Heart of the Beholder

8

brIDGETTE ENTERED THROUGH THE SERVANTS’ door the next morning with renewed purpose to be the best maid she could be. She hadn’t even made it a week, and she felt the risk of losing the work was far too high. Today, she would be focused and mindful of her surroundings. There would be no more fireplace escapades, or any reasons for Lord Thornwood to question her competence.

Before she had left the cottage, Bridgette had made sure Birdie knew to stay inside if Jack’s group of followers came around again. If anything was going to break her concentration, it was going to be worrying about Birdie and her mother. She was very grateful for Doc’s offer to stop and check on them, but it was still hard not to concern herself after what Jack did.

Edgar didn’t greet her at the door like he had previously, so Bridgette wandered through the kitchen and dining room, which were both empty. She yawned loudly. “Stop that, Bridgette. You can’t be tired.” The unfortunate truth of the matter was she was exhausted. After the events of the night before, scrubbing her soot-stained clothes, and walking to the manor, her body wanted nothing more than to find one of the empty beds in the manor and sleep until summer was over.

Noises from the entrance hall caught her attention. She exited the dining room and found Edgar standing on the landing, next to the grandfather clock, looking up. Bridgette walked to the foot of the stairs and smiled. “She’s magnificent.”

Edgar spun around in surprise. “Ah, Miss Bridgette. I was hoping to finish hanging her up before you got here. Does it look crooked?”

She inspected the portrait of the beautiful and regal-looking woman, and saw no flaws. “No, it's straight, and the entrance hall is the perfect place for her.”

“I couldn't agree more,” he said, looking pleased. “I am hoping we can finish everything for the entrance hall today—the rug and table in the center with a beautiful vase of flowers. Also, the clock needs to be cleaned before we can start it.”

Bridgette smiled. “A wonderful plan. How big is the rug for this room?”

“Very large and very heavy. I hope that doesn’t sound overwhelming for you.”

“Not at all, Edgar. I find myself with much pent-up anger to beat out of a large rug this morning,” she said with a laugh.

Edgar’s smile was small, but delightful. “Then we will start with the rug.”

EDGAR WASN’T EXAGGERATING WHEN HE said the rug was large. It was almost double the size of the rugs she had cleaned the day before. After Edgar helped her get it out and over the line, it didn’t take long for her to find a good rhythm to beat the dust and dirt out. It was therapeutic and refreshing. She pictured Jack’s smug face every time she hit the rug. It took Bridgette the better part of the morning to finish the rug, but when Edgar helped her bring it in and lay it out, the deep blue background and burgundy flower pattern made the entrance hall much more comfortable, and gave her a feeling of accomplishment.

“Well done, Miss Bridgette,” Edgar praised. “I need to deliver the Master’s lunch to him, then we can work on bringing the center table down.”

“Can I do it?” Bridgette asked quickly. Edgar looked at her with confusion. “Can I take Lord Thornwood’s meal to him? I want to redeem myself, and I am feeling a little more brave than yesterday.”

Edgar’s expression looked pained and unsure. “I have no doubt you are capable of doing so. I just don’t know if the Master’s mood has leveled out since breakfast.”

“He was in a bad mood? Was it because of me?” Bridgette asked with dread.

“No, no. It is not because of you. Lord Thornwood isn’t entirely thrilled with what will be happening within Oakwater Kingdom in the next few days,” Edgar assured her.

That was a relief. Bridgette tilted her head and asked, “Lord Thornwood, who likes to sit in the dark all day by himself, is concerned with what happens in the world outside?”

“Lord Thornwood likes to keep up with current events, even though he is a hermit,” Edgar said in a whisper.

Bridgette made a contemplative face and said, “I guess the tax increase would affect him as well. I know I was not happy when I heard about it.”

“If only that were the worst of his problems,” Edgar sighed.

Bridgette raised a brow at him, but he didn’t explain any further. “So I can serve the meal?”

“If it pleases you to do so,” Edgar said with a small smile.

