It was the day after summer had begun, and a shining light filtered through the roughly hewn sheet that acted as a curtain in front of the small window. Beca opened her eyes and extended her arms in both directions. She no longer got frustrated when her knuckles brushed against the always damp wood of the walls. Sitting up groggily in her bed, she inched forward, vaulting over the footboard. Her feet lightly fell on the ground and she rolled her shoulders to release the knots that had formed in her shoulders while sleeping in the cramped room.
It had been three weeks since her small home was destroyed by a mine explosion, and she had been renting an uncomfortably small room in the local tavern. Many other workers and inhabitants in the small town that was only a few miles out of Cardiff had also taken up residence in the tavern. Most nights she had fallen asleep to the noises of her neighbors getting intimate with someone else. She didn't really care about that, she was used to vulgarity after living around miners and angry servants her entire life.
Rustling through the drawer that was lazily placed under the bed, she found her clothes for work that day. She had the pleasure of being a servant in the Fitz mansion, where she cleaned and served alongside four hundred other maids, servants, and scullions. She did the menial jobs: arranging flowers in their ornate porcelain vases, removing the barely visible layer of dust that occasionally coated the furniture that was placed around the house, and tending to the mistress of the house personally. Her last job was something that still baffled Beca to this day.
She had been working a normal routine when the mistress, Miss Fitz, called to her and requested that she comply with her everyday needs and desires. Apparently the mistress had been delighted with how the small brunette flitted about and finished her tasks before the majority of the other workers had even began their second task.
Miss Fitz was a young woman of twenty-three, who was the heiress to the Fitz business, which consisted of more than ten coal mines scattered across Wales. She dressed in lavish silks and lace and kept company around her at all times. She had a long line of suitors lusting after her, each one denied courteously, sometimes not even face to face. Beca usually found herself politely informing a suitor that Miss Fitz politely declines their hand in marriage.
She had graciously accepted the job and since then was given a warmer and better pair of clothes that consisted of a wool tunic cut short to fit the stature of a woman and linen pants with leather boots dyed black to be aesthetically pleasing to any guest. The rest of the workers had despised her since then – some of her fellow comrades had been yearning for that job for quite some time now, for it was rumored to be easy. Miss Fitz usually only requested for a bowl of figs on a nice day, or a replenishing of wine in her empty glass as she lounged beside the fountain in the gardens of the mansion. Beca was pleased to be in such an easy job that didn't require much work. She had also become some sort of a confidante to the Miss. While holding a parasol over Miss Fitz to keep her skin fair and pale, the lady tended to let a few secret matters slip. Beca particularly remembered one time, where she learned of a secret that could earn her death.
"Miss Fitz, may I refill your glass?" Beca asked politely, keeping her voice low. There were other loungers around and she had been instructed to not disrupt any of them.
"Yes, Mitchell, please." It was customary for people of honor to refer to their servants by their last name. Beca's was Mitchell. Wrapping her fingers around the cold silver of the jug that held the dark wine, letting it flow steadily into her cup.
"Such a pity about the Queen Margaery." Miss Fitz murmured, clicking her teeth in pity.
"I'm sorry?" Beca said not quite hearing or understanding what she had just said.
"I said it's a pity about Queen Margaery. She's consulted with the physicians in the capitol, it's official that she's infertile. The King is furious." Beca struggled to keep from dropping the jug that she held. Was she supposed to know that? Is this new info? If it wasn't, the rest of the servants would have been gossiping about it by now… "Don't stand there with your mouth agape, Mitchell. It's unflattering."
"Apologies, Ma'am. Are you sure I'm supposed to know that? I'm only a servant…" Beca began, flustering.
"Oh, drat. I suppose you're not. Well, if you ever tell anyone it will most likely mean your death." Beca blanched at this, drawing in a deep breath.
"So, Mitchell dear, tell me about your life. I'm tired of only talking about royal affairs."
"Well, my brother starts his job as a miner today. He'll be in the Fitz mines." Beca forced a grin, hoping to please the Miss that her brother was working for the Fitz family. She was inwardly upset, though. There was a chance that her brother would be lost in a mine explosion and she was still sour about losing her home to a mine explosion.
"That's fantastic. Now tell me something that's not related to my family's legacy, please." The Miss snapped. Beca cringed, and continued on with a hard swallow that felt like knives passing down her throat. Miss Fitz had always terrified her and made it rough for her, but the new pay was spectacular and the workload was easy.
