Jane's birthday was approaching; a mere month before my own. Apparently, it was to be an affaire grande. Every day I was sent out to purchase food and other necessities, and fruit was delivered to our very door - an arranged gift from some relatives of Mrs. Holmes's in Montpellier. The kitchen counters were soon covered in delicacies to the point that the family was obliged to take their meals in the formal dining room.
The smell of food inundated the air and with the pleasant fall weather, the kitchen was a divine place to spend one's time. And, indeed, a great deal of time I did spend there, as I cooked the regular meals and kept an eye on the edibles overflowing the table and counters. I would also be baking the next few days, something I had grown to enjoy doing.
At night, however, I worked outside. The fence had to be done before we received guests and James had taken Jane's advice and asked her cousin to assist him. I was afforded the opportunity to discover that James and the young man of the house seemed to get on very well because I was delegated the task of holding the lantern for the two men whenever they were forced into working after nightfall. They both were pleasant, though they seemed to be oblivious to my effort of holding up the heavy contraption and trying to follow their every move.
They were amazingly comfortable with each other, despite the differences in their personalities and class. Perhaps because even with his expensive suits and nice shoes, the young master was no more averse to crawling around on his knees in the dirt than James himself was. There was no pretension; no indication that he thought at all that the task was beneath him.
I, for one, was convinced that he greatly enjoyed being outside and working like a common laborer. He was also very good at it, being exceptionally strong and observant. Somehow he managed to locate the best spots for James to set the posts simply by pushing at the ground with the toe of his shoe. James never questioned it or him and seemed to admire his ability and the honest air he had about him.
The Tuesday afternoon preceding the celebration, I spent my time cooking. I was alternating between stewing up some soup and squeezing lemons into a carafe to make lemonade when he came into the kitchen. He peered into a pot I was using to melt chocolate for the almond biscuits that were baking alongside the bread.
He didn't acknowledge me, and I could feel him tramping around behind my back, examining the feast laid out before him.
The table creaked.
"Do not touch those," I ordered without turning. I didn't know what he had pilfered, but everything was to be left for the festivities. I gave the lemon I had in my grip a final, emphatic squeeze and wiped my hands on my apron as I turned to look at him.
He stood staring at me with some grapes in his hand. I was a little surprised that he hadn't reached for the pastries, tortes, or chocolates that were in the middle of the table. Mrs. Holmes favored French cuisine, and along with the desserts, I was soon to go into town to purchase expensive cheeses and wines.
He arched his eyebrow at me, looking amazed that I had ventured to order him about.
"They're for the celebration, sir," I stated firmly.
He smirked and squinted down at his hand for a moment before popping the small purple fruit into his mouth. "I'm sure that they won't be missed," he replied smartly.
I "tsked" at him and gave him a reproving look. He was in just his waistcoat, his shirtsleeves rolled up, his tie loose, and his collar shoved down. His hair was mussed as if he had just awoken from a catnap. There were a few scars and bruises on his forearms, I imagine from more of those dangerous experiments he insisted on performing.
I finally had to smile at him as he shoved another grape in his mouth slowly and deliberately just to defy me. I turned from him, still smiling, and resumed my task.
As I was cutting through a sour lemon, he asked me what I was doing.
"I'm making lemonade."
"What happened to tea?"
"It's warm out," I responded, "and I thought you might like this. It's sweet but sour."
"Is it?" His voice was mocking enough to let me know he had tasted lemonade before. I blushed at how patronizing I had sounded.
He came and leaned against the counter next to me, his hands in his pockets and a maddening smirk on his fine face. I stilled for a moment, casting him a distracted glance out of the corner of my eye.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
He shrugged, "Watching you cook."
The thought made me flustered, and my hands shook so badly at his scrutiny that I had difficulty cutting through the lemon on my cutting board. He watched my discomfiture with a growing look of amusement.
"I'm sorry," he murmured very insincerely, "That sounded very rude. I often forget people do not like being so observed."
He was trying to mix me up and it worked well - my knife came down on the cutting board, missing the fruit entirely. My face grew warm, and I smoothed my hair self-consciously. He stared at me intently for a few more moments as I stumbled around and avoided looking at him.
