11
Jemma’s Version
I feel small. Here, everything is oversized. The place is huge, the house and its rooms are gigantic, Ashford is so tall and his mother is a first class bitch.
“Welcome to Denby, Jemma,” Ashford announces.
“Lady Bedlam was not in the deal,” I complain.
“You will soon notice that I can’t control my mother, which is rather frustrating.”
“Have you heard her? She said she will stay and instruct me. I didn’t exactly see her jump for joy, and don’t you dare blame arthritis!”
Ashford shrugs. “I admit her back isn’t what it used to be, but you’ll understand that this must have shocked her.”
“Well, just as much as it shocked me. Listen up, Ashford: I don’t need or want to be instructed on anything!” I protest, crossing my arms.
Ashford raises an eyebrow as odiously as usual.
“I’m sure you don’t want to, but allow me to have some doubts about whether you need to be—”
Lance perceives the growing tension between us and feels obliged to intervene. “The duke and duchess must be tired from the drive, may I suggest some rest and perhaps a hot bath?”
With a loud sigh, Ashford says: “Thank you, Lance.”
Lance nods and invites us to follow him up the stairs.
Where I live, the staircase is only large enough for one person at a time, the steps are chipped, the handrail is unstable and there’s only one baluster in four left. This one here looks like that of a shopping centre: wide bends, red carpet and sculptures on the parapets. It’s basically a monument.
“I took the liberty of having the master apartments in the east wing prepared,” says Lance with a hint of pride.
On the first floor, we walk down a long hallway with a black and white chequered marble floor and I can see a long series of heavily carved doors. I can’t help but think of the castle fromBeauty and the Beast. I look at Ashford, who is a step behind me, moody and petulant. Here’s our beast.
Lance opens one of the doors with a dramatic gesture and he leads us inside. “This is Lady Jemma’s room.”
“Just call me Jemma,” I say, to break the ice.
Lance doesn’t lose composure. “I must insist, Lady Jemma.”
Ashford cuts in before I can say anything. “Don’t try to overturn the natural order of things. None of the servants will ever call you Jemma, not even if you write it all over the walls.”
Lance coughs lightly to draw our attention while he opens the heavy curtains.
I stand still and my jaw drops open. It really is the castle fromBeauty and the Beast!
The room is wide, with many thick carpets, two large arched windows with padded seats and on my right there’s an emperor size canopy bed! Screw you, Ashford, I could stay in this room for months and die a happy girl.
“Is the accommodation to your liking?”
“Blimey, Lance, are you even asking? You should see where I lived! I had a single window, which was as big as a coffee tray and sometimes passers-by let their dogs pee on its corners!”
With a puzzled expression, Lance turns towards Ashford, who makes a nonchalant gesture with his hand.
I start opening doors. Behind the one on the right of my bed, there’s a smaller room with many shelves.
“That’s the walk in wardrobe, My Lady.”
“No way! Hey Lance, this place is as big as my flat!” I say, tossing the sports bag containing my clothes into the empty wardrobe, which is massive.
