Clearing her throat, Hannah tried drawing attention and steadied her inner confidence. When that didn’t work, she said, “Excuse me, Ella. Bracken told me to see you about learning to carry a tray of sweets at the banquet.”
Ella glanced at her and smiled weakly, but not unfriendly, and seemed to welcome the offer. “You have never served, or I’d know it. Two hands on the tray at all times, the guests are welcome to all they wish, and you do not speak to them even if they speak first. Can you remember all that?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Servers wear the Earl’s blue and white colors. See the Head Seamstress on the third level, tell them to hem something for you and then be here at sundown. Find me, or wait here for me. Can you do all that?”
I’m not stupid. “Right away. I’ll go find the seamstress now.” Hannah rushed outside and ran across the inner courtyard and back inside a wide doorway where a set of servant’s stairs carried her up to the third floor. The seamstresses had always complained about the lack of light to do their best work. Last spring the Earl had cleared out two full sets of apartments with large windows, and he had given them to the seamstresses at the demand of his fashion-conscious wife so they could do their work—and make prettier clothing for the Countess.
The stone stairs were clean, unlike those in the servant’s quarter. They were devoid of people, unlike the lower tower where Hannah and the lower class servants lived; those that rushed to serve their masters. Upon reaching third floor, even though she had never been there, she had heard the rumors of the place and went directly to the first door at the end of the hallway. As she pulled the heavy door open, the sunlight streamed in through a series of tall windows greeted her. In front of the windows stood at least six sewing tables, with one or more women, sitting at each of them. All worked intensely, and none looked up at her entrance.
“Can I help you, honey?” The nearby voice was old, but nonjudgmental, even friendly, perhaps.
She must know who I am. Everybody does. “Ella sent me to see the Head Seamstress.”
“That is her over there.” The old woman pointed to another woman surrounded by others who fawned over her. She was issuing orders about fancy, colorful dresses to be worn this evening, criticizing each woman’s work in turn. “Very busy right now, perhaps I can be of assistance?”
“Ella said I’m to get a server’s uniform in the Earl’s blue and white.”
“Oh, serving are you? Sweets, I suppose?”
Hannah nodded, then followed the old woman to a cabinet. The woman opened the lid to reveal stacks of blue and white shirts, pants, hats, and soft boots. “Let me look at you to judge your size. My, you are a small one. Here, try this on.”
Hannah accepted the shirt, soft blue with white trim. She pulled her old tan shirt off and the new one on for a fit. It was only a little too large. A tuck would fix it. Next came pants that needed hemming in the length of the legs, and finally a blue hat. The woman reached for a white feather from a dozen held together by a red ribbon and showed Hannah how to slip the shaft into small slits in the crown, so it stood upright.
“Call me Lucy,” the old woman said. “You, if I remember correctly, are Hannah the fire tenderer. Now you need to try on slippers.”
The first pair, the only ones to ever be on her feet, fit perfectly. Hannah looked down at them in wonder as she wriggled her toes. The slippers didn’t confine her feet as she had feared, and they felt comfortable. “Lucy, will you tell me something?”
“Of course, dear.”
“Why are you so nice to me?”
Lucy stood to her full height and sighed. “Has it been that hard for you, child? The things people say?”
“At times. But you're very good to me, and I wonder why. Not many are.”
“Listen, I see and hear what’s going on in the palace, even those places reserved for the Royals. Sometimes I believe I’ve seen it all, in my long life, but then a thing happens and stirs a new pot. For me, I enjoy people and forgive them for things they are not responsible for, such as who their parents are, or what the parents may have done. I prefer to look at the person, and what they are, or have done.”
“Thank you, Lucy. I like that.”
The woman smiled and shrugged. “This uniform is not yours to keep, of course. After tonight you will return it here until the next party, ball, banquet, or whatever. Each time you serve we’ll get you one that fits and make any repairs needed.”
“When will it be ready?”
“Oh, you can stop by before the noon meal, the hemming won’t take much time.”
Hannah left the seamstress with a skip in her walk. Because she rose each day before the sun, she normally had part of the mid-day to herself, usually to catch up on her sleep. The cleaning of the kitchen after the evening meal had become her bedtime, both because of the early morning work, and because she used it as her excuse to get out of the work. The trick, she’d learned early, was never to look relaxed or be at rest when others could see her. Always appear busy, even while having nothing to do. She walked fast across the courtyard, head down as if on an important errand.
A pair of female nags who were snooty chambermaids for the Royals and both a few years older than Hannah, approached. One whispered loudly, “I hear that her father’s here, the one she favors. I wonder if they’ll have a nice visit together.”
Both girls giggled at the comment, glancing at Hannah as if hoping she heard it and would respond. It was not the first time they’d baited her. Hannah turned the corner of the horse barn out of their sight and held her index finger up long enough to glance at the tiny flame that appeared at the tip. A tiny fire of that size might one day light the fancy skirt of one who spoke so rudely to her if she kept on tormenting Hannah.
She extinguished the flame and smiled at the idea of the girl’s dress catching on fire. Then she answered their rude questions in her mind, but not allowing anything to cross her lips. Yes, she planned to have a nice visit with the Mage, her father.
Entering the horse barn, she found Cleanup inside, leaning on his shovel, as usual. Right beside his toe were fresh horse apples providing his excuse for being there, but instead of gathering them up, he watched a beautiful chestnut mare prancing in the corral as if she wished to find a way to escape and run free. The horse's long legs were thin, and her hooves polished. Her mane and tail were better tended than the hair of the two girls she had left behind.
“Is that a new horse?” Hannah asked.
“No, the Old Mage came today, with this one and others almost as nice. A King’s Knight protecting the Mage rode that horse instead of riding in the carriage.”
“I would too,” she said in awed tones. “That horse dances instead of walks.”
“I heard she was bred in far off Lanta and shipped here when a colt. Ferriday, the King’s horse trainer, spent three whole years working with her.” Cleanup managed to scrape one small pile of horse manure closer to the others as he made a full turn, making sure they were alone and that no prying eyes watched him. He leaned closer. “Want to see his carriage?”
“You know I do.”
He carried his shovel and bucket in such a way that anyone looking would think he was racing after another mess left by a horse, donkey, cow, or sheep. Instead, he went down to the end of the stable and into the garage. It contained more than twenty wagons and carriages sitting inside where they were cleaned and maintained by the stablemen. Near the end of the row stood a carriage suspended from the ornate iron frame by leather straps, so the passengers rode easier on the bumpy roads as the carriage swayed as if in a sling. It belonged to the Earl, and he used it on special occasions.