Page 65 of The Maid's Secret

I could barely concentrate in class. The only thing that captured my attention was the headmaster’s lecture onRomeo and Julietand the forces opposing the lovers’ union. In my mind, I was Juliet and Algernon my daring young Romeo, but we were not star-crossed like they were. We were not doomed to tragic ends because no one stood between us. In fact, our two households wanted nothing more than to bring us together, so surely, love would triumph after all?

“There’s less than a month to the exams,” said the headmaster. “Your university admission depends on those results. I trust you will use these remaining weeks to study as much as you can.”

But I didn’t, I couldn’t. In class, my mind wandered, and one day after a lesson, John found me in the hallway.

“Flora,” he said, standing in front of me as I packed my books into my bag. I could ignore him no longer, and I looked up into those familiar, deep eyes. They were full of confusion, though I could see he was relieved that after evading him for several days, finally I was looking at him. Still, I couldn’t hold his frank stare. I busied myself with my bag.

“Are you all right?” he asked, putting a hand on my shoulder.

“I’m perfectly fine,” I replied, though clearly I was not. Deep inside me, mixed emotions wrestled each other, manifesting in my complete inability to do something as simple as pack books in a bag. How was it I could be daydreaming incessantly about Algernon, yet the moment John stood in front of me, the allure of the Brauns and their son seemed a distant mirage, or even worse, a baited trap?

I looked up at John and wanted nothing more than to fall in his arms, to cry on his shoulder, to beg forgiveness, and then to kiss those inviting ruby lips. The contradictions in the pit of my stomach terrified me, and instead of examining them more closely, I pushed them down even deeper, denying them entirely. Then I dropped my books on the floor.

“Let me help you,” John offered, his hand never leaving my shoulder.

“Let me be!” I cried out. But I couldn’t pull away from his touch.

John moved to face me. “What happened at the ball,” he said, “our dance. I’ve never felt anything like it before. Can you honestly say you don’t feel what I feel?”

I couldn’t. And I wouldn’t. As I looked at him, I saw my parents’ faces, imagined them jeering at me, my mother’s curled lip, my father’s dead-eyed disdain, as if I was not only a fool but a traitor to myself and them.

“Me with the butler’s son,” I said, scoffing and shaking my head. “My parents would never approve.”

I expected John to be outraged by my offhand dismissal, but he wasn’t. To my utter surprise, his face lit up like a sun. “So you do feel it,” he said. “You just can’t say it.”

“I never said that,” I replied.

“You didn’t have to.” He took my bag from my shaking hands and placed the two fallen books inside. Then he passed it back to me, our fingers touching. “Flora, be careful,” he said. “There are rumors swirling about the Brauns. All that glitters isn’t gold, you know. Workers talk. My aunt heard some things.”

“Your aunt is a busybody who shouldn’t meddle,” I said. “And my parents know best.”

“I’ll haveyouknow that your parents are—” He stopped himself.

“Are what?” I demanded, feeling heat surge from my belly and color my cheeks.

“My father and my aunt have always been their betters. And you know it.”

There it was, that same old arrogance. “How dare you?” I hissed. “You don’t know the first thing about any of us. How could you? You’re just a servant.”

His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. “Have it your way,” he said as he turned and walked away.

I watched him tread down the corridor, not quite disappearing into the crowd because he always stood head and shoulders above everyone. I longed to call him back, to tell him I was sorry and that I was wrong.

But I didn’t. I let him go.

—

At home, for the first time ever, I basked in my parents’ love. It was as thrilling to me as it was surprising that they saw me in a whole new light. To my great joy, as I awaited my date with Algernon, still a few days away, Mama and I became closer than ever. We had a meeting of the minds for the very first time.

“Honestly, I’d written you off. I never imagined your head would emerge from your books. My little late bloomer—I thought this day would never come,” she said.

Together, we ransacked my closet, and every day I tried on new outfits Mrs.Mead had picked for my big date, but they were all so dowdy and plain. My mother agreed.

“I have an idea,” she said, as I slipped behind my Venetian screen, wiggling out of another shapeless frock. “A shopping trip, darling. Just the two of us. I know you don’t like shopping, but—”

“I’d love that, Mama!” I exclaimed.

And so I found myself linking arms with her, traversing high-end boutiques and fashionable downtown department stores in search of the perfect outfit. We enjoyed each other’s company for the first time in memory, and that day Mama seemed almost happy.

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