Chapter 13

One year later…

When the scullery maid came to knock on Kitty's door to rouse her, her eyes were already open. She stared up at the ceiling, buried up to her chin in blankets. The fire in the grate had long gone out without even the memory of an ember left. The knock was not strictly required for Kitty to awaken, as she was quite in the habit of rising with the few remaining servants these days, but it was seen as an important ritual nonetheless. Perhaps it was simply that it was a relic of a time when the lines between them were all neat and tidy, and the house still showed some signs of life.

Kitty gritted her teeth, then threw the blankets back all at once. It was better to get it over with quickly; if she tried to leave her bed by degrees, it would never happen. Bracing herself, she swung her legs out of the bed, the cold of the floor cutting right through the stockings that she had slept in. Before she could lose her nerve, she forced herself to stand, quickly snatching up the quilted dressing gown that she kept on the chair beside her bed.

There was another knock at her door, this time a little louder. As she threaded her arms into the robe, she called, "Yes, Flora, come in."

Her door opened, and the scullery maid entered. She carried the pail of coals and tinder, and after a perfunctory curtsy, she began doing her best to build a small while using as few coals as possible. The poor girl's hands were shaking so much that it took her a few tries to get the tinder to spark, but soon there was a fire snapping away in the hearth. It was miniscule, but enough to keep Kitty from freezing as she dressed.

Both stood for a moment before the fire, holding their hands to it, sighing with relief. They looked askance at once another, smiling at their mutual delight in fingers no longer stiff with cold. Quickly, Kitty turned and picked up the stub of a taper left in her candlestick, and lit it with a bit of reed. She turned to her dressing table, knowing that she would have to work quickly; the day was getting away from her, and the sun wasn't even properly up yet.

Flora ducked out of the room with another little curtsy, which made Kitty sigh. She knew the girl only wished to show the proper respect, but truthfully, it felt a bit pointless these days. There were only a handful of servants left, and Flora had taken on more duties than that of a simple scullery. Lady Veronica refused to promote her, however, as this would necessitate her paying a higher wage.

Once, Kitty had asked Flora how she could stand it, if it wouldn't be better for her to return to her mother in Ireland. The girl had shrugged, coal dust smudged on her cheek and simply said pragmatically, "It's better than home."

Kitty did not care to contemplate that for too long.

Instead, she sat on her bed, quickly exchanging her stockings for fresh ones, shivering a little as she pulled them up her calf, then tying them below her knee with ribbons. It was the one part of her wardrobe where she defied the viscountess' expectations, as they would never be seen. It was a small, but meaningful assertion of her personality, these bits of pink or purple or green holding up her stockings throughout the day.

There was little time to ruminate on such things; the servants would already be bustling about in the kitchen, blacking the stove and warming it up. With a great deal of wistfulness, Kitty stood again and slipped out of her dressing gown. With practised ease, she pulled on her layers of clothing quickly, relieved with each additional garment at the added warmth: Chemise, petticoat with shoulder straps, jumps, underskirt, a long-sleeved shirt very similar to a man's, day dress over all of it. There was a row of three buttons at the upper part of the back of her dress, which Kitty had to stretch awkwardly to reach.

Once her feet were safely slid into boots and buttoned, Kitty left her room, gently shutting her door. With whisper-quiet steps, Kitty tiptoed past Lady Veronica's room, where the viscountess still snored. Gently, Kitty made her way down the main stairs, and with a quick glance around, skipped the last step, landing squarely on both her feet.

This was the only frivolity that she allowed herself in the morning, however. When she reached the door to the servants' area, making her way cautiously down the narrow stairs, she was all business. There was an apron waiting for her on a hook, which she quickly donned, tying it behind her back and pinning the top portion to her bodice.

It was another one of the strange quirks that she and the servants had adopted: They would ensure that her apron was left for her, but they would not witness her slipping it on. It was too much, watching the breach in propriety as it happened.

There was already the smell of bread baking by the time Kitty attained the kitchen. Cook, stern-faced woman with fleshy hands, was working the dough for the second loaf of the day, her cotton cap slipping over her forehead. It was only her, the scullery maid, a footman, and Lady Veronica's lady's maid left to try and keep the house running. There seemed to also frequently be a boy underfoot, who was tasked with odd jobs and occasionally running to the livery to inquire if a horse might be hired for the carriage.

Cook nodded at Kitty, who was rolling up her sleeves, exposing her wrists and forearms in a way that would have surely given her mother a case of the vapours. She stood before the worktable for only a moment, watching the small puffs of flour as Cook turned the dough over and over, kneading it with quick, vigorous movements.

"How can I help?" Kitty asked. This, too, was an integral part of the routine: Cook would never request Kitty's assistance, Kitty would have to offer it.

"Would you be so kind as to check the dairy for any butter? You might also see if we have any of the blackberry preserves left, too," Cook said. While Cook might snap and bark at everyone else downstairs like a naval commander, she always spoke to Kitty with great deference. This was not simply due to the social gap between them, but also to the fact that Kitty had largely taken over the duties of a butler and housekeeper. It was imperative that they get along.

