by J. E. Taylor
My grip on the lantern loosened, and the sting in my palm subsided. Instead of worrying about what might have frightened a grown man, I set my sights on making sure Lily was okay. I hurried down the hall to my old bedroom and knocked gently on the door.
“Lily?” I opened the door and peeked inside. She lay on her bed sobbing. I slipped inside, closing the door behind me before I set the lantern down on the table near the door.
Lily startled at the scrape of metal against wood. Her wide eyes shot around the darkened room like I was the man who had accosted her in the hallway coming to finish whatever he had started. She relaxed when I stepped out of the shadows.
I crossed to her side and perched on the edge of the bed. “Are you all right?”
She reached for me, shaking her head. I took her in my arms in the same way my mother used to console me. My hand ran over her back as she silently cried on my shoulder. I didn’t tell her it was going to be okay. I couldn’t bring myself to lie to appease her anguish.
Finally, she pulled away and wiped her face. “You are so brave.”
I giggled and shook my head. “I’m not brave.”
“What did you do to him?” She jutted her chin towards the door.
“I just told him he best be on his way.” I shrugged. “Maybe he just didn’t want to be picking any glass out of his scalp.” I hooked my thumb over my shoulder at where I had placed my lantern.
She grinned. “Too bad you didn’t get to clock him.”
I raised my eyebrows and looked down my nose at her. A blush bloomed in her cheeks, and she looked down at her hands. She got my silent berating and shifted.
“I’m sorry.”
“You never want to spill blood. You only strike out of necessity,” I said, recanting the lessons I learned while Nathan taught me to sword fight.
“You are very wise,” she whispered.
“No. I just listen and learn and hold life dear.” I took a deep breath and gave her a sad smile. “My mother was wise and brave and loving. I want to be like her.”
Lily took my hands in hers and squeezed. “You are.”
Chapter 7
The following morning, some stragglers remained. Lady Githa strutted into the dining room like she hadn’t drunk a barrel of wine all herself the night before. I had porridge made and ready for both her and Lily and a forced smile on my lips as I waited to clear her dishes.
“Where is breakfast for my guests?” she snapped and waved at the still passed out collection of half a dozen men and women.
I glanced around the room and then back to her. “They aren’t even awake.”
Storm clouds filled Lady Githa’s eyes. She stood, reaching into her pocket just as Lily stepped in the room. Lily’s smile faded at the tension between her mother and me, and she quickly scuttled to the table.
“Hello, Mother,” she said, drawing Lady Githa’s gaze away from me. “Did you sleep well?”
I exhaled and slipped from the room, escaping into the kitchen before Lady Githa’s rage returned. I focused on making another six bowls of porridge. With a tray loaded with the newly made breakfast bowls, I kicked the door open, crossed to the table, and set the tray down in front of Lady Githa.
“Breakfast for your guests, my lady,” I said as I placed the bowls on the table and turned to leave.
“Who told you to waste our food on these people?” The challenge in her voice turned my blood to ice.
I slowly pivoted to face her. I licked my lips and glanced around the room, formulating my words carefully. My nerve endings screamed to flee, but I knew if Lady Githa was on one of her rampages, I would only make the beating worse by running.
“I thought that was what you wanted,” I said and chewed the inside of my cheek, waiting for her judgement.
The redness that bloomed in her cheeks gave me my answer, as did the progressive thinning of her lips as she pressed them together. She pushed her chair back and stood, reaching for the rod in her pocket.
“Elle saved me from one of the drunken men last night,” Lily said. She delivered the information in a conversational tone right before she scooped a spoonful of porridge into her mouth.
Lady Githa blinked as her hand froze halfway out of her pocket. Her gaze darted to Lily.
“He threw me against the wall and was trying to hurt me. Elle made him stop.” She continued to eat and act as if a beating hadn’t been on the morning docket.
Lady Githa slid the rod back into her pocket, and she lowered herself back into her chair. “That will be all,” she said to me.
