Bravery, intelligence, ambition - she had always had those. What is bravery if not standing up for those in need? Intelligence if not teaching all you know and learning what you do not? Ambition if not leaving home to find better opportunities? Tho...
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"THERE YOU ARE, HELGA!"
"A Half-Blood, can you believe it? In a household of such prestige?"
"Oh, but everything she makes is simply divine! You know how Lucien loves his cakes - he would hire a troll if it made a cake half as good as hers. Here, try one and see for yourself!"
Though all that could be heard were the sounds of pleasure as the women in the parlor ate the cake, the eavesdropper walked away furiously. The nerve of them, slandering every aspect of her aside from her food charms, comparing her to a troll - but that's not what hurt the most. What hurt the most was the reason she had stopped to listen in the first place. It caused her blood to boil, hearing how those two Pureblooded noblewoman spoke of her Muggle father.
The only person she could really blame for her anger was herself. She was employed by the Keck family, one of the most powerful Pureblooded families in all of England, so it was illogical for her to expect their guests to see the peasant Half-Blood from Wales in a better light than what she was receiving now. She shouldn't have tried to listen in the first place.
She quickly made her way back into the servant's quarters.
"There you are, Helga!"
Helga jumped at the voice. Aside from herself, the servants of the Kecks were comprised entirely of House Elves, so she was entirely shocked to see another person perched on a table in the center of the dingy room. The shock lasted only a moment.
The witch that greeted her was strikingly beautiful. Her long, delicately curled blonde hair was up away from heart-shaped, pale face, and it fell over her shoulders, cascading down onto her elegant, ruby-red robes. Her eyes of blue sparkled at Helga, her cheeks dimpling as she smiled mischievously at the girl. Keturah Keck let out a gleeful sound as she hopped off the table and embraced her friend.
"You'll never believe it!" she cried, pulling out of the hug, but still holding Helga by the shoulders. "Father is arranging a ball for me. To meet suitors!"
"Suitors," responded Helga, her voice much deeper than her friend's. There was excitement in her voice, but it was obviously feigned - obvious to everyone but Keturah, a witch who had a striking inability to read a room. "Wow," she continued. "That's. . ."
"It's incredible, isn't it?" The girl was happily spinning around the room now. Helga couldn't believe how excited she was at the thought of being married off, knowing that she would probably never return here again once it was all settled. "I'm so happy that I'm finally old enough! I was just a girl, but I remember the balls he threw for my sisters when they came of age. I wasn't allowed, of course, but they looked and sounded devine!"
Helga forced a smile onto her face. She'd never been to nor seen a ball. She'd heard how the Kecks used to throw them all the time, and how they were known as some of the best in the country, guests as far as Rome in attendance. They had stopped after Lady Keck had passed, and as Helga was hired a year after her passing, she had never even seen one from a servant's perspective. Her smile faltered slightly as she thought of the massive feast she would no doubt have to prepare.
"Father is bringing in the best robe maker he knows for me. All the way from Sicily! Can you believe it?" Helga thought Keturah might cry from the excitement of it all.
"When will you have it?" Helga asked quietly, wondering how much time she would have to prepare. She was already dreading this day more than anything else.
"Father says no more than a fortnight," she explained, finally looking at her friend. At her somber reaction, Keturah finally seemed to break from her excited trance. "That's - " she started, her voice much softer - "that's when your birthday is, isn't it?"
Helga gave her a grimace of a smile. That was when her birthday was, and her birthday, thanks to her friendship with Keturah, was the only time she was permitted to return to Wales to see her family. Now, not only would Helga have to overwork herself to get the feast prepared for the ball, she would also have to go another year before she saw her family again.
Helga didn't look up as the clicking of Keturah's heels broke the sudden silence of the room, and she did nothing more than half-heartedly smile as she placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. The only thing that brought her to look up again were Keturah's next words. "I'll talk to my father."
A look of excited surprise overtook the Half-Blood's face. "What?" she asked quickly, sure that she had not heard her lady right. Yes, the two shared a relationship that could be considered friendship, but their different statuses were extremely clear. Helga had always been a servant first, a friend second.
But suddenly that didn't seem to be the case. Keturah had a sympathetic smile on her face. "I can't make promises, but I'll see if I can talk him into letting you return home early, and be back in time for the ball. You're about the only thing that makes the man smile anymore, your food, at least. Surely I can convince him to grant you this kindness."
Helga was unsure of that for the same reason Keturah was sure of it. Her food was extremely special to the master of the house, and she didn't think he would want to be without it if it wasn't for a reason priorly agreed upon. But if anyone could convince him otherwise, it was Keturah, his youngest and most beloved child. There were tears in her eyes as Helga wrapped her arms around her friend. "Thank you, Ketty, thank you so much."
