Montaielli is pronounced Mon-thai(like the food)-ehlee
-
-
Chapter 4: Unsettling
-
-
-
She counted the amount of stitches in the row to assure herself that she had sewn evenly. Ruffling the shawl, she noticed a lapse in her stitching and she sighed in defeat. It was the second time she had sewn the rip. Murmuring to herself, she took her scissors and was about to begin snipping the threads when she heard the clicking of his shoes in the hall.
He had clearly been looking for her and squinted his eyes as he approached; trying to see what it was she was holding. His eyes widened and he walked briskly towards her. She dropped her things and cupped her hands in her lap.
"What is this?" he asked fiercely, grabbing the shawl from her. He flashed the stitching in her face.
"I was only fixing a small tear, nothing terribly large." She said meekly, casting her eyes downwards.
"You're sewing clothes? What are you, a slave?" he replied scathingly. He threw the shawl onto the floor and snapped his fingers. She immediately stood and curtsied before him. His sudden anger disturbed her internally and she gripped tightly at her skirt so her trembles would not be visible.
"We have various house elves, Gi. I do not ever want to see you doing servant's work again." he told her before exiting through the hall's maple doors.
She lifted herself and wiped at her tears with a small handkerchief. Attempting to calm herself and regain her composure, she decided to take a walk around the gardens. After admiring the flower patio, she moved towards the apple orchard. She did not venture far, however, as it was quite inappropriate for her to be without escort.
Shortly after eating a few apples, her intense hunger almost painful, a house elf addressed her and bowed low to the ground. She turned and nodded her head.
"The Master would like to see you." he said to her, looking up only slightly.
"Very well." she responded, smoothing the intricate pleating in her skirt and reopening her umbrella before stepping from out of the tree's shade.
She knocked lightly on the door's smooth surface. It was stained a dark cherry and only added to the drear of the home.
"Come in," he said, his voice clear and loud.
She entered and shut the door quietly behind her. He neither offered her a seat nor some tea from the kettle by his desk.
Without looking up from his papers, he tossed a card to the edge of his desk. He waved her forward and pointed to it. She stepped cautiously towards the desk and retrieved the card.
"Raphael Montaielli is stopping by for a short visit tomorrow along with his wife and daughter Claire."
"How wonderful, darling." She replied, scratching the surface of the card with her fingernail. It made barely a whisper of noise. She thought of the way he said the girl's name... Claire... the 'C' delicately rolling off his tongue.
"That will be all." he said, flipping a page and scribbling a few notes on it.
She exited with a small curtsy and leaned against the wooden door. She lifted the card to her face.
You will be accommodated.
She crushed the paper in her hand. It seemed Ms. Montaielli was more than a guest.