On the second day of the Bolton's visit, Lord Turner planned a feast that many of the servants thought would be suitable for royalty. Martha and I were instructed to help with the preparation as there was so much to do, but cooking had never been a forte of mine. All I did was get under everyone's feet rather than be of much help; I would have rather been cleaning a room.

"I'm looking for Lily," an unfamiliar voice said behind me.

I turned, brushing flour off my hands. "That's me."

"Ah." A woman, a little older than me, approached the large table in the middle of the kitchen with her hands clasped in front of her. "My name is Anna. I'm Miss Bolton's personal maid. She has requested the fire in her room to be lit and thought you might do a better job than I could."

"Right, I can see to it now, as long as that's alright, Mrs Folkestone."

"More than alright, Lily. Miss Bolton is expecting you, after all."

Mrs Folkestone looked relieved at my having an excuse to get out from under her feet, and I wasn't about to argue. Although I would much rather spend time away from Miss Bolton for the duration of her trip, I had agreed to be someone she could call on, and I was not about to go back on my word. Getting out of food preparation was just an added bonus, and I intended to spend as much time as I could stoking the fire.

I left the kitchens with Anna at my heels. She said nothing as we climbed the twisting servant's staircase to the second floor. Miss Bolton's room was empty when we arrived, a few flickering embers burning in the fire. Anna set about putting the room to rights, tottering around in complete silence, whilst I crouched in front of the fire and began to stoke the small embers.

Anna's quiet demeanour as she worked surprised me. From working with Martha, I'd come to learn that servants were some of the most talkative people, so long as their employers weren't around. Every servant who came to stay with their employer would join in the conversations in the servant's quarters, but Anna didn't. She barely said a word to any of us.

We did our own work in silence; her making the bed and me stoking the fire. I tried to be careful so I wouldn't repeat the burn to the back of my hand, especially after it had just started to heal. Within a few minutes, a roaring blaze danced in the fireplace and began to fill the room with warmth.

I stood up, brushing my hands on my apron to remove the coal dust from my fingertips.

"Thank you for doing that, Lily," Miss Bolton said, appearing in the doorway. Almost immediately, Anna stopped what he was doing and curtseyed. "It can get so cold in here."

"Just doing my job, Ma'am."

"I am still grateful."

Miss Bolton stepped into the room, her right hand hidden behind her back. Her footsteps were slow, cautious even, and her eyes barely moved from my face for longer than a few minutes. Although I didn't want to help with supper preparation, it would be better than standing under Miss Bolton's watchful gaze.

"There is definitely something familiar about you, but I cannot put my finger on it." She tilted her head, her eyes widening. "Do you have a brother?"

"I did, but he died a few years ago now. Consumption."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that."

"We should get you ready for this evening, Ma'am," Anna said, not lifting her eyes from the ground.

Miss Bolton sighed. "Yes, I suppose we should. You can be on your way, Lily"

"Yes, Ma'am."

I offered her a small curtsey before scampering across the room and out into the hallway. Miss Bolton's eyes bore into my back as I crossed the hall and stepped into the servant's staircase to escape her watchful gaze.

Her question bothered me as I followed the stairs down to the kitchens. I hated people poking too far into my personal life, asking questions about things that did not and would not concern them. Asking questions about my family was one of those things. It wasn't any of her concern, and I wasn't about to give her the satisfaction of answering truthfully. She didn't need to know.

Why she was so interested in my family, or my life before I came to work for the Turners, I didn't know. The only person who ever asked questions about my life before I went to work for the Turners was Martha. In my first few weeks she did her best to find out anything she could about me, but I was determined to keep my mouth shut.

If I didn't, I would have a job.

"All done?" Mrs Folkestone asked when I stepped into the kitchen.

"Yes."

"Good, you can help with the last few bits."

Martha pushed a plate of carrots towards me along with a knife to peel them. She stood in front of a large mound of potatoes, peeling the skin of them, which would go to the gardeners once supper was finished. We worked quickly, filling two large bowls of peelings and handing over the carrots and potatoes for cooking.

"Well, tonight is going to be interesting," Paul said. He entered the kitchen and looked at the pile of vegetables with a slightly raised eyebrow.

"Shouldn't you be getting Mr Turner dressed?"

"You'd think so, but he kicked me out. He said he didn't want my help and that he was old enough to get dressed without assistance. If he's in a foul mood now, supper is going to be a disaster."

"Sometimes I wish I was a fly on the wall," Martha said. She shook her head and glanced down at the potato in her hand. "I'd be able to hear everything, and that is one supper I wish I could witness."

Luke, one of two footmen who worked for the Turner family, placed a small cup of tea in the sink and looked at Martha. "You're welcome to take my place. Supper has been a tense affair since we got word the Boltons would be coming. This could end up being the worst one of them all."

"Just do your jobs," Mrs Folkestone said. "That is all that can be asked of you."

Martha looked at me and pulled a face. She returned to the potatoes she had left to peel without another word.

Little did any of us know that Luke was wrong. The supper was only the beginning.

~~~

First Published - March 1st, 2024