To Serve Only Her
This is a little long, but it is a single story with an ending. If you read to the finish, you will be rewarded.
Chapter 1
Let it be said that I do not mind hard work. Ever since I was just a girl, I found that I must keep my hands occupied. It is like a thirst, to sit idle and useless until a task comes that demands your attention. Then you are filled with purpose, you are given meaning in this world instead of being the empty vessel that is the human body. When I met my mistress that is how I felt, that I had been useless for too long, and she, with all her needs and demands, would fill me up.
Perhaps because I had no siblings to play with, I spent more time with my elders. My parents worked tirelessly from dawn to dusk; my father laboring as a cobbler and my mother as a seamstress. They would spend hours making a creation of perfection for all the nobles in our land, lauded with praise for their finery. When they died, I tried to follow in their craft, but found no one who would accept me into their guild.
Eventually I did what all desperate young women do, I put myself into servitude. My first master was a kindly old Lord, patient with all that I needed to learn, until he died from nothing more than age. I was inherited by his son, who was not nearly the man that his father was. Spoiled and restless, he was often displeased by everything I did.
When they announced the engagement of the Count to what would become my mistress, it was expected that all aristocracy would give them a wedding present worthy enough to keep their social standing, and keep them in the Count's good graces. Never being that fond of the Count, my young master thought he was clever when he solved two problems by gifting me to the young newlyweds, saddling them with a "worthless wench". However, what he saw as unusable became useful to the young Countess, and I happily serve only her.
It was an arranged marriage to secure land and allies as usual, the young Countess meeting with the Count only once before their wedding day. I wish I had seen the ceremony, certain that my mistress was the most beautiful bride to have ever graced the chapel of our people. When I met the Countess, I was both startled and conflicted by her striking appearance. Her face was innocent and unblemished, but it carried a maturity, a fortitude that surprised me. The strength was needed when her new husband would expect much of his fledgling wife, an expectation of competency in realms foreign to her.
Rather than flounder with inexperience and avoid her responsibilities (or pawning them off on those that served her), the Countess was fair to all. She showed her strength with forgiveness, she defeated jealous rumors with kindness, and she silenced doubt with every wise decision. The only fault my mistress has, quite simply, is loneliness.
The Count is off fighting a war against invaders that threaten our kingdom, dashing off to adventure and danger while his wife sits idly in the castle that is their home. She is kept busy with the affairs of the Count's land and its people, and even then she sorts out most problems swiftly and easily. As her personal servant, I am allowed to attend court in the great hall adorned with banners of family crests, and watch the Countess as she levies decisions and decrees to men twice her age with such confidence. It is only when the crowd disappears and we are left alone, that I feel the emptiness ebb back in. Like me, she feels useless when she is idle, lost without purpose.
Today it was quieter than usual at court. Only one case to be settled between two villagers; neighbors disputing how a sheep got loose in the other's garden and the sheep had eaten a hefty amount of his vegetables. The Countess listened to them patiently, giving each one a turn to speak their case, then suggested that the garden-owner erect a fence to keep out his neighbor's sheep. His only objection to my mistress was that he did not have the wood for such a fence, nor did he have the money to buy wood. My mistress immediately offers a donation of wood, and the man is shocked by her generosity. He and his neighbor are both blubbering their thanks when they depart the hall.
Josef, the Count's butler and keeper of the house, approaches my mistress. "Countess," he begins in a flowery and formal voice which means he will be saying something unpleasant, "while we do have a small surplus of firewood, and the simplicity of your solution to the men's quarrel is resourceful, we had allotted that surplus for our winter stores."
My mistress nods her head in acknowledgement. "I did not doubt that you had another purpose for such a prudent surplus of wood Josef, should the winter be long enough to require it. However, there is a purpose in need of it now, and winter is still two seasons away."
Josef crinkles up his wizened face, unable to argue with her sound logic. He is at heart always kinder than his stoic expression appears, something I have always liked about him. "I cannot argue with such optimism and generosity. I shall see to it that the wood is delivered to the villager in need."
