All or None
Chapter 3
The rain pelts down outside and the wind is blowing it in a way that causes it to beat against my window. I am awake and my best guess at the time from the slate-gray light that is coming in is that it is around half past five in the morning and I still have an hour to sleep. I watch as the leaking roof forms pictures on my ceiling. Look there's a duck I think to myself and his friend the lion. I smile at my own silly game. The water starts to drip down and ruins my entertainment. I sit up in bed to prevent the water from hitting my feet.
I could get up and get dressed, but I don't want to. I've been at Panem House for three weeks and nothing ever changes: I dress, I eat, I serve, and then I stand by that God forsaken door for hours at a time. In a way I am scared that if I get ready and go downstairs Snow will be waiting for me ready to tell me not to leave the door unattended during 'visiting hours'. I have learned that 'visiting hours' is a very broad term and I could be sent to stand in that blasted hall at anytime of Snow's choosing because of them.
Between these thoughts and the persistent dripping I find myself becoming very irritated. I need to think of something else, something happy, something happy. Katniss. Katniss is my stand by when it comes to thinking of something happy. Even when I think of standing by the door, when I have her as the context it really isn't so dreadful.
I see her sometimes as I stand by the door, as she goes up and down the stairs. She even walked by me once and I am sure she took a brief glance at me, in some capacity she is aware of me. I take little notes about her in my mind: the kind of hat is she wearing, her hair style during the evening meal, the color of her dress. Just thinking of her I can almost smell the scent of evergreens that follows her around persistently. A sigh escapes me, she is the most wonderful and enchanting thing and I can't help but feel that my obsession is justified. The greatest artist study the finest paintings, the most renowned musicians first learned how to play the classic composers, and for my heart to feel the most of all love has to offer I must study Katniss.
Water splashes off my head and I look up to find that the roof has developed another leak. Giving up on any idea of staying in bed I get up and start dressing. Delly will be up soon anyway and I can talk to her as I wait for seven o'clock to roll around. I feel my tie one last time before I walk out the door and think back to all the evenings Lavinia made me tie it again and again until I could do it effortlessly every time.
Down the seven flights of stairs I go and when I enter the servant's hall I can't help but perk up when I hear the familiar movements in the kitchen. I wasn't the only one to get up early. Delly is in the kitchen humming a happy tune when I walk in to see her. I am not surprised to see her, but she is to see me. Her face lights up, "Oh, hello Peeta, I am glad to see that I'm not the only one up and about. I just can't let my self sleep on rainy mornings or else I know I may never get up."
I give her a cynic's smile, what a positive attitude to have instead of thinking about how we have to be up bright and early every day of the year except for Christmas. She thinks of it as a choice she has and does what makes it easiest for her. She dips flour out of a paper sack as she continues to talk about how she likes the sound the rain makes when it hits glass, because she has never heard that until she lived here. She says that the home she lived at before had only open air windows and if it rained they pulled the shutters closed. She breaks two eggs into the batter and a sudden impulsiveness fills me. "Delly, could I do that?"
"Do what?" She asks idly, still going about her business
"Make the biscuits this morning. I just haven't worked with bread in such a long time."
A grin spreads over her face, "If you missed it so much why haven't you asked sooner? Of course you can help me make biscuits, just get an apron out of that cupboard." She nods in the direction of the cabinet she was referring to and I go over to retrieve an apron.
I pull out the first one I lay my hands on and am less than pleased. "Do you have anything a little less… feminine?" I ask as I look it over again.
Delly looks up, "What's wrong with that one, it's only white. It's not like there are frills and lace on it."
"It's tapered at the waist." I say defending my position.
She rolls her eyes before she starts giggling, "Oh Peeta, stop being so silly about this we're the only ones here. I won't tell anyone I promise."
"What if Cato comes down?" He would never let me forget if he caught me wearing a scullery maid's apron. In three weeks Cato hasn't warmed up to me at all and my feelings towards him have remained the same. We have an unspoken agreement to never talk to each other unless absolutely necessary and prefer to co-exist in silence when possible.
"If you would just put the apron on you could be done with it before he even comes down. Now hurry up."
I begrudgingly tie the apron on realizing that she is right and if I would just start now I could have my cake and eat it too. I step behind the counter and set in on making the dough. It surprises me how naturally it still comes: a dash of salt here, a good amount of buttermilk there, the smallest dribble of honey for flavor. I start mixing them together happy with my work when Delly interrupts, "Don't over handle the dough or it will get too tough."
