Miss O'Brien sat in the servant's hall. She felt tired, drained. Lost.
The room was quiet with nobody in there but her, everyone else was working. Her ladyship was sleeping. It wasn't as if O'Brien wasn't working, she had a pile of darning to do all in a messy heap in front of her.
She just sat and stared. Completely trapped in her own guiltily mind.
Only a week ago war had been announced.
But it wasn't even this that troubling her.
The baby.
How could she have been so cruel?
She fought the tears that threatened the spill, she couldn't bloody cry! O'Brien never cried! Damn this guilt!
A shuffling noise behind her made her stiffen and slowed her breathing. Someone was watching her. She didn't turn around; instead she moved her trembling hands away from the table top and curled them into her lap to hide the obvious shaking.
"I can see yer"
Her voice was harsh to her ears and made her wince inwardly.
Footsteps behind her, slow and uncertain.
Mr Lang sat down in the seat next to her. He didn't look at her or make any conversation but instead placed a humble cup of tea in front of her.
The silence surrounded them.
He reached across her and for a ludicrous moment she thought he was going to take her hand. He picked up a lace glove with a split seam and a needle and began to sew, such small stitches. She watched him, transfixed. He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with her observant gaze. She stared back at the table again, at the simple cup of tea. Such undeserved kindness.
She sniffed pathetically.
"Bad day?"
His voice was surprisingly soft and seemed genuinely concerned.
"Bad life" Her reply was brief and brutal. More to herself than to him anyway, he raised his eyebrows but didn't look up from the stitching.
They sat in stillness for a while longer.
"Drink your tea"
Sarah O'Brien gazed at the innocent cup and saucer and bit back the temptation the brush the cup roughly aside…it would only smash on the floor. Even the thought of the sound made Sarah shift uncomfortably. A breath hitched in her throat and she could feel terrible, guilt tears beginning to form at the corners of her eyes, she hastily blinked them away. It didn't work and she sniffed a little too loudly.
A strange heaviness suddenly rested on her arm. Was she having a stroke? She bleeding well deserved one.
Sarah shifted her stare to the right and found a hand rested upon her wrist, half way between balancing on the cuff of her dress and the pale skin of her hand. She looked up and caught his piercing gaze.
"I understand"
"No, yer don't"
She moved her hand away quickly, too quickly for he obviously hadn't anticipated she would pull away and his hand fell awkwardly into her lap, resting upon her skirts. She could fell the weight of it on her leg. Her hands shook and she stood up abruptly, moving away from the table so fast she knocked over the chair.
It clattered to the floor.
Daisy popped her head round the door to find the source of the noise and for some reason Sarah found herself fleeing the hall, out in the grounds.
She had felt so trapped.
The cool air was very welcome. It stung her lungs; she leaned against the wall and brushed her forehead with the back of her hand. It felt hot, clammy. Tears threatened to spill again and she pressed the flat of her palms against her eyes, as if the shut out the light.
"You forgot your tea"
"Jesus Christ!"
Sarah nearly fell over with fright. Lang stood, quiet patiently in the doorway, holding the white china cup and saucer. How much had he seen?
"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you…"
"Yer didn't"
"I know" He nodded solemnly, holding the cup of tea out to her.
She took it from him and their hands brushed. A tingle of energy shot down her arm, how silly. How wonderfully silly.
Without knowing quite what processed her she smiled at him. A grateful smile.
He smiled back.
"Miss O'Brien?" Mrs Hughes voice called from the house, spoiling the moment of friendship, for that was all it had been. Well, Sarah would continue to tell herself that anyway.