Page 13 of Reflections of Silence

“I’ll take her, madame.” He dismissed me.

My skin prickled with unspent rage, fear and a heady dose of confusion.

“Press something to her neck,” I snapped, refusing to release the maid. “She’s bleeding. And if she is part of this household, then she is mine to look after.” I glared at the manservant over the maid’s small frame. A moment of stillness, then he gave a jerk of his chin, motioning to her things on the floor where she had collapsed.

“If you would, please…” He glanced down at the still form in his arms, gripping her with aged, white-knuckled hands. “Follow me.”

I nodded silently, collecting her tools.

The servant’s quarters were as bland and functional as a room could be. The distinct opposite to the luxury in the rest of Sebastian’s house, I wondered that we didn’t see more revolts between servant and master. Or perhaps they protested in other, more silent forms where a wary eye would strain to notice.

Stark, unadorned rooms, tiled floors and colored walls filled the servant’s quarters. Did anyonelivein this place? Charleton placed the maid onto a sagging bed, its slim mattress hanging low in the middle, a flat pillow stacked at one end.

He took bandages and a vial of clear liquid from a box on the floor, reminding me of the casket I carried across the seas. I raised a hand, ready to object as he began to treat her himself until I saw the steadiness of his hands, the way he touched her.A faint smile tickled the corners of my lips; love hadn’t forsaken this unusual place, yet.

Finally, the tall, thin man rose. Exhaustion etched his features. I drew him from the tiny room—little more than the cell I’d been placed in at the abbey—and closed the door behind us.

“Does she do it often?” I asked, softly.

Charleton started. “What?”

I hadn’t believed he could be any pastier, but at the rate blood drained from his face, he would become a cadaver himself soon enough.

“She hurts herself, yes?”

He stared at me for a long moment, as though ready to argue with me. Thin lips pursed, he nodded. “She—hurts.”

That’s not the same thing.

But it would have to do.

“How long have you looked after her like this?” I asked. “You’re quite fond of her.”

“No! I—” he cut himself off.

“No?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Well, yes...It’s been a long time since we had a lady in the house,” he said, managing to meet my eyes, though he bobbed his gaze back to the floor soon after. “A long time.”

His words held an undercurrent I couldn't decipher. I tucked the information away to look at later.

“Madame.” My maid, Minette who had introduced herself during her flurry earlier, her words sinking in slowly throughout the day, appeared by my elbow with a glass of water. “Food will be brought up to your rooms.”

I thought of my bedroom—enormous, luxurious, and empty.

“Might I have lunch with you?”

Minette’s eyes widened, flicking between Charleton and myself.

I hastened to reassure her. “I don’t mind who I eat with. I’ve been on board a ship, stuffed into cabins for months and here—here, I am so lonely,” I finished softly, aghast at the quiet truth of my words.

Not even one full day.

Minette nodded, letting me follow her through the warrenlike halls in her preparations. Despite her chatty nature, she was silent through lunch, a collection of small meals that might have been leftovers from the day before. Each held a French flourish, a kind reminder that this new home and my old had some connection other than me.

I closed my eyes, sitting back in the low armchair. When Minette had been hesitant to set the large dining table, I suggested a small salon on the ground floor that overlooked the gardens. A maze of hedges disappeared down an incline, the forest I’d seen from my window above invisible from where we were seated.

When I opened my eyes again, the late morning sun had passed over the house, leaving the room in shadow. Minette fluttered nearby, shifting the same ornaments as I came out of my semi-dream state, the ground rocking beneath my feet from some remnant of a dream I couldn't remember.

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