He finally shoved off from the counter and began rifling through the cupboards behind me.
"What are you looking for?" I asked rather brusquely. His presence in the kitchen, though not at all annoying, was diverting me into odd and agitated behavior.
"Where are the biscuits from last night?"
"Jane ate the last of them."
He started to say something but caught himself. His response echoed more like a grunt instead. He closed the cupboards with a long-suffering sigh - always such a martyr.
"What are you cooking?"
I allowed myself to roll my eyes since my back was turned.
"Some soup and bread," I paused before saying what he really wanted to know, "And some spice cake."
I pulled out the bag of sugar and set it on the counter, attempting to bend over gracefully since he was standing behind me.
"Oh."
He stood there. I cupped some granules of sugar in my hands and dumped it into the half-full carafe, trying to gauge how much sweetness would be needed for all of the lemons. I ladled some cloudy juice out and sipped it. It was a little tart.
"Do we have ice?" he asked. I put the ladle down a little more forcefully than I needed to, exasperated by his constant questioning.
"Yes, but not much. I'm going to use it in the lemonade."
"Oh, good," was his absurd reply.
I silently prayed for patience and then glanced at him over my shoulder. He appeared fidgety, as if desperate for something to do.
"Am I bothering you?"
"That was your intent, was it not?" I replied impertinently.
He chuckled. I turned back to my work and waited for a beat, expecting another question, which came right on cue, "So is the chocolate for the party?"
Amusement shoved away my irritation. "Yes."
"Mmmm." His shoes padded across the floor.
"Do not touch that!" I exclaimed, turning to see him doing exactly what I had anticipated.
He put one hand on his hip, looking comically like an exasperated mother, which was absurd considering his other hand was poised over the pot, one finger about to descend into the warm chocolate like that of a five-year-old.
He obeyed, though he didn't move, waiting for me to apologize for raising my voice at him. Rather, I grabbed a croissant from the table and pushed him softly away from the stove.
"You're going to make yourself sick just eating this by itself. Here." I ran a knife through the bread's soft middle and opened it, spooning some of the dark confection into it and closing it like a sandwich. I held it out to him.
He stared at me as if I had just sprouted an extra head.
"Try it," I demanded.
He obliged and bit into it, not looking ill at ease at all with my study of him as he chewed. Some chocolate made its way to his cheek from his finger. I smiled and reached up to wipe it off with the edge of my apron.
He was never ungraceful. The awkwardness that sometimes afflicted young men had never been present in him. But at my touch, he jerked his face away inelegantly before he could stop himself.
Striding to the opposite counter as I backed up until my legs hit the lower cupboards, he arranged his treat onto a plate like a civilized person and wiped his cheek with a linen towel. I felt as if I had just done something horribly wrong, but when he spoke next, he sounded as if nothing at all had happened.
"This is good," he complimented.
I grabbed at my dress in anxiety. "Well, I'll bring some lemonade up to your room when I am finished." It was a blunt hint. I didn't want him near me right now; his presence was suffocating.
He obliged and exited with his plate, not saying goodbye or thank you. I exhaled as he disappeared and moved around the kitchen with more freedom. I enjoyed his company, but our encounters had grown stranger.
There was a strain, and I had just pushed it to its snapping point by trying to touch him. I tried not to feel insulted, but my chest constricted a bit.
I finished juicing the lemons and poured just enough sugar in to make the drink perfect. I added a few bits of ice and placed it on a tray to take to him.
I followed the strains of his violin, piercing and screeching, to the sitting room. He was curled up in my favorite chair, the fiddle on his knee, his head back, and the bow striking randomly at the chords. I flinched and cleared my throat.
He stared lazily at me. "Hello, Mary," he greeted as if we had not just spoken a few moments ago. I slid the tray onto the table next to him. He stared up at me as I bent close to him, unburdening myself of my load. I smiled nervously at him and poured him a healthy glass of cold lemonade.
"It's going to rain tomorrow," he stated randomly as I handed him the drink.
"Is it?" I replied.
"For a few days, actually." He straightened in his chair, and I watched him sip at the fruit of my labors with a neutral expression.
He imbibed it contentedly. I smoothed my dress and made an expectant noise.
