The sudden appearance of Mr Turner spread like a fire throughout the servants' quarters and the kitchens the next morning. If anyone knew Bertie and I had something to do with it, they didn't mention it and neither did we. The less anyone knew about our involvement, the better since it could have spelled the end of our positions.

Paul went up first thing and reported that Mr Turner was feeling a little sorry for himself, given the state he was in. He made no mention of the bruises Bertie and I had seen. The household had been given strict instructions to stay away from him until the afternoon lest we find ourselves in a less than pleasant situation.

"Serves him right," Martha had said, brushing toast crumbs from her hand. "All that work on the dessert and it went down the drain because of him. All because he didn't want to get tied down to Miss Bolton."

"Have you ever thought that there might be something more to it than that? That maybe he just doesn't want to be forced into something by his parents. I wouldn't."

"Why do you keep trying to make out like he's not the rake we know him to be? I'm sorry, Lily, but you've only been here for a few months. This is the first time you've met him and you don't know in the same way we do. The servant you replaced, Sarah, was dismissed because of an inappropriate relationship with Mr Turner. That's why he was sent to London in the first place."

I almost dropped the piece of toast I was holding. "Sarah?"

"Hm. She's still in the village. I've seen her a few times." She shrugged. "Look, all I'm saying is that he's got form with this sort of thing and you don't want to get tangled up in his affairs. It won't end well."

"Sarah was a sweet girl," Paul said. "It was a shame what happened to her."

"Just goes to show how persuasive Mr Turner could be."

I didn't say anything and simply turned my head back to my toast. Was Sarah Oleson the same Sarah that used to work for the Turners? It would explain why Mr Turner hadn't wanted anyone to know why he was writing to her, but it also meant that no one knew he was still in contact with her, even after his dismissal.

I tried my hardest to push all those thoughts from my mind and focus on the work I had to complete, but it was hard. Too many thoughts moved through my head; the bruises, his reluctance to entertain a courtship with Miss Bolton, and him still being in contact with Miss Oleson. Mr Turner was a mystery that no one had quite figured out, but he didn't appear to be the rake everyone made him out to be. It seemed to me that he didn't want to marry Miss Bolton because of his continued relationship with Miss Oleson.

After luncheon, Mrs Folkestone instructed me to take a tray of plain toast and water up to the west wing, since Paul was busy. I agreed, since Martha would have refused, and I wanted to find out more about the bruises.

Mr Turner was sitting up in bed, the curtains still tightly drawn to keep out the bright winter sunlight that streamed in through the window. He recoiled at the squealing hinges when I pushed open the door. In the pale light that managed to break through the curtains, his skin was pale against his black hair, dark red circles hung under his eyes, and his hands shook a little. He had pulled on his nightshirt to cover the bruises.

The whole room smelt of vomit, sweat, and alcohol.

"I do not know if I can stomach anything," he said, pulling a face at the toast as I put it on his lap. "It seems I may have gone a little too far last night. Though if my hazy memory is anything to go by, I have you to thank for getting me to bed safely."

"I was just in the right place at the right time, sir."

"Some may go as far as to call it fate."

"Or an accident."

Mr Turner smiled, tearing a small strip off the toast but making no move to eat it. "Either way, thank you. I must have been in quite the state since I scarcely remember any of it."

"May I ask you a question, sir?" I said before I could stop myself."

"After last night, you can ask me anything."

"The bruises. How did you get them?"

His face paled that little bit more, if that were even possible, and his hands though he didn't put the strip of toast down. "I do not remember. It must have been a fight or something."

He looked at me with a small furrow in his eyebrows, as though willing for me to believe his story, but I couldn't. The bruises had been too dark to be recent, at least having occurred that evening. Mr Turner hadn't left the house since his return — at least to the best of my knowledge — so they had to have been done in the house. It could have been an accident, but Mr Turner's reluctance to tell me the truth told me otherwise.

Not that he had to tell me the truth. After all, I was just a servant who didn't count for anything as far as he was concerned. He didn't owe me anything, least of all an explanation for something I shouldn't have been poking my nose into, given my status in the household. I was surprised he even entertained the question.

"I should go," I said. "Mrs Folkestone will be expecting me."

"Yes, of course. Do not let me keep you."

I nodded, curtseying a little before I stepped out into the hallway. I closed the door behind me and spun around just as Miss Bolton appeared at the far end of the hallway. Her eyebrows narrowed a little when she saw me, but her facial expression quickly lifted into a wide smile.

"Good afternoon, Lily," she said in a sickly sweet voice. "What are you doing up here?"

"Mrs Folkestone, the housekeeper, thought Mr Turner could do with something to eat."

"Right." She nodded slowly, eyeing the door behind me. "Well, I don't want to stop you from completing your chores."

Miss Bolton stepped to the side and allowed me to walk towards the servant's staircase. The whole time I could feel her eyes staring into my back, not letting up for even a moment.

~~~

First Published - March 4th, 2024