach sink, and she gulped back the plea that was rising to her lips. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled again. “I was just curious and I…” She gave her a small, piteous sob. “I won’t ever do it again.”
“Hmm.” The woman gave a small huff, mollified slightly by her expression of remorse. “Very well. I’ll overlook it this time, but if I ever catch you peeking through windows again…”
“You won’t,” Tay gabbled, eager to be away. “Thank you.” Gratitude and relief flowed through Tay’s voice as she stepped back. The window was still in her field of vision, and she almost stopped walking. Darius had finished speaking and was now standing at the window, staring directly at her.
“Get away with you before I call the guard,” the woman prodded her again with her cane, and Tay winced as the heavy wood connected with her shin. Out of the corner of her eye, she could still see Darius, his eyes fixed on the pair of them.
Ducking slightly to avoid his scrutiny, and to forestall any further aggression from the woman before her, she backed away and all but ran from the scene.
Moving from the relatively clean streets of the Merchants’ District, she crossed back into her home region with something akin to relief. The streets were full of people moving to and from the Factory, and she navigated the crowds with ease. As she walked through the familiar streets, she felt a lessening of the tension she had been carrying all week. In the grander surroundings of the Frazers’ house, she had constantly felt on edge and lost. At least here she knew the dangers and pitfalls. Rounding the corner, she walked into the small square that laid before the Ration Centre. A sprawling building, half warehouse and half military stockade, it had one entrance. Wide enough for only one person at a time, the door, and the queue lined up before it, was watched carefully by at least a dozen guards. All of the guards carried weapons, and most seemed eager for an excuse to use them. The queue began at the door and reached around the block. Walking past the waiting crowd, she reached the last place and stepped into line. Ducking her head to avoid unnecessary scrutiny, she waited as she had done every Thursday for the past six months. As so many times before, she reached into her pocket and carefully took hold of the two small tokens that nestled within. One was familiar, the battered surface testament to the years of service to her family. Her father’s token laid beside her own, bright, shiny, new disc. The two tokens were precious, each indicating that she was eligible to draw the required ration listed in their tightly packed grooves. If she were to lose one, the Centre staff would not release the ration she was entitled to.
The line shuffled forward slowly, and she thought back to her first trip to the Centre. It had been raining, a gentle, drenching drizzle that sank through each layer of fabric she wore. Her father had just been arrested, and as was usual, his token had been passed to her. With the hit to her rating from her father’s arrest, Tay had been ejected from the minor post she had managed to secure. Luckily, she had already finished school and could draw her father’s ration. If all three of them had still been school-aged, they would have been left to starve.
The line took another pace forward, and she ran her fingers over the metal discs in her pocket. The ration promised would keep her siblings in sufficient food and fuel for the following week, if she was able to get away with convincing them that she was entitled to it. She took a deep breath as the line moved closer to the door. Thoughts of what could happen if they didn’t believe her raced through her mind, and she bit her lip until she tasted blood.
“Go in.” She looked up in surprise at the door guard, so lost in thought, she had not noticed the man before her enter the building. Clenching her fist around the tokens, she walked into the building. The room beyond was small, with walls the colour of pea soup. A long counter ran along the far wall, with three assistants at each post. On the right-hand side of the room, there were three closed doors, which she averted her gaze from. The door on the left led to the warehouse and hopefully her ration. She walked forward, toward the empty chair, a sick feeling twisting her insides. The woman behind the desk had a tight, pinched face, and unsmiling eyes behind a pair of spectacles. Impatiently, the woman beckoned her forward. Sitting down, her eyes flickered over the objects that laid on the desk before her. A brass typewriter and telegraph machine sat next to the token reader. A small stack of labels laid in a neat pile on the edge of the desk. An elegant fountain pen laid beside a sheaf of blotting paper. The woman reached into a drawer, removed some paper, and, picking up the pen, began to write. Tay swallowed back the cluck of irritation as the woman ignored her, casting her eyes over the rest of the room as she waited.
“Token?” The woman’s words startled her, and she reached into her pocket with nervous, fumbling fingers.
“Two?” A quizzical look entered the woman’s stern features as she took hold of the metal discs.
“I’m drawing two rations,” Tay explained in soft, apologetic tones as the woman placed them into the reader. Tay tried to look unconcerned as the small needle flicked across the surface of each of the discs in turn, reading the details of her rations. The large, brass machine burst into life, and a long strip of paper began to chatter forth. Printed with her name, job role and selected other information, this narrow strip of paper confirmed her entitlement to draw her father’s ration, as well as her own. Tearing the paper free, the woman began to read. Tay, looking on with fear, watched the woman’s eyes flick between each line of text.
