“What happened to her?” I asked, before realizing I’d spoken out of turn. I was Henri’s servant, not his friend. Posing such questions to an employer was impertinent.
But Henri didn’t seem to notice. A memory tugged his lips into the ghost of a smile as he examined the portrait across the room. “She was always so curious about everything. Enchanted by life, nature. She made it a habit to go exploring where no woman had a right to, never mind the danger. If she hadn’t fallen from that cliff, I’m sure she would have found a different way to meet her doom.”
I winced, sorry that I’d brought up such a sensitive topic. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Henri remembered himself and an easy smile slid into place, hiding his grief. He gestured to the tea. “Pour me a cup?”
Wordlessly, I obeyed. When I offered him the sugar, he waved it away.
“Henri,” Blanche said his name softly and looked back over her shoulder at him, eyes tinged with sadness. “I don’t feel much like company right now.”
“I know, sister.” Henri strode over to her and slipped an arm over her shoulder. They looked up at the portrait of their mother as one. “But you won’t be alone. Just pretend it’s only you and me. Together always, right?”
“Together always,” she agreed, leaning her head against his shoulder.
I looked away, feeling like an intruder in an intimate moment.
A bout of laughter echoed from the next room, and it was as if a spell had broken.
“Could it be?” Blanche lifted her head and put a hand to her chest in mock surprise. “Could they be … having fun?”
Henri snorted. “It didn’t look to me as if that bunch knew how to have fun.”
“I guess we’ll just have to go and see then.” Blanche hooked an arm through her brother’s and strode toward the closed door, leaving me behind, all but forgotten.
It was getting late in the day, and my mind raced as the hours bled one into another, toward the time when I would be forced to confront Henri’s bath. It was a stupid thing to be worried about, but I couldn’t help but feel like I would do something to give myself away. In such an intimate environment, at such a moment, how could one not? Particularly with Henri, who seemed to notice all with those piercing eyes of his. Then this ruse would collapse in upon itself and I would be even worse off. I couldn’t go back home. Not yet, anyway. And I didn’t know how I would find work again. I had called in a favor with a classmate to secure this position. The timing of the Second Man job opening had been dumb luck, coinciding with my flight into the dead of night. My classmate had thought nothing of it when I’d asked him to produce a glowing reference for a member of my staff whom I claimed we could no longer afford but deserved more than we were sending him off with. I proposed that a second reference would only be fair for the poor soul. He just hadn’t known that he would be writing a reference forme,under an assumed name. And by the time news reached him of my disappearance, he would have forgotten the small favor I’d begged of him.
But I would not be able to replicate that occurrence, not now that my disappearance was likely widely known. My only choice was to keep my head down for the next six months until I came of age, and circumstances once again favored me. Unless another opportunity presented itself first.
I was lost in such dire contemplation as I dusted the chandeliers in the front hall from the top of a rickety ladder. A spider stared at my feather duster, its dark pools of eyes unblinking each time I inched the duster a little closer in its direction. It had to be seething that I was undoing its hard labor by striking through its cobwebs with an easy flick of my wrist, but it was helpless to do anything about it. I felt a little bad, but I was sure it could rebuild its web in no time, and I would still have done my duty as Second Man with a clear conscience.
Furtive footfalls resounded beneath me, and I ducked my head to find Annette bustling in, holding an arm against her body, as if injured. When she caught my eye, a look of relief washed over her features, and she tried her best smile. It was a good smile, but I knew immediately that it signaled she needed something from me.
“There you are,” Annette said, and sighed. “You must come, quick.”
I raised an eyebrow, pointedly returning to my dusting. “Oh? Must I?”
“Yes! I … youoweme.”
I snorted and gazed down at her with a cool, even stare. “I don’t agree with that assessment. If anything, you owemean apology.”
“Anapology? For sending you help to get that fire going?”
“For laughing about it with her ladyship.”
Annette scowled. “Don’t be so sensitive.”
I bristled. Sensitive. Incompetent. I was growing weary of being labeled in such terms by someone who didn’t know the first thing about me. But that was how it was with the working class. Everyone assumed things about servants based on their first impressions and didn’t care to uncover more. They were of passing interest, and then they were wallpaper, meant to blend in. It was perfect for what I needed just then, to hide from the public, to become invisible, but it was infuriating to be taken for granted in such a manner. I would be interacting with my household very differently once I returned to La Vallée.
“Okay, okay,” Annette held up a hand in surrender, wincing and leaning into the arm cradled against her side. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t meant maliciously.”
“Then I accept your apology.” I started down the ladder, eyes drifting to her arm. “What happened?”
“I strained it or something,” Annette shrugged. “All I know is it’s worthless at the moment, and I need another pair of hands.”
“And you immediately thought of my hands? Struggling to light that fire with a flint?”
“See! Sensitive.”
