Crystal Heart (ONC 2024)

3: Delicate Secrets

The first time a maid came to offer her a bath, Delilah refused instantly.

The next came with food, which she wolfed down in a way that would have shocked her old governess into an early grave, and politely made the same offer, but still she said no.

It was only after the smell of the stew and warm bread had faded that Delilah noticed her own scent; a pungent combination of sweat, blood, and fear that radiated out from her.

When the third maid came, she accepted the bath meekly.

It wasn't until the tub was filled with warm jugs of water and a sprinkle of bath salts that Delilah hesitated. Her gaze flicked to the maid, her lips twitching into a strained smile as she met the other woman's polite expression. It was not modesty that left her hands knotted in the hem of the nightgown, unable to move – not after a lifetime of being helped to bathe. But then again, she had never looked as she did now.

Swallowing, she turned more directly to the bath, pulling the nightgown over her head. There came no gasp of surprise or horror from behind her, but she was all too aware of what the other woman saw. Her thin frame, once fashionable, could now be called little else but wasted, though perhaps the layers of dirt and sweat hid some of the emaciation. The bruises dotting her skin were her only colour now, giving her usually tanned skin a sallow glow. As her hair spilled out from the dress, falling lifelessly against her upper back, she remembered the times it had been described as lustrous and vibrant. How would the maid describe it now? Flat? Thinning? Filthy.

She stepped into the bath, hissing as the warmth stung her legs, but welcoming the distraction from her thoughts. She sat, noticing every cut and graze that complained, and as her knuckles blanched against the rim of the tub, a trickle of blood broke free from her palm. It trailed a winding path down the porcelain, meeting the water and blooming into a swirl of crimson. The rest of the water was already tinged brown, and as she sank beneath the surface it almost blocked her view of the room. Her eyes stung, but that might have been tears; when had a simple bath begun to feel like such a luxury?

She resurfaced quickly, dragging in a deep breath. As she wiped at her face, dragging her soaked hair back towards her ears and feeling the iron smell of blood sting her nostrils, she caught movement in her peripheries. Glancing over her shoulder she watched the other woman cautiously.

The maid was picking the drawers up from the floor, slotting them gently back into place in the vanity. Delilah winced as the woman turned to the dresses, picking up each item and smoothing it out before she hung them back in the cupboard.

Delilah cleared her throat, and the maid looked at her quickly. "I apologise for the mess I made."

"Not at all, miss." The woman's smile seemed genuine enough, delicate dimples appearing at the corners of her mouth.

Delilah had no answer to that, so she simply nodded. She let her gaze track the room, once again noticing the beige fabric draped above the bed frame and the elegant matching furniture. An oil painting on the far wall illustrated a field of tiny yellow flowers, with an ivory castle sitting atop of hill in the distance. The curtains were also floral, drawn back with golden ties to let the light in. The décor felt deliberate, but... unlived in.

"Whose room is this, uh..." She'd not paid enough attention when the maid had introduced herself. "Forgive me, what was your name again?"

"Sarah, miss." The movements behind Delilah continued. "The room once belonged to Lady Helena, Lord Frederick's younger sister, but it has not been occupied since her marriage a few years ago."

Delilah remembered Helena Ascott's marriage – to an earl or a viscount, she thought – but she'd never met the lady herself. Curious to hear more, she turned in the bath with further questions on the tip of her tongue, only to find Sarah's hands on the blanket that covered the mirror.