As soon as the visitation of Marchioness Midford ended, she could not help herself but be visibly relieved. It may or may not be her imagination, but she felt like her staff also held the same sentiments. It was admittedly night, but she wasn't frolicking at the dead of night in some district in England. No, she was merely taking a stroll around her garden. While her mansion was far from the bustling streets of England, it was not in the country side. So, the moon was of no help as of lighting as the sky seem to have a permanent gray cast, but it wasn't overtaken by the accumulation of pollution. No, it was merely decoration to a scenic background, for a lovely mansion and pseudo town.
The garden had tastefully placed oil lamps. They held the same purpose of the torches around the mansion covering the outside. It was a mere aesthetic. The oil lamps were set up every night and take down before the first rays of sunlight. Was it inefficient work? Well, yes, it most certainly was. However, lately she doesn't mind some inefficiency. It gave her staff something somewhat new and they will also be able to enjoy the scene at night.
She waved at a few guards that patrolled the gardens; some bowed, others waved, all acknowledged her. The guards used to only sit at the perimeters of the building. They only rotated twice a night to stretch their legs. Fault can be given to her as she once dictated that wasting energy by patrolling around can cause inefficient use of staff and of resources. They were essentially forced by her word and then by their inability to see what was pass the light the torches on the walls gave them.
She continued her nightly stroll looking at the many flowers in her garden: roses, ranunculus, forget-me-nots, gladiolus, sweet pea, matthiola, carnations, bluebells, etc.
Looking at the flowers reminded her of a time where she had learned floriography. It was one of the first lessons she learned, strangely enough. She assumed that she would immediately be taught how to act, address, and speak like a noble. If anything, she would have been taught how to read or write (not that she needed it), or do some basic arithmetic. She was surprised to start learning the language of flowers. It was strange, but not unwelcome. This was something relatively new to her and it wasn't applicable or practical to know the meaning of flowers previously. It didn't make sense until later why she learned floriography as there were many topics nobles can't say or convey, public or private. This way of messaging became insidious and incredibly uncomfortable once a person gets past the beauty of the flowers.
Still, the meanings of the flowers could speak more than the owner could ever say. What lies in the gardens are more than just the corpses of the flora.
Lilith admired the rose bushes in her garden. They were a basic staple to all gardens and love. She continued to watch the staff of her household calmly stroll under the night sky. Some even brought their significant other to enjoy the scenery. While unauthorized persons were usually a signal of danger and were banned anywhere near her mansion, she was fine with letting people outside her staff enjoy her gardens along with her, at least recently. It also eased her mind that everyone here was signed in, verified, and had two to three witnesses acknowledging and vouching for their said existence. Security eased her state of mind.
"Mistress."
She turned around and saw a blonde aging butler of hers.
"Clyde."
"May I join you for a walk."
"I would love your company."
The two sashayed around the garden, mindlessly following the stone path that wound*. They talked and Lilith took note that his conversation skills improved significantly since the first time. Topics ranged from simple atmosphere, to the rest of the staff in the manor, to her childhood growing up here. It was mentioned that Clyde was her first personal servant. She admitted that she had no recollection of the time they previously spent together. He reassured her that the past brings trauma and it was okay she didn't remember.
Clyde looked at the current head of the Laughleft manor, his mistress. She grew up beautifully over the years (the rest of the country also noticed). Yet, to those who worked in the manor long enough, to the staffs eyes it was more than just physical beauty. Sure, there were those who believed she grew uglier, especially when the during the time when the mistress was cold and uncaring because of the death of Lawrence Laughleft. Even now, when she is resembling fragments of her old self, doubters linger in the staff, initially he was going to have them replaced, but most do their job efficiently and hold no ill will that they could enact on. After all, efficiently remained as a strong characteristic in the Laughleft manor.
They continued to chatter before their conversation was cut short as another blonde servant, much younger than Clyde, stumbled in front of them. Both waited patiently as he caught up to them, he was slightly out of breath and had a gleam in his gray eyes. He was clearly shaking like an excited puppy.
"Milady! Sir Clyde!" He bowed before both higher ups before speaking animatedly.
"I was in the Labs just a few short moments and I discovered the most particular thing! May I join you in conversation?"