I give her a don't-treat-me-like-a-child look and we both end up laughing together. "Right, right your a baker's boy." She says as she wipes tears away from her eyes from giggling so long.
The biscuits are in the oven and baking and I am getting ready to enter Mrs. Sae's room with a tray in what feels like a blink of an eye. I enter the sad, little room again and drop the tray down while thinking about the breakfast I will be having in a few moments. She smile's her eyes closed as if she is still asleep. "You didn't hesitate this time." She says with the ghost of a smile on her face.
"Maybe I am getting better." I respond in the spirit of good nature.
"Maybe." She answers while sitting up in bed.
My meal is hot and ready for me on the counter when I step out and I begin my morning ritual of eating alone in the servant's hall. I have never noticed until today that Cato does not eat with me. I wonder if he eats breakfast at all or if he is too busy trying to earn the favor of Snow. I break the bread I made and bite into it. The biscuit tastes identical to the ones my father makes which is a blessing and a curse. I can almost feel his presence in the room from the flavor concealed within, and this leads to deep pang of homesickness. Why did I leave home for this?
"Mr. Mellark," Snow's voice says cutting into my internal remorse. I should be worried he has not called me Mr. Mellark in over a week.
"Mr. Mellark, earlier this morning Mr. Crane was dressing his Lordship for a trip to London. When packing Lord Clayworth's best shoes as requested he found this." I look up to find the shoes I had polished days ago in Snow's hands; his index finger pointing to a thin white scar in the leather like someone ran a pin over it.
"Can you explain this Mr. Mellark? Snow's says as his cold eyes already confirm he thinks he has the answer and whatever I say will not change his mind.
Of course I could say the truth that Cato did this. He did it so that I would look incompetent and he could help ensure I wouldn't challenge him for first footman as I got better at my job, but I don't think that excuse would get me anywhere. I bite my lip as I try and think of an answer to give him, but nothing comes.
"Well Mr. Mellark…" Those eyes how I hate those eyes they make you feel so small and weak.
"I don't know, sir, I don't know how it happened." I finally say.
His lips form form up into a mocking grin and his eyebrows drift towards his hairline. "You don't know, well I do. This sort of thing never happened when other footmen were here or while Cato has been employed here. You must have done this." He concludes and then the quiz begins, "What kind of rag did you use?"
"The one that is always in the cabinet."
He gives me a skeptical eye, "Are you sure, not the one left in the hall by the maid who had to clean up the crushed glass? It would have been right on your way to the work room."
"No sir, I used the one by the tallow as always."
"Hmm, yes, the tallow. Did you use tallow or did you purchase one of those new shoe cleaners that they are selling in the village? Did you think that factory made rubbish would give you an advantage?"
The man is absolutely mental. I wonder to myself what would have happened if I just said 'yes, I scratched it on accident', but there is no going back now.
"No sir, I used the tallow that was in the cabinet."
"Did you use some new tool?"
"No sir."
"Was it stained? Did you try and scratch the blemish off?"
"No sir."
"Did you ask someone else to do this? Fall behind in your work and need a hand? I've seen you be quite friendly with that kitchen maid. Did she do this, is that why you don't know?" While his tone of voice never changes his expression is becoming more manic and it becomes obvious that he will stop at nothing short to prove that this is somehow my fault. An idea comes upon me.
"Maybe they were scratched inside the cabinet." I offer.
"What?" Being pulled away from his train of thought confuses him for a moment, but only a moment.
"By a loose nail or something."
"Ah," He thinks he has caught me, "so you admit that you scratched them on something inside the cabinet."
I proceed with caution while I answer him, "I never said that sir. Maybe I did scratch them as I put them in or maybe the person who took them out did." I meet his eyes with a steady gaze. He can't prove or disprove that I did anything and he knows it too.
He is quiet for a long moment and then finally answers me, "This is true Mr. Mellark. However it is my job to see that it never happens again." It is clear that he still doesn't think I am innocent.
I still meet his eyes now is not the time to show any fear, "I will do everything in my power to make sure it never does."
"Good." He says and then turns to leave before I have a chance to say anything else. I got his goat this time, but am starting to realize that I might be making enemies that are bigger than Cato in this house.
I glance up at the clock. I am already running late and am forced to leave my meal to get cold on the table.
I stare down at the blank paper below me. I haven't written home once in all the time that I have been here. I know Dad doesn't want a letter from me he wants me to come home, and what do I say to my mother 'things are going great I won't have to join the navy after all'. That is what she was always saying to me, that if I couldn't make it serving as a butler I might as well join up because I wasn't welcome back home and would be no good to anyone as long as I lived.
