“Oh, coming  to bed, are we?” A bleary-eyed Philomena asked, slowly sitting up in bed and pushing the blankets down over her linen shift. She’d kept a meager candle stub lit beside their bed, a luxury they rarely allowed themselves unless they absolutely needed the light for dressing or undressing.

  Though the servants quarters were dark, cold, and inescapably damp at certain times of the year, they were fortunate that the rooms below the ground floor were properly walled off from each other. That meant Victoria was not at risk of disturbing anyone else as long as she spoke quietly with her bedmate and closest friend.

  The only other maid in the house who came close to her age. Besides Constance, who had only just turned sixteen, if that even counted. At twenty-six, Victoria wasn’t sure she could handle sharing a room with a teenager. Philomena was at least twenty. So Victoria knew she could talk about their guest without being put at risk that Philomena would tell someone else or get her in trouble.

  “I thought we used the last of the candle on saturday,” Victoria remarked, reaching up to untie her kerchief. In the process, a few pins clattered to the floor. She knelt to pick them up with one hand, while using the other to slowly release a few more that held her black braids fastened into a smart but loosening coil. Her scalp sang with the gradual release of tension when she set the pins aside on a small corner table and began to untie the braid. She noted with relief that Philomena had refilled the pitcher on the table and freshly cleaned the wash basin. That meant she could properly scrub away the ash and sweat of the day before sleeping.

  “The candle?” Philomena asked, pulling her attention away from the washing basin, “Thomas gave it to me,” she lied. She was a miserable liar. Sometimes, Victoria thought, she would come up with lies for no reason at all. It wouldn’t be as bad if she was a little better at it, but her eyes always had a funny tell when she made things up. They traveled everywhere about the room but directly at the person she was talking to.

  Victoria let out a deep sigh, shaking her hair free over her shoulders. “So you took it,” she said simply, “from where?”

  “Oh fine. I took it from Lord Albert’s study,” Philomena immediately relented, “he had a couple tucked into the writing desk. He hasn’t gone in there for three years, I didn’t think he’d miss it. Would you rather undress in the dark?”

  “I would if it meant I wasn’t at risk of losing a roof over my head!” Victoria hissed. She could be overly-cautious at times, but really. Her friend could be so irresponsible.

  “Vickey, you have such lovely hair,” Philomena remarked, blatantly and shamelessly changing the subject. She watched Victoria as she knelt at the foot of their bed to open the chest they stored all of their clothing and toiletries in. Victoria rolled her eyes and grabbed her favorite soap, which was folded into a scrap of old linen, and a hairbrush.

  “I won’t have much of it for long,” Victoria replied with a soft smile, chiding her friend, “and you’re part of the reason.”

  The soap was made by their head gardener, Mister Wilferd. It was a lovely tallow bar with rose petals dried from the previous summer. Setting it by the wash basin, she began to gently brush her hair to find any more stray pins she’d missed. One or two slipped and clattered into the storage chest.

  She tossed her brush to the foot of the bed so she could get to work unfastening her dark woolen gown. It was once a finer black and now washed ashen from several years of use. She only had three dresses, and this one she favored to keep the other two in pristine condition. A good work gown, thick enough to keep the cold out. The pins fastening the gown were discarded on the table alongside the bulk of her hair pins.

  Philomena scooped up the brush, climbing towards the bottom of the bed and perching on her knees with a bright smile, “I could braid it tonight for you. We’ve got enough light, and I could even do it in the dark–”

  “--maybe before we break our fast,” Victoria said wearily, folding her gown and placing it in the chest, then making fast work of her quilted red petticoat, and the linen one beneath it. She untied the pockets fastened about her waist, and removed her busk that kept her posture stiff and proper throughout the day. Each layer removed was a relief on her sore muscles and body. She stripped away stress. Worry. Exhaustion.

  “Would you help?” Victoria gestured to the back of her stays. Philomena obliged, reaching forward to deftly unfasten the strings holding it together. She tossed the brush casually into the chest before doing so. This garment was the last scrap of the day holding Victoria together, and once she’d managed to pack everything away into the chest, she was only too happy to snatch up the soap beside the wash basin and set to work pouring water into it.

  “There was just enough water left before Hilde took all the dishes to the scullery, so I nicked some,” Philomena gloated as her friend happily scrubbed at her face. The lingering granules of stress were washed off, and she didn’t even mind the stinging cold on her skin in their drafty little room. Fresh water was a blessing at night. There was rarely enough time to secure any.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Once she was done, Victoria practically melted onto the mattress beside her friend. Her face and hands tingled from the scrubbing at the wash basin, but it was well worth it. She flung her arms wide, nearly smacking Philomena in the process.

