Infernal Roots, Immodest Boughs

Far from Yarrow Hart and the Hadowen, I balanced truth and fiction in a dance between whispers. The Hadowen held little interest in my care following my parent’s death. Now summoned to this strange palace of harsh beauty, the dark tales meant to arouse fright in a child’s imaginings renewed with each breath. I had dropped, of my own machinations, into a world I had barely begun to understand.

“I assumed I was a forgotten rumor to the Hadowen. Yet here I stand in a place wholly flooded with familial history.” 

My words were of little consequence to the maid as she offered a brief, “Yes, Mistress.”.  

“Of course, I knew little of my maternal family when my Aunt Ama rescued me from abandonment. I dare her cottage could nestle within the foyer of Yarrow Hart.”

To this I did receive a reply. “The Boughwin branches adhere to far different social constructs than the Hadowen. While you imbibed society from the wings of kitchens and dining halls bustling with middling troubles, you will find your place in the hierarchy more, complex at Yarrow Hart.” 

“You presume a fair knowledge of my upbringing. Should I too question if I am mistress or servant as I have thus far bent to obey requests of a house matron and her maid?” 

There again as Camellia turned her cheek to me, glimmered that impish smirk. “In your cottage you may have gleaned to stay clear or enlist the aid of staff. Here you will find servants with roots that parallel the Hadowen with such symbiosis, your needs will all but be predicted.”  

“You make it seem a blessing that a maid impose to know her mistress’s every need.”

“It does uncomplicate things, Mistress.” Camellia paused our advance for a breath. “As I noted prior, there are many occasions here that will require my guidance.”

I scowled though it was to disguise a wave of fear rather than true ire at the maid’s words. “I will agree. In my experience households are notso bound by constructs without meaning, and ruled by masters who behave as mysterious dictators, who send stern dames as is the custom in Yarrow Hart.” I half hoped my words would display my own thorns. 

Instead Camellia’s next words softened the disturbance to my agitation with confoundment. “Whatever your inclination to the proprieties at Yarrow Hart, I will endeavor to remind you that you and I are contemporaries who stem from twinned dynasties. Our roles are equally supplicatory to a contrivance transcendent to a single generation.”

My silence drew the maid to make her statement more plain. “We are, of a fashion, kin.”

This observance drew my attention to Camillia’s flouncing braids; it was indeed plain her parentage stemmed from the tips of Hadowen branches. Equally so I noted the dissemblance between her and I. In the myriad ways I failed the Hadowen lineage, my image suddenly stood paramount. This maid looked the part more than I. 

“Kin.” I let the word fall between us. “Joram, when first introduced, had made an expression of concern at my appearance, though he had been a gentleman I could tell I was not what he had anticipated.”

A tiny sigh preceded Camellia’s further explanation. “Hadowen women, even those confined to the status of servitude are prized for delicate stature and fair features.”

“Royalty to the core.” My murmurance accompanied a wonder if this made them delicate in more than appearance. Madame Elstren certainly had not seemed so. 

“Your Boughwin line are new in terms of pedigree. While inventive spirit gives them a place in the principle genus, their influence does diminish your mien.” Camellia’s deliverance left me uncertain of the presence of an insult.

I licked the venom of a response from my lips. “I only can say that the family histories on the shelves of the cottage, only delved as far as an obscure great grandfather.” 

“Hadowen lines delve much deeper.”  Again, Camellia’s eyes visited me with an almost imploring softness. “So too do their secrets.”   

With equal fleeting her countenance returned to that of her station. “Should you wish to read them, Hadowen histories are stored here at Yarrow Hart. I could show you where the library is located.” 

“I would appreciate that. Not tonight of course, but soon, I would like to grow comfortable with the schedules of the house first.”

“Of course, Mistress. Magareen. The libraries are a fine means to learn your place among those here at Yarrow Hart and in other regions. I would be pleased to assist you in your research as I am well acquainted with the Hadowen lineage. Including some of the lesser recognized branches.” The excitement that lilted her voice was not of shared interest but joy at performing well in her duties.

“My place in the branches.” My voice wavered. “Yes, on paper at least I am certain I am still listed among my kin.” 

I dropped the subject of family in favor of further inventory of the branches surrounding us. “I suppose it is not such a shame you have never seen the front gardens. There are so many right here in the house. So many…. And these are all the better for never losing their beauty.”

“Yes, Mistress. Magareen, there are quite a lot of roses within and without the halls of Yarrow Hart.” Camellia held little difference to her tone.

“It is astounding to one who has not grown accustomed to their presence. Have they always been so, abundant?” 

That is another bit of history available in the library, as the Hadowen retain much of their financial stability and fame in the cultivation of damask.”

“It does seem fair to honor the flower that brought such glory to the family.” I acquiesced.

“Botany is but one of the disciplines well cultivated Hadowen are possessed of.” Camellia smiled. “Do you enjoy flowers?”

It was one of the few direct questions of my personal taste the maid had asked, and I hesitated in my response. “I confess, I am not much for gardening.”

“Then you are predisposed to another of the Hadowen talents. There will be apt opportunity to ameliorate your art. Whatever it’s manifestation.” 

I was unable to decipher the shadow that danced Camellia’s features before we halted our progression wholly.

“And here we have arrived at last.” Camellia paused before a walnut door.