Lilith agreed to his company and Clyde also gave permission. He wasn't at all rude, but he was one of the few newbies in the Laughleft manor that felt more at ease with the marchioness. Together they strolled around the gardens with Bartholomew talking enough for the both of them. Bart was a good influence on the mistress as he was the first one to open up the 18 years young woman. It might have helped that they are relatively of the same age with Bart being only a year older, technically 10 months, but still the same.
Clyde observed as his mistress giggled behind a gloved hand when Bart was mentioning about the multiple fires that "spontaneously" happened when inside the lab. He smiled along with the rest on the young accompaniment beside him. Both reminded him of his child he had long ago. Ever since he was deemed as a "handicapped" man his familial life was crumbling around him. He used to be in the army, then became an officer, then was recruited into a guard in the queen's palace. It wasn't until he was an officer in the Scotland yard that things became messy.
He was good at his job, great even, but when you are part of the police force and was a good officer, enemies became a regular requirement. His family was never targeted, thank the heavens for small mercies. However, they became persistent in trying to kill him. One particular event was during the winter season. He doesn't like remembering the event, but it made his lower body in a temporary paraplegic state. Not only was he taken off the active roster, but he was stuck being a paper pusher for a few months. With his state and more than half his duties being shuffled among the other officers, his pay was cut. It didn't help that his pay had to go to medical expenses instead of his family.
His wife was distraught and his son was still an infant. The cold of winter, the expensive bills, and the stress of having a child that could very much die that winter led to plentiful agonizing cries. His relationship with his wife was strained until he was put back in the active roster. Even then, their relationship was strained, there were comments that should've been left unsaid, but words that should have been said.
Eventually he was promoted to a guard in the queen's palace. A job with high honor. His family life improved and his son was at least 4 at the time. He served the queen for 6 years and he never felt as much love as he did then. Suddenly the assassination attempt on the king happened. Once again, he was injured, but this was deemed permanent by the doctors. With the last of his money and his connections he told his wife to visit her family down south in the rural areas of England. He planned out their trek, warned her parents, and gave the remaining money to his wife. He told her he loved her, and she did tell him too. His son, 10 years old, gave him a kiss along with his wife, and left on a carriage.
The day following his family's departure, he abandoned his last name, and continued serving the queen until his termination day. He didn't want to let his family suffer as he declines farther down the social caste. He didn't want them to worry that he, a husband and a father, was abandoning them. They deserved a better life; a life which they won't ration out food, where they would not be living payday to payday.
He sent them away for the better. It was the best decision back then. As expected, his pay dropped, his money barely sustained himself as he was laid off weeks at a time. Then finally he was sold, just like any other servant, at a low price, as a butler. His accomplishments weren't completely ignored (or so he hoped) when he was at least handed down to a noble ranked just below royalty.
A few months gone by, not sure how to feel about serving a teen noble, but soon he was (as he dubbed it) on babysitting duty when he was in charge of a 10-year-old girl, Lilith Laughleft. Her name was already changed to match the manor. There his adventures as a butler to his current mistress began.
Bartholomew was new, but he would've have been the same age as his son. Bart had some of the same features of him, but it is common to find blonde hair in England. Clyde's eyes were bluer, when Bartholomew was grey. Clyde had a more stockier build when Bart was leaner, kind of scrawny (but it may have been due to training his physical body changed). However, since coming to this manor and in light of recent events, he has a family here. Sure, it may only contain his mistress, the blonde newbie, and a few select other staff members, but he was happy. He was just as happy as if he was with his actual family right now.
Clyde kept gazing at his children before him (yes, because to his eyes they were both his children). His smiled never waned when he was in front of them. Because for the first time in a while, he was genuine.
"Mistress, Bartholomew, it is late. I recommend sleep and continue this conversation till morrow."
They stopped chatting (more like Bart stopped ranting) and looked toward the old man.
"It is half past 10 and mistress you still have to ready yourself to bed. Bartholomew, you asked me previously to wake you up the same time I would to check on an experiment in the labs."
They both agreed.
Bart's time in the Laughleft manor was everything, but boring. The first 3 months in his trial run was boring sure, but his short patience was rewarded with a lab! Then a year after he met the mistress, who was intellectual enough to keep up with his conversations. She even corrected him a few times, which show cased his mistress's knowledge; it was more than he could grasp! After the encounter, he couldn't help, but discuss his progress with her. The mistress was not what he expected. He assumed the woman would be cold, strict, and calculating. He held that notion even after their first meeting. However, as time continue to move onward he met more than just a noble, he met a human. For most, England and every other nation had a distinct class divide. The rich, the middle, and the poor. One does not associate much with the other. It was assumed that middle class would be the bridge between, however that was not the case.
