Chapter 5

Lucy awoke to the sound of hammering. Sunlight poured through the window and she was a little surprised that Ian hadn't come bashing pots and pans together to wake her. Not wanting to make a bad impression, she quickly got dressed and left the room. Unsure of what to do exactly, she walked to the front of the shop and found Ian in talks with a customer. She peered around to get a better look, but ended up putting too much weight on a shelf and knocked over a wooden container. It landed on the floor with a loud thump and she jumped back.

"Let me gae and see what that is. It's probably that infernal cat," Ian excused himself from the customer and came to find Lucy, who cowered in the shadows. "What are ye daeing?"

"I just came tae see what I could help ye with."

"Well, it's certainly nae gaeing tae be with the customers. I'm nae gaeing tae put ye on full display at the front of the shop for anyone tae walk in and see. Stay at the back and just get on with cleaning. The floors need daeing. Start with them, and remember, keep out of sight. Ye are nae here," he waved his hands in the air as though he was casting a spell to make her invisible. She heard Ian apologize to the customer as she moved away. She looked for Rory, but he wasn't anywhere to be found. Although she was hungry for breakfast, she wanted to prove to Ian that she was a diligent worker, so she did not bother making herself a meal. Instead, she went straight to work. He said the floors needed doing, and so they would be done.

She just wasn't entirely sure how to go about this. She stood there for a while, scratching her head in wonder. Ginger yawned and came slinking towards her, rubbing herself against Lucy's legs.

"I dinnae suppose ye would happen tae know how tae clean a floor?" Lucy asked. The cat offered nothing in reply. Back at the keep, everything had been taken care of for Lucy. The maids had cleaned the keep, the servants had brought her food, and the cooks in the kitchen had cooked it. She was only now realizing what a privileged life she had truly led.

"Ye can live in a grand place like this and hae people waiting on ye all the time. Ye will never hae tae want for anything. All I want is tae make sure ye hae a good home."

Her father's words echoed through her mind. He had never believed she could be a practical woman, had thought she needed sheltering and protecting, never having developed the skills needed to run a household. He thought she was a failure, but now she was going to prove him wrong. She could do chores like a regular person. After all, they did them all the time, so how hard could they truly be? By the time she was finished, these floors would be spotless.

She remembered how the maids used to wash the floors with soapy water, cleaning up the mud tracks trailed in by everyone who entered the keep. She went into the kitchen and searched around. It didn't take long to find her a cloth, although it took rummaging through some cupboards to find a bucket. A few things fell on her head, and she had to disentangle herself from all the various implements. It took her longer than she would have liked to get everything prepared, and she couldn't believe how long it took for the water to boil. She stared and stared, willing the bubbles to appear, and when they did, she rejoiced.

But once the water was bubbling and steaming in the bucket, she had no idea how to get it frothing like the other maids did. She knew they used soap, but where was she to find that? Or how was she to make it? It seemed to be something they instinctively knew, and Lucy had no idea. She couldn't take any longer, as then the water would cool and be of no use, and when Ian came to find her he would see that she had made absolutely no progress at all. But the water was hot anyway, and she had the rag, so was the soap really all that important?

She dragged the heavy bucket across the floor, amazed at how weighty water could be. Then, she fell to her knees and soaked the rag in the hot water, wincing as it scalded her hands. She scrubbed back and forth, leaving a sopping trail on the floor.

It wasn't long before her arms and wrists began to ache. Sweat beaded upon her forehead, and she gained a new appreciation for the maids in the keep. She had never stopped to think just how arduous their duties were, and so unending because nothing remained clean forever. When the rag became dirty, she wrung it out over the bucket, watching the water pour down. Then she moved to another part of the floor, and repeated the motions. It was only when she had cleaned the area around her that she realized she was now going to have to step through the wet floor in order to get to a part that she hadn't cleaned. It was as though she was on an island. She hated to step onto it, not only because she didn't want wet feet, but also because it would ruin the work she had done. She realized now she should have started in a far corner of the room and worked outwards, not from the middle. She sighed, taking a deep breath to compose herself. How could something so simple be so complicated?

Nevertheless, she dragged the bucket across the floor and set back to work, although when she looked at the damp floor, she couldn't tell if she had made a difference at all. She straightened her back and winced at the sharp ache. Her hands trembled as well, and her skin was red raw from scrubbing the floor. Her knees were sore as well. She wondered how the maids of the keep managed to do this day in and day out. The human body did not seem made for this hardship, at least hers certainly didn't. She jutted out her jaw and puffed out her breath, blowing upwards. Her hair danced upon her forehead. She wiped it with the back of her hand, feeling sweat hanging above her eyes. Her clothes clung to her skin as well, and she looked at the fire longingly, considering making herself a new bucket and using it as a bath.

Then she thought about Ian walking into the kitchen to discover her and she cringed with embarrassment. As though she summoned him, he arrived a few moments later and seemed confused that she was standing in the middle of the room.

"Are ye well, lass?" he asked.

"Aye, I was just taking a wee break," she said, and proceeded to get down on her hands and knees again, not wishing him to think that she was being idle. Because of his presence, she gritted her teeth and fought against the pain, scrubbing the floor vigorously.

"Ah, lass, ye might want-" he began, but Lucy cut him off sharply.

"I dinnae need any advice. Dinnae ye think I hae cleaned a floor before?" she spoke in a sharp tone, not wanting him to believe this about her. Thankfully, he didn't say anything else and left her to it. She continued with the laboring work, finding it harder and harder to continue as her muscles became leaden. There was so much floor, as though the room had expanded to ten times its size while she had been cleaning. She wiped her brow again and panted. Her clothes were sticky, her skin flushed, and she knew there was plenty to do when she had finished this task. If this was freedom, it left a lot to be desired, but at least it was better than the alternative.

Some time later, Ian returned, holding a broom. He walked into the room and handed it to her. "I think ye might find this more useful, lass. Ye will be here forever if ye try and clean the floor with that. Just give it a quick sweep. If there are any scraps left on the floor, I'm sure Ginger will see tae them," he said, a jaunty look in his eyes. Lucy eyed him suspiciously, wondering if this was some kind of a test. Did he suspect that she wasn't actually a maid? Should she take the broom, or was he trying to goad her into making a mistake?

Since she wasn't in the mood for these games, she replied to him with anger and snatched the broom from him. "I'll clean as I think is best. Ye dinnae see me coming up tae the shop and telling ye how tae hammer yer swords, dae ye? Leave me be. I'll hae supper ready for ye and Rory later, and this place will be sae clean ye will nae recognize it."

She then proceeded to sweep the floor by Ian's feet, pushing him out of the room. Ian danced on the spot, getting closer and closer to the door until she slammed it behind him. Then, she pressed her back against the door and looked at the ceiling. She rested her weight on the broom, using it like a lame man would use a cane. She sighed in disbelief as she caught her breath, feeling that it was only a matter of time before Ian learned she was not who she said she was, if that had not been confirmed to him already. She stretched out her body, hoping the aching pains would fade the more she got used to this type of work, and then moved the broom around the room in great sweeping motions, gathering up all the dust and dirt that she hadn't yet reached. She remembered seeing the maids using brooms before, and she was unsure why it hadn't occurred to her to use one herself.

She would have to think of a better story, one that was more believable. She could not tell them the truth and her first attempt at a lie had been as thin as a bride's veil, so who else could she be? What other life could she create for herself?