Page 10 of A Lady's Touch of Sin

Chapter 5

There was a fumble at the door. Marta’s eyes flew open, and she shot up from the bed. She felt entirely discombobulated. Ordinarily, she awoke in a sunbeam, the mountain waving hello to her from the wide-open window. Now, the English countryside had boiled up a thick sky of clouds which curled overhead, seeming to press hard against her head and shoulders.

“What is it?” Marta mustered, remembering the door.

The door whipped open to reveal Laura. Her face was stricken, petrified. She closed the door with a slam and then leaned against it, her hands flat against it. The two young women stared at one another.

“Laura! What’s happened?” Marta asked in German.

Laura sputtered, “Your Aunt Margaret has just shown me what’s for breakfast. Oh, Marta, it’s absolutely wretched. I dare say I’ll never eat a single thing in this country. I’ll become skin and bones, and then—what man will have anything to do with me?”

Marta hid the smile that peppered up behind her lips. She reached forward and patted the bed. Obediently, Laura perched at the edge, crossed her arms, and gazed out the window. “Dreadfully grey here, too. Don’t they know there’s a sun here? Don’t they know that summer is just around the corner?”

“Laura, it’s really all right,” Marta said. “It will take some getting used to. But I imagine that once the season begins, the sun will be bright, and the conversation will be alive, and all will be…”

“But the food. It won’t change,” Laura insisted. “It’s just beans and sausages, Marta. Beans? Sausages? For breakfast? It turns my stomach. I hardly saw any sort of bread or rolls or…” She shook her head, a cloud forming over her face. “I hope I haven’t made a mistake in coming with you.”

“You haven’t, Laura! Really and truly, I can’t imagine what I would be going through if you weren’t here. I would feel dreadfully alone, and I would miss our language so greatly. It’s something of our secret, you know.”

Laura remained unsure. Marta clucked her tongue and said, “I will speak with my aunt to see if there’s any way around this food issue.”

“Oh, no!” Laura said. She clutched her cheeks. “I can’t imagine something like that. I don’t wish to seem ungrateful. It’s just…”

“Why don’t we go together to breakfast? I dare say I can drag you along with me to various meal functions over the next days. If you hate something, you can signal to me across the table. But remember, Laura—if you do eat with the other servants, the pickings won’t be quite as nice…”

Laura seemed overly willing to go with Marta wherever she went. She shot up from the bed and found Marta a gown for the day and helped her organise and perfect her beautiful curls. Laura seemed grateful to do anything she was accustomed to doing back in Austria. Marta’s heart felt squeezed a bit; had she been selfish in her demand for Laura to come along? But Laura had seemed so excited, so earnest to begin a new life.

It’s never clear what it is we want, is it? Marta thought to herself.

Downstairs, Aunt Margaret and Ewan sat at the breakfast table already. They spoke in low tones as Marta approached down the hall. She caught only a few blips of their conversation.

“I don’t think it’s necessary to cram Marta in with a whole number of highly arrogant men,” Ewan said. “She’s assuredly had some sort of wretched situation back at home, and she’s fresh from it.”

“And yet, that’s the only way to get one’s self through a situation such as this,” Aunt Margaret returned, ever logical in her approach. “One must move forward, take chances, meet new men.”

“As though you’ve ever been in a situation like this, Mother,” Ewan returned.

“Darling, if you say another off-colour comment, I will tear that roll from your hand and throw it directly into your face,” Aunt Margaret said.

Marta chuckled to herself. Beside her, Laura gave her an incredulous look. Marta made a mental note to continue with their English lessons later that day. It would be a way for them to connect in this strange place—and provide a decent backdrop for Laura. One on which she could stand.

When they stepped into the breakfast area, Aunt Margaret did her best to pretend that she and Ewan hadn’t only just been in conversation about her. She beamed and chirped, “My beautiful niece! Good morning. I trust you slept well. I trust you BOTH slept well.” She added this last bit with increased volume, still assured that Laura could understand her better when louder.

“We did, thank you,” Marta said. She practised her false smile, one she’d seen smeared across her mother’s face time and time again. “I wanted to bring Laura to breakfast. She’ll be acclimated soon enough. We’re simply far from anything she’s ever known.”

“I understand,” Aunt Margaret returned. Her face, however, seemed to reflect how little she actually did.

The breakfast was in the classic English style. Marta recognised why it stirred fear in Laura’s heart. It did seem entirely different from their Austrian breakfast feasts. However, she coaxed Laura along, helped her to add various portions atop her plate. She felt as though Laura was now her child, someone she had to guide towards proper behaviour. She couldn’t bear the thought of this, not really, but knew it would only be a matter of time before she really latched onto the ways of England.

At least, this was what she hoped.

She watched as Laura snuck her spoon tentatively under a pile of beans. Aunt Margaret was telling Ewan some sort of tale about preparations for her upcoming party; thankfully, her attention remained elsewhere. Laura brought the spoon into her mouth and closed her eyes, and then swallowed the tomato-y, sweet beans. Seconds later, her eyes popped open with wonder. She let out a strange squeak.

This time, Aunt Margaret understood: this was something to pay attention to.

“What on earth?” she said, interrupting her own stream of dialogue.

Laura grabbed her napkin and pressed it against her mouth. Aunt Margaret looked perplexed. “What’s got into her?” she demanded, her eyes darting towards Marta. “Has she grown ill?”

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