After a tour around the side of the castle and a walk down a set of dimly lit steps, they entered what appeared to be a kitchen.
Spacious, lit by torches, with a couple of wood burners and a fire pit that Ailah assumed was a spit for roasting meat. Wooden sides lined the walls, herbs hung from racks, and a large, sturdy wooden table stood in the centre.
When they reached the table, the maid stopped and turned to stand with both hands clasped in front of her plump body. There, under the reddish torchlight, Ailah finally saw her face. Wrinkled, with greying hair that matched the steel in her eyes.
"My name is Mrs Brenning. I am the Housekeeper and head of all female staff in the royal palace. If you behave and perform as expected, you will become a maid under my care. You may refer to me by my surname or as madam."
Her confidence waned under Mrs Brenning's scrutinising stares. She took her by the chin and swivelled her head from left to right.
"You need to be fed properly."
"Y-yes, Madam," Ailah said, keeping her eyes lowered.
"Right now, however, the hour is late. Wash up and get yourself to bed. I will see you in this kitchen at dawn and not a single moment later."
"Yes, Madam."
"Very good. Up those stairs, second door on the left."
Ailah bowed, hoping she was doing the move correctly, and walked toward the exit.
"One more thing: make sure you are presentable. I will not stand for sloppy maids."
How am I supposed to know what presentable is?
She nodded meekly. Arguing didn't seem like a smart idea. On the way, she wondered whether it was a test of her responses. If she complained, Mrs Brenning might have thought of her as uppity.
Later, Ailah entered a washroom and—to her great relief—cleaned the grime and dirt that had collected on her face, hands, and entire body for days. The memory of the dreadful labour market already began to fade while she rinsed her hair and patted herself dry.
It's like I'm a completely different woman!
Ailah chuckled gleefully.
She stayed in a small room with a slit for a window, a bed, a set of drawers, and a wooden chair that she tilted against the door to feel safer. A hairbrush sat on the drawers alongside a set of hairpins. She also found undergarments and a maid's outfit hanging from the back of the door. Finally, a set of polished heeled shoes awaited underneath the bed.
Ailah threw the filthy market linen garment on the floor and stomped on it.
So long, and never again!
The fresh sleeping clothes felt like a king's robes. She sighed, smiled, and snuggled comfortably under the blanket.
This could've definitely turned out worse, she thought, nestling her head into the pillow.
***
A loud bell forced Ailah out of a pleasant dream about being declared a duchess. The noise came from the hallway. It was still dark outside, but torchlight flickered through the door gaps.
A wake-up call, she thought. Better not be late on my first day!
Ailah sat upright, stretched, and revelled in her new accommodations. An actual bed, with blankets and a pillow, no less! It beat the rags and the dank floor she used to share with twenty odd strangers.
She brushed her hair to look presentable, as Mrs Brenning had requested. After last night's thorough wash, her head felt much lighter. She twisted her hair into a neat bun at the nape of the neck and pinned it in place. A few rebellious loose strands ended up framing her face.
After double-checking her skin for dirt, she put on the maid's uniform, which included a charcoal coloured linen skirt that sat above the knee, a buttoned blouse of the same colour, and a white apron. She hung the latter from her neck and tied it around her waist in a delicate bow. The shoes were black, with two-inch heels. Pretty, but they were also meant to improve posture. Ailah was so familiar with the flats of her feet that wearing them shocked her calves and ankles.
All ready!
She walked out to the hallway and looked to both sides in search of other maids. Sounds of voices and footsteps attracted Ailah's attention, and she hurried in their direction. Those accursed shoes! She narrowly avoided tripping over herself.
Two young girls passed her in the hallway. Ailah attempted a friendly smile, but they ignored her and rushed forward. Apparently, they were all late, so she tried to follow despite the uncomfortable shoes. No words were said, but that was fine with her. As a labour rat, friends were a luxury she could do without. Before long, they reached the kitchen.
***
They were lined up. About a dozen girls, back straight and eyes facing the wall. Mrs Brenning inspected them like a hawk. Behind her followed a tall girl with neat, pale-blonde hair. Her eyes were blue like frozen lake water, and her rosy lips maintained a constant, smug smirk.
"We have guests arriving at noon." Mrs Brenning said. "The Duke and Duchess of Mellor, and Lord and Lady Whitbryre. Unlike you lot, they are important people."
To Ailah's dread, the Head Housekeeper pointed at her. Did I make a mistake already?
"Maid-in-training, you still need to learn the basics. Sarah will instruct you—"
"I will not waste my time on market trash."
Every last head turned to the icy blonde. Any chance Ailah had of hiding her identity had evaporated. A handful of girls sniggered. A few glanced her way in pity, and she felt her face heating like a bonfire. Singled-out, right from the start! She tried to maintain an indifferent expression, but her pounding heart screamed to run for her life.
"You will do as I say," Mrs Brenning scowled at Sarah. A battle of stares took place, and eventually, the blonde took a slight bow.
