Gauthier's father taught him that everyone should know their place in this world: Pure-bloods rule. Half-bloods work. Inferiors destroy.
Jerome has understood only one truth since childhood - Pure-bloods triumph. Half-bloods serve. Inferiors suffer...
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- Master Gauthier.
I turned around and saw our new maid. A half-blood girl who looked no older than seventeen-I think her name was Laura-was standing in the doorway of the living room, her eyes downcast and her hands clasped. In passing, I noted that she looked wonderful in a knee-length black uniform dress and a white apron. It was noticeable that Laura was nervous - it seems that today was the first time she addressed me by name, although she had been living in our house for about a month. It wasn't a long time, but she got a good room in the servants' house, because she was the niece of Silvia, our housekeeper.
- Mister William asks you to come to his office.
I didn't answer. She nodded, as if I had entrusted her with something, and quietly left, without looking up at me.
I wasn't interested in who was doing the shopping or decorating the living room for the holidays - I took it for granted that the three floors of our house and the grounds were always in perfect order, my shirts were ironed and hanging in the closet, waiting in the wings, and at any time of the day or night I can get freshly baked bread, hot soup or grilled beef. And only recently I realized that things did not return to their places on their own after Gabriella, my little sister, scattered them during games; when the older brother Gedeon, in a fit of anger, destroyed half the house (which happened quite often lately, especially when my father had to leave for a long time), after a couple of hours, not by magic, the rooms regained their normal appearance. Only the behavior of the unusually quiet servants indicated that something out of the ordinary had happened. I heard whispers here and there, but as soon as I entered the room, they immediately fell silent and looked as if they had been caught selling the heirloom porcelain.
I remember once, when I was about ten years old, I woke up early in the morning because of a nightmare. I lay there for half an hour and, unable to sleep, went downstairs to drink a glass of water, but in the kitchen he suddenly ran into Catherine and Fanny: sleepy, they were automatically kneading dough for their morning bread. This surprised me. Why aren't they sleeping? Why are they cooking so early? I got to see the underside of our everyday life.
Since then, I have always tried to put order in my room, keep it clean, and remind eight-year-old Gabriella to put away her toys. And I swear to God, there were so many of them, as if all we did all day long was buy up the contents of toy stores like crazy. Child's junk was lying here and there. All these endless dolls with their clothes and houses, teddy bears, puzzles scattered in the corners, which Gabriella, if she could put together into a whole picture, would only do so in her old age. But the worst thing is the small and sharp Lego parts. In appearance, the soft, light carpet in my sister's room looked more like a mined field. I wouldn't dare go there for any amount of money. But Scariel, my best friend, liked Gabriella's toys: he happily drank tea with her from the children's set, surrounded by soft hares and elephants, which, fortunately, happened infrequently. Sometimes she, having listened to her father enough, with childish spontaneity, rained down a hail of questions on Scariel:
