Chapter 11: Chapter 10

Dalliah

“Eugh, I feel rotten to the core,” Marjorie moans as Ingaret wipes her brow with a wet cloth while I discreetly pour the contents of her dinner from our chamber pot, out of the window and down the side of the wall to prevent the smell from getting the better of us.

My first thought was to walk it out of the back door, not wanting to sully the castle’s exterior with her illness but Ingaret stopped me. Apparently, if Marjorie is ill, they can deduct this day from her wages and so we’re to keep it a secret.

Another minor thing to add to my ever-growing list it seems, but I’d be happy to repay her even if it’s barely a fraction of what she’s done for me.

“Give me a moment, just a few moments and I’ll get up.” She lies her head back, face flushed red from the slight fever and I’m starting to worry where this all came from.

Was it the food?

Ingaret ate the same things, as well as myself, but I doubt she’d fair as well as Marjorie or I would, as we have youth on our side. She shouldn’t be here, exposing herself to this, but I have no idea what to say that will highlight this to one while trying not to offend the other.

“You’re to stay in bed. Are you trying to kill yourself?” Ingaret scolds and I wince, knowing that in this mood she’s better not argued with. I’m glad I held my tongue before.

“I’m trying to keep my job.” Marjorie snaps back, clearly too ill to read the tone of the woman standing over her or I’m sure she’ll have relented already.

For a second they just stare at each other, one trying her best to keep her weary eyes open and the other subtly trying to scan her face at the same time. They’ve clearly known each other for a while, their relationship only growing over the years and it reminds me of my love for my mother. Only I wouldn’t dare argue with her so much.

“P-perhaps I could help?” I try to break the silence awkwardly. “I don’t have a wage to protect so why don’t I do Marjorie’s duties today?”

Her eyes shoot up in surprise and her glazed eyes search for me in the room, likely struggling in the lack of light as it is only just approaching the dawn. “You’d do that for me?”

I don’t know whether or not I should be offended by that question so I merely nod. Why wouldn’t I do this for her? It’s the least I could do after she saved my life and has sworn an oath to protect me. Besides, after soiling my other dress yesterday, I could do with some house work just to keep this one clean long enough for the other to dry.

“That’s very kind of you Dalliah, love, but do you think that’s a good idea? What if you’re recognised?” Ingaret interrupts the heartfelt moment and I half expected my stomach to flip at the thought. But it doesn’t.

Lately I’ve been wondering if it is actually that large of a risk, I mean, is it actually helping me to stay hidden away all the time? After comparing myself to Julius yesterday, I’ve realised that it’s more suspicious to keep to myself. I might do me some good to put myself out there more, become less of a mystery to the other servants.

After all I have my markings covered and nobody knows me, I’m almost certain that one day will be okay and it’s clear from her desperation that Marjorie can’t afford the day off.

“I think it will be fine, besides Julius isn’t very happy with me lately and I doubt anyone around here will look twice at someone new.” I shrug, something I’ve seen the others do in the servants hall and while it’s unlady-like, I’m not a lady anymore and the gesture fits.

“Fine, but I want you back here by sundown or I’ll come looking for you myself.” Ingaret relents more easily than I expected her to, but the anxious look in Marjorie’s direction is enough to tell me that she’s worried too much as it is.

Hopefully my helping will do something to ease it, if not now but in the long run when we know that I can do things like this, that I don’t just have to be a burden on them both.

“Oh thank you,” The tension in Marjorie’s shoulders relax slightly and this is the first time that she’s actually allowed herself to lean into the wet towel meant to help with her temperature.

“Do you know Meghan? Follow her around this morning to help open up for the day and then start on the bedchambers. Changing the sheets, sweeping the floors and replacing the food and drink. Leave the chamber pots and fires alone as the scullery maid, Jennifer will likely be just behind you and that’s certainly not our role anymore.” She shakes her head as if this is something she’s quite proud of and really, that is a detail I’m glad of.

Emptying the chamber pot of the people who murdered my family wasn’t on my list of things to do in this lifetime and I’m glad she’s mentioned it before I could panic and assume.

“Remember Dalliah, head down and do not make eye contact.” Ingaret finally turns to look at me properly and I switch my gaze now to the ground below my feet.

I have yet to cover myself today due to Marjorie’s early turn for the worst and she’ll be staring straight at my markings I assume. It’s at times like these that I can’t help but wonder what they think of them, if they’re as disgusted as my father was or if they’re as intrigued as my mother.

But I’ll never had the heart to actually ask.

“Very good, now prepare for the day while I tend to Marjorie.” Ingaret nods her head but my eyes fly up in shock.