"Thank you, Josef," she replies with a smile of gratitude. He is turning to leave when she adds, "And I appreciate that you are also thinking of what is best for the Count's home and the people in it."
A smile emerges from beneath his graying beard. "And what is best for our Countess's home."
He bows to leave, and my mistress nods at his deferent movement. She is smiling too, but not as jovially as Josef was. I know his statement was a gesture to include the Countess as part of the household he has served longer than anyone in the castle, to say that she is no longer an outsider. She married the Count well over a year ago, but to her and I, we are still newcomers to the life inside the castle.
After the conclusion of court, I escort my mistress from the great hall and head down the corridor to the dining room. The countess eats her supper alone, with myself waiting on her in the extravagantly over-sized room. She looks so small when she is sitting at the long table that stretches nearly the length of the room with herself at one end, surrounded by empty chairs. Sometimes we chat as she eats, discussing the weather or other simple things that she knows will not cause me embarrassment for my lack of knowledge.
Tonight, she is quiet. The young footman, Tomas, has noticed it too, his face a sad smile when he leaves us alone after bringing in the meal. The Countess eats in measured bites, almost forcing herself to eat. Only halfway through the meal, she pushes the plate away from her and calls my name.
"Lida, please tell the cook I am sorry that I cannot finish his supper. Do not let it go to waste, though," she states as she sets her napkin down on the table.
I bow my head reverently as she stands to leave and escort her to the towering double doors of the room. I tell Tomas to clear the table and to feed the scraps to the dogs, and instruct him to leave a plate of bread out as my mistress may be hungry later. He nods and quickly scrambles away with the food, while I follow behind my mistress.
She walks with heavy steps for such a petite woman as she. Her shoes clatter along as we climb the winding stairs up to her chamber. It seems her steps get slower as we approach the high story, her long skirt of brocade sweeping the floor as she takes the last step onto the landing. She glances back at me, sighing deeply.
"I feel so tired despite having done absolutely nothing of exertion today," she says with a shake of her head.
"Ruling your people is not nothing, Countess."
She looks at me with a weak smile. "That is very generous of you Lida, considering all that you have done in one day."
I curtsy, holding in the reply that I love to serve my mistress, and wait for her to walk ahead before I start to move. Traditional etiquette is to follow my mistress, but open any door that we come to. Always following, and yet somehow always being first. She prefers to walk with me, speaking as we go, and unsettling rules that mean less to her generation than mine. I am not that much older than my mistress, but it feels greater when I stare at my parched hands, then lessens when she speaks with such intelligence. When we reach her suite, I hold open the door, and she enters the small dressing chamber that adjoins the master's bedroom and together we begin her nightly ritual.
First, I undress her, shedding the heavy ornamental robe and then her formal court gown, which must be unlaced. She patiently stands with her hands resting on her hips, breathing more easily as I undo the laces that crisscross her back. When she emerges from the substantial gown, my mistress is dwarfed by it, her slender body freed, nearly. Then there is her petticoat and her underdress. There is a method to retain her modesty as we do this; my Countess keeps her back to me and I always must stay behind her. I keep my head down and my eyes on the floor as she steps out of her last layer that is the underdress- a long, thin slip in white linen. I then turn to retrieve from the tall armoire her sleeping gown that is not much different in design as the slip, just slightly thicker and in a pleasing silk material. I kneel and hold out the gown for her to step gracefully into, then I rise and lift the nightgown with me, bringing it over her hips and up until I reach her arms. We carefully tuck her hands inside the sleeves, tug the sleeves up and over her shoulders, and she is covered again.
I can do all of this fairly quickly, eased by her ability to anticipate how she must move in order for us to not collide or impede my movements. Not all masters or mistresses would do this, forcing you to toil needlessly by turning them like a child who has no idea how to move their own limbs. My mistress is so refined with her movement that some days I wonder if she does not want to dress herself- or at least as much as she could within the limits of a noble woman's wardrobe, but then again we have always chatted and discussed her day as we do this, another opportunity to fill her day with a little companionship.