“It does.” Bridgette beamed and hurried to the kitchen. Edgar had already prepared the tray, so Bridgette carried it with a steady grip out to the entrance hall, and ever so carefully up the stairs. She counted each step and made sure to breathe. Before she knew it, she was standing in front of Lord Thornwood’s study. Edgar stayed behind in the kitchen to clean up, so she adjusted the tray on one arm and knocked twice with the other.

“Enter.”

Bridgette cautiously opened the door, then entered the dark room. The light from the hall guided her far enough to see the desk where Lord Thornwood sat. She set the tray gracefully down in front of her employer and lifted the dome coverings to reveal a bowl of warm soup and rolls that smelled divine.

“Where is Edgar?” Lord Thornwood grumbled.

“He is in the kitchen,” Bridgette replied. She squinted, wishing she could actually see him.

“Why could he not bring me the meal himself?”

“I insisted I serve you to prove I can do my job,” Bridgette said with a nervous twinge in her gut.

“Very well,” he grunted.

“I heard you were not happy this morning. I hope you are in a better mood now.”

“Leave,” he ordered under his breath.

“Yes, right away, my lord,” Bridgette said and curstied. She hurried out and shut the door. “Well, that could have been worse,” she said aloud as she headed back to the kitchen.

Bridgette helped Edgar carry the very heavy entrance hall table down the stairs and center it on the rug. It was circular and had beautiful, carved legs. After that, they took a small break to eat and clean up lunch. Edgar then gave her the task of cleaning the grandfather clock while he attended to other things.

Bridgette used a step stool and a feather duster to clean the top of the clock as best she could with her small height. So much dust fell down, it made her nose itch and her eyes water. Once she finished dusting the outside, she moved to the inside and was astonished by how much dust had gathered on the pendulum bob and weights. After the dusting was done, she wiped everything down with a damp cloth to make sure no dust was left, then started to polish the wood on the exterior of the clock, while she hummed a lullaby her mother used to sing. Her back started to ache by the time she began polishing the interior. On her knees, Bridgette leaned inside the clock to reach the bottom corners. “This clock is so big, I would have hid in it as a child,” she said out loud.

“You have no idea how many actually have.”

The voice sounded so close that Bridgette jumped in surprise and bumped the back of her head on the pendulum. She sat back on her heels and put a hand to her head.

“So sorry, Miss Bridgette. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Edgar! I thought the grandfather clock was talking to me!” Bridgette laughed loudly.

Edgar stood a few feet away, polishing the wood of the baluster railings. His shoulders shook as a laugh bubbled out of him. “I think the polish fumes might be getting to you, Miss Bridgette.”

Bridgette sighed dramatically, and said, “I think you are right, Edgar. I might have to take a step outside before the rest of the furniture starts talking to me.”

“I am afraid it might be too late for you. After my first polish job, the chandeliers started talking to me, and they haven’t stopped since,” Edgar said with a straight face.

Bridgette snorted loudly. She gasped and covered her mouth in embarrassment. Edgar let out the loudest belly laugh Bridgette had ever heard, and she couldn’t keep her own from bursting out of her. She laughed so hard tears formed in her eyes.

“I didn’t realize we were expecting the circus today. How can anyone think with this racket?” a voice boomed from above.

Edgar’s laugh stopped abruptly. His face turned pale, and his eyes focused on someone at the top of the stairs behind her. Chills ran down Bridgette’s arms as the tension rose in the silence.

“Apologies, my lord,” Edgar said with perfect poise and a bow.

Bridgette quickly got to her feet and curtsied to Lord Thornwood, keeping her eyes on the floor. The silence stretched and made Bridgette want to hide inside the grandfather clock. She felt like a little girl who was caught being rambunctious. She was in trouble, and it wasn’t fair.

“What is that?” he snapped.

Bridgette's whole body jolted at the loud words. She looked up at what he was referring to—the portrait.