The rich believed the middle to be still too poor to socialize with openly. The poor thought the middle to be as just as condescending as the rich. Middle class can still make do with either class, but not both at the same time. The divide was more than just social or economic. Each class had a sort of pride, its own language, its own culture. It was pick one or none for the middle class.
Bart came from streets. He was poor. His family abandoned him at a young age, sold off to some person for labor in the outskirts of England. He honestly can't remember much, but he fled to London. There he lived on the streets for years. Then he got word that some mansion was hiring servants. He applied rapidly. He was interviewed, tested, then given the trial run. He never met the mistress until that night.
He bid Lady Laughleft a goodnight as Clyde and himself drifted to the servant housing district. A relatively large group of staff members surprisingly doesn't live in the manor with the mistress. Most chose to live in the mock town area. He didn't understand why. The mansion was much grander than living in a 'home' that clearly showed social class. In the mock town it showed the divide. The rich, the middle, and the poor. He initially thought it was part of their job. After all, it served the mistress well. Yet, when he asked the staff, they said they chose to leave and live "outside" of the Lady's domain. Some reasons were pride, independence, or to help serve her in more efficient way. Personally, he would not leave the mansion anytime soon. Exercising was not his forte, despite living on the streets.
He appreciated his mistress and would help her anyway possible. It doesn't mean he would die for her, but he was getting pretty close to give up his room in the mansion. He might be able to give up a kidney given some time, if only because Lady Laughleft explained why he would still be able to live with one. He is not blindingly loyal, and hopefully will never be. However, he is willing to sacrifice more of him if given enough or good reasons to do so.
Lilith sat in her honey scented bath. It was probably near midnight by now and had many duties to perform for tomorrow, or today depending on the actual time. After her stroll around the garden she dismissed her servants to their quarters to rest. If she did not, both would have escorted her to her room.
She pondered about everything: the past, the future, her mistakes, her achievements, some less savory scenes in the mansion, her encounter with multiple players. Her thought rattled her brain jumping from subject to subject. In her previous life she would have to pace to catch most of her thoughts that ran 180 kilometers per second. Now, she daydreamed. With closed eyes, she is able to process what goes on in her mind.
She can't remember specifics of the storyline, quite honestly, she watched the anime once, skimmed through the manga's when she was at a bookstore, read some information on the wikis, listened to rants about the fandom from friends, and scrolled though head cannons of the characters from writing outlets. Two out of five sources were biased and had potential to be false, and out of the remaining 3 sources 2 had different plots. Anime tend to be different from the manga, especially if the anime kept going when the manga was not yet completed. She (only) solidly had evidence about what she remembered about the wiki. Unfortunately, she read the profiles of a few select characters. Most of which didn't have much information, and had a short bio.
She took a deep breath and submerge her entire self into the water. Her hair was suspended in the water, flowing around her in sections. She didn't dare open her eyes. She was submerged, but not hidden. Her eyes were closed, but she can still see. She saw darkness, but she knew what was within it.
She could open her mouth and breath the water around her. She could stop right here. Have another tragedy fall upon the Laughleft name. She could crash the economy, make it go into a recession, but it will repair itself in time. She didn't have to meddle, she could've ran; she could have run so far away, move to the Americas, fake a death, become a number, or even live as a prostitute. She can still do many of these things and leave.
She broke through water and gasped for air.
She wouldn't or much couldn't leave now. She was in too deep, she set up so much, and she refused to leave when she has a winning hand. Lilith was a strategic fighter and this particular fight, she was going to make sure she wins.
Lilith exited the bath and prepped herself for bed. It had been a long time when she had to prepare herself. She was used to the spoils of nobles, it wasn't uncomfortable, but it was reminiscent like and old ache from a wound already healed. She exited the lavatory into her brightly lit chambers. She walked to her bedside table and got out several scented candles. She lit them all and placed them around her room. With this she could turn off the lights. Her room still glowed, but not the obnoxious bright fluorescent lights. It was dim, and it could have been labeled romantic with the scent and the setting. However, Lilith didn't do romantic, at least not anymore, or not now.