Lily’s gaze remained on her food. I headed into the kitchen and leaned against the wall, exhaling. Relief flooded into my tense muscles, making them rubbery. I had to lean on the counter to make sure my knees wouldn’t buckle under the sudden evaporation of stress.
When I got to the washing pot, I leaned on the counter and closed my eyes. Hope wiggled its way into my heart, banishing the blackness that had started to infiltrate. With Lily on my side, if I remained patient, I could almost see the end of this difficult journey at the hands of that mad woman.
HOPE DIED THAT AFTERNOON when I was moving a large vase of flowers. It dropped in the entry way and shattered on the tiled floor. Lady Githa was close enough to hit me square behind the knees. I fell, catching shards of glass in both my hands and my legs.
The sight of my blood mixed with the water on her beloved tile floors sent her over the edge. The rod must have connected with my back and legs over a dozen times. I cradled my head in my arms despite the blood flowing into my hair from my sliced hands.
When she finished her tirade, she snarled, “Clean this mess up!”
I climbed to my feet, wincing at the agony wracking my body. With shaking hands, I plucked the glass from my wounds in my palms and legs, pressing my lips against crying out. Before I addressed the floor, I needed to stop the flow of blood from my wounds. Otherwise another beating was imminent.
I tore fabric strips from my skirt and bandaged the wounds. Once the bleeding stopped, I swept the glass into a bucket and brought it to the garbage ditch in the back field. The ditch was nearly overflowing with waste, which meant it was almost time for another burning ritual to clean the dump.
I sighed. The last burn included my mother’s funeral pyre. It stayed lit for three days before the flames finally died. My throat tightened, and I turned, trudging back to the house to resume cleaning the mess I’d made. I needed to finish and then clean my wounds properly. The rags I used were not in the best condition, and the longer they pressed against the open sores, the higher the likelihood of an infection.
I was sure Lady Githa would rejoice if I fell ill and died. It would mean one less mouth to feed. But it would also mean Lily would have to take up the housework and most likely be the recipient of Lady Githa’s fickle rage.
Chapter 8
In the weeks following my breaking of the vase, my hands and knees healed and things around the homestead calmed. I worked daily from before the sun kissed the horizon until late enough in the evenings to watch the progress of the stars. My cooking skills became more well-rounded with Lily’s secret help.
Lady Githa seemed more frustrated with me the better I did, and while my sessions with the rod became less frequent, I could tell she was waiting for the moment I failed with the same barely contained glee a child has while waiting to open their Christmas presents.
With the snowy season now in full swing, Lady Githa insisted I move out of the main house and into the servants’ quarters. The chill in this section of the house was maddening and made my muscles ache almost all the time. The main portion of the house was warmed by the large fireplace, which was another duty I was tasked.
I had found a cadence to my schedule that began with hauling wood inside and once the main fireplace and kitchen ovens were lit, I would clean the entry and then make breakfast for Lady Githa and Lily. Clean breakfast dishes before getting a second haul of wood, which required a second cleaning of the entry an
d halls, to both the main fireplace and the kitchen. Then lunch and dinner preparation, more cleaning, serving, and stoking the fires before I hit my mattress at night. The sameness in my schedule grew comforting, although I never knew when Lady Githa would snap.
It was after the second wood run that a knock interrupted my schedule. I climbed to my feet and hung the rag on the edge of the bucket before I crossed to answer the door. Lady Githa appeared at the top of the stairs as I swung the front door open.
The king’s footman stood with his hands behind his back.
I immediately bowed and waved him inside out of the biting wind. The minute he set foot in the house, I closed the door.
Lily came around the corner and joined her mother on the landing.
The footman pulled out a scroll of paper from behind his back. Unfurling it, he cleared his throat. “The king is hosting a ball this coming Saeterndag. Every available woman in Canterbury, no matter her station”—he looked at me before returning his gaze to Lady Githa—“is required to attend. No exceptions.” His gaze landed on me again.
