To be a commissioned scribe was normally an honor. The children of middleclass families trained in writing until they received the badge that signified they were suited for the position. Lower class families saved up money in the hopes of sending their children through the same program. To possess a badge could mean a major improvement to your family's livelihood if you came from below the poverty line.
Upper class families and nobility hired the best scribes for their family use, while less prosperous families hired scribes on a job-by-job basis. If a family was particularly rich, they may employee two or three scribes – a different scribe for business as opposed to personal letters, or a scribe for the parents and one for the children, for example.
Yes, to employ a scribe was a status symbol, showing others that your household was lucrative enough to afford one. Letters written by scribes held a stamp in the corner to signify the prestige. Sure, the ladies and gentlemen could write their own letters, but to do so gave less reputation.
By any normal turn of events, Stiles would never have become a scribe. He didn't train for it. He took no classes. When Lady Katherine Argent had gotten her claws into him, she'd forced him to take the exam, the final step to receiving a scribe's badge. To no one's surprise, Stiles had passed flawlessly. The badge now had a permanent spot of honor on the writing desk Stiles had been given to work on. It was made of polished steel, perfected until it shone like silver. It was curved and shaped until it took the form of a solid circle with a feather pointing into it. The feather was engraved where it overlapped the circle and was mostly realistic despite its softened edges.
Stiles hated the badge, not because he hated the way it looked or the profession it represented, but because it was a symbol of how far he had fallen. It was a symbol of his current status, indebted to Katherine Argent.
He stared at the badge, his head lying on his arms, which were crossed on the desk. Sometimes the life of a scribe was boring. Kate had ordered him to stay home and wait for the post, in case Derek Hale happened to respond to her letter while she was out at a function in town. Normally, Stiles liked to walk the hills on the edge of the Argent main property or, if he was particularly unencumbered by his job, walk all the way into town to see the wares hanging in the shop windows.
But noooo. Not today. He was on glorified house arrest. He didn't even have Allison to keep him company. She was away at school and wouldn't return to the main house until well into the afternoon.
He hated that badge.
His stomach rumbling reminded him that he hadn't eaten in several hours, and he should probably hunt down his lunch in the kitchens. No sooner had he risen to act on that line of thinking than the doorbell chimed. Stiles checked the clock. They weren't expecting visitors. It was too late for a milk delivery.
Pursing his lips, Stiles strolled the halls until he made it to the entryway. The head butler was there, setting something down on the hall table.
"Reddick, what's going on?" Stiles asked, coming closer to peer over the dark man's shoulder.
"A letter arrived for Lady Katherine Argent. She can see it here when she returns. It is no business of yours," the older man said and sniffed in disapproval.
Stiles leveled the man with an unimpressed look. "Reddick, do you even understand what my job is? Letters are. Letters are literally my whole job. I was told to stay home today exactly in case a letter arrived. This is effectively my letter too. This letter is my job. My life, you might say. This letter-"
"Oh, dear God. Just take the letter and be gone, will you?" Reddick groaned and thrust the envelope at Stiles' chest. Once Stiles had it, the man turned and briskly left the area, desperate to escape Stiles' ranting.
Perfect. A little word vomit and Reddick would concede to whatever Stiles wanted. Worked every time.
Pocketing the letter, Stiles hurried into the sitting room. This time he absolutely had to read Derek's letter before Kate returned home. Once the door was securely shut behind him, Stiles pulled the letter out of his pocket and retrieved his opener. The letter for Kate slipped out immediately.
It was a formal reply, thanking Kate for her interest in his property but surprised by it all the same. Stiles was gathering the idea that Kate had never been interested in anyone's livelihood except her own, which was still true, so her interest now was shocking. Derek went on to thank her for her invitation to the Argent estate but also to politely decline. He was currently in the middle of business and could not get away. Perhaps in autumn, he said. Kate would not like that. The Argent estate was gorgeous in spring and summer, but it always seemed a bit dampened with the coolness of autumn. A dampened estate was not as impressive, regardless of size.
Derek's inquires about the family would be well received, and he seemed generally interested in the wellbeing of Kate's brother, The Honorable Christopher Argent, and his daughter. He knew, as much as any socially responsible gentleman, that Christopher was lately a widower. Unlike most people, Derek did not ask if Chris was looking to fill that role in his household. Stiles liked him even more for that, but it was always hard to tell sincerity in a letter. You couldn't read body language or vocal tone.
The letter ended without much pizzazz, but it was more than suitable for Kate. She would be happy about the length. Good.
Setting the first letter aside, Stiles reached back into the envelope and smiled. Just like before, a second letter was hidden inside. He couldn't help the way his heart pounded with excitement and anticipation. No one had written to Stiles in a long time, and the fact that the letters were a secret made for even more fun.
'Mr. Stiles,
Pardon my introduction. Is Stiles a surname or a given name? Regardless, it is an odd name. I've never met a Stiles before. I also found no documentation of a Stiles in the scribe records. I hope you aren't misleading me.
I cannot imagine ever working near Kate Argent, much less for her. I commend you for that kind of durability. She cannot be a very easy mistress. However, I hope that you at least find some comfort in her niece. Allison was always a sweet girl, even with a mother and aunt as strict and devious as she had. I can only hope she grew up as kind as I knew her, but with the ferocity of her father. He is a shrewd but likeable man, at least in matters of business.
