Thedra

What have I done?!

I knew I was sick when I came to work this morning. My body feels all hot and cold at once, and I’m extremely light headed. Probably I should have stayed in bed today, but even after a near sleepless night spent re-polishing the silverware at Evelyn’s insistence, I knew there was no way she’d let me take the day off.

Is it a surprise then, that this is the result?

After I clumsily knocked Mr. Bentham’s glass over, I lost my balance trying to catch it again, and positively drenched him with a whole pitcher of ice water. In my horror, I looked up to find him staring at me, locking eyes with my employer for the very first time.

A dozen thoughts race through my panicked, fevered mind at once. Is he angry with me? Of course he’s angry! Is he going to fire me? Probably! What do I do now? How do I get the water back in the pitcher, and not on him? Please, God, just kill me now!

“Thedra Clyde, what on earth have you done?!” Evelyn’s sharp voice brings me back to my senses.

“I’m sorry!” I straighten at once and fumble frantically for the napkins. “I’m sorry, Mr. Bentham!”

“No harm done,” his voice, which has grown familiar to me in the last weeks even if his figure has not, strikes me decidedly tense, and I die a little more inside. “It’s only water.”

Of course he would say something like that. I’ve only worked for him for a month, but I know Mr. Bentham is a very kind and generous master. I’m grateful to him, but I am even more sorry. I wish he didn’t have to go through this because of me.

I am frantically dabbing the front of his shirt that’s become faintly see-through with water. The sight of his muscular chest through the fabric sets my eyes spinning and my panicked mind racing even faster.

I never realized he was built like this.

“Get your hands off him, clumsy girl!” Evelyn snaps at me and I straighten to attention. “Just look at this, you’ve sloshed water all over the master’s plate as well. Run to the kitchen and tell Mrs. Agate to make up another!”

“Before that,” Mr. Bentham stands abruptly, and I sense his approach. “Are you alright?”

My ears are burning. To think that he would put my wellbeing first even in this kind of situation— truly I serve the kindest master in the world. What have I ever done to deserve such consideration? 

“I’m quite alright, Mr. Bentham,” I answer, keeping my eyes trained on his black leather boots.

“You seem pale. If you’re unwell, you should go lie down.”

I shake my head even as my eyes well with tears. I wonder when was the last time I heard someone speak so kindly to me?

“Thank you for your concern, Mr. Bentham. But I should hurry now and fetch your breakfast.”

“Don’t bother,” he says, lingering in front of me a few seconds longer. “I’m not hungry.”

I feel my heart sink at his words. Have I upset him so much that he’s lost his appetite? Well, of course I did, I think, mentally berating myself. Who would feel like eating after an impromptu ice bath?

I listen for the familiar sound of his footfall, feeling inexplicably lonely to hear it fade from the room. Then another pair of footsteps cuts into my hearing, and I tense reflexively.

“Stupid girl!” the cane strikes the back of my leg and I fall to my knees. “Careless, worthless girl!” With each insult Evelyn strikes me again— and again and again. The pain is almost unbearable, but I grit my teeth and make no sound beneath her blows. I get the feeling if I cry out, she will only beat me harder.

When Evelyn’s finished, she is breathless. She straightens herself and I hear her cane strike the floor as she comes to lean against it. I lie where I’ve fallen, afraid to move and draw her ire once again.

“You—” she struggles to catch her breath, “clean this mess up. After that— scrub the kitchen floor, and all the bathrooms, and the front steps. If you miss even a single spot—” she’s wheezing, but I don’t really need her to finish her sentence. I already know what will happen if I make another mistake.

“Yes, Ma’am,” I say, somehow pulling myself back to my feet. My body which was already wracked with fever now throbs with unspeakable agony; my vision is swimming. Even so I move towards the master’s sodden breakfast with my head down and stoically begin collecting the dishes.

Roderick

I leave the dining room and make my way upstairs, my heart thrumming faster than it would if I’d just sprinted a quarter mile. Closing the door behind me, I fumble with my buttons for half a minute before finally tearing my shirt open in frustration and throwing it in a sodden heap on the floor. Then I remember myself and pick it up, laying it neatly across the changing partition.