He smiled at me teasingly, "It's the best drink I've ever tasted," he flattered and I smiled, satisfied.
I heard the rustle of a skirt in the doorway and then Jane's voice. "Would you mind if I tried it?"
My face was pleasant enough by the time I turned to face her. "How are you, Miss Jane?" I asked, curtsying.
She smiled at me, her eyes roving over me in that uncomfortably dissecting way. "I'm well," she answered and moved into the room, her skirts whispering, and landed herself on the arm of his chair. "So, may I try some?"
"Of course," I glanced at the tray, "let me get you a glass."
She smiled sweetly at me, "Oh, if it's a bother then never mind."
"Are you certain?"
She nodded and looked at him, "I'm sure my cousin will let me have a sip of his."
I picked up his plate, the croissant fully devoured now, and nodded. I turned to go, completely disinclined to open myself up to some humiliating encounter with her with him there to witness it. To my surprise, she stood up and followed me.
"I wanted to speak to you, Mary." She stopped me as I was just rounding the staircase to enter the kitchen.
My stomach rolled, but I merely faced her, my hand lying gently on the banister. "Yes?"
"You will be serving the guests at my party for the most part, and I just felt that we needed to discuss what you are going to wear. I was thinking that I could lend you a dress?"
"Oh," I stated dumbly, shocked by the unexpected nicety.
"What's your favorite color?"
I stared at her a bit, my mind searching for why she was being kind to me. "Blue," I replied evenly. It matched my fair skin.
"Blue? That sounds lovely, and it would complement your eyes and hair."
My jaw clenched as I waited for the turn.
"However," she continued, airily, walking past me towards her room, "I'll have to find something I do not mind having taken out a bit. My dresses are tailored for me, and I would guess my shoulders are not quite as wide as yours." With that, she was gone.
"Do whatever you please, miss," I hissed through clenched teeth to the empty hallway, letting her get the best of me for the first time.
I turned on my heel and strode my substantial form back into the kitchen where my mum had already arrived and set about stirring the soup.
I fumed next to her as she silently observed me. I mixed the chocolate one last time before moving or, rather, shoving it off the stove to cool. The pot clanged loudly against the counter. My mum stared at me.
The son had come to stand in the doorway but walked away after a moment of silence.
"Are you all right, Mary?" My mother inquired gently.
"I'm fine," I snapped. I started to reach for the biscuits to begin coating them but sighed and went to retrieve my shawl instead.
"I'm going for a walk," I informed her as I wrapped myself up and disappeared through the back door.
I went to the east, passing by the stables that housed Mr. and Mrs. Holmes's horses. The smell of hay was strong in the air, and I inhaled it deeply as I tried to remember how to get to the waterfall that was near. I'd never been there, but I heard Mrs. Holmes say once that it was to the east and passed the farmers.
I walked a bit, enjoying the pleasantness of the autumn twilight and letting my shawl hang loosely about my shoulders. My anger began to ebb as I watched the sun rays as they shifted into the darkness of night and stared at the purple rays of the horizon waning beneath the hills. It was best to ignore Jane. I could not fathom why she had taken such a dislike to me, but I suspected it was the same attitude she would have towards any girl of her own age that happened to be simply near her cousin. I wondered if she had even admitted her real feelings to herself.
I suddenly came to a dirt road, ensconced on each side by plots of land that looked very agricultural, surrounded by an old wood fence that came to my hips. I walked a few minutes on the road before spying a silhouetted figure on the other side of the fence a ways down. When I reached it, I saw that it was an older man, stout and red-skinned as if he'd been working in the sun all day. He leaned against his plow and watched me as I approached.
"Good evening, sir. Could you point me in the direction of the waterfall?" I tightened my shawl around me instinctively.
He smiled agreeably, though I didn't miss the appraising look that he swept over my form. "Just keep walking down this road, dear."
I thanked him and continued on.
"You shouldn't be walking around by yourself."
I jumped to the side and almost tripped over at the sound of a voice next to my ear. The young master reached out and grabbed my arm, avoiding my ungloved hand, his eyes showing shock at my reaction to his sudden appearance.
"Good heavens! You scared me!" I exclaimed breathlessly, "How long have you been following me?"
"Since you left, obviously."
"Why?"
