The kitchens in Bregant Manor are, in a word, insufficient. The grand fireplace for roasts and stews is too shallow to build a proper fire in, the counters are always just a little too short in length, and only one row of six hooks hangs above them to hold the pots and pans needed to feed nearly two hundred mouths between the family, house staff, and guards.

A favored aphorism among the kitchen staff is 'Ten gold for the Count, one for the staff, ten pennies for the guards, and for the kitchen half of that!'

Clara stops the cart of used tableware outside the kitchen doors, and knocks on the dark wood. Most of the maids who knock simply allow gentle taps to precede them into the kitchen on their way to the scullery but the position of serving Lady Pericene affords her fewer liberties than the maids who have only one role to fill. By now, though, her knuckles are well-trained enough to not hurt as she sends booming thuds into the rooms beyond.

Taking up the platter which holds the rest of the dishes, Clara bumps the right-hand door open with her hip. Even after four years, everyone but the head chef lets her have a little sneer, a sideways glance, anything to keep tabs on the one loyal dog to the unwanted Lady.

If she weren't so protective of Lady Pericene, Clara might take the looks personally. Instead, she pities the ignorant souls who turn their backs on someone so kind and clever all because they are expected to do so.

Well, she pities the staff and guards, at least, as much as their vitriol is trained into them. The Count's family, and the man himself, will have to ask their Patrons for pity. Clara has none for the three of them.

The scullery, as with the rest of the kitchen, lacks enough space for three to work together in scraping, washing, and drying the dishes. Typically two will take turns between washing or performing the other two duties, with the latter shared once the pile of dirty dishes is gone. For Clara, the two of them stop what they're doing and leave to take a break, neither interested in cleaning up after the reviled child nor in assisting with the effort.

That said, it means Clara only has to wash and dry the ones she used, and as all that remains is crumbs, it hardly takes her any time to return the refreshed dishes to their cabinets.

On her way out of the kitchen, she sneaks a sausage roll into her apron, licking her fingers as she shoves through the right-hand door. Snack acquired, she leaves to get the sheets and yesterday's clothes from Lady Pericene's room for cleaning, a process which will take long enough that the roll is nearing stale when she eats it while everything soaks after their initial scrub.

By the time she's finished hanging everything up to dry and putting new(-ish, of course; only hand-me-downs and discards for her Lady, but at least they're clean) bedding down, it's time to find Lady Pericene and keep the two of them out of the way of the dinner preparations.

It's not right, of course. Every member of a family should be welcome at the dinner table unless they've done something violently offensive. A five-year-old child having stage fright two days after finding out what kind of magic she can use, let alone how, shouldn't be considered an embarrassment any more than the parents who were expecting a miracle to come of such circumstances.

Clara is still deep in thought regarding the unfair circumstances of her Lady's lot when that selfsame Lady comes crashing through the hedges, cloak fluttering about her and mask askew.

"Clara!" she cries, dragging out the last sound as she clings to the maid. The sight of such a large figure draping themselves over the maid's much shorter stature would be comical, if the maid weren't so fiercely concerned about what source of distress has sent her Lady running to her.

"Gods above, my Lady, what is it? Was it a gardener this time? Or one of the forester boys out collecting stumps?" Clara wipes tears from the cheeks in her hands, the mask having fallen away mid-hug.

"No, it was a guard at the front gate." Her voice is nasal with how clogged her nose is. A handkerchief is quickly presented and thoroughly used.

"Goodness, I thought you avoided the front gate? Did you change your mind?"

"It's not like that! I mean, I do avoid it, I was just wandering and got turned around. And the guard was nice! I think? She didn't laugh at me, I think."

"Really? Is she new, this guard?"

Lady Pericene nods, and Clara notes to herself this guard ought to be found and praised for her attitude. Without exception, every new employee over the years is told exactly what the house thinks of the youngest Bregant on their first day of employ. It may be risky, but a chance to reward that kindness with a show of thanks shouldn't be missed.

"I'll see if I can't find out more about this guard. Did you get her name, by chance, my Lady?"

There's a long pause before Lady Pericene retreats, looking guilty and shaking her head.

"Well, that's quite alright. Let's get you inside and cleaned up, shall we?"

Another nod, and the two find an entrance to the manor close enough to her Lady's room to stay out of the way of the bustling dinner crew.

