The Art of Imagination

Chapter 4

Ingrid could have pulled her hair out. “Why not?” She knew she was being childish but she couldn’t help it; Beatrice was supposed to obey her orders too, not just her mother’s.

“Mrs Charles strictly forbade me,” Beatrice replied simply, keeping her gaze on the ground. “I’m sorry, Miss, but orders are orders. I will not send this to the postman when he arrives.”

A frustrated sigh escaped the brunette. She paced in front of Beatrice whom she had not dismissed just yet. “This is the third time I am begging you for a favour. Can’t you please just turn a blind eye to my mother, just this once?”

Beatrice shook her head firmly, lips thinning with impatience. “I’m sorry, Miss. But I do have chores to do and I am under obligation to Mrs Charles’s instructions.”

“Mother, why are you so impossible?” Ingrid exhaled through her teeth, fists clenching. “So you won’t do it?”

“We have established this already.” The maid looked up, exasperation in her brown eyes. “Miss Ingrid, I’m sorry but I won’t do it. I can’t do it.”

“I’ll take all the blame and I promise nobody will be fired!” Ingrid offered, trying to sound confident but honestly, she was unsure whether or not she could have that power over her mother. “Please, just do this one thing for me and we will never speak of it again.”

“And what happens if your acceptance letter comes in the mail? Your mother checks it herself everyday.” Beatrice pointed out, straining to keep her tone polite. “Miss Ingrid, this is a lost cause. Please, don’t make this any harder on yourself.”

Ingrid felt as if she would scream at any given moment. Sitting down on her plush bed, Ingrid racked her brains. Surely there was something that could convince her mother? Certainly not the mention of war but . . . but there must have be something, anything!

“My apologies, Miss, but I have chores to do and I cannot be late again.” Beatrice’s tone was a little annoyed but nevertheless polite. Ingrid couldn’t blame her; she’d been pestering the poor redhead all week. She hadn’t even gone into town, too busy formulating plans that could get her out of this dilemma.

But of course, nothing had worked. Not even begging her maid.

“Fine. You’re dismissed.”

Ingrid heard the door close behind the maid but paid no attention. Throwing herself back, she closed her eyes and let exhaustion take over. Begging, pleading and arguing was one sure-fire way to put her to sleep.

A window must have been opened somewhere because Ingrid was feeling a draft. Fleshy bumps arose across her arms as she hurried down the corridors late at night. She didn’t need a flashlight or lamp when she knew the manor like the back of her hand.

Scurrying down two flights of stairs, Ingrid trailed her hands along the stone walls until she came across the kitchen, her throat feeling raw and papery for some odd reason. It may have been due to the lack of water and food she was consuming; a hunger strike Ingrid thought would have worked but to no avail. Her mother’s resolve held strong.

The thought of her mother caused her anger to flicker slightly. She couldn’t believe her mother’s instructions to the domestic workers. A week of it and Ingrid was already growing tired of their antics, all their watchful eyes on her when she walked to and from between the library and her room. One more week and she knew she would go insane.

But first, to calm her thoughts, a glass of water.

Just as her fingers came across the smooth doorway to the kitchen, Ingrid stopped at the sound of whispering voices and trickling water. The maids.