"Because you don't know your way around."
"So you choose to stalk me? And with no jacket?" At home it was quite within his rights to walk about how he pleased, but outside it was highly improper.
He glanced around, "There is no one here but me and you," he answered, ignoring my first question.
"That isn't true! I just passed a farmer . . ." he gave me an incredulous look, and I clamped my mouth shut. That working man was not one to be offended by my companion's lack of propriety.
"You weren't behind me this whole time-"
"I was tracking you."
"Tracking me?"
He smiled, looking pleased with himself. "Your footprints are easy to decipher." He leaned down, gesturing around the side of my boot with a clinical swipe of his index finger, "You walk heavier on this side. The boot imprint is deeper here. Your footwear is also just a smidge too big for you. I imagine they are second-hand. You wear two pairs of socks to compensate for the looseness."
He stood, and I was under the impression that he was looking for some sign that I was impressed with his deductions. I wondered why he was here. Perhaps he came merely to remind me that it was not quite right of me to go running off without finishing dinner. Or maybe he had come simply because no one would have expected him to seek out to comfort a servant. Either way, I didn't appreciate the sentiment.
He seemed to read my thoughts and took a step back, "Would you like me to go?"
I hesitated and admitted to myself that I did not. I took a tentative step forward and he read me, falling into pace next to me and walking leisurely at my side, keeping his strides in rhythm with mine.
"Where are you going?"
"To the waterfall."
"Have you been there before?"
I shook my head and he took my arm, navigating me through a patch of trees. "Here's a shortcut. Watch out for branches. I used to go there all the time when I was a boy."
We hiked through some closely gathered trees, keeping our hands in front of our faces to guard against unseen foliage. I could hear the sound of rushing water before we had cleared the trees. When we stepped into the grass next to the rapids, I gaped at it a bit. The crest of the fall was backdropped against the western sunset, and it cast dazzling rosy and saffron hues onto the shifting water.
He moved forward, going closer to the edge than I was willing, and peered down into the canyon below. "It's not far," he stated to reassure me, "though I wouldn't suggest jumping into it."
I nodded, recalling the fate of their last maid, and plopped myself down on my rump without approaching any closer. Dampness from the mist soaked into my dress, and I gritted my teeth but refused to stand back up. I was not going to let him know my backside was wet.
He slipped his hands into his pockets. The spray had caught his sleeve and drenched the white silk. A patch of pale skin could be seen through the transparent spot. I looked away and leaned my elbows on my knees.
"You're not upset, are you?" he asked, tilting his head back to look at the sky as grey gathered and pushed out the comforting tints of ochre. The sun dipped behind the fall, and it grew darker.
His irises were almost silver against the dusk when he lowered his head to regard me, waiting for me to answer.
"Yes," I admitted.
"Don't be."
"Why not?"
"If you are going to feel anything for Jane, just let it be pity."
"I beg your pardon? Are you defending her?" I asked angrily.
He shook his head, "No, but she lost her whole family in short succession. Consumption ripped through her home. She was likely only spared because she was sent here to us."
"So? What is your point?" Childishly, I wanted him to insult her.
"She's . . ."
He trailed off. I could think of many things Jane was. I clucked my tongue slowly and thickly instead of enumerating them, though my thoughts came through even in that gesture.
"She's difficult, but I just wonder what she'd be like if her life were different," he confessed. He smiled weakly, "That's terribly philosophical of me, isn't it?"
I pursed my lips. "She's infatuated with you," I said bluntly.
He looked shocked, then slightly angry. "No, she is not."
"Yes, she is."
That anger shifted to something bewildered. "No, she cannot be. Why …" he trailed off, looking off into the distance as if the answer was somewhere out there.
"Why is that so hard for you to believe?" I asked.
When he turned back to me, he looked lost, as if the very idea that a lady would feel that way had never occurred to him. I couldn't imagine it was the first time.
I took pity on him, feeling a surge of regret for mentioning it. It was not my place to make such observations. "Never mind me, sir. I am only speculating. It's a … what do you call it in experiments?"
"A hypothesis?"
"Yes, merely a hypothesis. You know your cousin much better than I do."
He nodded, but it seemed uncertain.
We sat in pregnant silence for a while.