Excuse me. I'm sure you have no interest in the business of running estates or the prattling of old men. I listen to it most days now, and I believe it has rubbed off on me, though I am not yet thirty-two. Responsibility and experience have a way of aging a person prematurely. Some days I feel as if I am twice my age. I wonder – if Kate Argent knew I was not the same boy she deluded all those years ago, would she still be interested in winning my affections? On the other hand, I'm sure my demeanor changes nothing about her plans, whatever they may be. Best wishes for your health and family,
Derek Hale
When he finished reading, Stiles had to squish his own cheeks, because he realized he'd accidentally started grinning. The letter wasn't even that joyful, but it made Stiles uncharacteristically happy. Had he mentioned he never got mail? Because he didn't. Ever. And this random gentleman took the time to write a letter to a scribe. A letter that rivaled the length of the one he wrote to an actual Earl's daughter, a true Lady. He didn't even care that he'd been partially insulted in the first paragraph. This was quite possibly the best day Stiles had experienced in a year.
He even got a fancy valediction. That was more than Katherine Argent could boast.
Speaking of Kate, Stiles didn't want to wait the long hours it would take her to return home and order him to write a response. Instead, he pulled out his ink well and paper right that moment and penned a potential response for Kate.
Kate's letter bemoaned the loss of Derek's visit. 'I cannot express enough mine or my family's disappointment.' But Stiles tempered the dramatic declarations with an easy and jovial invite for Derek to at least visit the county soon, for business if he must but preferably for pleasure. Gévaudan was a bountiful county, and the largest town was not too far for Kate to travel, in fact she was there now, and the proximity would be suitable for her needs… whatever they really were.
He went on to write that Kate was more than open to hearing whatever Derek wanted to tell her, about business or otherwise. Then he added a new topic by inquiring after the marriage of Lady Laura Hale. Whom had she married? Derek had failed to mention it in his first letter. One more note about the missed beauty of Derek's handsome chin and Stiles closed the letter with a flourish.
Alright. The hard part was over. Now to write in his own words.
His own words. It was such a relief. Such a pleasure. He could write almost anything he wanted, no direction given. He smiled down at his new blank paper.
'Mr. Derek Hale,
Stiles is a moniker, officially. I have not gone by my real name in roughly five years, and there is some tender baggage attached to the name. So, until I can bear the weight of that history again, Stiles I will be. As odd as the name sounds to you, I'm partial to it. My father used to call me that, a fondness on his face. Or exasperation. I caused both as often as the other. I won't lie. I was a troublemaker. A real rogue. And I'm proud of that.
Allison is my truest friend in the whole world. She keeps me sane when I teeter on madness. Honestly, I fear the day she marries – not because I want to keep her single forever but… Okay, maybe because I want her to stay single. When she marries, as she definitely will, she will move away from the Argent household, and I will be left alone with the revolving servants and, worse, with Kate. I am employed by Kate, not by the Argents. I cannot simply leave with Allison, as much as I'd want to. Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever be able to leave at all.
Sorry. That was a dreary sentence. My life is not so bad. I have more freedom than the servants, can go into town whenever I choose, and I get to eat in the dining hall with the rest of the family, if I happen to attend meals at the same time. I am not a prisoner.
Honestly, I have a distrust of most people. Perhaps I developed it by working for Kate, but I assume everyone has an ulterior motive, a dirty secret. Funnily, I haven't imagined the same for you since your first letter. Anyone who distrusts Kate must have a good head on their shoulders. Plus, you called to me for help. A sign of trust deserves a sign of trust.
Thirty-one, you say? I imagined you closer to forty, like Kate. I am a little bit affronted by her gall now, not that I wasn't before. Ten years ago, you would have been twenty-one, one year younger than I am now, and Kate would have been twenty-nine. How she could justify toying with a man so many years younger than herself astounds me. I apologize if that sounds at all insulting to you. I assure you, I'm only trying to insult her.
This letter is getting too long. I won't be able to hide it properly if I exceed one page, so I'll cut myself off. If you knew me in person, you would understand my tendency for rambling.
My best to you and yours, eagerly awaiting your reply,
Stiles
He set the page aside to dry and got up to pace. Should he tell Allison about these letters? He knew she would never tell Kate – she was as adept at lying to her aunt as Stiles was – but the more people who knew a secret, the more likely it was to get out. Stiles was actively speaking ill of Kate now. If she discovered any of it, he would probably wish he were dead.
But Allison would never tell. It was more likely that she would be supportive of his new outlet. He was worrying for nothing… but all the same, he should probably hold off on telling her, at least to see if the letters continued. There was no guarantee, after all, that Derek would keep writing to him. If the letters stopped, he'd rather take the force of the disappointment alone.
When the ink was dry, he folded his letter tightly and slid it into a new envelope. He'd present Kate with the other letters when she arrived, both Derek's and then Stiles' reply. She'd have him revise it, just to be prudish, and then Stiles could send off both replies.
The thought of waiting for a potential letter had Stiles bouncing and fidgeting. The anxiety was a different brand than the stuff Kate caused, but it made him jittery all the same.
Hope, he realized, was a special type of poison. And how pitiful was he that he put so much of it into the quill of a stranger.