Chapter 52
Maylie
Fifteen winters old
MORNING LIGHT STREAMED through the stained-glass windows in the Tormale townhouse, cutting it into coloured threads on the tiled hallway floor.
Maylie lowered a pail and dropped to her knees, scrubbing brush in hand.
She began washing, working suds into deep, hexagonal grooves, the harsh soap stinging her chapped fingers.
Steadily, she scrubbed her way down the hallway without pause, the light through the stained glass growing brighter as the sun rose outside.
Maylie was about to heave the pail back down to the kitchens to change the water, which had become dark and cloudy, when she heard the tread of footsteps. She stopped and looked up. A tall, reedy woman stood on the staircase in a large, embroidered gown.
‘Good morning, Ms,’ said Maylie, ducking her head.
Ms Delaphio pushed down a pin that was falling loose on one side of her thinning grey hair. ‘I would like to speak to you … Allie?’
‘Maylie.’
Ms Delaphio raised her thin shoulders in something like a shrug. Maylie had been working in her kitchens for almost a winter now, but the mistress of the house still struggled to remember her name. She had overheard Ms Delaphio once complain that it was one of those tricky Mountain folk names.
‘Your sister made a green jacket I sometimes wear, is that correct? The one with the pleats and ruffles?’
‘Yes, Ms.’
‘A friend admired it last night. I said I would order her one.’
Maylie bit her lip.
‘What’s the matter? Surely this is good news.’
‘Yes, Ms. ’Tis just … Esmelie isn’t well.’ Maylie thought of the pale, sombre face she had left in bed that morning. ‘She hasn’t been able to make clothes for a while.’
Ms Delaphio’s wrinkled face puckered. ‘Oh? Surely she has time for a bit of dressmaking?’
Maylie’s gaze dropped to the floor. A sliver of pain wormed through her body. ‘No, Ms,’ she replied. She was not sure how to explain the unrelenting darkness that had settled over Esmelie recently.
There was a pause.
Distantly, they could hear the cook singing in the kitchens and Mister Delaphio shouting at one of the maids to close the windows in his study.
‘That’s a shame,’ said Ms Delaphio finally, looking as though she wished she had not started this conversation. ‘Perhaps your sister will return to dressmaking soon? I don’t usually buy from sellers without establishments, you see, but I took a chance on her.’
‘Perhaps, Ms.’
But Maylie was beginning to lose hope that Esmelie would return to her old self again at all.
Things had started so well in Tormale; they had found lodgings quickly and Maylie and Ravie had gained employment at the Delaphio townhouse in one of the fancy residential streets in the heart of the Old Quarter.
Esmelie had begun designing and making clothes, quickly building a small following of customers.
All had seemed good. But as the moons passed, the relentless striving of the city had started to wear them down.
Ravie stayed out late, drinking and gambling in the many taverns, and Maylie watched her sister’s brightness fade bit by bit.
On one dark, cold night, she had turned to Maylie and whispered with wide, red eyes, ‘He’s just like Pap, isn’t he?
’ And though Maylie longed to reassure her sister, she could not deny that it was true.
‘You’d better hurry up and finish that floor,’ said Ms Delaphio. ‘I’ve guests coming mid-morning.’ She marched down the rest of the stairs and disappeared into the parlour.
Maylie stooped and heaved the pail of dirty water into her arms, trying to push thoughts of her sister from her mind.
With her back and arms aching, she shuffled to the servants’ door and descended the narrow staircase.
Work as a housemaid was hard and relentless, but it paid well.
Maylie rarely earned many flecks in the mountains where most items were traded or shared.
When she had received her first payment from Ms Delaphio, Maylie had not believed how many flecks she had held in her hands – or how quickly they had disappeared on food and lodging. Everything cost so much in the capital.
As Maylie walked past the butler’s pantry on her way to the kitchens, a voice called, ‘Come here, girl!’
Putting down the pail, she stuck her head around the door. ‘Yes?’
Piepe sat behind a desk, scratching numbers into the house ledger. He fixed Maylie with his small grey eyes. ‘Where’s your brother-in-law? He’s meant to be serving this morning. Ms Delaphio has guests.’
