Chapter 2 (Part One)

Henry’s New Assignment!?

The Alistair Duchy

Cottage of Henry and Lyra Dorran

Henry’s POV

~DAY ONE~

Denial

“COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO!”

My lips curled up into a smile as I rolled over, encasing the woman beside me in a hug. She squealed.

I placed a trail of light kisses across the back of her neck-

“COCK-A-DOOLE-DOO!”-

“Alright, Jack! I’m up, I’m up!” I shouted playfully, landing a solid slap on my wife’s behind, before pushing myself off the bed.

I shuffled around the tiny dark room. My neatly folded livery, lay where it always had. I dressed for the day.

Simple.

Walking over to the door, I felt the usual tinge of unwillingness to leave well up in my chest. I snuck a quick glance back at the sleeping mass and smiled.

Beautiful. 

With a soft hum, I crossed the threshold, the door closing behind me with a clack.

It was another brisk morning.

I looked over at my good friend, Jack. A proud cock perched atop the wooden fence. His majesty's throne.

Jack's long, curved tail feathers flowed behind him like a silken cape.

“Your Grace,” I said with a smile, giving him a formal bow.

I raised my head with a deep exhale. This morning's performance was over, now it was time to get to work. 

My feet crunched lightly in the gravel as I headed off towards the destination of my employer, House Alistair.

Like every morning, the dawn was breathtaking. The dew-drenched grass glistened like diamonds in the early light that peeked atop the edge of the horizon.

Smiling broadly, I walked down the dirt path to the road. Days like this reminded me just how lucky a man I truly was.

My heart felt full, swelling with such happiness, I feared it might burst.

Not a day has passed since I’ve been married to that gorgeous woman there, that I’ve not had a jump in my step.

---------------

I arrived at the Alistair Estate exactly on time, like always.

Shuffling in through the servants’ entrance, I made my way between the lively morning bustle into the storeroom, being sure to give a polite nod or smile when due.

If I’ve learned anything during my time serving the Alistairs..

It’s ‘only speak when spoken to.’

The current lady of the house was not one to appreciate idle chatter and although the main family did not often reside in the countryside estate, the silence was something I'd grown used to over my 8 years of service.

In this line of work, all one needs to do is listen anyway.

My focus shifted to the empty wooden buckets before me, coated in soot from daily use. I grabbed the familiar metal shovel still propped against the wall, where I’d left it yesterday. 

Humming lightly to myself, I struck the pile of jagged chunks.

My first daily task: Filling the coal scuttles in the servants’ quarters.

After heaving the now full buckets onto a wooden push-cart, I made my way through the first-floor servants’ quarters.

Everyone had already started their day, buzzing about the empty estate ensuring its prompt upkeep, but I could never bring myself to enter someone's living space without a prompt knock.

I proceeded to make my way down the hall, attending to the coal-less scuttles, in the unoccupied rooms.

Satisfied with my work, I placed the last empty bucket atop the push-cart.–

I quickly stepped to the side as two maids scurried past, a sole focus on whatever had them in such a hurry. 

I gave an unbothered shrug as my cart creaked forward, only to come to a sudden halt before a pair of finely polished black shoes.

Looking up, I faced none other than our esteemed Head Butler. A glint of admiration flashed in my eyes.

“Good morning, Mr. Abraham,” I greeted with a slight bow.

He said nothing, only giving a slight nod in acknowledgement, and after a brief moment, he turned on his heel and left.

Eldred Abraham.

An adequately skilled and dignified man, wholly deserving of his position. He was truly admirable. 

I brought my cart back in motion, once parked tightly against the storeroom wall, I began offloading my supplies to their proper place.

I then procured a clean bucket, tossing in a container of shoe polish, a velvet-faced clothing brush, and a few unsoiled rags. 

The next task on my list was to polish His Grace’s shoes, and brush his outerwear.