"Uhm… well, there was a fight between two of the scullions yesterday. I believe one of them was let go because of it. A meal came back that wasn't cooked to the guest's liking and they blamed each other. One had made the sautéed vegetables and one had seared the venison, but the guest had left before the head chef could ask her what had displeased her. They had firmly believed that the other was the one that made the error and they fought and broke a few of the kitchen items."
"How… interesting." Miss Fitz deadpanned, clearly disinterested by the story. Beca had nothing more than that, not much excitement happened in her life. They fell into an easy silence after that, until Beca heard a gentle snoring from the Miss. Hesitant to nudge her awake, Beca softly shook her shoulder. The woman jerked awake, bewildered.
"Miss, it's alright. You fell asleep. Would you like me to take you back to your room?"
"Yes, Mitchell. I believe it's getting too humid out here anyway." Miss Fitz clambered up and hooked her arm into Beca's, walking at a leisurely pace back to the walls that surrounded the complex.
Today was the day that the royal family would be visiting the Fitz mansion. It had been months since King Richard had left the safe walls of his home after the devastating news of the infertility of his wife. Beca believed that she was still the only person of lowly ranks to know of this. If this wasn't true, then the servants had been instructed not to talk about it. Even if that had happened, they would gossip in whispers and glances rather than their open-mouthed banter in the kitchens.
Beca had a long list of things she had to prepare and make pristine for the lords and ladies that were coming with the King. It wasn't surprising that he had decided to bring his entire family and group of friends, but the Fitz mansion was prepared for this. It consisted of several floors, an attic, and a basement. In the basement there was storage for anything that a bustling manor would need. Salted pork and cod, pickled vegetables, smoked beef, and dried fruits were kept in barrels. The wine cellar was adjacent to the food storage. Wines from the previous century were stacked neatly in a checkerboard style shelf, ready to be uncorked and appreciated by various esteemed people. The last section of the basement was the housing for the servants and maids. They lived on location, with the option to live off location if desired. Beca had loved tending to her own garden and living on her own, but that changed after the explosion and she was sure she was going to request living quarters beneath the manor. It displeased her to have to share a room with several other women. She wasn't a very sociable person, and preferred to keep to herself by reading a book or simply getting extra hours of sleep during downtime.
The ground floor had a grand foyer, with two staircases that twisted up to the second floor, laced with carefully carved railings. An ornate rug shipped in from Persia created a velvet lane into the other rooms of the house. If you were to walk directly forward, you would be outside in the master's gardens that he kept to a perfect cut and trim. They were the pride and glory of the estate, with at least three gardeners assigned to one of the three hundred sections of flowers and shrubberies. To the right was the grand dining room with a table that could fit one hundred people. To the left was the cigar room where the men of the house smoked and discussed politics and other worldly news. Before the cigar room was the powder rooms, with large vanities and porcelain sinks. Before the dining room was the kitchens that had double-swinging doors. They were the best kitchens in the state, Master Fitz claimed.
The second floor was all of the suites. The rooms that were usually requested first were the ones that overlooked the gardens. They had the prettiest views, easily. Each room had a washbasin, a clawfoot tub, a vanity, an armoire, and a balcony that faced either the front lawns or the fountains and gardens in the back. Many of the visitors of the Fitz estate always left anticipating the next time their jobs or free time called them back.
The third floor had the master and mistresses' room and the rooms of the highest ranked visitors, such as the soon to arrive King and Queen. They were the largest rooms, almost the size of an average homestead of a peasant.
The morning of the King and Queen's arrivals, Beca was informed that the housekeeper had fallen ill and could not be the overseer for the other servants and maids. Miss Fitz had said she could do the job with a glowing recommendation. The messenger that flitted throughout the house handed her the list of objectives for the day. Clean the powder rooms of each suite, restock the kitchens for brunch and lunch, bring the crate of vintage Cuban cigars up to the cigar room, clean the kitchens, and dust the staircases and furniture, and other tasks along those lines. Deciding that this list was too long for a single person, she requested that the messenger swaying on his toes in front of her summon the maids that were in the left wing of the estate to her. Once each girl arrived, she split them into eight groups and gave them a task on the list. She went off to fulfill the requests of each guest for when they arrived. King Richard had requested a bowl of figs on his bedside table, Queen Margaery requested that a vase of lilies from Master Fitz own garden be on her vanity counter, Lord Yarren asked for a box of matches for when he smoked his nightly cigarette on his balcony, and Lady Talia asked for her breakfast to be brought to her suite every morning, rather than her dine with the rest of the guests. Beca gave a weak smile at the last one. If she was of high stature, she'd ask for the same and read in bed all day.
