When Clara woke up, there was warm golden light streaming through the window and onto the pillow. She leaped out of bed, throwing the covers aside. It was already late into the morning and she hadn’t started any of her work yet. Lord Juton would be furious. The events of the past night came flooding back as her legs crumpled beneath her, her body slamming onto the hardwood floor. A knock sounded on the door and Clara nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Um, can I come in?” a girl’s voice asked.

“Yes,” Clara croaked out.

 

The door opened and in walked a girl in her teens, with muddy blond hair tied into a long braid and soft brown eyes that widened when the girl saw Clara sprawled on the floor. She set down a tray of food and rushed to Clara’s side, helping her stand up and flop back onto the bed.

“Oh goodness, I’m so sorry, I should have been here an hour ago, I might have been able to keep you from falling. Oh dear, Mrs. Harland will be angry.” The girl fussed with Clara’s blankets before putting the tray of food in Clara’s lap and sitting on the edge of the bed. The girl stared as Clara tucked into the food, the warm porridge more delicious than anything she’d had in a long time. “My goodness! You look like death!” the girl spat out, then clapped her hands to her mouth, mumbling out an apology. “I’m so sorry, that was so rude….”

“It’s alright, I’m sure I do look like death,” Clara said between bites of food, the cuts on her face stinging. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Hannah Rosmon! You’re Clara, right? Do you have a family name?”

“Yes, it’s Handil…how did you know my first name?” Clara said, taken aback. She couldn’t remember telling anyone here what her name was when she arrived.

“Oh, Duke Machivall told us! Though he couldn’t tell us anything else, so none of the staff were quite sure how to address you when talking about you. Are you married? Do you have any family? Did Lord Juton cause that silver streak in your hair?” Hannah asked, her words tumbling over each other. Clara blinked, trying to process all the questions at once. She was spared having to answer when Mrs. Harland stepped into the room, sighing.

“Give the poor girl a chance to breathe, Hannah. I asked you to take her food, not to ask her a million and one questions,” Mrs. Harland said. “Ms. Clara can tell us whatever she would like about her life on her own terms. Now get back to the kitchen, you’re needed on pastry duty.”

“Ooh! Pastry duty! That’s the best job ever!” Hannah squealed, looking excitedly at Clara before she jumped off the bed and ran out the door, her long blond braid flying out behind her. “I’ll see you later Clara, it was nice meeting you!” Hannah shouted as she left. Clara opened her mouth to answer, but the teen was already long gone.

“Sorry about her, dear, she tends to get overly excited about new people.” Mrs. Harland sat down in a chair beside Clara’s bed, a small parcel in her lap. Clara noticed her short black hair was speckled with grey, though her blue eyes still shone like a child’s. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better, I think, though I can hardly move.”

“Well, you went through a lot last night, and put your body through some extreme circumstances. It will be several more days before you can start moving normally.” 

Mrs. Harland fiddled with the string on the parcel, and Clara noticed the smell of soap in the air. They sat in silence until Clara finished her food, her stomach finally full and her body warm, then Mrs. Harland took the tray and set it down beside her chair. She turned back toward Clara and gave a smile, handing her the parcel. In it were two dresses and a fresh set of undergarments, as well as a thick bar of fragrant soap.

“What’s all this?”

“I pulled out a few of my old dresses for you, they should fit well enough until we can get you some new clothes. Now don’t worry about paying me back!” Mrs. Harland explained. She put up a hand as Clara opened her mouth to protest. She really wasn’t worth all the trouble these people were going through. “They’re not new, so I doubt they’re really worth much. And that bar of soap is for you to use whenever you’d like to wash. Amy, well, Nurse Shepard, and I didn’t feel right bathing you while you were unconscious, so you’ve been in your old things for a while now. I’m going to draw you a bath, and I’d be happy to help you wash if you’d like. Amy will be around in an hour to freshen up your bandages anyways. You look like you could use a warm soak.” Mrs. Harland smiled again, and Clara didn’t need to think about how to answer.

“I’d be much obliged if you could help me. A bath sounds amazing.”

Mrs. Harland filled a metal tub in a corner of the room, hidden behind a changing screen, with steaming water. She sprinkled in some salts and herbs that made Clara’s nose itch. She helped Clara strip off her torn uniform and struggle into the bath, both of them being mindful to keep Clara’s left leg as dry as possible. The middle-aged woman scrubbed Clara down with the bar of soap, then let her soak in the warm water while she changed the sheets on the bed. Clara almost protested it, but as she looked around the corner of the changing screen she noticed patches of blood and flecks of dirt all over the sheets. She had been much filthier than she’d thought.

When the water had cooled and the bed had fresh sheets, Mrs. Harland held Clara steady as she dried off, then helped her dress in a loose sleeping gown. It was very comfortable, but Clara felt rather self-conscious in the thin fabric. As she was getting settled back into bed, Nurse Shepard came into the room, her leather bag stuffed with fresh bandages and herb mixtures. The women talked about what types of jobs were open around the manor, mostly cleaning positions, while they patched up Clara’s leg. Clara couldn’t see the wound as Nurse Shepard had her roll onto her stomach so she could put salve on the bite. Clara didn’t really want to know what it looked like. The pain from air brushing against it and the twinge of gauze wrapped tight around it were more than enough to give her an idea of just how badly she’d been hurt.

“This should heal enough for you to be able to walk in about two weeks. That’ll give you plenty of time to decide what job to take,” Nurse Shepard remarked as she packed up her medical supplies.

“Plus, I’m sure you have a lot of things you need to settle. There should be several pieces of paper in the desk, along with pen and ink. Let me know when you have something to send,” Mrs. Harland added as she bundled the dirty sheets and blankets together.

“I will. Thank you both so much for your kindness,” Clara said, wincing as she turned onto her back under the covers.

“Of course dear, but we’re just doing our jobs. It’s a good thing you chose to come here so you could get proper treatment. In every respect, I’m sure,” Mrs. Harland said, hiking the bundle of dirty laundry higher on her hip.

“Well, the Duke really decided for me, but I don’t mind. Being here is safer,” Clara spoke quietly, noticing a dangerous scowl flit across Nurse Shepard’s face.

“Ah. I see. Get some rest, and try not to put any weight on that leg for several days at least. One of us will be back later with food,” Nurse Shepard said, both her and Mrs. Harland frowning. They looked at each other and nodded. Without another word the two women left the room, gently closing the door behind them.

Clara sat in bed for several hours, thinking through what she would need to set in order now that she had left the Juton estate. She would need to notify her mother’s doctor, of course, but besides him there wasn’t anyone she could think of that would care. The few people she had grown up with were dead or had run away from Lord Juton, which she had contemplated many times. But she needed a steady job. Finding a new position was always risky and quite difficult, especially if she couldn’t get a reference from her previous employer. At least Duke Machivall didn’t seem to care about her credentials.

Her mind went back to the night of the Hunt, recalling a blurry image of the Duke’s face. The more she thought over his expressionless face, the more she believed she might have seen pity in his eyes. She heaved a sigh. It didn’t really matter what he might have been thinking. She likely wouldn’t run into him again any time soon. Maybe not ever, if she was lucky.