"As you wish, Madam."
"Good. Now, as for the rest of you…" Mrs Brenning's eyes locked on one girl—a short, pudgy brunette.
"Cordelia! What, by the gods and their wives, has happened to your shoes?"
One of her heels was broken. She mumbled some excuse with her eyes buried deep in the floor.
"That's the second time this month. To the shoemaker, now! Today you can forget about breakfast… and lunch."
The girl ran out with a slight hobble. Ailah caught the sight of glistening tears in her eyes. While she left, Mrs Brenning clapped her hands in quick succession.
"Playtime is over! Get to work!"
After the maids scampered away, the older woman gestured to Ailah to approach.
"Sarah has stepped out of line," she said, glancing at the blonde, who showed a sudden keen interest in her fingernails. "However, what's done is done, and I expect you have grown a thick skin in the labour market. Yes?"
Ailah nodded without facing those imposing grey eyes.
"Answer me."
"Yes," she said.
"What? Don't chirp like a bird!"
"Yes, Madam!"
This time, the headmaid nodded. She asked for her name and then lifted a finger.
"Pay attention, Ailah. This is a royal household, so you must be presentable at all times. Never speak to a royal, a nobleman, or a guest, unless they address you first."
"Yes, Madam."
Why would I talk to any of these people, anyway?
"You will address Barons and Earls as My Lord and My Lady. Dukes and Duchesses shall be addressed as Your Grace. Finally, the King and Queen alone will be addressed as Your Majesty. Is that clear?"
Ailah nodded.
"You enter and leave dignified company with a curtsy. Do you know what that is?"
She saw people perform the move but never did it herself, so she shook her head.
"Sarah is what's known as The Lady's Maid. She tends to Her Majesty's wishes and is knowledgeable in all manners of etiquette. Address her as Miss."
Ailah nodded. Mrs Brenning stepped back and asked the blonde to demonstrate a curtsy.
"Watch how I cross my legs."
The blonde's motions were elegant. Every part of her body swayed in grace. In comparison, Ailah twitched like a street urchin. Afterwards, Sarah faced her with that annoying smirk and licked her upper lip, a wolf teasing its hapless prey.
"Show me, market trash."
Mrs Brenning's disapproving glare was ignored. Sarah kept staring at Ailah, who wished the ground would swallow her. She gave an awkward curtsy that led to one snicker and two eye rolls.
"Sarah, she's your responsibility," the Housekeeper said. "Have her curtsy like a maid, not a court jester, and do it before the guests arrive."
The blonde seemed irritated by the task. The air was rife with tension. In the end, she bowed in silence.
***
The Lady's Maid was four inches taller and several years older. Her alabaster skin was flawless, her long legs were fit, and her perfect bosom filled Ailah with envy.
Sarah looked down at her. "I don't know what sort of games you played in that rat den, but here we value discipline and class. Cross me the wrong way, and… some footmen would love to ride your skinny bottom until it breaks."
Ailah gazed in horror. Is that how they treat maids in the palace?! Ailah swallowed any rebellious attitude that threatened to escape her mouth.
"Continue practising your curtsy. Meanwhile, I shall introduce some important concepts to your tiny head."
The curtsy couldn't have been that complicated, but she kept fumbling her attempts, and it didn't help that Sarah bombarded her with a list of etiquette rules. By the end, her head was spinning and her legs were rickety.
After the fifteenth failed attempt, Sarah gripped her by the ear.
"Observe me again, and remember, if you cannot learn this by tonight—the footmen."
Ailah turned pale under the blonde's glare and cruel smile. The Lady's maid then performed an irritatingly impeccable curtsy. She took a deep breath and attempted to repeat it.
"You're bending your knees wrong, and you're hesitating too much. It needs to flow."
"Could you… maybe," come on, voice, not now! "Look away, please?"
Sarah growled. "Fine! Make it quick."
Thank the gods! Focus. You can do it. Imagine you're alone, push away your other thoughts and… let it flow.
She closed her eyes, recalled Sarah's nimble motions, opened them, and… there!
"Look! Look!" Ailah said in excitement. After she had displayed her curtsy, the blonde smirked in amusement.
"Not half-bad. I have outdone myself."
She beckoned Ailah to follow, and they entered a cramped storage room by the kitchen. There, Sarah pulled a mop and bucket out of a closet.
"Exit through that door." She pointed. "You'll see a large barrel. Fill the bucket and go mop the greeting room floor, then report back—to me, not Mrs Brenning. Understood?"
She's giving me one of her tasks. "Sure, Miss," Ailah said. "Where is the greeting room?"
"Opposite the front entrance. Even you should be able to recognise it."
"Yes Miss," Ailah said again.
Her ankles hurt as she limped out. Hopefully, it won't take long to adjust to those shoes. On the bright side, she had a bed, food, and somewhere to wash. Despite the rough start, this was a new lease on life.