Tonight she is silent as I work, a defeated slump in her normally proud shoulders when she sits at the small wooden dressing table that is placed against the wall. I begin to take out the ribbons and pins that hold her hair up in the tight bun, letting the thick mane of ebony fall over her shoulders. Her hair and eyes are dark, like her people to the north, but her skin is pale and creamy. She glances up as I brush out her hair, another sigh. I have barely brushed out all of the length of her hair which falls to her waist, when she stops my hand.
"That will do, Lida. Let us retire," she quietly states. Immediately, I step back so that she may stand.
I follow her over to the door that leads into her bed chamber and open her door, bowing my head as she walks through it. She walks over to the colossal four-poster bed, hewed of a heavy wood that sits high off the floor, requiring she must step onto a stool to climb into it. I am taller than her by a hand, but even I need to stretch up to raise the covers for her while she climbs in. My mistress slides under the stark white sheets, then raises her hands up so that I may tuck the many blankets around her. It is still cold in the room since I have not started her fire yet, something I would normally do before she retired.
"I will get your fire lit mistress, take off the chill that's in this room," I tell her as I step away from her bed and turn to the imposing stone fireplace on the opposite wall.
She nods silently as I make haste to get her fire started, carefully stacking the wood and kindling, and within a minute there are flames spiraling up from the logs in the stone hearth.
I take a few steps back towards the bed, turning to face my mistress. I bow my head slightly, readying to leave when I see her sit up a bit more, her mouth opening. I keep looking at her, waiting for instruction.
"Please stay Lida, just for a while," she states, gesturing for me to come closer.
I nod and step back over to the elevated bedside. "I will make sure the fire is going good and strong," I say, trying to be conversational when I can tell something else is bothering her. "Can I get you another blanket, my lady?"
"No, no thank you," she sighs. "The chill in this room will not be undone by blankets or fire."
She glances over towards the empty half of the giant bed, eyeing the indentation that should be where her husband lies.
"Has there been any other word of his Lord's progress?" I ask politely, despite knowing that there hasn't been since I'm usually present when her mail is delivered.
"No," she replies. "I have only been told that his garrison was following the river south."
"They will send messengers when it is safest, his lordship would be sure of it," I say, trying to raise her spirits.
"Of course," she replies half-heartedly.
We listen to the steady crackling of the fire, and I turn back to face the hearth, hearing my mistress take a deep breath. A heavy breath that settles over her bed, then dissolves into a sniffle. I do not look back, but walk over to the fire, stoking the logs with unnecessary effort, giving my mistress the privacy to collect herself. I have only seen her cry once before, and that was the day after the Count left with his men. She has probably cried before, and simply managed to do so in privacy.
When I pretend to be satisfied with my busywork, I turn back to see the Countess discretely wiping her eyes, but she makes no pretense to hide the grim expression on her face.
"I must confess that I do not think he will return," she says plainly, her brown eyes staring ahead at the fire. "I should not say it, and yet I cannot live in false hope. I try Lida, I try for all the people who depend upon his return, and it drives me mad."
"My Lady-", I start, taking a step towards her bed, but she cuts me off.
"No, please Lida. Of all those who speak to me, please speak freely to me, as you always have," she says, her eyes wide and glistening.
I steel my nerve, and try to mend her heart. "My Lady, we cannot know what his lordship faces, or where he may be. We can only hope that he is returned to you. If he does not return, it will not be his failure, nor yours. It is only the wait that pains you so. Losing faith will not ease that pain."
She smiles with some relief, her eyes glistening as she gazes at me.
"You are right Lida. It shall not do us any good to lose myself to despair."
"Despair has its place when one is missing one's heart. I cannot imagine your pain, my lady," I offer, taking a moment to pat down the edge of the blankets near her feet. She shakes her head, seeming embarrassed at her lapse in judgement.
"I am sure you have your own pains, Lida, that I am none too generous to inquire about," she scoffs.
"My lady is a very busy one, without time to worry about my pains," I scoff back, taking a step away from her bed.
