A few heavy raindrops spattered the pavement, giving notice of an impending shower. With a sigh of regret for the umbrella she'd left at home that morning, Mary pulled her coat closer around her, and walked quickly. It wasn't far from the bus stop to the solid, respectable old building where she and her young sister had their tiny top-floor flat, but even so she was still uncomfortably damp by the time she got safely indoors, after her usual battle with the stiff, sticky lock. She paused for a moment to get her breath before starting the long, weary climb up what sometimes seemed like an endless flight of stairs.

For a moment she toyed with that thought. An endless stairway, leading to a magic kingdom where anything might be possible...

But she put this enticing idea aside for the moment. Time enough for that once she'd changed out of her damp clothes and prepared tea. Biddy would be home soon, and she would be tired and hungry after her long day at college, where she was training for a secretarial position. She was going out with friends tonight; friends Mary didn't really approve of, but her little sister's circle was bound to include the young people who were her classmates, and although Mary had protested, she didn't feel as though she could interfere.

With another sigh as she finally reached the top floor, Mary let herself into the flat, and went to change, and by the time she heard Biddy's key in the door, she had laid the table, put the kettle on the stove and started making toast.

"You're very late again, Biddy," she said.

She tried to say it nicely, but Biddy seemed ever so slightly defensive as she answered: "I missed the first bus. We were talking after class and I forgot the time."

"Oh, well...never mind. You'll have to be quick over tea, if you're going out. You'd better get out of those wet clothes while I finish this," said Mary as she speared another slice of bread on the toasting fork.

By the time Biddy came back to the table, the tea was ready, and a tempting dish of toast was waiting for her. She buttered lavishly, clearly in a hurry; and she answered Mary's questions about her day at college as if she wasn't really listening. The bright look in her eye, as she glanced at the clock, told its own story. Biddy couldn't wait to get out and meet her friends.

It was always like this. Biddy, young and lively, would rush through her tea, and go straight out, to have a fun time at the cinema or a party or a coffee shop; and Mary, so many years older, would stay at home with a basket of mending and her dreams. And tonight, with that tantalising stairway in her mind, she was almost as eager for Biddy to go as Biddy was to be gone.

It would be in a castle, of course. Almost all of Mary's imagined adventures happened in castles, with a cast of gallant knights and beautiful damsels. But as she began to weave this new story in her mind, it seemed to her that this one must start somewhere other than the stately rooms and high towers of her usual fantasies. If the stairway led up, it must start from far below. Perhaps, for once, she would begin her journey amongst the servants, rather than the masters.

Biddy called a quick good-bye as she ran off, but Mary hardly heard her. She was already far away, in the great kitchens of the Castle Sans-pareil...

...where the little scullery maid had just finished scouring the last of the pots and pans. She wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, pushed her dark curls behind her ear, and gave a soft sigh. She still had work to do: the wide, heavy table where all the meals for the grand people upstairs were prepared had to be cleaned, and the stone floor scrubbed until it gleamed.

How lucky she was, though! an orphan child, left without any relations to care for her, might well have starved, had she not found a place in the castle, under the supervision of Mistress Beamish, the head cook. All the same, she had been here now for five years. She was eighteen, though she looked younger, and she feared she would spend the rest of her life in the scullery.

"Juliana!" Mistress Beamish came bustling into the kitchen. "Have you not finished your work yet, girl?"

"A-almost finished, ma'am," mumbled Juliana...

The story stopped abruptly, as Mary realised how unlikely it was that a kitchen maid, of lowly origins, would be called by such a highbrow name as Juliana. She frowned over it for a few moments, then her brow cleared. Of course, Juliana was a foundling, the lost child of noble parents, doubtless kidnapped in infancy and abandoned, but taken in by the kindly peasant couple who she had believed to be her true father and mother. That would be a pleasing revelation for later in the story. For now, though, the name was fixed in her mind. Her heroine was Juliana, and wouldn't answer to anything else.

Now, where was I? Oh yes, of course...

"A-almost finished, ma'am," mumbled Juliana.

"Dreaming again. I never knew such a lazy child. And at such a time, too - with his Lordship away, and my lady's brother turning up unexpectedly, and all of the other maids sick with this wretched fever. Leave that for now. Lord Henry needs some water brought up to his chamber. Tidy yourself up first. You look like you've been sleeping in a haystack."

"Y-yes, ma'am." Juliana hastened into the scullery, splashed her face with cold water and ran her fingers through her hair, then snatched up a pail and ran out to the well.

She couldn't help feeling mildly excited as she carried the filled pail across the courtyard. It was rare for her to be permitted to enter the grand central keep, where the Lord and Lady had their chambers. To her inexperienced eyes it seemed almost like another world, rich and strange and almost magical. She opened the massive oaken door with some difficulty and hesitated at the foot of the stairs, then tightened her grip on the handle of the pail and started up.

How cold the stone steps were, and how long the stairway! The pail seemed to grow heavier with every step, and soon she found she had to put it down for a moment, lest it slip from her grasp. She leaned against the banister, her eyes closed, catching her breath.

"Are you all right, child?"

