My recluse is my softly lit bed chamber that evening. The walls are flushed with high colour from the glow of the fireplace and the fragile dance of candlelight stationed upon my nightstand. I find strange comfort in the storm outside, the wind crashing against the tall, stately windows and violently slamming the walls of the so-called impenetrable estate.
As daylight slowly begins to pour into the milky bowl of morning sky, I carry myself from my bed and begrudgingly dress. As I gaze blearily at my muslined form in the mirror, the shrouded silence of my abode is suddenly threatened by the sound of weeping. 'Tis the most tragic sound, a young, faint voice sobbing continually between varied gasps of breath. I pry my door open, only to discover my chamber maid, Betsy, a girl of about fifteen, crying incessantly. When she perceives me, she wipes her eyes urgently with her hands and bows lightly, choking back tears with concentrated efforts.
"Forgive me, Miss, I ought'n't be here," she says, blotchy red eyes stained with fresh tears. Before I can utter a reply, she bows once again, this time a slight inclination of her head, and scurries down the corridor hall.
"Betsy!" I cry, pacing after her. She crumples against the wall like a broken doll and blinks away tears, eyeing me pensively. "Do not apologize! What is the matter?"
"''Tis improper to discuss such things with a Mistress," Betsy insists rigidly.
"Betsy, I am only a guest. Not a Mistress. You shouldn't be afraid of me. Now, if there is anything I can do to aid you with this horrible misfortune, please inform me of it!" I exclaim, adding passionately.
Betsy regards me with a removed expression, as if evaluating whether I can be trusted or not.
"My - my parents, and my wee siblings are all struck ill with fever. I'm awful afraid they won't survive, and they don't have enough food to eat. I begged Lady Caroline to give me leave to the village to care for them, but she hasn't the care."
I regard her, such pale, swollen, hopeless eyes, frozen in fear, her stature bent, indicating vulnerability and shame.
"You say your family abides in the village?" I ask, receiving a meek nod from Betsy, "I can travel to care for them this morning, and bring them food from the kitchen. I had to care for my sick Father when I was young, so perhaps I could be of assistance."
A smile plays on Betsy's lips, and she pulls me into a swift embrace, before stepping back and remembering her place. "Thank ye, Miss." She trembles, "Thank ye so very much!"
~~~
YOU ARE READING
The House Guest (Unedited)
Historical FictionWhen Helene Lovell finds herself a penniless orphan, she is swept into the world of manners, money, and etiquette, where her cruel Aunt Lady Dorothea is the ringmaster, and never ceases to remind her of her burdensome existence. The only consolation...