It annoys me that Cato is scratching away with his pen at his own sheet of paper, though I doubt he is writing to his home with the way he is smiling to himself. I've suspected for a while that he has been writing to Glimmer which aggravates me even more. His girl is so attainable. I can hear her giggling and chattering with her friend Clove through the wall next to me. The person I love is much more distant, like loving a far off star. So visible, yet so unattainable.
She looked miraculous in her mid-day clothes today, I remember clearly she was the only person to pass by me. She wore a shiny, plum colored dress with a cream hat that had a matching ribbon. An idea strikes me and I start making marks on the page. I want to capture the way she looked today forever, so that when I am one hundred years old I can look back at this picture and recall it exactly. My hand starts moving on what feels like its own accord and I start making the basic lines of her dress and her stance. I want her to be coming down the stairs. A sudden longing for something that will add color fills me, but all I have is a black pen that will have to do.
Things start falling into place. I add details: a loose strand of hair here, the picture on the wall behind her roughly outlined, a chip on the banister under her hand. In what feels like only a moment it is done. I look over my work and am disappointed. There is nothing wrong with the picture per se, but the girl in the picture is missing that distinctive 'Katniss' look to her. I study every inch of the page trying to determine what I have done wrong, but have no idea where the mistake lies. Maybe it's that I couldn't capture her gray eyes exactly in such a small space, or maybe it is because it is only black and white, but something is definitely off about it. The girl in the picture is beautiful, but she is not Katniss.
Looking up I see that Cato is still hard at work with his writing and I realize that under no circumstances can he ever find this. I open the drawer in the side table next to me where up until now I have been keeping a spare pair of socks. I switch the socks and the picture out as quickly as possible and then glance up to see if he has noticed. He hasn't and I hold in a sigh of relief. I pull on the socks to keep up the act and then crawl underneath my covers. I don't begrudge that Cato wants to stay up and write, when we have so little free time, so I cover my face with my pillow to shut out the golden light and then drift off to sleep. Tonight I will see Katniss again in that purple dress and it will be almost better than the real thing.
I light what feels like my thousandth candle for that night and extinguish the last match they have given me. I find it humorous that they even ration matches here. The family is having a dinner party tonight and the whole staff is being overworked. I am simultaneously expected to serve dinner and ready the parlor room for dancing.
Cato pokes his head into the room and I know I have to go out to help serve again. He has been bobbing his head in and out all night to signal me and I have long since stopped apologizing to the maids every time I have to leave the room.
Cato has been having to bring both dishes up the stairs and he has my dish set on the wooden server for me when I walk into the dining room. I pick up the bread rolls even if my spirit is unwilling to linger in this room one more moment than necessary. These feeling have nothing to do with the work I am leaving undone in the parlor and every thing to do with Katniss being seated next to a Mr. Hawthorne.
She has been whispering secrets back and forth with him all night and her face looks almost red to me. I want to pretend that she is hot from the room being stuffed with sixteen people, but even I cannot deceive myself to that extent.
If I was a nasty person I would almost despise him for nothing else other than him making her seem so happy. In all my time at the house only Prim has ever made her seem so lighthearted and she is not even here tonight. I almost feel a physical pain in my chest when I watch them together. How many times have I made her laugh in my mind? How many times in my imagination have I been with her when she casts off her veil of sorrow and lets me see the real her. It is almost too much.
The last roll is past out and I must leave the room again. I will not have to return again. Cato will be handling the dessert. Back in the parlor I help the maids carry out the Turkish carpet and place it in the breakfast room where we will temporarily be holding it for the night. They are all amazed that I can carry it on my own, but I don't mind. Somehow keeping busy helps numb the pain I feel inside.
I then direct the string quartette into the room and then continue going about my business. It seems to me that almost as soon as the strings are fully tuned the guest start making their way in, causing the maids to flee out of the room before anyone sees them as if the work being done by a real person is a secret that must remain hidden. I stand attendance by a wall and wait patiently for any orders anyone might have.
No one seems to notice me and the dancing starts. Lord and Lady Clayworth lead and are followed by Katniss and Mr. Hawthorne. Other couples fill the dancing space, but there are only two dancing partners my eyes follow. They are so evenly matched and this grieves me. They have the same eye color, their hair is the same raven black, and their skin is the same hearty brown. They are a perfect set, two carriage horses couldn't look more similar than them. Then again all sets don't have to match when a person brings up salt the next thing most people's minds go to is pepper. Sometimes the contrast between two things makes them more perfect for each other because they bring out the best in what the other has to offer.