Later that evening, with her duties for the day done and a modicum of free time with her Lady returned to sleep, Clara carries a basket towards the guard house. Ideally, nobody will disturb her charge with a sudden room search in the few minutes this errand will take.

The guard house is an annex to the gatehouse, a long squat building that always reminds Clara of a log cut for sitting. The gatehouse itself is less than half its width, and half again its length, and mostly exists to house the spokes and wheels for opening the gates to carriages. Messengers on horseback and all of the staff use a smaller gate to enter the grounds.

A knock on the door to the guard house brings an almost immediate answer, and Clara steps into the front room of the building.

A dozen off-duty guards sit at three of the seven tables. Two tables are embroiled in five-person card games, their players hardly sparing the maid a glance of curiosity, while the last two sit alone in a corner, nursing flasks and looking much friendlier in their shared conversation.

Nodding to the gate captain, who looks to be losing quite badly to his subordinates but still gives a small wave, Clara approaches the two by themselves and affects her most polite manners.

"Good evening, could I interrupt you for a moment?"

They look up at Clara, grins from their jovial chat still spreading their lips in twinned curves, and the maid has to suppress the urge to suck in a gasp. Both of them are, in a phrase she doesn't use often, painfully beautiful, and it's clear they can see her stiffen up under their gaze.

"Sure, whatcha need?" the pretty person on her right says, smile spreading into a mischevious grin before she takes another swig from her flask. Across from her, the other pretty person doesn't seem quite so impish as he also drinks.

"I-I… am looking for a guard," Clara manages to say, her voice feeling thick and inflexible. "She's new, I think? Was at the gate this afternoon, perhaps three hours ago?"

The guards share a look, and now both share that sly grin. If they weren't so heart-stoppingly handsome to look at, she'd give them a piece of her mind about it.

"Right," says the one to her left. "Suppose we have an idea who that is. What's the need, bringing a final meal before termination?"

The other guard reaches across and punches him in the shoulder.

"It's a more delicate matter than that, but if you must know I only wish to convey my thanks. Directly," Clara adds, hoping to meet this guard in person. Assuming these two ever get around to telling her where she is.

Now the guard on her left reaches over the table to return the punch.

"You heard her, Kryx. Fess up and get your thank you kiss."

"Piss off, Launce, or I'm keeping the basket to catch your head in when it’s lopped off for lechery."

"Oh you'll catch a head alright," he leers. Kryx punches him again, a little closer to the throat this time.

"Sorry about my senior here, Ms. Maid. Five months from a moon's age behind him, and he's still a fool when the barley wine flows. They decided he was the perfect material for bothering-, sorry, supervising me until the end of the year. He calls it providence, I call it gambler’s luck, mostly 'cause the only privacy I'll get for the next year is in the priv."

Clara snorts a bit at that, and Kryx smiles anew. The sight is enough to send a faint blush to the maids cheeks, and she's glad for the soft lighting's warm disguise. She sets the basket on the table, then gives Kryx a bow.

"Thank you for your kindness then," she says, voice staying low and vague. No need to let the rest of the room know what's going on any more than will already spill into the rumor mill. "However, it would be more prudent for you to simply turn a blind eye, if there's no immediate danger. The... distance is ordered by his grace the Count. It would be a shame for someone so warmhearted to fall into his poor graces." She straightens up to find Kryx looking a bit sad through her smile, and Launce looking confused as he lifts a corner of the basket's cover. The smell of baked goods leaks out, and Kryx slaps his hand away.

"Thanks, but I don't think this much is necessary, really," the guard says, setting her flask down to pull the basket closer. She looks inside and immediately closes the lid again. "That being said, I will gladly accept it! Also, if I could bother you to bring more in the future?" It would be much more sincere if she weren't doing her best not to drool at the same time.

"You gonna eat the pastries or the patissier, Kryx?" Launce asks, receiving a faceful of open-handed knuckles for his trouble. The man reels back, almost tipping his chair and attracting attention from the rest of the room for a brief moment.

Clara can't help but giggle a bit at the scene and gives another brief bow to cover it, feeling rather overwhelmed.

"Then, if you'll excuse me," she says, before turning and practically fleeing the guard house. A voice behind her calls out, but the words are lost to the door swinging shut behind her.