She glided to the mirror and combed her hair. Her hair was black. Not black with a bluish tint, or black that was brown. It was a solid black. Staring straight at her reflections was green colored eyes. It was vibrant and it was lively. Emeralds, her fiancée used to compare them to. She loved the combination, she knew if she were someone else, she would envy herself. However, other than those characteristics, she hated everything else. Skin so white, it was sickly, unhealthy, and pale. It was too pale. Yet, it was sought after with vigor. Women would powder themselves to look as white as a sheet, to stay inside for years on end to attain a skin color so grotesque. Why she used to question, now she understood. A man is attracted to white skin because it showed frailty, it showed fragility, it showed, in inappropriate words, fuck-ability.
Lilith shivered as she combed her hair. The thought was vile enough to affect her physical being. She ignored the sensation and combed her hair again.
A woman who is pale is a woman who never goes outside. A woman who is pale and never goes outside is pampered and spoiled. A woman who is pale, who never goes outside, pampered, and spoiled means she listens to father. A woman who is pale, never goes outside, pampered, and listen to a father is conquerable. A woman who is pale, never goes outside, pampered, listens to father, and conquerable is easy prey. Easy prey doesn't have strength, easy prey doesn't have will when cornered, easy prey is always available, easy prey is easy. Women are easy.
All men have to do is make friends with father and the woman is theirs. And when the father is out of the picture, they listen to them by force if necessary. No one would believe that a father would recklessly just give their daughter away. So, any accusations on the man from the "wife" is null. A wife could file a divorce, but the backlash on women are much more severe than a man. A divorced woman would live in shame, most likely be forced in prostitution because the father will most likely not receive her to save face. She would be free, but at the cost of luxury and stability. How many women are willing to give up the life of nobility? No if a hand must be played it is one of deadly consequences. Either live with the man who blemishes the body or kill the man who tainted the mind. Being arrested for murder was preferable than to live on the streets of prostitutes. However, being arrested only counted if one got caught. Much more women prefer taking a chance at murder than divorce.
At this day and age, women were scary, but because they have reason too.
Lilith stopped. Her hair was shiny and relatively straight. Her natural hair tends to curl in at the ends, but due to the brushing, it was wavier as her hair descends.
She got up and vacated her chair to the bed, but not before blowing out all the candles as she made her way to sleep. The room slowly got dimmer with each candle blown out.
Women want to look like her. They wanted her deadly glow, her fake pitched voice, her almond, possibly cat shaped, eyes, and her long luxurious hair. They wanted to be sickly pale, to be anorexic in the stomach, but with ample chests and birthing hips. They wanted their lungs up to their hearts, their intestines to their uterus, and their figure to be the very skeleton that resides in their body. This obsession for perfection was hauntingly disfigured. It should not be a model for perfection. It was a model for a trend of body dysmorphia, a trend that has taken shape in the Victorian era.
She got to her bed with a single candle still a lit on the bedside table.
But then again, she was the one who set the trend. As she appears in public more often, men gather to ogle at her. Some knew how to mask, most didn't bother. Others even divorce under the pretense they were not happy with their wife. It just happened to coincide at the time when she was eligible for marriage when she turned 18. Men were easy to read. They are ruled by instinct when shown a note-worthy prize. One that was denied for so many years till recently.
She made noble women fear of divorce not caused by their own discretion. They tried to diminish her appearance by not inviting her to social events ruled by women; her power by staying close to their husbands, giving them more than enough attention so their eyes wouldn't wander; her credibility by spreading rumors by the dozen to catch fire and spread till their was nothing but ash. All attempts were proved naught. Now they do what they can only do. Imitate. After all, imitation is the best form of flattery.
She blew out the last candle making her room as dark as the night.
It's better that the noble women only copied her physical appearance. If they copied anything else, she might cause a revolution in England.
A/N: So initially I wanted to do a double update with chapter 11, but this ran like 1,500 words and I thought it was a bit too short to be its own chapter. I decided to update another day and what better day then the 1st of October! So this came out relatively quickly, thank sporadic updates, or curse at them. Whatever floats your boat. I may not update for a while as stuff gets busy at the ending months.
So yeah I decided to just add another "Filler" chapter and I may or may not want to continue it a bit for a while. Or take advantage of "filler" chapters. Who knows?