They dance two more dances together and then Katniss retreats to the edge of the room to talk to a Miss Undersee for the rest of the evening. I am in awe how it completely escapes her that she has captivated every man in the room. Mr. Hawthorne never takes his eyes off of her as he stoically nurses his drink in the corner of the room and the rest of the men are left to orbit around her coming close to observe, but never taking the final leap to dance with her.
How foolish they are I think to myself. What I would give to even have one dance with her. I almost hear my spirit weeping I am so close to a dance with her and yet I am still an eternity away. Any other man in this room could have her because they were born into money and wearing a nice suite; well I love her which is better than all the money in the world and I feel that my livery is a nice enough suite for her. I let these flights of fantasy continue for the rest of the dancing and into the evening as I help serve coffee to the guests.
Some time well past midnight the guest finally start to drift upstairs to get some rest. I notice that Katniss and Mr. Hawthorne disappear at the same time, but I must not let my imagination get the better of me. After a short time the room is empty and the staff starts cleaning up. The dishes are the first thing to go they must be cleaned and accounted for before anyone can go to bed. We must then let the quartet pack up and after that we have all the furnishings to put back into place.
I am sent to retrieve the rug and go back to the breakfast room where I left it. I check the time on the grandfather clock and regret it. The time is well past two o'clock in the morning. I place my hand on the door handle to the room and then stop. I swear I can hear music behind it and soft jazz music at that. I feel like I shouldn't go in there, like I would be disturbing something, but I have no choice Mr. Snow will be in no mood to tolerate my tardiness.
I swing the door open to get it over with and my heart sinks to the floor. There in the middle of the room, dancing to the music of the gramophone, are Katniss and Mr. Hawthorne. Her arms are draped over the neck and her movements are so subtle they barely stir the lacy details of her juniper green dress. Their noses are pressed together and the way he looks at her I know I have lost the moral high ground of 'I love her and they do not'.
Their eyes both dart to me at the same time and I am at a loss of what to say. I decide against even uttering a word and gather the carpet and leave. I don't know how they reacted to my intrusion I couldn't look at either one of their faces as I left.
The maids and the foot men put in fifteen minutes of hard work and the room is finally returned to it's normal state. The kitchen and the servant's hall are in an absolute scramble when I come down and a bowl of broth and a slice of bread are being handed out as people arrive. I check the time as I take the food. It is just a few minutes shy of three. Lavinia is not down here and I assume she won't be down for a long while with all the guests she may be having to help.
I hear arguing coming from the stairwell and look over to find Mrs. Coin and Mr. Snow talking together. Mr. Snow has a fat envelope in his hands and is shaking it whenever he makes a point.
"You see this is why we should have never done away with the hall boys. What are we to do now with all the guests I can't spare a single staff member and he insists it is urgent."
Mrs. Coin's eyes narrow, "We ridded ourselves of the hall boy system because it was outdated and costing the household needless money. We can find someone else to do it surly."
While Mr. Snow counters her point, my mind is busy at work as I realize there might be an opportunity here for me. I need to make up for the shoe incident and doing a favor for either one of them might help my cause.
"Excuse me," I interrupt, "but I was wondering what you are talking about?"
Both give me an identical what's-it-to-you look. Snow is the one to answer me, "Lord Undersee insisted that this," his free hand gestures to the envelope in his other hand, "be delivered to the post as soon as possible tomorrow morning. He has insisted that it is urgent, however we have no staff we can spare at this time making it a difficult situation."
"Well I could take it." This is exactly the thing I had been hoping for. It won't even be that much work.
Snow is not as pleased and gives me a patronizing smile, "Don't be silly. You must be up and ready even earlier than usual to have the table set. We'll have to find someone else." He gives a slight nod as if to dismiss me, but I insist. "I am not being silly. I wake up every morning at half past four and if I leave then I can be back in plenty of time to set the table and serve breakfast."
"The post doesn't open until seven. It won't do any good."
"My families bakery is next door I can leave it with one of my brothers and they will have it in at seven o'clock sharp." Snow looks as if he is getting ready to disagree with me until I find an unlikely ally.
"Then it is settled." Mrs. Coin says. She has a faint impish grin on her face as she takes the letter from him and hands it to me.
Author's Note: Please, please, please review.