“Are you staying here all day?” The words fall from my mouth before I can stop them and I realise as they leave that there’s a chance even asking it could offend the poor invalid.

Why shouldn’t she stay if that’s what she wants?

“Not all day, no, but I can stay a while longer. My age affords me some leniency… but I can’t guarantee the same for you so hurry.” She gestures to the shabby chest of draws containing our things and the mirror that I’ve been avoiding for as long as possible.

I always hate to have an audience when readying myself and now that I’m the only one changing for once, it’s even worse. The cold in the air seems to hit me more brutally and the wrapping of the scarf around my head takes three times to actually stay where it should.

They must think me I’m fool to be struggling with something so simple but it’s the nerves as it finally sinks in that today I’ll be going above. Will I be unfortunate enough to run into the new King? Or will fate be happy enough to punish me in the from of serving his court?

I realise that the bedrooms that I will be cleaning once belonged to my family, rooms I was never allowed to see back when I held the role of forgotten princess, but now that I’ve been demoted even further it seems I finally have the chance to visit them.

My heart flutters slightly at the thought, perhaps if I can visit my mother’s room there will be possessions of hers yet to be destroyed? But then a chill of dread courses through my veins, what if there’s some mention of me in there?

As surely my mother would have acknowledged me somewhere, right?

I rack my brains as I fasten the dress around my chest, trying to keep my face composed so as not to frighten the two women next to me.

Who stays there now? The Red King’s mother probably but would she have gone through the positions of her predecessor? Or would she have left it to the servants?

Maybe Ingaret has thought of this already and I’m panicking for nothing but the last thing I want to do right now is bring it up. If she knows this is where my mind has gone there’s not a chance that she’ll let me take Marjorie’s place and there’s a part of me already set on seeing these rooms.

Even if they’ve been invaded by others, even if it’s a risk to my life. I have to see them if only just once to know what I missed and what I was denied all those years.

I decided quite early on in the day that I like Meghan. She didn’t so much as flinch when seeing that it was myself instead of Marjorie walking alongside her up the servants stairway, and it could have been my imagination but I think she actually smiled at me.

To help cover for the fact that I am clearly new to this routine, she has been subtly whispering instructions under her breath as to what we’ll be tackling next and I’ve been doing my best not to hold her back at all.

It’s hard work but everything other than the garden has been hard work this past month and while I’m hardly the best judge for it, I think I’m handling this quite well.

My arms ache from beating the cushions in the various sitting areas available to the court, and my mouth is constantly open in awe as we open the shutters and wipe the windows, providing light into the luxurious rooms I could only have imagined.

Dusting is by far my most preferred task as I like to see the detail in the furniture come alive beneath my cloth and I’m so distracted by my work that I barely notice the footsteps outside signalling that the day is fully starting now and that we’re no longer the only ones awake.

We’re in the process of hauling the large basket containing fresh linens for the beds down the corridors just now and knowing that these are the halls my mother must have walked most frequently, I find my eyes darting in every corner as if to secure it in my memory.

“The King’s sister, Lady Odelina sleeps just in here, she should be down by now so we can make a start.” Meghan comments when gesturing to the nearest door and I try my best not to let the pain in my face show as we cross the threshold.

This must have once been Maud’s room, the sister who couldn’t bring herself to love me but who was still the companion of my youth. As I look at the paintings on the wall, the paper covering it and the colours swimming around the room, I try to picture her dark hair.

It was curly like mine but it seems when she came of age she found a way to manage it all more easily. Unlike myself, her skin was always flawless and with being ‘Daddy’s little princess’ there was no expense spared when it came to furnishing her rooms and filling her closets it seems.

It shouldn’t sting so bad to see the love I never received in here, but there’s no denying the pang in the chest as I move to follow Meghan when making the bed.

Lady Odelina. Yes, I’ve heard that name frequently this path month as the perfect princess, the loyal widow and the fiery heart. The whispers of how she carried on after her husband’s death, how she used to fish to help feed their soldiers behind her brother’s back, and how she refused to marry the King’s Hand reminds me of the heroines I used to read about in my books, and it pains me to have to hate this one, but there’s no stopping it.

She is here because my family is dead. Her brother killed them and her presence is a dark mark on their memory, but like with everything else in this new life, there’s nothing I can do about it.

“You can feel her in here, can’t you?” Meghan lowers her voice to address me across the bed that we’re in the middle of straightening.

“Sorry?” I try not to swallow too hard as I pray that she hasn’t noticed how interested I am in this room and will likely be with the rest all the same.

I thought it was fair to assume they’d think I was a maid only just seeing luxury for the first time, but maybe I was a fool to think I could hide my loss so easily.