head. “That’s servants’ work. You don’t need to be doing that.”
In the village where Mother and I lived, there was no such thing as “servants’ work.” Everyone pitched in equally, and when someone needed help, it was offered. But I don’t wish to offend Maddy, so I simply bow my head in agreement.
She fills a large pot with steaming water from the fireplace kettle and then beckons me to follow her up the staircase that leads away from the kitchen.
We go to the first level and Maddy informs me that these are the servants’ quarters. The hallway is dark, with only a single candle burning. I cannot see very far. Then she takes me up to the next level. “The main living quarters,” she says.
I can see clearly down this long hallway because it’s lined with candles. Gleaming hardwoods and beautiful, intricate fabrics grace the walls. Maddy passes several doors until she finally stops in front of one.
“Here we are. This’ll be yer bedroom, miss.” With a well-practiced motion, she places the pot upon her hip and takes a key from her pocket.
When the door swings open, the sight before me causes my breath to catch. Summer sunshine is captured permanently upon the golden-yellow walls, the draperies are like ripe pomegranates, and the rug is a vivid shade of burnt amber. A bed so large it could fit Mother and me a dozen times over sits in the center of the room. On the right side is a painted dressing screen, a washbasin, and an armoire, while to the left is a desk with freshly cut flowers and a matching pair of brown chairs.
Maddy puts the pot next to the fireplace, then reaches for the cords that lace up the back of my dress. I hold on to my scarf as she removes my stays and petticoat. “Isn’t that wet, too, miss?” she asks.
I shake my head, feeling utterly ridiculous and more than a little exposed standing in nothing but my shift and stockings, but if she thinks me odd for keepingon the scarf, she does not say anything, and turns her attention instead to my traveling dress.
“There is a rip in the seam near the shoulder,” I admit with embarrassment. “I thought I could dress myself, but I tore the fabric.”
Her brow furrows as she looks for the imperfection. “No need to worry. I can stitch this right up, miss.”
I stand there for another moment, unsure if I should offer to help.
Is sewing considered servants’ work as well?
“Why don’t you sit a spell?” Maddy finally says. “This will be done in a dog’s eye.”
The bed catches my attention again, and I run a careful hand down the exquisitely embroidered quilt covering the length of it. The fabric is soft beneath my fingertips. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so beautiful,” I say.
“The Grandmaster chose the furnishings for the room. The chairs an’ desk were the late Grandmistress’s, an’ she made the quilt herself.” She dips a cloth into the pot and scrubs at a spot of mud on my dress.
“Grandmaster? You mean … I have a
grandfather
?”
Maddy glances over at me, her face curious. “Don’t you know all the family you have?”
I shake my head. “Mother spoke very little of myfather, and until I received the letter summoning me here, I thought I would never have the chance to meet him.”
Maddy looks away. Plunging her hands into the water, she scrubs vigorously. She blots at several more clumps of mud and then removes the dress from the pot. “Here we are.” I can tell she’s forcing a cheery tone. “We’ll just hang it in front of the fire to dry an’ then I’ll fix the tear. It’ll be good as new.”
I follow Maddy over to the fireplace and warm my fingers. My scarf is still damp, but I cannot remove it. Mother made me promise never to take it off in front of anyone.
Maddy hangs the dress up and then goes over to the armoire. She returns to me with a silver hairbrush in one hand and several pins in the other. “Come sit at the desk, miss,” she says. “An’ we’ll see about
In the village where Mother and I lived, there was no such thing as “servants’ work.” Everyone pitched in equally, and when someone needed help, it was offered. But I don’t wish to offend Maddy, so I simply bow my head in agreement.
She fills a large pot with steaming water from the fireplace kettle and then beckons me to follow her up the staircase that leads away from the kitchen.
We go to the first level and Maddy informs me that these are the servants’ quarters. The hallway is dark, with only a single candle burning. I cannot see very far. Then she takes me up to the next level. “The main living quarters,” she says.
I can see clearly down this long hallway because it’s lined with candles. Gleaming hardwoods and beautiful, intricate fabrics grace the walls. Maddy passes several doors until she finally stops in front of one.
“Here we are. This’ll be yer bedroom, miss.” With a well-practiced motion, she places the pot upon her hip and takes a key from her pocket.
When the door swings open, the sight before me causes my breath to catch. Summer sunshine is captured permanently upon the golden-yellow walls, the draperies are like ripe pomegranates, and the rug is a vivid shade of burnt amber. A bed so large it could fit Mother and me a dozen times over sits in the center of the room. On the right side is a painted dressing screen, a washbasin, and an armoire, while to the left is a desk with freshly cut flowers and a matching pair of brown chairs.
Maddy puts the pot next to the fireplace, then reaches for the cords that lace up the back of my dress. I hold on to my scarf as she removes my stays and petticoat. “Isn’t that wet, too, miss?” she asks.
I shake my head, feeling utterly ridiculous and more than a little exposed standing in nothing but my shift and stockings, but if she thinks me odd for keepingon the scarf, she does not say anything, and turns her attention instead to my traveling dress.
“There is a rip in the seam near the shoulder,” I admit with embarrassment. “I thought I could dress myself, but I tore the fabric.”
Her brow furrows as she looks for the imperfection. “No need to worry. I can stitch this right up, miss.”
I stand there for another moment, unsure if I should offer to help.
Is sewing considered servants’ work as well?
“Why don’t you sit a spell?” Maddy finally says. “This will be done in a dog’s eye.”
The bed catches my attention again, and I run a careful hand down the exquisitely embroidered quilt covering the length of it. The fabric is soft beneath my fingertips. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so beautiful,” I say.
“The Grandmaster chose the furnishings for the room. The chairs an’ desk were the late Grandmistress’s, an’ she made the quilt herself.” She dips a cloth into the pot and scrubs at a spot of mud on my dress.
“Grandmaster? You mean … I have a
grandfather
?”
Maddy glances over at me, her face curious. “Don’t you know all the family you have?”
I shake my head. “Mother spoke very little of myfather, and until I received the letter summoning me here, I thought I would never have the chance to meet him.”
Maddy looks away. Plunging her hands into the water, she scrubs vigorously. She blots at several more clumps of mud and then removes the dress from the pot. “Here we are.” I can tell she’s forcing a cheery tone. “We’ll just hang it in front of the fire to dry an’ then I’ll fix the tear. It’ll be good as new.”
I follow Maddy over to the fireplace and warm my fingers. My scarf is still damp, but I cannot remove it. Mother made me promise never to take it off in front of anyone.
Maddy hangs the dress up and then goes over to the armoire. She returns to me with a silver hairbrush in one hand and several pins in the other. “Come sit at the desk, miss,” she says. “An’ we’ll see about
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