"Yes, sir. Of course." My voice lingered in the empty room for a moment, "I will be right up." I hung up the phone slowly as I crawled out of my bed, tossing the sheets aside. I briskly changed out of my simple pajamas and threw on one of my many work suits. Before heading up to check on the Lord, I took a look in the mirror. I was less than pleased with my mess of blond hair. When it was shorter, it was easier to manage. But since my sister suggested I grew it out, I've had the worst bedhead…
I took a brush through it so it at least appeared less messy and pinned it back. I stopped for a moment to look into my eyes. They seemed tired, which my Lord would be displeased about. I don't like my eyes. They're an odd color, something like the bark of a tree splattered with red wine. My little sister would have come up with something of a darker image, like red wine in the moonlight, or something as disgusting as blood mixed in mud, like that of a battlefield. All these descriptions make me like them less and less. He doesn't mind them, so I suppose that is alright.
I realized that I shouldn't have even thought of his opinion of them. He never commented on something like that – it would insinuate a personal interest. And, being his head of house, it was against the best interest of the household.
I straightened my tie and headed out of my room. I erased any lingering emotions and nerves as I ascended the grand staircase. The wood of the railing was slick under my hand, and the carpet was very soft under my feet. I had always made an effort to see to it that it was soft and clean – we never knew what sort of guests the Master would bring in, so we always tried to make it look its best.
I made a quick pivot to the eastern wing of the manor and ascended yet another flight of stairs to the Wine Room. That was the codename He and I kept for the room he would take his ladies in. He was what kids now would call a "player" – he never brought the same girl home twice. With all due respect, I must say that he was sort of an ass about it. After he and whatever lady he was with retired, he would sneak away into his own bedroom and fall asleep there, usually just flopping on his bed. He purposefully made one of his many vacant rooms a sort of "recovery room" for this purpose, to hide from his mistress-for-the-night.
I was polite about the confrontations with the women. I knocked on the door of the wine room and opened the door. The woman my Lord had brought home the previous night was sitting on the bed, staring out the window at the early morning sky. She was already dressed – which was a rare occurrence, I must say – in a slinky black off-the-shoulder dress and long wavy black hair. I knew I had seen that silhouette before…
She turned to face me, her catlike eyes the color of fresh blood. Her ruby lips stretched into a smile that was sly and careful that I recognized all to well. She chuckled, "Hello, Miss Hawkeye. It has been a while, hasn't it?"