Fate had her remain with her father and youngest sister the day the debt collectors came.
It was fate that her father let her go.
It was fate that gave her a new husband, a new home.
It was fate that her younger sister disappeared.
It was fate that...
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The young woman woke up before dawn and before her husband as she did every morning. Without disturbing his rest, she climbed from the tall ornate wrought iron bed and walked naked into the adjoining bathing chamber. The chill of the early spring morning prompted the petite blonde to put on a dressing robe before she went about the daily ritual of washing her face and combing her hair.
Every day she began with the same routine so her husband would remain unaware that she disobeyed his order of having a ladies' maid assist her every need. It wasn't an order made out of love or even caring on his part. It was an order made to reinforce his control. She didn't need a ladies' maid. She was fully capable of dressing herself, but she didn't want another argument so she kept her morning traditions to herself. The woman went about her business on her own without glancing in the large looking glass. She no longer cared about her looks. Having a pretty face is what led her to the life she lived now, and it wasn't all that pleasant.
After dressing, she quietly made her way to the kitchen to talk with Mrs. Grismore, the cook. The lady was about to take a trip to visit her sisters and she needed to create a menu for her husband and his children while she was gone. She couldn't give her husband any excuses to deny her visit this month.
The manor was very large and she ran into many servants beginning their chores along her way to the kitchens. As was customary when her husband was not present, she greeted each of them by name.
"Good morning, Annabel. I hope you and Sinjan enjoyed your day off together yesterday," she said to a maid that was dusting in the long hall.
"Good morning, Haverford. Your knee is well then?" she asked a footman who had twisted his knee on the stairs last week.
After confirming that the Lord of the manor wasn't in sight, each servant greeted her back with smiles and nods and answered her small talk. Their mistress was always friendly and caring. She never treated them as lesser humans by acting as though she held herself above them. She never asked them to go beyond what they were required in their positions. All the servants respected her and loved her from the head housekeeper to the lowly stable boys. She knew them each by name and treated them all in kind.
"Good morning, ladies," their mistress greeted the cook and her helpers as she smiled when she finally made it to the kitchen in the basement.
"Good morning Mistress Iyla," the younger kitchen aides replied back to her.
"'Morning Miss Iyla," the cook greeted, as she wiped her flour coated hands on her apron. "I'm assumin' you're here to discuss the menu. Or is it the apple tart smell that brought ya down here this mornin'?"
Mrs. Grismore had been the head of the kitchen longer than Iyla had been alive. Maven Grismore was a rather short rotund woman in her sixties with rosy cheeks and a positive, but firm attitude. Iyla knew the cook ran the kitchens in a strict manner without losing her kind and loving nature and she admired the older woman for it. The young mistress strived to carry the same aura.