  “Vickey!” The other girl protested, “mind your hands. You nearly broke my nose.”

  Victoria rolled her eyes, “I hardly think you’re that fragile, Philley.”

  Philomena nudged Victoria’s shoulder, laying down beside her and reaching over to grasp at the stub of their burning candle on the side table.

  “You know I don’t like that nickname. Thomas calls me that, too, and he knows I hate it. I’m not a horse!” She complained, blowing out the candle. The scent of smoke reminded Victoria of her earlier chore tending the fire with Lord Albert’s guest.

  “We have a viscount in the house,” she whispered to her friend, belatedly remembering the gossip she’d been meaning to share. She tucked the thin sheet under her neck and allowed Philomena to pull their quilt over them. There was something about the comfortable darkness of their narrow space that made the tongue looser. Chatting shamelessly seemed to be a lesser sin in their private confessional.

  “Really!” Philomena whispered back. There was a slight squeal of excitement to her voice. She paused and added a follow-up, “why?”

  Victoria turned on her side to face her friend, replying with another question “do you think I asked?” She tilted her head to look up at the admittedly low ceiling, squinting in the dark. Thoughtful. “He was talking about investing. That’s the sum of what I heard.”

  “Investing.” Philomena repeated. Their thin mattress shifted under her weight as she turned to her side to face Victoria in kind, “then he’s likely very slow or very desperate. There’s not one debtor in this county or the next who doesn’t know Lord Albert’s got nothing to his name but this house and the little bit we gather for the yearly harvests. Even most of that goes to patching the roof when it leaks, then maybe food and wages.” She stifled a yawn, “I use the word ‘wages’ lightly, too. We live on scraps.”

  “Maybe,” Victoria admitted, closing her eyes, “but better here than a workhouse.”

  “What did he look like?” Philomena pressed her for more details, drawing a slight smile to Victoria’s lips.

  “Why do you ask? Thinking of trading Thomas off for a fancy title?” She teased.

  Philomena huffed, giving Victoria a sharp poke in the shoulder, “just tell me!”

  “He dressed quite fashionably,” Victoria admitted, thinking back on the viscount.

  Philomena responded with a flat, unimpressed tone, “really? Do you mean to tell me a man just shy of being an earl would dress well? I am in deep shock. I fear I shall never recover from this news. If you wake to find me a corpse tomorrow, I insist you take my best hair ribbons and give them to my mother.”

  Victoria laughed, “I would, but those hair ribbons are mine, you grubby thief. She’ll get your second best brush, and that’s it.”

  “Vickey, I will strangle you. Tell me more about him, you snake! Tell me about his eyes. His hair. His voice. Paint me a portrait I can keep close to my heart to stave off the cold this winter.” Philomena proceeded to poke and prod her shoulder even more, giggling mischievously.

  “Fine, fine!” Victoria shrugged her away, rubbing at the spot that was swiftly growing more tender, “you really should cut your nails,” she added.

  He really had been very handsome, Victoria allowed herself that. How best to put it to words, though, she wondered?

  “He was tall,” she began, keeping her hand over her shoulder to protect it just in case she raised her friend’s ire again, “he had dark hair. Not black, like mine. More brown.” She paused, nibbling at her bottom lip as she tried to summon more details. It had been hard to capture much, given how much she’d been trying to do the exact opposite. “His eyes were blue. A very pretty shade of blue, like the lace on Mrs. Pragajh’s apron. The good apron.”

  “The good apron?” Philomena asked, though somehow Victoria suspected there was just a hint of sarcasm hiding under her sweet voice.

  “The good apron, yes, the one she uses on Sundays. With the little flowers.”

  “I wasn’t asking about the apron!”

  “That’s all I remember!” Victoria insisted. “He was handsome, but I didn’t sit with him for a painting. You’ll just have to see him for yourself.”

  They fell into a sleepy silence, Victoria moreso. She could feel the anxious energy Philomena held back in the way her friend shifted in bed, but there wasn’t much she could do about that.

  “I guess I will,” Philomena said with a deep yawn, “we’ll find his room and peep in the keyhole tomorrow after supper.”

  “Absolutely not!” Victoria snapped shrewishly. She somehow doubted she was going to be able to keep her word, however. Guiltily, she realized, she rather liked the idea of doing just that.

  Philley, Victoria thought to herself, not entirely sure if she was more annoyed at her friend or herself, you really are the devil on my shoulder!

  https://ko-fi.com/ranranbolly (but no pressure!)