Page 5 of To Serve a Laird
Claire could sew very well, in fact, but her efforts were limited to very fine embroidery, which she mostly did while she was reading. She had never had the need nor the inclination to make or mend her own clothes, although she knew how it was done.
“Yes, I can sew,” she replied stiffly.
Probably better than you!she thought.
Lorna scoffed and took the tie she wore around the waist of her own dress and gave it to Claire. “That should keep it up till ye can sew it.”
“Thank you for your help,” Claire said faintly, but Lorna did not acknowledge her, merely leaving the room without another word.
Claire washed her face quickly, wiping away the mud and dust of the journey. A bath, something she had always taken for granted in the past, would have been glorious, but she knew that it was far out of her reach in this place.
Here, she would have to learn to be glad of a bucket of clean water, even if it was freezing. She stripped off the filthy clothing she was wearing, wondering how she would ever manage to launder it.
The servants’ dinnertime had long passed by the time Claire was ready, and she was ravenous. She was beginning to despair of ever getting any food, since she had no idea of how to get to the kitchen, when Lorna opened the door again and deposited a tray on the bed.
“This is a’ ye’re gettin’ till the mornin’,” she informed Claire, looking at her from head to toe with a derisive curl of her lip. She shook her head.
“Ye willnae last long here, Sassenach.” Then, with a scornful laugh, she left.
A bowl of porridge sat on it, as well as a cup of weak ale. The porridge was thick, lumpy, and tasteless, but she forced it down because her stomach was grumbling so loudly she thought it might be heard in the kitchen.
Still, when she had finished the food, she felt a lot better. The headache which had been caused by her hunger had disappeared, and she felt drowsy, but she was a little afraid to close her eyes in case something else was expected of her.
She heard the other servants going to bed a while later, and practically wept as she thought of what she would be doing if she were at home. Going to bed was her favourite time of the day, when she would be lying in her comfortable bed, her head on a soft pillow, covered by warm blankets and reading a favourite book.
A wave of sadness passed over Claire, so intense that it made her want to weep, and she thought of Rose. She remembered the despairing look in her eyes as her father practically forced her into their carriage. Her sister had been sent away in similar circumstances to hers, but she had both survived and thrived, had found love, and was now a lady of substance.
Surely, she could help her? At that moment, a sliver of hope crept into her heart. She would write to Rose and her husband. Surely, they would come to her aid? Claire could not imagine anything that would stop her sister; when Rose made up her mind, nothing would stand in her way.
She smiled, and with that thought, she drifted off to sleep.
Claire was startled into wakefulness by the sound of her door being banged furiously, and a voice shouting, “Get up, ye lazy thing! Ye’re needed in the kitchen.”
Claire jumped out of bed and hastily threw on the too-big dress before rushing outside, where Lorna was waiting, her face red with fury. She gave Claire a scathing look and began to march down the dim passage towards the kitchen, leaving Claire to struggle along behind her, tripping over the hem of the dress.
When they reached the kitchen, the cook and housekeeper were both waiting for her, scowling and hostile.
“What time dae ye ca’ this?”
The housekeeper was a tall, thin woman with a pinched face who reminded Claire of a drawing of a snake she had once seen in a book about wildlife. She almost laughed as her true defiant nature began to make itself felt, but she forced herself to say nothing, merely looking at the floor in a subservient, contrite manner.
“I am sorry,” she said quietly.
“Aye, so ye should be!” The housekeeper walked away and came back with a scrubbing brush which she gave to Claire, then she said, “Get some water an’ soap an’ go an’ scrub the kitchen floor. I will be back later tae see ye have done it right.”
The cook showed Claire where to find the other materials, and she dropped to the floor on her hands and knees and began to scrub as hard as she could, hoping that she was doing the job properly. She had seen housemaids doing it—back when they had enough gold for house staff, but had never imagined she would ever be performing such a menial task herself.
Still, she knew that all hell would break loose if she did not give satisfaction, so she put her back into it. She knew that her hands would be red and raw by the end of the day, but there was nothing she could do about it.
Claire could not believe it when her task was finished and the housekeeper did not reprimand her, although neither did she congratulate her on a task well done.
Then, to her dismay, Claire was sent out to sweep one of the rooms and found that Lorna would be working alongside her. She had developed a deep dislike for the woman, and it seemed that Lorna felt the same way about her.
She flapped a hand at Claire then said, “I am no’ wastin’ my time teachin’ you how tae brush a floor. Get on wi’ it yourself.”
Then she turned and marched away down one of the many passageways, leaving Claire alone, helpless and absolutely furious. Usually, Claire would have challenged Lorna, since shewas not lacking in courage and could always acquit herself well in an argument, but she was in no position to do so now. She knew nobody. She could not find her way around. She had no gold. She had nothing.
Claire looked around herself and sighed. Her spirits had once again plummeted. She had no idea which room she had been assigned to clean, since Lorna had given her no directions. Telling herself not to panic, she wandered up the widest of the passages, chose one of the rooms at random, and stepped inside.
