March 13th, 1872
ROSALYNN
The day of the fire.
"Play something else. This infernal clanging is hurting my ears."
I ignore her. I'm sick of being told what to do, sick of being treated us than the mud on the bottom of their shoes. I've had enough of this.
"Didn't you hear me, you stupid girl? Stop that hideous racket at once."
I don't acknowledge her words, but instead feign ignorance and carry on playing. What's it to her what I play
As my fingers dance over the opening bars of a Beethoven Sonata, I can feel her hot breath on my neck. Her breathing in uneven, rough. I can hear her snort with barely-suppressed fury
Maybe you're pushing her too far, this time, a small voice at the back of my mind tells me.
I ignore it. Who cares what she thinks? Nothing even matters anymore.
The next thing I know, she slaps me. Hard
I stop playing abruptly, my right cheek stinging badly enough to bring tears to my eyes. I quickly blink them away before she can see my moment of weakness.
I turn around, and she's standing right behind me, face livid with anger, panting like some crazed animal.
"You idiot girl!" She screams, "You ungrateful wench! You waste of space!
Somehow, I feel...detached from all of this. As if I'm watching the scene unfold from a distance, as if I am a bystander. I find that I just don't care anymore.
I give her my nicest, most innocent smile. "Pardon me? Did you say something?"
Her breath is coming out in hoarse gasps. "I don't know why we let you stay here, you're nothing more than a useless piece of garbage. You're good for nothing. We clothe you and feed you, give you everything you'll ever need. And how do you repay us?" He voice is becoming hysterical. "I should have done this a long time ago. Worthless, that's what you are."
I ignore her, feeling strangely calm inside. Let her do what she wants to me, see if I care.
"You...you...you're fired!" She screams.
Fired?
But...but...
I take a deep breath. Fine. If that's how she's going to play it.
Smiling sweetly, I rise from the piano bench and curtsy to her.
"Of course, ma'am.
"I...I want you out of here by tonight!" She says, caught off-guard by my politeness, "And don't even think about showing your face before me ever again."
"Oh, you don't have to worry about that, ma'am. I'll leave right now," I say, in my politest voice, "I would say it has been a pleasure working for you, Lady Chapworth," I hide a smile. "Except for the fact that it hasn't. Good bye, ma'am, I won't be seeing you again."
I smooth down my skirts and start to leave. I am nearly at the door when something flies past my head, and hits the wall with a loud thump. It shatters as it falls to the ground, into a hundred shards of crystal. Even mutilated like this, I can tell that it was, up until a minute ago, the antique crystal ashtray that lay on the sideboard.
I turn around slowly. Lady Chapworth's face is livid with fury, her hands shaking uncontrollably. Her hair has slipped out of its pins, and falls around her shoulders in a mess of curls. Her eyes are wild.
She looks like a madwoman, this fine, refined lady, wife to one of the richest men in England. Mad.
As are the thoughts that drift though my mind then. Pity. A little remorse, perhaps, but not much. Anger, mostly. Wild, blind rage. She meant to kill me, that mad crazed woman. She meant to kill me with that ashtray. Luckily for me, she missed - not by much, true - but she missed. Being a 'refined lady' and all, she has not had much practice. But I am not a refined lady. I could kill her, if I wanted
I wouldn't, but I could.
I think about how easy it would be to pick up one of the broken shards. She won't even see it coming at her. It would be quick, and painless. But I could also make her suffer, if I wanted, like how she made me suffer.
We look at each other, out gazes intense. Like two predators sizing the other up, preparing for the kill.
The mistress, and her maid.
Just at that moment, the door opens, shocking us both.
Nicholas comes in, his golden hair tousled from the wind. He must have been in the garden.
"I..." He looks from Lady Chapworth to me, frowning slightly. "I thought I heard raised voices. Is everything alright, mother?"
Lady Chapworth scoffs. "Alright? No. Everything is not alright.
She bursts into tears.
Nicholas looks bewildered. "I'm sure that there has been a misunderstanding of some sort. Perhaps if we all sit down and have a civil chat about this we can work out a solution..."
I snort. Find a solution to this?
Nicholas is always so kind, so idealistic. He is always trying to see the best in everyone, to avoid conflict in every situation.
But that's what I love about him.
All my anger disappears, only to be replaced with resigned acceptance. I am wasting my time worrying about Lady Chapworth.
Suddenly, Nicholas notices the pile of broken glass on the floor. He looks from Lady Chapworth to me, eyes widening in shock and confusion. "What happened?
"It's alright," I say, not meeting his eyes, "I tripped and dropped the ashtray on the floor. I understand that it must be very valuable. I'm sorry.
I can tell that he doesn't quite believe me. "Are you alright?" He asks, "I do hope that you'll not hurt..."
He is interrupted by Lady Chapworth's anguished cry. "Worry about her, why won't you? Care about the stupid servant girl, while your poor mother suffers alone in silence. You were always too soft hearted for your own good."
He ignores the criticism. "I understand that accidents happen, from time to time. I'll get someone to clear it up right away.
Silently, I say an apology to Siobhan, knowing that she'll be the one who would have to clean this mess up.