He approached me and held out his hand. "Come now, let's cut along before everyone realizes we've gone."
I stretched to take his hand, but he clasped my elbow instead, hefting me up effortlessly.
"Why didn't you let me touch you?" I asked before I could stop myself and think about how appalling the question really was.
"I beg your pardon?" He looked startled.
"In the kitchen," I surged forward, "am I not allowed? Did I do something wrong?"
His lips parted in shock, and he stared into my eyes for a second before dropping his gaze to look at my own mouth. "You just took me by surprise, Mary," he evaded.
I swallowed and nodded, turning to start back into the trees.
"By all accounts, Mary, we aren't even meant to be talking to each other. My family has always been unconventional, but even I know what our roles are," he continued, stopping me.
I turned to him. "I know it too, sir. So why do you lower yourself to be friendly with a servant?"
He shrugged. "I've never much gone in for those arbitrary rules. Why should I shun you or your mother simply because I have the appearance of wealth – wealth I do not have, mind you. Not personally, at least." He was quiet for a tense second and then shrugged again, though the gesture was forced this time. "Besides, I don't make friends easily. I feel bored around others and disconnected from them. I don't take a liking to people often."
"And you've taken a liking to me?"
"I see a spark of something in you that intrigues me."
"Well, I'm glad to be of some entertainment to you."
He looked frustrated by my curt reply. "That's not what I meant."
When he didn't elaborate, I pushed a thin branch out of my way and then suddenly felt his hand in mine. He took the lead, guiding me through the shadowed shrubbery, his warm fingers clenched around my palm.
The next morning it rained, as prophesied. I strolled outside before meeting the carriage driver to go into town to buy more items for Jane's celebration. I decided to have a word with James before I departed, seeing as I would probably not get the chance to see him any later that day.
It had stopped raining only early that morning, and there was still a faint chill in the air even in the middle of the afternoon. The bees were still humming, though the sound was more subdued. Perhaps they were hiding from the cold.
I tucked my shawl tighter around my shoulders as I strode up to James, tapping him on the shoulder. He was busy nailing a board into a post and started when I touched him.
I smiled when he faced me, "Did I scare you?"
He shrugged, smiling bashfully at himself.
"What are you doing out here at this time?"
I waved the list of necessities that I had received from its secreted place in my dress. "I have been sent into town for the day."
He reached for the list, but I good-humoredly snatched it out of his reach.
"What for?" He grabbed for it again, but I pulled my hands behind my back; he did not try to reach around me to get it.
"Food for Jane's little party."
"Little party?" His eyes glimmered wickedly, "that sounded a tad snide, Miss Mary."
I stuck out my tongue.
He reached around me suddenly and grabbed my paper before I could react and held it to his face.
"A lot of cheese here."
"We're serving hor d'oeuvres."
"Ahhh," he frowned at me, "You have to go to Mr. Berkely for that. He's the only one who sells brie."
"I know, Mrs. Holmes told me where I was to go. I hope I do not get lost, though."
"Maybe you do. Mr. Berkely is an unpleasant man. You may end up wanting to smack him before you get what you want."
"Why is he so unpleasant?"
"He's old and ornery. Likes to argue, probably will try to find some reason you're not good enough for his cheese." I stifled an urge to laugh at the absurd comment as he paused as if considering, "Maybe you should get a gentleman with you."
I rolled my eyes at him for his chivalry. "You, though, are working and I am not in the position to ask any other certain gentleman to go anywhere with me."
James smiled as if he knew something I did not. "You may not want a 'certain' other person to go with you anyway. He most likely will smack anyone unpleasant, and that would hardly help matters."
I gave James an incredulous look, "That is utterly ridiculous; he would never. He does not strike me as the type to lose his self-control easily."
James winked at me, "That is what he would like you to think. You have not heard about what happened a few years back?"
"What? When?" I had to confess to an interest in the matter. It was nosy on my part but is that not what maids are expected to do? Meddle and pry - I could do it with the best.
"There was an incident while they were in the metropolis together."
"Who?"
"Mrs. Holmes and her darling son."
"What happened?"