Juliana's eyes flew open. She hadn't realised there was anyone there, until she heard the soft, cultured voice. She looked up to see Lady Marjorie standing at the head of the stairs, gazing down at her. "I-I beg your pardon, my L-lady," she stammered, averting her eyes from her mistress's slender, graceful form. She had only seen Lady Marjorie a few times, and always at a distance, but at night she had passed many sleepless hours, lying in her narrow hard bed, recalling the beauty of the lady's alabaster complexion, her coronet of golden hair and deep blue, almost violet eyes, and imagining how wonderful it would be to receive the slightest attention from such a lovely being. But now that it was happening, she was almost tongue-tied.

No, that's not right.

The scene playing out in Mary's head froze abruptly. That wasn't what she had meant to happen. It should be Lord Henry, the lady's brother, who was the object of Juliana's admiration. Somehow, the dream had taken an odd turn. She shook her head, as though trying to shake the characters back into their appointed roles, and went back to the castle...

...and with a little bobbed curtsey, Juliana edged past Lady Marjorie, and scurried away towards Lord Henry's chambers. She tapped softly on the door, and heard a deep baritone voice in response: "Enter."

Once again she had to avert her eyes, as his Lordship had not finished dressing. Her own voice was faint and tremulous: "If you please, my Lord, you sent for water."

"So I did. Put it over there." He was very like his sister, although the curls which covered his head had a slightly coppery shade, and his eyes were so dark as to seem almost black. He was well-built, with strong, sturdy legs beneath his breeches, and a broad chest barely hidden by a fine, silky undershirt. Juliana hardly knew where to look as she carried the pail over to the wide, elaborately carved stone fireplace.

As she turned to leave, she realised he had closed the door, and now stood before it, studying her with a faint smile. "You're not the usual maid," he remarked.

"If you please, my Lord," she mumbled, "the other maids are...are not well."

"I see. Well, I suppose you will do." He moved towards her. Instinctively, she backed away, but he was too quick. His arm went around her waist, and pulled her close. "Pretty enough, at least," he said, placing his fingers under her chin and forcing her face up, close to his.

She tried to pull away. "My Lord, please..."

But he just laughed at her, as his lips pressed against hers. She gave a muffled, outraged cry, struggling to break out of his grip. She managed to get one hand free, and struck at his cheek with all her strength, and he swore under his breath.

Mary felt herself trembling. The fantasy had escaped from her control again, and veered into territory which was dangerous, though not unfamiliar. She ought to abandon this dream for something safer; but if she did, how would she know what happened next? Would Juliana be saved, or...?

"Henry!"

Abruptly Juliana was released. She fell to the floor, sobbing. As if from a distance, she heard a low, furious voice: "How dare you?"

"This is no business of yours," he shot back.

"It is very much my business, little brother. This is my household, and this girl is one of my servants, and you will not interfere with her."

"Why shouldn't I? What else is such a wretched brat good for?" replied Lord Henry coolly. "Don't let those tears fool you, sister. She was more than willing, until you came in and..."

The sound of a forceful slap broke Juliana's paralysis. She opened her eyes to behold her rescuer, standing tall and resolute, face to face with his Lordship. For a few seconds there was silence, then Lady Marjorie spoke: "I invited you into my home. This is how you have repaid me. You are no longer my brother. You will leave this castle within the hour, and be sure that you will never be welcome here again. Come, child."

She held out her hand. Juliana, almost blinded by tears and shaken with sobs, grasped it tightly, and was drawn into the safety of her Lady's embrace. By the time she had composed herself, she realised she was in Lady Marjorie's own bedchamber, seated on a divan with her Ladyship's arms around her. She was still shaking, but she knew she was safe here, with her cheek resting on Lady Marjorie's satin-clad, sweetly perfumed breast. It was strangely comfortable, and Juliana enjoyed the rare experience for as long as she dared. But it couldn't last, and soon she straightened up, stammering an apology.

The lady hushed her at once. "You have nothing to apologize for, little one. It is I who should beg for your forgiveness, for exposing you to such danger." She touched Juliana's cheek with a gentle hand. "I have been watching you for some time, my child, and it seems strange to me that a girl of such natural refinement, and such a pretty one, should be in such a lowly position. Who are your parents, and how have they allowed it?"

"My parents are dead, ma'am." Juliana's voice trembled. "My father was a weaver in the village, but the fever took him five years ago, and my mother, too. It was a terrible time in the village, many people died."

"I remember. A terribly time, indeed." Lady Marjorie took Juliana's hand. "But you must not remain a servant in the kitchen. A pretty child is not safe in such a position. From now on, you will be under my personal protection. You will be my own ward, and you will live here with me."

Juliana felt herself growing hot. The words filled her with tremulous anticipation, and yet with a kind of sadness, as if such happiness could not possibly be hers. "My lady, if you please, you should not..."

She fell silent as Lady Marjorie's fingers touched her lips. "Oh, I think I should. And I want to."

"But..but why?" Juliana gazed up into the lady's eyes, and suddenly she knew. She lifted her face, and the next moment Lady Marjorie's kiss, warm and soft and sweet, was on her lips; and with a sudden rush of joy, the kitchen maid yielded to her lady's desire...

Mary drew a deep, shuddering breath. For an endless few seconds she remained still, her breast rising and falling, her eyes gazing into space. Never before had her dreams taken her to such a place. It was frightening, and confusing. But it seemed so real; she could still feel Lady Marjorie's lips on hers; and no matter how much it frightened her, she knew, in her heart, that she wanted it to go on forever.