“And what is the purpose of this ball?” Lady Githa asked.
The footman smiled. “Since the prince has not agreed to any of the matches the king has set forth, he is required to choose one of the women at the ball as his wife.”
Interest sparked in Lady Githa’s eyes.
My mind drifted to that day by the stream and the way the prince had looked at me. I couldn’t help the smile that formed.
“We will be there,” Lady Githa said and slung her arm around Lily.
The footman glanced at me and nodded, bowing before he turned and left. I closed the door and turned with the smile still plastered on my face. I met Lily’s gaze, but she wasn’t smiling. Instead, she was looking at her mother.
“Why are you smiling?” Lady Githa said to me.
“I have never been to a ball at the palace,” I said.
“And you never will.”
I blinked and pressed my back against the front door. “But...”
“You don’t have anything proper to wear to a ball, and I will not have you embarrassing this house by going in rags.”
I thought of all my mother’s gowns in the attic. “So, if I had a proper dress, I could go?”
She crossed her arms and raised a critical eyebrow. “If I approve of the gown, perhaps.”
I grinned and jogged upstairs, bypassing Lady Githa in the hall without so much as a glance. As soon as I was around the corner, I disappeared up the attic stairs. I walked through the selection of gowns and stopped in front of a powder blue dress of the finest silk. I pulled it off the hanger and folded it over my arm. When I turned, both Lady Githa and Lily were on the landing, staring at the abundance of formal dresses.
“Where did these come from?” Lily asked. Her voice held awe that matched her wide-eyed expression.
“My mother.” I glanced around. “Would you like one for the ball?”
Lily’s eyes lit up. “Really?”
“You should have a new gown, not some hand-me-down from the dead,” Lady Githa said and glared at me. With a nod, she turned on her heel and escorted Lily back down the stairs.
I followed and retreated to my room to hang up the dress before I returned to finish my chores. The floors sparkled when I finished, and not a speck of dust clung to the furniture. I put away my cleaning supplies and headed to the kitchen to whip up dinner. I nearly skipped down the halls with the excitement budding in my bones. A ball was just the divine intervention I needed.
Lady Githa remained stoic as I served her and Lily’s dinner. As soon as I cleaned up the dishes, I was ready for a good night’s rest and hopefully a dream or two about the prince with his devilish smile.
My light step halted as I entered my room. Bits of shredded fabric covered the floor. I squatted down, holding the light closer. I recognized the blue fabric. My gaze jumped to where the dress should have been hanging, but no dark outline showed. I crossed and stared at the empty hanger, my breath caught in my throat at the horrific deed.
Someone shredded my ball gown.
A lump formed in my throat, and my gaze moved to the ceiling. My heartbeat sped. I whirled on my heel, flying up the attic stairs, praying the iron ball in my stomach wasn’t right. Praying that the lady of the house hadn’t destroyed all my mother’s gowns.
I stood at the top of the stairs on shaking legs as I surveyed the damage. Every single garment my mother owned was in shreds. But that wasn’t the only thing ruined. It was as if a storm had rolled into the space and destroyed anything that had been my mother’s. Her knickknacks were in shards alongside the fabric. Her china was in pieces. Even her books were torn apart.
Nothing remained. My breath departed from my chest, painfully, like someone had punched a hole through my midsection. I couldn’t draw air into my lungs. I dropped to my knees on the cold wooden planks. The light from my lantern danced across the space, illuminating the few crates and trunks remaining. The ornate one that my father forbade me to open sat unharmed.
The sight of it loosened my lungs, and I drew a great inhalation. I covered my face, hiding my hot tears from the rest of the disaster around me. There was only one person under this roof that had the level of hatred and spite to carry out such a heinous act.
“I expect you to clean this up tonight,” Lady Githa’s said from behind me.
I tensed and turned slowly. Lady Githa stood halfway up the stairwell with her hands on her hips and a smug smile on her face.