I’ll never cease to be amazed at how the nobility holds not only multiple estates but fully separate wardrobes. I catch my wife's ire if I don’t polish and brush my single livery every few days and that's more than enough work for me.

I cracked a broad smile, her ire wasn’t so bad either.

Bucket in hand, I let the door close firmly behind me. Before immediately backing against the wall, as another set of maids came rushing down the corridor.

“Good morning, Henry!" They greeted, passing me.

I smiled and gave a polite nod.

“..they say she tried to kill herself, can you believe it? How shameful,” 

I looked down the hall at their retreating forms. Gossip was in no way a new trend among servants, and to some, I suppose it’s a way of life…

But what on earth could have them speaking of something so dark?

I shook my head, heading off in the direction of the third-floor living quarters.

The Duke's shoes were certainly not going to polish themselves.

---------------

The clothing brush landed atop the soiled rags in my bucket with a thud. I stood up from the stool I had been crouched on for the past few hours and stretched.

I was finally finished.

I placed the small wooden stool back in the corner of the large bedroom and grabbed my bucket of supplies.–

A low growl erupted from the depths of my empty stomach.

It was time for a well-earned lunch. Holding my bucket close I made my way down the corridor to the servant stairs, weaving through the bustle of people busying about.

The estate was certainly more lively than usual.

I wonder if we’re preparing for visitors?

It was not often we received guests at the countryside Estate, and from my knowledge, this home was actually built for the late former duchess.

Lady Ophelia.

I'm told the current duchess, Lady Beatrice does not frequent this estate for that reason.

I never had the pleasure of serving the former duchess, as she passed before my time here began, but I’ve heard stories from the other long-standing servants.

She was beautiful and kind, but stricken with an unknown illness, far too young.

A tragedy, indeed.–

“Henry? Henry?!” My head sprung up, as I was pulled from my thoughts at the sound of my name.

“Forgive me, my mind had wandered,” I apologized, giving the short, stout woman my full attention.

Although she didn’t seem happy about having to repeat herself, she continued.

“After your lunch, Mr. Abraham requests you to his office,” She huffed, as she stalked off.

I blinked in confusion.

Mr. Abraham?

I typically don't meet with him for additional assignments until later in the day.

How… unusual.

I replaced my bucket on its low-hanging shelf in the storeroom and shut the door behind me tightly. 

I stepped into the hallway behind two chatty maids headed toward the staff dining hall, completely shocked by the conversation I’d overheard.

My brows furrowed in concern.

“...Exactly. They said the Duke’s daughter tried to poison herself, so they sent her here,” One woman whispered.

“My goodness, to think she’d do such a thing. The Duke must just be beside himself,” The other responded loudly.

“Shh! That’s not all!” She continued in a hushed tone.

“What more could there possibly be?!” The other exclaimed.

“I heard that she did it because she fell in love with a stable boy of all people!” She continued, covering her mouth with her hand and leaning closer.

“How uncouth!” The other whispered.

“Shh, it’s said there was even a pregnancy,” She whispered, looking around. 

My heart skipped a beat.

What an unfortunate scandal for a young woman.

“My goodness!” The other squealed in shock.

They turned off, walking in a different direction.

I continued into the dining hall, deep in thought, receiving my lunch plate and sitting down among my chattering peers.

The earlier conversation kept replaying in my head. It was even on the lips of my peers gathered around me. Each variation was slightly different, but none less awful than the last retelling.

My meal was… somehow tasteless.

The simple act of feeding myself was something I couldn’t recall, nor, for that matter, how I ended up facing the intimidatingly large, solid oak door before me.

It’s like I had been in an absent-minded daze.

I took a grounding breath and finally gave Mr. Abraham’s door 3 sturdy knocks.

Arriving here was but a faint recollection. Which I'm sure was due to so many unpleasant thoughts swirling around in my head. 

Swallowing hard, I tried to quell the lunch that sat, swirling, in my stomach. I promptly entered upon hearing Mr. Abraham’s summons.