This manor needed some serious fixing, I thought. First, they needed to install a way to get warm water whenever someone needed it—especially now. My hands, red and trembling, rested in the wash bin filled with freezing water.
My duties were simple enough. Wake up before sunrise, head to the kitchen to get things ready for the cooks. Washing dishes, sweeping, and more were just part of the routine. I'd gather all the dirty clothes, go from room to room collecting bedsheets, and then haul them all to the wash area—to scrub by hand, of course. Someone really needed to invent a machine for this kind of work. Or buy one. Surely such a thing existed by now.
It had only been two days since I saw Lisa and Rael embracing each other in a way I had no words for. There was something going on between them. But what truly unsettled me were the feelings twisting inside me. Awful feelings. I had never had the urge to punch someone before. Hopefully, I never would—but the image of them together kept replaying in my mind, making my thoughts dark and bitter.
I squeezed the bedsheets tightly until I couldn't feel the cold water anymore. I had been so lost in thought I'd forgotten to remove my apron, and now it was soaked. Earlier, I had made pancakes for the cooks so they'd have breakfast, but I hadn't placed my apron with the others. They would probably panic over it—they always had exactly one apron per cook, no more, no less. I had to wash and dry it quickly before handing it back. Otherwise, I'd probably get punished like I always did when I messed up.
When I was around fourteen, I realized the only way to learn to do things right in this manor was through punishment. It wasn't hard to get one—at least, that's what the maids used to say whenever I did.
They'd say things like, "Dear, it's really not hard to follow the manor rules. If you wanted a beating, you'd have to really try to mess up. Perhaps you want to be beaten." Or, "Stop being a mess."
Those words weren't the ones that hurt me the most. The ones that dug deepest came from Rael. "Eva, try to act like a proper lady," he used to say. "Why can't you be more like them?" Always pointing to the female servants. Lisa was one of them.
Maybe this bitterness started back then and only grew worse.
I'd been acting strangely these past few days. Two days ago, I wondered where Rael and Lisa had gone—they hadn't shown up for breakfast or been seen around the manor. Maybe they were ashamed to face me. Or worse—maybe they didn't intend to face me ever again.
My thoughts were interrupted when I released my grip on the sheets, feeling the cold water sting my fingers. I moved my hands, scrubbing dust and spiderwebs from the fabric. My arms ached more than usual, a bruise blooming on my elbow from when I'd accidentally hit myself trying to break free from Lord Caelvorn.
I had forgotten Miriam was beside me, also washing, though she was handling the uniforms. She was a lovely woman, around fifty, who had recently started as a room cleaner. It surprised me that she insisted on working here, even knowing the pay was unfair. What stood out most about her were her bright blue eyes and the kind smile lines etched into her faded brown hair. She was a bit shorter than me, and her wrinkled hand trembled as she scrubbed.
I grabbed an empty bucket, filled it with water and soap, then added the remaining dry bedsheets to soak. The soap softened the fabric in preparation for hand-washing. While I waited, I reached over and took some of the uniforms Miriam had been washing.
She gasped as I pulled the fabric from her hands and started scrubbing with my own bruised fingers.
"There's no need, really. I can do it. With all those bruises, you really shouldn't—"
"There's also no need to refuse," I interrupted. "I won't give them back until I'm done washing them. So, really, it's fine."
Her eyes softened at my insistence. "Fine, then. At least let me wash the apron."
I looked down at the apron. I hadn't realized dough and spices still clung to it from the kitchen. The cooks would at least be glad it was clean. Maybe, if I returned it in time, the head servant Orin wouldn't assign me another horrible punishment—like cleaning the servant outhouse. That was one of the many punishments I'd already endured, and I had no desire to experience it again.
"Just my apron. Nothing else. Yes?"
She nodded with a kind smile and resumed her own work. I took off my apron, messing up my bun slightly, and handed it to her. She took it gently and began scrubbing. Meanwhile, I turned to the next load of sheets and uniforms. I wasn't done yet.
After Miriam left to hang up the washed sheets to dry, she didn't return. I was already scrubbing the last sheet and beginning to worry. She had my apron—and I needed it back.
My hands, now numb to the cold, worked faster than before. Maybe the sun had warmed the water by now, or maybe my thoughts were numbing the pain. Without the apron, my own uniform was soaking wet. More clothes to wash, I repeated in my mind.
I cleaned the washbin and headed outside to hang the final sheet. With a heavy sigh, I stepped back inside and made my way to the kitchen, where the cooks were likely waiting.
Peeking through the door and seeing no one, I slipped inside.
"Thanks for the apron. I was about to tell Orin, but I got it back just in time," one of the cooks said behind me, startling me. I turned quickly, scrambling for a response.
I took in her words and froze. "Who gave it to you, miss?"
She blinked at me. "What do you mean?"
"I mean… um… how was the apron clean? Dry?"
She nodded, handing it to me. It was clean. Dry. Smelled pleasant. Even ironed.
I shook my head, confused. "What's wrong?" she asked, watching me.
"I don't get it. Did Miriam give it to you?" I asked.
"Miriam? Why would she?"
"Why wouldn't she? She was the one who washed it."
She shrugged and hung the apron with the rest. "Wait—so if it wasn't Miriam, then who?"
"Rael," she said simply.
Everything spun. Rael? When had he come back? It had been two days. I couldn't believe he'd ironed and dried the apron. That wasn't like him. He didn't even know how to do most servant duties.
Maybe it was Lisa. I scoffed at my own ridiculous conclusions and laughed quietly.
I made my way to the garden, sipping a glass of orange juice. I'd done a decent job pulling the weeds. If no one else appreciated the garden, at least I would.
But of course, peace never lasted long—something my "aunt" used to say when I was younger. Her words echoed in my mind just as a familiar deep voice, once soothing and now annoying, called out behind me.
"Evaline. I found you."