“My lord, I—”

“No,” Bridgette cut Edgar off. She faced Lord Thornwood directly as he stomped down the stairs. “It was me. I found it and thought it would be perfect in the entrance hall. She is so beautiful and—”

“Last time I checked, this wasn’t your manor,” his voice ground out from under his oversized hood. His pace didn’t slow; he was coming straight at her. “You are a servant! You are paid to do what you are told, not to have opinions.”

“I was trying to make your manor feel more like a home than an empty prison,” she said, standing her ground, though on the inside she was shaking like a rabbit caught in a wolf’s mouth.

“That is not why you were hired,” he said, closing the distance between them. Bridgette stepped back out of fear. Her foot caught on the stepstool, and she landed in a heap on the floor. “Though I am having a hard time seeing why you were hired in the first place. You can’t stay on your feet or do the simplest of tasks, like coming when called.” He loomed over her like an angry, dark spirit. “You act higher than your class and have no respect when talking to your employer. You were hired to be a maid, and evidence shows you are terrible at it.”

Tears filled Bridgette’s eyes, and the cloaked form blurred in her vision. “I am not a dog,” she managed to respond.

“No, a dog would obey.”

A memory snapped free in Bridgette’s mind. A memory she had been trying to cage up and forget. She shook her head, but the terrible words hit her like a ton of bricks. Sit down, you stupid girl! This is my house, and you will obey me, girl. Fool girl.

“My lord, is there anything I can get you?”

Bridgette blinked and came back to the present. Edgar had moved and put himself between her and Lord Thornwood.

“Take. It. Down.”

“Anything else, my lord?”

Lord Thornwood stepped around the butler. It was so much worse not being able to see his expression. He pointed at her with a gloved hand. “If you want to still be under my employ, you will learn your place. You are not being held against your will. If you don’t like it here, you should leave.”

Get out of my sight.

Bridgette closed her eyes, and the tears fell down her cheeks. She heard Lord Thornwood stomp back up the stairs. “And close the curtains,” he added. The stomping continued until a door slammed shut. Bridgette stayed on the ground with her eyes closed.

“Miss Bridgette, let me help you stand,” Edgar said gently. She didn’t protest as he helped her up by the elbows. She turned away from him and covered her mouth, afraid of what might come out. “Miss Bridgette, he had no right to treat you that way. I am embarrassed and ashamed. Please, let me apologize on his behalf.”

“No, Edgar,” she said through heaving breaths. “I will not allow you to take fault for that monster. He needs to take responsibility for his own actions.” The air felt thin, and the room started to spin. Bridgette rubbed at the scar on her hand. “I-I have to go,” she sobbed and fled down the stairs, through the dining room and kitchen, and stopped at the door to change her shoes.

“Miss Bridgette, wait!” Edgar said, flying through the kitchen door.

“I am sorry, Edgar,” she said as she laced up her boots. She sniffed. “I thought I could do this, but—” she sobbed over her words.

Useless girl!

“Miss Bridgette, please take this,” Edgar said.

Bridgette looked up through her tears. Three gold coins sat in his outstretched hand. She blinked in confusion. “But, I—,” she stumbled over her words, “I didn’t make it a week. You can’t give it to me.”

Edgar crouched down and placed the coins in her hand. “Miss Bridgette, you have made it to the end of the week. This is yours; you have earned it.”

“But our agreement was one gold coin a week,” she said as she swiped at her tears.

“You proved yourself to me. You are dependable and a hard worker.”

Bridgette stared at the coins in her hand, not able to comprehend. “But why?”

“I realize taxes are due in two days, and everyone is having a hard time finding enough money to pay. And,” he said, pausing. Bridgette looked up at the old man, his eyes glistened with tears. “I want you to come back. But I will understand if you don’t.”

“Oh, Edgar,” she whispered, clutching the coins to her chest.

“You don’t have to make a decision now. Go home and take care of the things you need to. Tomorrow is your day off anyway. If you decide to come back, I will see you on Monday after the tax collection.”

Bridgette finished tying her boots, and Edgar helped her stand once again. She thanked him with tears in her eyes and pain in her heart. She would miss Edgar, because she couldn’t fathom coming back to the manor again. She hadn’t gotten rid of one monster just to gain another.