We met by accident.

Some may go as far as to claim it was fate, a meeting that was written in the stars. Call me a cynic, but I never quite believed in all that. Besides, if it were to be a meeting written in the stars as someone with a better heart than mine might believe, then it may not have ended the way it did. Although maybe fate doesn't know the future either. Therefore, I stand by my previous claim.

It was an accident.

Mr Jacob Turner, a man I knew mostly by repetition, returned to his parents' house in a flurry of large suitcases, tumultuous arguments, and a symphony of slamming doors that made even the kitchen ceiling shake. It was an argument none of us wanted to enter into. Unfortunately, staff were not allowed to simply hide away and the working day needed to continue.

"Should we flip a coin to see who has to go upstairs?" Martha asked, eyeing the kitchen door as though Mr Peters, the old butler, was darkening the doorway.

"Do you have a coin on you?"

"No."

"One of you has to go and sort out the fires in the west wing, and the sooner it is done, the better," Mrs Folkestone said. "Make your minds up and get to it before you add to the strife. Lord only knows that they don't need much more of that. Whoever doesn't go and help me with supper."

I sighed, pressing the palms of my hands against the ageing wood of the table. Although I didn't want to risk running into Jacob Turner, I also didn't want to help with supper. "I'll go. The sooner it's done, the better."

"Thank you, Lily. At least someone still has their head."

"Just don't look him in the eye if you meet him."

I rolled my eyes, trying to ignore Martha's cackling laughter behind me as I left the room in search of a matchbook. Her laughter followed me down the hall, where I eventually found a matchbook abandoned on a sideboard in the larder. Lighting fires certainly wasn't my idea of fun, but if it meant I could escape the rising heat from the stove and the oven, then I was more than willing to seize my opportunity.

The west wing was the least occupied space in the house, but the rooms were to become Jacob Turners when he stopped picking fights with every person he came across. Had we known he was returning, the fires would have been lit long before. He surprised everyone, especially his parents. He'd entered the house with the same force as a storm, creating a flurry of chaos as he did so.

The man certainly lived up to his reputation.

Their loud voices carried through the thick oak doors. I did my best to ignore it and set about lighting the fires as instructed. Each one had to be stacked in the right way to limit the risk of a log rolling out and spreading the fire. It was long, tedious work that made my knees and back ache, adding more than forty years onto my age. Yet, somehow, the monotony of the task was somewhat enjoyable.

I left the master bedroom until last. Half of the room was overtaken by the large, four-poster bed complete with red hangings tied out of the way with a rope. It was a room I could only ever dream of having, although that applied to the entire house. The small room I shared with Martha could have fitted inside the master bedroom with space left.

"If they keep screamin' like that, they'll bring the whole place down." Bertie, one of the many gardeners employed by Lord Turner, pushed the door open as he spoke. He held onto a large chest that caused his knees to buckle under the weight. His eyes met mine, widening in shock. "Sorry, Miss Lily, I didn't know you were in 'ere."

"I'm just finishing up."

"You should make yourself scarce. You know who will be comin' this way soon enough, an' we're not safe from his anger. He nearly tore my head off when I went to grab one of his suitcases. Reckon he's got somethin' in there he don't want no one else to see."

"Ignore him. He's an idiot." Harry stepped into the room with a second chest in hand. "He's right, though. You're better off in the kitchens until this all calms down."

"Noted and understood." I smiled. "Good luck."

"Thank you. We're going to need it."

I stood to the side and allowed Harry and Bertie the space to put the chests down before making my escape. Having never met Jacob Turner before — he left for London two months before I started to work for the family — I knew him by rumour alone. They weren't pretty, with accusations of inappropriate conduct towards women, excessive drinking, and a tendency to gamble his money away.

His sudden return just made the rumour mill spin that little bit faster, but I didn't want any part of it. It wasn't my place to gossip about someone I didn't know.

In the time it took me to light the last fire in the west wing, the rooms and hallways had come alive with people. The gardeners, who must have been recruited into helping the footman, carried heavy chests and suitcases through the long hallways. Some staggered under the weight, but others carried them without a care in the world.

I left the west wing and began to follow the hidden servants' staircase back down to the kitchens. The staircases were the best way for us to move through the house unseen and it meant it all looked a lot tidier when the family had company.

The hallways were dark except for a few candles that lit the path, creating a soft yellow light that guided the way. My footsteps echoed over the stone as I followed the twisting staircase. I watched my feet rather than in front of me, just to make sure I didn't slip on some spilt water or a dropped grape — something that, according to Martha, had happened.

What I didn't expect was to almost walk face-first into somebody standing in the darkness listening at a partially opened door to Lord Turner's study.

~~~

First Published - February 20th, 2024