Kitty made her way into the dairy, cool and dark, set a couple steps into the earth to keep the milk and butter cool. Shelves lined the walls optimistically, but only a corner was used now. It was mostly cheese, with some fresh milk for the baking. In a small glazed dish, Kitty found the butter. She lifted the lid, sniffing it to ensure it hadn't gone rancid.

She returned, and began setting up the tray for Lady Veronica's breakfast. Two slices of bread were sliced from yesterday's loaf and quickly toasted. To this, a slice of cold ham, a pat of butter, and a small dish of preserves was added. Lady Veronica did not eat a great deal in the mornings, but she was adamant about it being prompt and delicious.

Kitty, with nothing better to do, sat upon a stool and began polishing the silverware with a clean corner of her apron. She held up a spoon to catch a shaft of sunlight that streamed in from one of the high windows, inspecting it for any remaining spots. She caught her reflection, apron and all, warped by the curve of the spoon. She half-smiled, amused at her ease in the kitchen now. Kitty of a year ago likely would not recognise this new, competent creature.

The lady's maid, Elsa, was the one who would carry up the breakfast. She would knock on the door while Kitty stood to one side. After she had withdrawn, Kitty would count to five, and then enter herself, as if she had just come from her own room, rather than been up for hours seeing to the running of the house. It was just another of the little deceptions that the Cluett house relied upon like a linchpin.

"Wait, miss!" Elsa said, catching Kitty by the elbow before she could head back upstairs. "Your hair, it's not been dressed yet."

"Oh, bother," Kitty grumbled, turning her eyes to see that it still hung in the simple plait over her right shoulder. Quickly, she ducked into the servants' hall where a small mirror was on the wall. Elsa followed her, hovering a little.

"Shall I…?" she asked, stepping forward.

Kitty shook her head, which caused some of the shorter curls around her face to bounce. "No, we haven't the time. Go upstairs, and I shall high up after you."

Elsa nodded, pressing a few hairpins into Kitty's hand, which she accepted gratefully. Kitty stood before the mirror and quickly unpinned the top part of her apron, letting it fall. With practised ease, she gathered up her braid, looping it loosely at the back of her head. With her teeth, she opened the hair pins, then slid them through her thick hair. When she was done, she turned her head this way and that, ensuring it wouldn't fall down at precisely the wrong moment.

When she was ready, she removed her apron hastily, hanging it back on the peg near the stairs. She knew that the next time she needed it, it would be clean and ready for her, waiting there on its peg. There was no time to linger and consider the silliness of the whole system; she had to hasten her way up the stairs, else Lady Veronica would accuse her of slothfulness again.

As she passed the kitchen, Cook appeared in the doorway. With the same stern cast to her face, she pressed a cold egg and cheese tart into Kitty's hands.

"It won't do to have you facing Herself with only hunger in your belly," she said. "The butcher down the street has a good price on squabs this week; see if you can't work those into the menus."

Kitty nodded, accepting the tart and hurrying up the stairs. She ate it as she climbed up and up, first from the servants' area downstairs, then up again to the bedrooms, where Lady Veronica waited. With one hand on the bannister, the tart clamped in her mouth, Kitty swung her body with her other arm outstretched up onto the stairs. It was another small defiance, just one of the minute ways in which Kitty asserted that she was still herself, still her own person. Hastily, with her left hand gliding on the banister, Kitty ran up the stairs as lightly as she could. All the while, she kept eating her tart, finishing it quickly.

There was a mirror in the darkened hall just down from Lady Veronica's room, and she paused here to brush off any stray crumbs from her impromptu breakfast and to check her hair. This was one of the few quiet moments of the day, and Kitty took the time for a deep breath, steadying herself.

As always, she felt her eyes drawn down, down to the far end of the house. That was where Seth's rooms were, locked against the world, waiting for their master's return. She had never ventured down there, though she would be lying if she said that she had not been tempted. She had gotten used to living among the things that had been part of Seth's life, viewing them almost as a sort of museum. This was easily done, however, because there was so little of him in the furnishings and décor. She could not see him picking out a portrait, or a vase.

She turned back to the mirror, studying her reflection. She was twenty-five now, very nearly ready to go on the shelf, if she hadn't already launched herself there with her scheme. Her face had grown a little thinner, her round cheeks no longer so fashionably full. There was a determined set to her mouth that had never been there before, and the mischievous gleam was largely gone from her eyes.

She peered closer, then swiped at a smudge of flour on her cheek. "Ah, my beloved, would you even know me now?" she murmured to her reflection.

The door to Lady Veronica's room opened. As always, Elsa backed out, and said her customary line: "I shall see if she is dressed for the day yet, my Lady."

Kitty caught her eye, and silently Elsa shook her head. This was their silent exchange most mornings. Kitty did not need to ask the question anymore. They wished to know if some message had been delivered, some sort of confirmation that Seth was returning. They could all fear the viscountess' growing anxiety, heavy and oppressive over the whole house. She was afraid that her son had left her, just as her husband had; Kitty was afraid that she was right.

Nothing will get better by my standing here, Kitty said, straightening up and opening the bedroom door. There is much to do, and unfortunately, I am the one to do it.