“You did this.” I waved at the ruins in front of me.
“This is my house now. I can do with it as I please.” She glanced around the room. “It looks as if you have nothing to wear to the ball.”
The chill in her voice was as icy as the wind whipping through the cracks in the attic.
“You did this?” I was on my feet with my hands clenched into tight fists. A blaze of fury encompassed me, and I was sure the feral snarl in my voice matched that of my expression.
Lady Githa narrowed her eyes and pressed the smirk on her lips into a tight line. Within a blink, she roared up the remaining stairs, pulling the rod free from her dress.
As upset as I was, instinct took over. I moved backwards, wary of the stick in her hand. Several thoughts occurred at once—the first was just as horrifying as the mess surrounding me. I thought about pushing Lady Githa down the stairs. The second thought was the need to defend myself, but there was nothing within reach to stop the beating rod from connecting with my skin. The last thought was one of survival. I raised my arm just in time to interfere with the rod hitting my skull.
I blocked as many strikes as I could. Each time her rod connected with my arm, it stung bone-deep, but I refused to cry out. I refused to cower this time. Not with what she had done. Murder flashed in her eyes as I fell to my knees, and I wondered if I would live through this beating.
“Mother! Stop!” Lily’s voice pierced the near blackness.
The blows halted. Lady Githa turned with her hair in a state of disarray. Her wild look calmed, but not enough for me to swallow the lump of fear in my throat.
I prayed Lily wouldn’t be the next recipient of Lady Githa’s temper.
“Clean this place up,” Lady Githa snapped and marched down the stairs, slamming the attic door closed.
My vision faded as I clung to stay awake. If I passed out in the attic, I would freeze to death, although that didn’t seem like a bad way to go considering what kind of a future awaited me downstairs.
An old broom sat in the corner along with a bucket. I limped over, wincing with every step. Each movement, each scrape of broken ceramic lit a flame in my soul.
I needed to survive, and the only way to do that was to escape Lady Githa’s wrath.
Chapter 9
My body still hurt from the attic beating on the morning of the ball. Lady Githa had gotten Lily a dress that was sure to turn heads, but it paled to that of Lady Githa’s. I’d avoided eye contact with the
woman for the entire week. If I looked at her, I might actually spit at her vile audacity. The woman was delusional. The prince wouldn’t even look twice at the old hag.
I entertained pilfering her closet for a gown after they left, but I was in no condition for a ball. Not with black and blue marks so prevalent on my arms and my face. Besides, tonight was my perfect opportunity to escape this hell hole.
Lady Githa was so occupied with the thought of charming Prince William into her bed that all my preparations had gone unnoticed. I had enough food to last a week on the road. I had warmer boots tucked away as well as a couple saddlebags hidden inside the pantry, so I could pack whatever was in my father’s trunk upstairs.
My mother’s horse Misty still remained in our barn along with three other horses. If I couldn’t sneak her saddle out without alerting one of Lady Githa’s stableboys, I would ride that mare bareback. Technically, Lady Githa could say I was a horse thief, but everyone knew my mother’s horse. They wouldn’t arrest me for taking something that rightfully belonged to me. At least I hoped so.
“Elle,” Lady Githa said, interrupting my scheming thoughts.
“Yes, my lady,” I said, keeping my gaze lowered.
“I have guards posted at the doors to make sure you don’t attempt to come to the ball despite my wishes.”
I glanced at her, cursing under my breath.
“Or...” She pulled out a bag and dumped the contents on the entry floor. The food I had stored tumbled out. “Just in case you thought you would try to run away. I own you now.” The bag dropped from her fingertips, and she trudged up the stairs. “Clean that up.”
I stared at the mess she’d made. Hope fled from my body. I grabbed the broom and proceeded to clean up my food stash. My mind couldn’t wrap around how she found it, but then again, the woman seemed to be able to sneak up on me whenever she wanted. Other times, I could hear her coming from any corner of the house.