Maylie tried to keep her expression blank. ‘Ravie’s not here?’
Piepe’s eyes narrowed so far that they almost disappeared. ‘I need him. He’s Ms’s favourite and she’ll want him pouring the sweet milk.’
Ravie’s good looks had gone a long way in securing them both work at the Delaphio household; the fact that Ms Delaphio had taken a shine to him was the only reason he had not been let go yet, but Maylie suspected Piepe was beginning to reach his limits.
‘Find him immediately.’
‘But I’ve not finished cleaning the hallway floor—’
‘Someone else can do that. Go, now!’
Maylie left the pail of dirty water in the corridor and stomped away. She had wanted to cry that she did not know where Ravie was, but – unfortunately – she had her suspicions.
Outside the street clattered with carriages and wagons, taking produce and well-dressed guests from townhouse to townhouse.
The buildings were tall and close, but if Maylie stood back, craned her neck and peered between the clutter of chimneys, she could see the grey and white peaks of the mountains in the distance.
She always took the opportunity to catch a glimpse of them when she could, like spotting an old friend.
A breeze plucked at her skirts as she hurried downhill towards a square at the edge of the Old Quarter, and she raised one hand to hold her cloche in place.
Esmelie had abandoned wearing a headdress as soon as they left the mountains.
‘People can’t tell that you’re Mountain folk if you leave it off and soften your accent,’ she had said.
But Maylie liked her cloche. She did not mind showing that she belonged somewhere else.
Inside the tavern it was dark, smelling of sweat and smoke. Maylie blinked into the gloom. A few lone figures hunched over stools at the bar and on the other side of the room, a group of men sat drinking and sniggering together.
‘You’re after someone?’ the barmen bellowed, looking her over with interest.
‘Ravie.’
‘Your sweetheart?’
She shook her head.
‘Just as well. He’s not a faithful one.’ The barman nodded his head at a table of men in the corner. ‘And he hasn’t paid for those drinks.’
Maylie sighed. She reached inside her pinafore and pulled out a fleck.
The barman saluted his thanks and stepped away.
‘Ravie!’ Maylie called. ‘You’re wanted at the house.’
The men all turned. Someone laughed and a man made lewd gestures with his hands.
Ravie looked at Maylie with glazed eyes, his handsome face pasty and slack. At least he did not have a girl straddled across his lap this time.
‘Who wants me?’ he gurgled.
‘Piepe. I got sent to find you.’
‘Maybe Piepe should come and find me himself.’
Someone whistled and Maylie resisted the urge to scream. If she returned to the Delaphio household empty-handed, she would be subjected to a tirade of abuse.
‘Quit your scowling, May,’ grumbled Ravie. ‘I’ll come.’
He staggered to his feet and belched. He did not look in a fit state to serve a table, but Maylie had seen Piepe revive drunken footmen before.
‘That your lady, is it?’ asked one of the seated men, looking Maylie up and down.
‘No, my dear sister-in-law.’
Maylie wanted to snap that she was no kin of this man.
Esmelie and Ravie were not truly wed. When they had entered Tormale’s city walls last winter, they had signed themselves in the records as husband and wife with the false surname Drucelli, but there had been no ceremony. No promises and no vows.
‘Perhaps you could show up in the Pits after work?’ Maylie hissed as Ravie approached. ‘Your wife needs you.’
He paused, swaying slightly on the spot. ‘Is Esmelie better yet?’ he asked.
‘A little.’
‘She’s lucky having you to look after her.’ Ravie dropped his chin to stare at the floor. ‘I’ve got no family left.’
‘Maybe you could send word to Silicia?’ Maylie suggested quickly. A little flicker of hope burned in her chest. If Ravie suggested they return to the mountains, her sister might just agree to it. ‘Then we could go back?’
But Ravie shook his head, pink lips pulled back into a sneer. ‘No one’s come looking for me since I left. I shamed them running away; they don’t want me any more.’
‘But what if—’
‘It were all your sister’s idea!’ Ravie snarled suddenly, pointing a finger into Maylie’s face. ‘’Tis her fault it’s ended up this way. Don’t blame me.’
Before she could reply, he pushed past her, slamming through the tavern door and disappearing into the busy square outside.