He picked up his hammer and swung it from hand to hand, pleased with himself that I was so enraptured with what he was relating. "A young gentleman rounded on Mrs. Holmes in the street. Harassed her; I do not know exactly what the problem was, but apparently, he would not leave her alone."
"Did they know each other?"
James stopped the incessant movement he was making with the tool and looked down. "I am not sure. I assume they must have been of acquaintance." James may have loved to talk, but even he knew where to draw the line with gossip and would not speculate on the nature of the relationship.
"Anyway," he continued, "this toff got riled up, started screaming at her."
"How did her son respond?"
"You know him; tried to get between them, authoritatively encouraged the man to leave."
I could well imagine it; one of his perfectly executed dismissals. That masterful tone he could get when he could not be bothered to argue about something.
"That did not work?" I found it hard to believe that anybody could stand up to that cold stare and commanding nature.
James shook his head.
"So what happened?"
"Well, if you can believe, the young man in there who is the perfect picture of calm completely lost his temper. I heard it was magnificent." He got a wistful look to imply he was deeply saddened that he had not witnessed it firsthand, a dismayingly masculine reaction.
"He lost his temper?" Even I could hear the disbelief in my voice.
"The offending gentleman was carted off to a doctor."
"And what happened to him?" I gestured with my chin towards the house.
"He spent the night in a holding cell."
My mouth fell open as I tried to picture that. James looked utterly satisfied with himself when he saw my reaction.
"So, he may seem very poised and collected, but poke at the right spots, and he can be most hot-blooded."
"Human," I murmured. "Well," I started, louder this time, "it is perfectly understandable. Some people are in desperate need of a knockdown, and whoever is willing to give it to them should be commended. 'Action is eloquence'."
"I beg your pardon?"
"It's nothing of importance."
"Something from one of your books?"
"Don't patronize me," I huffed, annoyed at his tone.
James grinned at my unladylike comment and stared at me for a long while. Finally, he leaned forward and cupped my chin in his hand. "See, Mary, that is what is so wonderful about you."
"What?" I was discomfited by his contact.
"You say whatever is on your mind."
That was hardly true but no one knew that but me, and I was perfectly content to keep some things to myself.
He leaned forward and brought his lips against mine. I allowed him to for a second before turning my head away awkwardly.
We stood together for a moment, with his stare on me, and my stare rested on the trees. We both looked up when we heard shoes rustling on the grass.
The subject of our gossip strode up to us, squinting into the sun. I noticed that a brief look of distaste flew across his face before he assumed his customary neutral expression. He reached out his hand to James with familiarity.
"I was looking for you." He regarded me while dropping his arm back to his side. His voice was so different from James's, and for a moment I observed the differences in the two men. Both were tall and lean, but James was much lighter, with a warm skin tone from being in the sun and lightened blonde hair; the complete opposite of the man who just arrived.
"I was just on my way to town," I explained.
He nodded at my assertion, but there was a hint of skepticism in his eyes. "My mother wanted to make some adjustments to her requests. She was worried that I would not catch you before you left." He cocked his head at me, letting me know that he was aware that I had been dallying.
"Yes," I started to walk back to the house and he fell in step next to me. I merely nodded at James as farewell, knowing that I needed to hurry. "I was not loitering."
He did not respond, walking with both hands in his pockets. I got the sudden worry that perhaps he had heard us talking about him. That could not be right though, he had arrived into our discourse entirely too late. He reached down and brushed something from his trouser leg, his jerky movement seemed to scream exasperation.
"James caught my ear, and we started chatting."
"Yes, James is very good at chatting." There was a dose of venom in his words. He sounded irritated.
"You will not mention it to anyone? I was just on my way."
"No. I will not tell." The usual good-natured voice was gone; it had lifted, filled with mocking that made my stomach drop as though I had just woken from a horrid dream where I was falling. He strode up the steps and opened the door, standing aside to let me pass.
His eyes stayed above my head. "It does seem, miss, that what you choose to do with your time and dainty form seems to have forced me into keeping a great many things to myself."
I skittered past him, mortified that he had evidently seen James' kiss, and frightened about the amount of irritation that was in his voice. I entered the kitchen and turned to ask him if I had offended him in some way, but he had already gone through the hall and disappeared. I hoped that he would be mollified if I gave him time.
He was not.