"I would do it, my lord," I add, hiding a smile, "Except for the fact that I am no longer a part of this household."
Nicholas frowns in confusion. "I'm not quite sure I understand what's going on. What do you mean that you're no longer one of us?"
Lady Chapworth is just about to say, or rather, scream something, but I get in first.
"It's alright. I'm leaving now." I smile at Nicholas. "Your mother has dismissed me, and I do not intend to complicate matters by outstaying my welcome." My lips twitch in a smirk. "Thank you for everything, Master Chapworth. Thank you for what you've done for me." I mean it. Without him, my days here would have been unbearable. "Goodbye, Nicholas."
I turn to leave.
"Rosalynn..." Nicholas's voice makes me hesitate. What is it?
"I..." he turns away, his face flushing. He hesitates for a moment. "I'll miss hearing you play piano at dinner." It's not what he first intended to say, but it's good enough for me.
"Thank you," I reply.
It's over now. I'm free, for better or for worse.
With one last look at the two of them, Lady Chapworth - snivelling and pathetic - and Nicholas - confused and with a look of regret in his brilliant blue eyes - I leave the room, slamming the door behind me before either of them can see the tears that are forming in my eyes.
It all seems so surreal. It's over. I still can't believe it. After all this time. I'm finally free to go.
I'm going to miss him. Nicholas. He has been nothing but kind and polite to me, always the perfect gentleman. But he's never thought of me as anything but I servant girl.
Because that's all that I was. All that I am. No, not even that, anymore.
And now what little hope of love there once was is gone.
I shake my head forcefully to clear the thought. I have to put him out of my mind. I wipe the tears from my eyes as I think about what I must do next. All that is past now. I have to concentrate now. I must not let Nicholas Chapworth distract me from what I have to do.
The time has come. I've been biding my time, waiting for this opportunity for the last eight years, and I can't make a mistake. This may be the only chance I get. Everything depends on this.
I'm not ready. Not yet.
But I have to be. It doesn't matter whether I'm ready or not. The time has come to do what I must do.
Back in my room, I hastily pack the few possessions I have into a worn, old carpet bag, and lay out my borrowed gowns on the bare mattress. I glance around my room one last time. Well, I can't say I'll miss this. I won't miss the peeling paint, or the cold draughts, or the threadbare blankets. I should be glad to be leaving Chapworth manor. After all, the last eight years have been hell. I should feel lighter than I have in eight years, now that I'm leaving at last.
But somehow I'm not. My heart is heavy, my eyes still damp with tears. Why?
It's because of him. Nicholas. I don't want to leave Chapworth manor. I don't want to leave him.
No. Snap out of it.
What's wrong with me, all of a sudden? I've prepared for this day for so long. Why am I hesitating?
Why does it matter? Why does he matter?
In frustration. No, I mustn't lose focus. Not now. Not when a single hesitation might ruin everything. Everything I've worked for in the last eight years.
But I can't make my move just yet. I'll have to wait until tonight.
Tonight is Miss Genevieve's sixteenth birthday. Master Chapworth is throwing a birthday party for her. Well, more a fancy dinner, really. They'll all be there. All the Chapworths, half the servants, and others, too. Most of their names I never bothered to learn. It never mattered, and it never will.
Things like names are unimportant. Forgettable.
After all, why should something like a name or a title change anything?
Why should the fact that his name is Chapworth matter? It's what's on the inside that counts, right?
No. Wrong. It matters immensely that Nicholas is the heir to the Chapworth fortune. It changes everything. In the end, it's all that matters. But why am I letting myself get distracted by this anyway? I have more pressing matters to worry about.
The dinner party is a huge event. They've been planning it for months. After all, it's Lady Genevieve's eighteenth birthday. At long last she has grown old enough to start thinking about her wedding, about marriage and a comfortable future, preferably to someone old and ill but immensely rich, someone who will die within the year and leave her as a very wealthy widow.
Money. That's all that the Chapworths care about.
Well, except for him, that is.
It's obvious that Genevieve does not want to marry. Not yet, anyway. I see the way she wrinkles her nose at even the mention of a suitor.
But it has been different, these last couple of weeks or so. She's met someone, I can tell. She's in love. Who with, I'm not so sure. But I know that she's in love. I notice things like that.
But I also know that she hasn't told Lord or Lady Chapworth yet. They're still blind to their daughter's nighttime meetings. And when they find out, it's not going to end well.
I can tell that despite the careful planning and meticulous attention to detail - the new gowns ordered from Paris just for the event - the kitchens busy preparing the banquet since breakfast - something is going to go wrong.
And not just because of me, either.
I think that I'm ready now. I've waited so long for this day and it's finally here. Well, nearly. Not quite. But soon. Very soon.
The cuckoo bird popped out of its gilded prison. I count the strikes in my head.
One...two...three...four...five.
Two more hours to go
I hold the box of matches in my hand so tightly that it digs into my palm.
The stage is set. Now all there is to do is to wait some more.
Surely I'll burn in hell today for committing such a crime.
I smile.
If I burn today, then they'll all burn with me.