“Emerson?” Her eyes flicked up to meet Tay’s, and a frown creased her features. “How did you manage to draw a servant’s ration?” Tay froze in fear as the woman glanced at the guards stationed at the sides of the room. With quick steps, two of the guards moved into place on either side of her and caught hold of her upper arms.
“What’s wrong?” Taya tried to sound unconcerned, but her voice came out as a small squeak. She should have known that the Centre staff would recognise her family name. The woman did not answer but nodded to the guards. Tay felt her stomach sink as they pulled her upright. “I haven’t done anything,” she called out as they dragged her across the floor, hands clamped about her upper arms like steel. The few other patrons of the Centre stared down at the floor, ignoring her panicked voice and expression. Struggling vainly against their grip, Tay was dragged toward one of the small interrogation rooms. The guards pushed her through the door, into a small, claustrophobia-inducing, room. Rough hands thrust her into a chair, and she cried out as her elbow smashed against the arm. Both guards ignored her squeal of pain as they took positions on either side. Bulky, and solid with muscle, the guards discouraged any effort to escape. She swallowed nervously as she looked at the empty chair before her. Why had she not anticipated this? The Centre Controllers would know her father’s name and realise that she wasn’t entitled to the position that she now held.
“She’s not bad-looking,” the guard on the right noted, his voice packed with leering innuendo as he leant over her. Self-conscious, she hunched forward, trying to hide from his ogling gaze. “Don’t be like that.” He drew closer to her, and she shuddered. “You and I can be great friends.” His fingers slid across her shoulder and began to reach downward. “Treat me nice, and your detention will be paradise. I may even be persuaded to petition for lenience on your behalf.”
“Knock it off Marlon.” The Centre Controller entered the room and slid into the chair opposite. “She’s not under your control yet.” Marlon stood bolt upright, and Tay felt her insides lurch as thoughts of the Mine seared through her. If she were sentenced, Lana and Roj would starve in her absence. With neither of them able to draw ration, they would have to resort to begging, or worse. She watched the woman place a file on the table, unable to stop her hands from trembling. “Now”－the woman flicked open the folder and began to leaf through the pages－“Your father, Caleb Emerson, was sentenced to the Mine for activities against the common good,” the woman recited in a flat, monotonous tone. “As such, the rating for his dependants would have been reduced. With that reduction”－she lifted her head and stared at Tay－“none of you would qualify for service within a noble’s home.”
“I made rating,” Tay whispered, hoping that Darius had made her alibi rock solid. “You can check.” She took a deep breath and tried to find some confidence. “The agency has my record, and I was cleared.” Tay locked her fingers together and tried to hold her hands still. “I’m only sanctioned for scullery work, nothing more.” This, she was taking a gamble on; she had no idea of what Darius had written in her file, though she wished she had thought to ask. Her fingernails dug painfully into the palms of her hands as she tried not to fidget.
“It’s an irregularity,” the woman continued, giving no sign that she had accepted or even heard her explanations. “Keep her there whilst I check.” She stood and left the room.
“Where were we?” The guard returned to her side and placed his hand back on her shoulder, slowly rubbing his fingers across her body. “A bit skinny,” he commented, as she gritted her teeth and tried to remain still. “That’s a good girl,” he whispered as his hands dipped
lower, stroking down her side to the top of her thigh. Her fingernails sliced into her palms as his fingers began to wander across her upper thigh. “See we’re going to be great friends.” His fingers reached her inner thigh, and she finally snapped. With a cry, she pushed herself backward, away from his wandering hands. There was a bang; she and the chair hit the floor in a heap of flesh and wood. Pain ripped through her skull as the back of her head smashed into the ground. The guard smiled and reached down for her. She smacked at his hands as she tried to scurry away, her head throbbing from the contact with the ground. The wall quickly pressed into her back, halting her progress. The second guard caught hold of her upper arms and dragged her upright. Forgetting her earlier decision to remain cooperative, she attempted to break free, elbowing him in the stomach as she did so.
“That wasn’t very smart of you, girl.” A choking gasp escaped her lips as he slammed her into the wall, the force of the blow driving the air from her lungs. “You’ll have to obey us when you get to detention.” Her head was rocked violently to the side as he raised his hand and slapped her hard across the face.
“Marlon! Darrow!” The voice of the Centre Controller echoed from the door, bringing all movement in the room to a halt. “Put her down.” Tay slumped back against the wall as Darrow released her, raising her hand to cradle the throbbing bruise on her cheek.
“She was troublesome,” Marlon argued as Darrow moved back into position, assuming the benign pose he had maintained throughout Marlon’s groping.
“I’m sure.” Tay thought she detected mild mockery in the woman’s voice.
Amber Sky (C.O.I.L.S Of Copper and Brass Book 1) Page 4
