“Hurry now, you daft cow, she’s asking you to bring her midday tray,” Cook chimed in.
A shiver of unease whispered down my spine. If the dowager was asking for me, it could mean only one thing…Mr. Wrolf was visiting.
“Stop dawdling!” Cook snapped.
Bullying bitches, the lot of them. They’d found easy prey in me. I’d heard their vile comments too many times in the last eight months to care anymore. Whispered words spoken a little too loud.
Harlot.
Whore.
Bastard child.
They’d found someone to judge, mock and belittle. Torturing me had become their sport; it made them feel better about their pathetic lives, I supposed. I dropped the scrub brush into the bucket and pressed my hand into the brick wall, managing to get to my feet. The world spun. I paused for a moment, waiting until it rightened itself again.
No one asked me how I felt. No one offered to carry the bucket for me as I hefted up the metal can and took it to the sink, careful not to slosh the brown water over the rim. It was every man for himself in this household. They were quick to judge and condemn, but slow to offer any compassion. According to them, I had sinned greatly, and I was being punished for my actions. Apparently, it was their duty to punish me.
“Go on then,” Mrs. Bryne snapped. “Take her tea up before it gets cold, or do I have to do bloody everything?”
I gritted my teeth, swallowing my tart response. How I despised the woman. I set the bucket upon the floor. Despised this household. I dried my hands on my apron, then hefted up the heavy tea tray, the cups and pot rattling under my trembling hands. Despised even the dowager, although she had taken me in when I’d needed it the most.
My knees buckled as I climbed the stairs. I locked my legs, refusing to fall. Sweat peppered my forehead. My bloated body begged me to sit and rest, but if I relented, I had a feeling I’d never get back up. I must keep going. I had no choice.
I hadn’t a clue when the baby was due, but I had a feeling it was soon. Very soon. And the thought terrified me. Would anyone help? Or would I have to muffle my screams in the silence of my attic room?
I made it to the hall but didn’t dare pause to catch my breath. Tea must be served at four. My belly cramped. I ignored it. Like an automaton, I placed one foot in front of the other, and continued down the hall, following the plush carpet.
I should have been relieved the Dowager had not thrown me out onto the streets when I’d started showing. The fact that she’d continued to let me work in my current state was shocking not only to me, but to the entire staff. I’d heard more than one maid claim that I was a bad influence.
Allowing a servant who was pregnant with a bastard child to continue to work was unheard of. I should have been grateful to the woman. And I was…most of the time. Some of the time. But now, when I felt near to death and she was forcing me to work, it was awfully hard to dredge up any affection.
The sitting room was empty, although a warm fire burned in the hearth. The home reeked of wealth and cleanliness, even if it wasn’t in a highly fashionable area, nor overly large. How different things were here, than at the Landcaster estate. Although servants had little respect in any household, at least the Landcasters had fed us well. We’d had half a day off on Sunday. I set the tray upon a table, relieved to be rid of the extra weight. Here, there were only two meager meals a day, and no time off.
Outside, the wind whipped through the trees and rattled the glass. I moved toward the windows, drawn to the darkness. A storm was coming. A few people rushed up and down the lane, eager to get home before the rain started. The leaves were just beginning to turn color. Pretty really.
“Go on then, Evie, jump!”
The vision rose unheeded.
A little girl jumping into a pile of colorful, fall leaves.
Me.
I sighed and rested my forehead against the cool glass of the window. I could feel the crispness of those leaves as I settled into the pile. Feel the boy jump in next