The Faintest Ink (Watty Winner 2015)

Chapter Eighty-Seven

Blue had always wanted to be a Lady's Maid. There was something about their fine hands and la-di-da manners which appealed to her. It was one of the reasons she went into service. Back when she'd worked in the laundries, she'd watched them with longing as they rushed back and forth, checking on the process of their charge's garments, ordering more starch here and less lye there.

"This is silk, you fool," they'd say, waving pieces of brightly coloured cloth under her nose.

"Yeah, and there's a bloody great grease stain on it," she'd shout back. "So tell her ladyship upstairs to stop chewing on lamb chops in bed and I won't have to use so much."

They'd huff off then, back upstairs, where the air smelt of perfume and hair oil, before the dinner bell went and all the ladies would be rushing upstairs to change their gowns. Blue would be left behind to haul the wet sheets out of the cauldron and run them through the mangle, drenching herself in the process. It was back-breaking work, and by the end of the day her she would feel as wrung out as the sheets, and her hands would be pruned and purple from sitting in the dye laden water.

She'd been seeing one of the footmen at the time. A tall bloke with a twisted mouth which made him look like he was permanently smirking. They weren't exactly sweethearts, but they'd meet behind the kitchen gardens for an evening of getting to know one another. He'd always laugh at her dyed hands, and call her 'Blue'.

The relationship, such as it was, didn't last, but the name stuck. And as a parting favour he'd managed to convince the steward to make her a chambermaid. For that, she'd be forever grateful to him. She'd been so proud that first day, wearing her new gown. In the laundries they wore whatever rags they were given, but a chambermaid had to look respectable, and fit to be seen.

But still she wanted to rise, to be like those maids with the soft voices and haughty manners. Now here she was, looking after not one, but two great ladies. And she wasn't sure about it at all.

"Is there anything else I can do for you, Countess?" she said. Not that she had done much. After her and the other one across the way had finished their fight, this one, Calantha, had alternated between sobbing and screaming. "Would you like me to brush your hair?" she said, creeping towards the rocking girl. "You have such pretty ringlets," she said, reaching out to touch them. "It's a shame to let them just hang like that."

With a darting movement, the girl reached out and grabbed Blue's arm. "My husband," she said, her voice hoarse. "Is he coming for me?"

"I don't rightly know," said Blue trying to pull away, but the Countess was not letting go.

"Yes, you're right. He's not going to help me." She nodded to herself. "I need someone capable. Not like him. Not like him at all. Even a dog would be more assertive. I need someone who is in control of every situation he is in. I need..." Her grip tightened further on Blue's arm, making spots flash in front of her eyes. That girl was strong. "I need paper and ink. Will you bring me some?"

Then the Countess turned eyes of such pleading on her, that Blue stopped struggling.

"Countess, do you know where you are?"

The Countess sniffed. "In a horrible room, with a lumpy mattress and a fire which smokes."

Blue blanched. She had laid the fire herself. Not very well it appeared. "Right. And do you know why you are here?" she asked.

"I signed a piece of paper," said the Countess, tugging at her bodice with an unconscious. It didn't sit properly. It was as if it was made for a woman much taller than herself. Blue frowned. It was a poor sort of Countess that needed to wear another lady's gown. Blue debated offering to adjust it for her, but all those tiny stitches made her eyes swim.