"Well I should be more inquisitive as you are just as vital to my life," she says with a chuckle, leaning back into her pillow.
I try not to show my happiness at her statement, bowing instead as I back away.
"Thank you mistress," I mumble, "May you have a pleasant sleep."
"Thank you, Lida," she whispers back, the sweet tone of affection in her voice. A tone that sends a flutter through my chest. "Goodnight."
I keep my head down, not daring to meet her eyes as I reach the door, not turning my back on her until I leave.
"Goodnight my lady."
Chapter 2
I retire to my room that is on the floor beneath my mistress. This is unusual, something Josef initially balked at, arguing it was unwise to have one servant sleeping floors above the rest of the castle staff. The Countess told him that she was in need of my services "as quickly and as conveniently as possible" and in order to achieve that swiftness I needed to be closer to her bedchamber. I was secretly pleased, knowing that I would have a private room, larger and warmer than anything in the servant's quarters. My bed is still the narrow size that holds an unmarried woman, and my simple clothing scarcely fills the wooden armoire, but I have a window that overlooks the courtyard below. I can also hear my mistress's footsteps when she walks across the floor, even as dainty as she is, the castle is old and creaks.
I have only been lying in bed for a short time when I know that sleep will not come easily tonight. I am too restless, too stirred up by my mistress's troubles, too excited by her kind words. I try not to think of her face, I try to think of other things. I think of my duties tomorrow, which outfit I will pick out for her, which garments will need to be laundered or mended. These fleeting thoughts cannot compete with the way I feel for her.
My thoughts seem to have a way of coming true. I often accuse myself of causing trouble when my thoughts wander towards things unhealthy or unhelpful. I know I should not think certain thoughts, and just as I chide the gnawing ache that has started inside my body, I hear a sound above me. A little thud, and then a shuffle of sounds that travel diagonally across the ceiling and over to the hall.
My mistress is up- the thud is the sound of her stepping onto her little wooden stool and then her feet crossing the floor. There is a pause as she waits at the threshold of her door, likely sticking her head out to see if anyone will see her as she sneaks out of her bedchamber. The pause lasts only a few ticks of my heart, and then I hear the shuffle going away from my room, towards the staircase. She is coming down.
I leap out of bed and throw on my dressing robe, tightly knotting the heavy wool around me, then shoving my feet into the lovely slippers my mistress gave me for my birthday. I crack open my door and see exactly what I expected to see. My mistress is walking down the staircase, her dressing robe floating behind her like a satin ghost in the dim light, her dark hair alive with movement as she walks. I take the time to spy on her, taking in her image before I quietly tiptoe out of my chamber and head down after her.
I know where she is headed, remembering that she had only eaten half of her supper. She is going to the kitchen to scrounge up a snack. I hope that Tomas has left out the bread as I have instructed, and hope that she will be pleased with it.
She is not far ahead of me, and I could have caught up with her, but I selfishly choose to hang back so that I can watch her glide along the empty halls. I also do not want to frighten her with my sudden appearance, so I wait in the shadow of the hallway until she has gone into the kitchen. There are the quiet sounds of her movement, no doubt snooping into things to see what morsels she can find.
I slap my feet across the floor with exaggerated steps, trying to announce my presence. She whirls around as I enter, but her momentary surprise becomes a little grin.
"Did I wake you?" she asks, knowing quite well that I will always rise if I hear my mistress about.
"I wasn't really sleeping," I say, walking beside the long counter that stores the flour and sugar, the place where Tomas should have left out the bread. "And you didn't finish your supper."
"I know," she answers playfully, "But there was more soup than I had room for in my belly."
I spy the plate of bread just behind her elbow as she leans over the counter, peering into a large bowel covered with a towel.
"There is a dish just behind your arm, my lady," I say, gesturing towards the plate.
She spins around in the other direction, missing the plate completely. I stretch over to reach the plate, leaning my body close to hers, close enough to have her hair brush up against my shoulder when she turns back around to face me.r"
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