The first view that greeted Charlotte was the dining hall. Several people were busy: cleaning, dusting, and organizing. They all wore different attires, which piqued Charlotte's curiosity. Did the clothes hold a significance in their identity, perhaps?
Just then, Louis appeared, his expression briefly showing surprise before it vanished as quickly as it had come. Just as in the previous mansion, Louis took his master's coat, bowing ever so slightly.
"Master Lucas, I had no prior knowledge of your arrival."
"Well, I'm here now, Louis. You tell my father that."
"Yes, Master Lucas," Louis answered before he scurried off, but not before giving Charlotte a wary glance.
Father? Was this his home?
She stopped gazing at the workers and took in the scenery. Only then did she notice the paintings. How did she not see them earlier? They seemed to be everywhere.
A particular painting caught her eye. There was a little boy of no more than ten, undoubtedly her master. The resemblance was uncanny. He was smiling widely with smudges of paint on his face. A man was also present in the painting, smiling too; Charlotte suspected him to be Lucas's father. A woman was holding Lucas's shoulder, pulling him away from the can of paint but all the while staring at his father. She looked so content, and she had a smile similar to Lucas's.
His mother, she realized.
But what truly made the painting stand out was the unnerving fact that the three people were never together in the same painting. It was the only one of its kind.
Her eyes scanned the other paintings, but she couldn't find any with his mother in them. The rest were paintings of Lucas, his father, and another woman. Lucas did not look like her, so she must be his stepmother, and the little girls must be his stepsisters. They seemed to be the same age as Lucas, or maybe a year or two younger.
Even more nerve-wracking was the progression in which Lucas began to fade from the paintings. There were some with his father and stepfamily. Actually, not some—many. An entire hall with paintings, about seventy, and only two with him present.
And what about the other woman? His mother.
Lucas, who had been reading her thoughts, sucked in a sharp breath. "I hope the new environment didn't cause any form of amnesia. You're still a slave, last I checked." She didn't see any trace of that ten-year-old boy messing around with paint. What happened?
In the carriage, he had been acting strangely, yes, but now he looked somewhat pained. Charlotte watched him call out to a girl named Edith. She watched the girl smile flirtatiously at him. She heard her name too, but at that moment, she was still reeling from the fact that he had yelled at her.
The girl, Edith, looked no younger than Charlotte. She was still smiling at the departing figure of their master, but when she turned to look at Charlotte, there was no smile there. Edith squinted at her, eyeing her from head to toe. Charlotte had never felt so self-conscious in her whole seventeen years of existence. She sized her up again before walking off.
Why was everyone here so fond of that?
"The maids wear flowing, white uniforms with blue sashes; servants have simpler, knee-length tunics in earthy tones; cleaners don plain, sleeveless robes; and the chefs wear elegant, belted togas with short sleeves, each uniform denotes their specific roles in the household." Edith explained
"Usually, the slaves are used for other... extracurricular activities." The way Edith said it made Charlotte painfully curious.
Edith eyed Charlotte from head to toe before continuing, "But clearly, I understand why master Lucas would want you on cleaning duties. I mean, look at you."
Though Charlotte wasn't sure if the 'extracurricular' activities were a good thing, she couldn't help the feeling of shame that washed over her at the snide remark.
Edith turned sharply, almost causing Charlotte to bump into her. She held her breath as she caught herself. Thank the Heavens.
"As you heard, I'm the head maid. And since you're a slave, the bottom of the food chain, I'm in charge of you." She pointed to another girl on the left. "Hey, you."
The girl, who looked a bit frightened, must have been wondering what offense she had committed.
"Give Charlotte the rags. She'll be taking over."
In all honesty, Charlotte was glad to have something to do with her hands. Hopefully, it would take something off her mind.
The frightened girl hesitated before quickly retrieving a bundle of rags and handing them to Charlotte. Charlotte took them, feeling the rough texture of the fabric. She glanced around the grand hall, filled with ornate decorations and paintings, and then back at Edith, who watched her with a mixture of disdain and satisfaction.
"Get to work," Edith ordered, turning on her heel and walking away.
Charlotte sighed and began cleaning. As she wiped down the surfaces, she tried to push away the thoughts of the strange dynamics in this household, focusing instead on the task at hand. The repetitive motion of cleaning was somewhat soothing, and for a moment, she could almost forget the confusing and unsettling reality she had found herself in.