After the tasks had been fulfilled, the herald sprinted throughout the house calling of the first guests arrivals. Beca clasped her hands behind her back and inspected each maid and servant as they passed by, making sure there wasn't any horrendous stains or errors in their uniforms. Each man and woman was to be of presentable standards when the first guests entered.
When the first Lords and Ladies entered, Beca groaned at the parade of servants that they had brought with them. It was expected, but not appreciated. She would have to find quarters for each of them now. Each woman walked in with a terrified servant holding a parasol over them, and each man swaggered in, greedy eyes flickering about the foyer. They came into the house in a steady stream for at least thirty minutes before the stragglers entered. Beca was about to whisk the servants back to their tasks when one more pair of women struggled in, carrying their own luggage. This was… unheard of. Beca raised an eyebrow and read the faces of the other servants who stood with their mouths agape. It was unladylike to carry your own things in Wales. Beca lightly walked forward and offered her arm out to take the luggage of the ladies. Keeping her eyes down, she held her breath, hoping that her offer wouldn't be denied. Not only would it be humiliating, but it would mean that the escapade of the two women carrying in their bags would have to continue until they reached their suites.
"No, it's alright. We can handle it." A melodic voice chirped, dripping with enthusiasm. Beca looked up for a moment and was entranced by crystal blue eyes staring back into hers. Her eyes took in the sight before her hungrily. Vibrant red curls cascaded down the woman's face, long coal black eyelashes swooped forward from her large doe-eyes, and plump lips were pulled into a smile. Beca gulped and nodded.
"W-Welcome to the Fitz Manor." She managed to stutter. The rest of the servants snickered at her. She was usually a steady speaking woman. There was another moment of silence for what felt like hours, until the other guest behind the redhead cleared her throat, bumping her bag into the redhead's.
"Chloe," the blonde huffed, exasperated. "Can we please move along? These bags are heavy and you insisted that we didn't bring our own servants. Can't you see everyone else did? Mon dieu." The blonde groaned, stepping forward. Beca quirked her brow at the bossy voice of the other woman.
"Thank you, girl. I'm Chloe Beale, of Beale Oil Enterprises." Beca nodded, aware of the legacy behind the woman in front of her. Beale Enterprises provided oil for almost all European countries that bordered France.
"I'll show you two to your room." Beca said, evening out her voice. She could tell that the blonde was lost. She was looking left and right, contemplating whether to go up the right staircase of the left.
"S'il vous plait, Aubrey. Calm down." The redhead called after her friend, who turned around with narrowed eyes. She let Beca step in front of her and lead her to her room. For some reason, Beca felt butterflies in her stomach when she was leading them. The redhead, who was now known as Chloe, was enchanting. Almost like a princess. Beca led them to the Gardenia suite, just now remembering that their requests had been for two separate beds rather than one master bed. The request made sense now. They were two ladies; they would be mocked for sleeping together. She wondered if there was anything intimate going on between the two women. The Gardenia suite was always Beca's favorite. In the morning, the sun filtered in through the balcony windows, and the breeze brought the scent of the flowers below into the room. Sometimes she would sneak in here to read beside the windows, enjoying the silence.
"Oh, c'est beau. Thank you, uh…" Chloe murmured, unsure of what to call Beca.
"Bec – I mean Mitchell." Beca kicked herself for saying her first name. It was not allowed for servants to be addressed by their first names.
"What was the first part?" Chloe asked, confused by the jumbled up speaking of the servant.
"Beca, Ma'am…" She admitted, flustering.
"Do you mind if I call you Beca?" Chloe asked politely, setting her bag down on the duvet.
"I-It's not really allowed…" Beca whispered.
"Perfect! Beca it is." Beca frowned and nodded, turning away to continue her tasks for the rest of the day. Lightly shutting the door behind her, she paused after she heard speaking immediately after she had left.
"Did you see that girl? She's adorable!" A cheery voice spoke. That must be Chloe.
"Chloe, please don't tell me you're lusting after a servant girl." A more stern voice reprimanded. That must be Aubrey.
"I'm not, Bree!" Chloe defended. "She's just really cute."
"She's not a puppy, Chlo'. Anyways, you can't even… do anything with her. She would be fired and you'll be in trouble with your father."
"I know, Bree." Chloe groaned. "I'm just saying she was cute, okay? That's it."
"Alright. I believe you. Let's go fix ourselves up for brunch and maybe she'll serve you tea."
Beca walked down the rest of the hallway with a pleasant smirk on her face. She had to prepare for the feast that would occur later that night after the King and Queen arrived.