My first thought on entering the kitchen was...
This is stupid.
As I stared at the petrified, frozen faces of the kitchen staff - and the boy who I could only assume was the infamous Louis - the same anger that had heated my face and numbed my fingers made me feel that any attempts to retaliate were not only futile...but also, just kind of silly.
Louis was maybe twelve years old. A short kid with messy dark blond hair, standing there, elbows deep in a mountain of dirty dishes and with an expression like he might soil his pants.
This was my chance, I thought, to show them I can't be bullied or mistreated any more!
But...by doing what? Earn their respect by asserting my dominance? Pretend I was the old Evra and throw my food on the floor? Would any of that really help me?
I'd read so many novels where the female lead effortlessly melds into her new world and teaches the servants to fear and respect her, and eventually they come to see her true nature, and are charmed by her beauty and grace.
For someone like me, who was not beautiful nor graceful, who lacked both charm and noble presence as not even the main character of my own story...
What's the point in any of that?
It all felt so ridiculous and pointless that a laugh bubbled up out of nowhere.
One of those laughs that takes you by surprise and devolves into near-hysterics. Maybe it was just a much-needed release of pressure, like uncapping a bottle of soda that had been shaken; once I started I couldn't stop myself.
I'm not the prettiest laugher, either. I hiccup easily, and when I hiccup I also get little burps. My face scrunches up like a pug's, and I even snort if I laugh too hard.
It was probably that display which lightened the mood a little.
Because, through the tears in my eyes, squinting, I could see Margo was stifling her own laughs. A couple of the other kitchen staff were smiling nervously between each other. Even Louis' look of dread had lightened; the colour had come back to his cheeks.
Okay, okay. Get it together, they'll think you're nuts.
Clearing my throat, I wiped my eyes on my sleeves and gently set the dog bowl down on a nearby table.
It, of course, brought everyone's attention snapping back to reality.
Some of the kitchen staff gasped, and every single person in the room turned to look at Louis. An older woman with a buzzed head of grey hair threw a towel to him, but said nothing as he dried his hands on it and slowly stepped up of his own accord.
"I'd like an apology," I said quietly, the hard edge gone from my voice. I couldn't help talking to him the same way I would have talked to my little brother. The one from my previous life. I couldn't even remember his face anymore, but I could see him in this nervous little kid and his dumb prank.
His face betrayed what I thought was, for a moment, genuine remorse. And maybe a little stubbornness. Annoyed embarrassment at being the centre of attention. Curiosity. Confusion.
But not fear. I was glad of that.
"M'sorry, Miss," he mumbled, arms crossed.
Whether he meant it or not didn't matter to me at that point.
"Okay. Thank you," I sighed, then turned to a group of the adults; "Are any of you still on the clock?"
There was a round of mumbled "no's" and a collective shaking of heads. The same shaved-head woman said: "It's late, Miss. Dinner finished a while ago. We can bring you something cold, but all of the cooks have gone to bed."
"Oh," I said, with a surprisingly easy solution popping into my head, "well, I can cook it myself. Can you light the range for me? Louis, can you wash a cooking pan and some kind of utensil?"
For a second time, the kitchen staff hesitated. They exchanged doubtful glances, but thankfully didn't try to stop me. Louis ran over to the sink again and furiously began scrubbing a big cast iron pan.
I rolled up the sleeves of my dress, not bothering to take any of the aprons that very obviously wouldn't have fit me.
"Miss," Margo whispered, as I accepted the freshly washed pan from an energetic Louis, "do you...do you know how to cook?"
There were many things I remembered cooking in my old life. Not steak, to be fair, but it didn't have to be a gourmet perfectly medium-rare delicacy. As long as it wasn't raw, and wasn't cold, I would have been happy.
As I set the steak to sizzling, though, one of the kitchen staff - a jowled older woman - offered me some salt, and a little sprig of some herb I didn't recognise. She smiled before rushing off again. Another boy, maybe a couple years older than Louis, started helping him scrub the dishes and produced a clean plate with a set of cutlery. Margo worked with a couple of others to put together a side plate of leftover bread rolls and a small salad.
With everyone's help, what I sat down to was a meal that even in my previous life I could never have afforded, or prepared for myself.
Even so... I thought, grimacing.
Even so, a sickly feeling snuck up on me.
I can't eat this whole meal in a room with all these people. If I were by myself it would be fine, but everyone is watching me. They'll think I'm a pig. They'll -
"Is something wrong, Miss?"
It was Louis who asked, to my surprise.
Only partially out of gratitude, I cut the steak into portions and said: "It's so much food. And you all helped me make it. Will you eat with me?"
"Us, Miss?" the boy slightly older than Louis - whose name I'd learned was Tom - asked, incredulous.
"I've never had steak before..." Margo mumbled hungrily.
The shaved-headed woman from earlier - who introduced herself as Josephine - brought three more plates over to the little table I was sitting at. And so all four of us - Margo, Louis, Tom, and I - enjoyed a delicious steak meal together.
I let them chatter and laugh together, and let them eat most of the bread, too. A few of the adults had gone to bed, but Josephine and a couple others lingered around and had some drinks.
Is it always like this? They're all close with each other. Not just like coworkers...they seem like a family.
It was nice to just sit quietly, and bask in the warm glow of it.
For a few minutes, anyway. I had barely finished eating when a chilling voice struck me to the bone.
"What is going on here?"
For a third and final time, the kitchen came to a freezing halt. This time, for good.
Standing at the kitchen's entrance was Duke Alonso Rune.
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