The House of Beardsley

Chapter Two

The Beardsley estate could be easily described with one word: gloomy. The whole place was gloomy, from the garden, which only had around four flower variations, to the main parlor room, which was dark and dusty from being unused for so long. The drawing room and the dining hall were the only places that seemed clean, although the piano in the former was still dusty. Either way, it wasn't a very interesting tour.

The eyes of the portraits that hung in ornate frames on the walls were dim and lifeless, the moose head that adorned the parlor room only made me pity the poor animal—and all the other decors in the mansion were equally tasteless, as well.

The halls and rooms were labyrinthine, but at least they were spacious, unlike the bustling and claustrophobic servant halls downstairs.

Throughout the whole tour Clo was picking at her nails and didn't seem to hear a single word that came out of Mister Kupka's mouth, Beth was hacking and coughing because of her asthma, and Rhiannon didn't say a single thing, nor did her expression change during the whole duration of the tour.

At the end of the tour we were introduced to the Beardsley staff.

"This is Miss Bethany Clock, who is new to working as a maid," Mister Kupka said, gesturing to her. "And this is Miss Shuyan, also new to the service. Next is Miss Clotilde Hutchinson, who has prior experience in a factory, and lastly, Miss Rhiannon Daugherty, who was a lady's maid prior."

"And this is the staff of the house of Beardsley, totaling to around eleven members."

Nervously, I looked at their faces. They were all Caucasian—there was not a single face like Clo or mine. They were also all old men, probably from having served the house since the previous Lord Beardsley was a child. When they looked at us us, their faces had an array of emotions, from being intrigued, delighted, to upset.

"I've never seen an Oriental in my life," a man with a twirly, almost surreal mustache was saying. He looked at me in interest before Mister Kupka cleared his throat.

"Well, now you have. Stop treating the girl like she's an exotic animal—I'm sure Master Eugene has enough of those to keep you amused."

"Sorry, sorry," the man said. "I'm Otis Brown, the head cook." He smiled proudly. He must've been in his sixties, hair all grey, dressed in a white uniform unlike the others.

"Really, I have no idea why they decided to hire women, for Heaven's sake," a even older man with pale skin and white hair was muttering under his breath in the corner, "but an Oriental and an African?" He might've passed for the oldest if not for Mister Kupka.

"Phillip! What you said was simply unacceptable," Mister Kupka shouted, quivering with anger again. "Apologize at once!"

"I don't see why I should! I'm allowed to have my opinions if I can't choose who to work with!" he snapped back, and then turned and left the room, his coattail swishing.

"Oh my." A younger, short man with a round belly scratched at his head before turning to us. "I'm sorry for Phillip. He's the oldest here, valet to the eldest son, Mister Silas. He doesn't like taking orders from anyone, even from Mister Kupka."

"And he's, as you have seen, very objective towards change," another man with an eyepatch and grave aura added.

"It doesn't bother me," Clo said with a shrug. "I'm used to people like him. It won't tire me to ignore him."

"Are you fine, Shuyan?" Beth turned to me. "Please don't take what that man said to heart."

"It's fine," I whispered, but my voice was low and my hands shaking. "I prepared for it before I sent in my application to work here."