I stare at the ruined shirt a full minute before I begin to pace the room, my eyes following the pattern of the carpet, my mind a complete blank. I sit down on the edge of my bed for a half second, then get up and pull down another shirt from my closet. I start to put it on then realize my body’s still too damp. I ball this shirt in my hands and throw it on the floor too. Then I begin to pace once again.

What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I seem to form a single coherent thought that doesn’t begin and end with that girl’s name?

Thedra Clyde. Thedra.

All this time I’d wondered what it was, like I wondered what she looked like. And now I know. The mystery is solved.

I feel funny, hot and ticklish all over, like ants are crawling across my skin. I take a seat on the edge of my bed again, staring blankly at the carpet for perhaps a full half hour before I remember I still don’t have a shirt on.

I can’t seem to make my hands work properly; the buttons won’t fit in their holes. In the end I leave the shirt unbuttoned and throw a sweater over it, heading outside.

I’d forgotten my intent to hunt this morning until this moment, and now I dismiss it instantly. I don’t think I could trust myself to handle a gun in this mood.

Without troubling the stable master, I saddle Mystic for a ride with the sure hands of a veteran horse handler. Perhaps sensing my nervous excitement, the gorgeous white mare is eager to get out into the open air. Mounting her, I lead her out into the driveway, casting a glance back at the house, not sure what I’m hoping to see exactly.

Turning from the house, I channel my frantic energy into the ride, taking Mystic all over the property, up and down hills, across wide fields and through the naked trees.

I am restless when we finally return to the house, no less in a daze now than I was when I left. I may as well admit it to myself. I can’t get that girl’s face out of my mind. 

She was so beautiful. So beautiful I could scream. 

I can’t understand it. What was I expecting? Did I want her to be ugly? A little nearer to my level, perhaps? If she were ugly, could I admit it to myself then? Just how much I’d fallen for her?

Yes, I love her. That’s the only explanation I have for this wild, tingling feeling still coursing through my limbs after an entire morning spent trying to forget her. I think I’ve liked her from the beginning, though I did not realize it until today. Not until that sweet, shy girl forced this bad-tempered, reticent fool to confront her with a well-timed splash of ice water.

The instant our eyes met I knew she was the one I wanted. I knew it like I knew I was a man, like I knew there was a sun in the sky and earth beneath my feet. I knew it as surely as I knew my own name.

She’s the one. The woman I mean to marry.

The rest of the day passes without Thedra making another appearance. There is even a different servant who’s come to kindle the fire in my room that evening. I feel frustrated and disappointed when she doesn’t show, as though I were a schoolboy again, pining after my crush. The thought is humiliating.

To distract myself I re-read one of my favorite novels, Friend of the Stars, and lose myself for a couple of hours in another world. As I read I stop sometimes and think how pleasant it would be to have a companion to discuss books with. Is it too much to hope Thedra likes reading? Possibly. If she’s a commoner, then it’s likely she doesn’t even know how to read. I wonder how I could bring the topic up with her without appearing rude. 

The next morning is bitterly cold for November. The sky is cloudless and pink, and a thick layer of frost has turned the whole world white. A servant arrives carrying my morning coffee and newspaper, and inspired, I ask him to have Thedra sent up to build a fire.

“Thedra’s sick today, Mr. Bentham.”

“Sick?” I suppose my concern’s written plainly on my face, for the young man stares in surprise for a moment before quickly offering to make up the fire in her place.

Sick, I muse, gesturing for him to get to work. Yes, she did seem pale yesterday. And though I’ve since become grateful for it, it wasn’t like her to make such clumsy mistakes, knocking over glasses and drenching her master with ice water. I hope it isn’t anything serious.

“Did Evelyn send anyone to check on her?” I ask.

“I don’t know. Evelyn’s the one who told us she wouldn’t be working today.”

I must put my mind at ease, and assure myself the head housekeeper has everything in hand. This will not be her first time dealing with a sick employee.

“Please tell Evelyn that if Thedra needs medical attention, to not hesitate to call the doctor. I will pay for her treatment myself.”

“Yes, Sir.”