Samh
9.11.1342 07:00
Abaledina sat in her private den, daydreaming
about Viscount Elwynalam. Her com-tab lay in her lap. Its screen displayed an
empty message to Eriath.
First, she had been stricken by Viscount Elwynalam’s
regal carriage and poise in contrast to her uncle’s and aunt’s hunched,
grasping postures. His shoulder-length wavy brown hair and soft blue eyes
radiated kindness. His short-trimmed beard accented his angular jawline. His
nose was strong and straight. That he had tried to include her in the
conversation her cousin had wanted to monopolize did not help her wayward
thoughts.
She could not blame her cousin, but she was not
one to fight over a man. She also felt any chance she might have had with Viscount
Elwynalam was lost when Jeanilotta mentioned her betrothed. She knew she must
first speak with Eriath and dissolve the betrothal before finding her true
love—if such a match for her existed. It was just particularly challenging to
control her breathing when a man like Viscount Elwynalam walked unexpectedly
into the room. Her mind briefly flicked to Eriath, and she guiltily glanced
down at the uncomposed message to him. He was handsome enough, but Viscount
Elwynalam made her heart beat faster.
The first rays of the approaching day faintly
struggled through the curtains before Abaledina completed her weary task. She
had spent much of the night thinking about the wrong man. At length, however, she
had finished. She scrolled through it, checked to ensure she had entered
Eriath’s direction correctly, and hit send, entrusting it to the ether. Then,
she threw herself upon her silken bed and hoped no one would disturb her for at
least five hours.
Beritha was startled from her light slumber by the
bing
of a received message at an unusually early hour. When fully dressed with her
usual carefulness, she seemed to be less than thirty years old. In the grey
morning light, adorned in her coarse state of undress, she looked her age of
forty-five. She was tall and possessed that kind of second-rate civility that arises
from seeing but not mingling with genteel society. It was an artificial refinement
that cloaked the vulgarity of her mind.
Her sharp features were not unpleasant. Her eyes displayed
a thorough knowledge of the world’s wickedness. They were gray, restless, and piercing
but could sometimes appear to take on a soft, flirtatious laziness. However,
there existed a deep-rooted, cunning and selfishness beneath their faked cloak
of frankness and simplicity.
With a smile of triumph, she quickly turned on her
com-tab and began patiently to peruse its message. Mrs. Gillfillian had hired
her as her personal assistant, but she was primarily hired for her unique
talents. She was delighted that the young adults hadn’t yet detected her
abilities but wondered why they never realized the filtering system installed
by the Gillfillians was not one run by AI but one that sent all their emails to
her instead of the intended recipient. She attributed it to her excellent writing
skills.
However, after six years of deleting messages and
sending different ones to keep Miss Abaledina and Master Eriath together was wearing
on her. She noted the rewards for her interventions were becoming fewer and
fewer. The rewards were also pushed forward to the marriage day when she was to
receive a hundred-thousand-note of the heiress’ money for herself.
These self-important Gillfillians who employed her
made her do all the work while they received all the gain. That irritated her.
She had worked hard over the years to make this match occur, but she began to
wonder if she would earn more money by revealing the plot to Abaledina instead
of working secretly against her.
It did not take her long to see this message was like
all the recent ones between the betrothed couple—professing the deepest of
brotherly or sisterly affection, stating no feeling of true love existed, and
requesting to be released from the obligation of marrying.
Initially, she joined this plot not only for the
money but also because she judged it was right. She could not believe children
these days thought they knew what marriage and love were about—so much so that
they would spurn their parents’ choices. When she first heard of this match,
she recognized how well it would improve the children’s positions. Adding
Abaledina’s wealth to the business acumen of Eriath’s father would have created
an empire.
Beritha was not a deaf or dumb servant, though. For
the last four years, she had heard that Lieutenant Gillfillian’s luck had run
out, and he was on the brink of financial ruin. Instead of making wise
financial decisions as he once had done, he began gambling on risky ones. She
could see the writing on the wall of a gambling addict. He just needed one more
investment—the next one would be the one to gain it all back. He needed Abaledina’s
fortune to fund the big one. Then, his riches would last—he believed. Beritha
knew they would only last until he could run through the young orphan’s
inheritance as well. She might not understand the ideals of love, but she did
understand the ideals of money. She had begun to worry that once the marriage
occurred, he would shortchange her to fund his compulsion. Although she still
did not mind handing Abaledina’s fortune over to Mr. Gillfillian, she did mind
handing hers over to him.
After reading the early morning message from
Abaledina, she sat in thought until Mrs. Gillfillian’s notification summoned
her. With the young ward’s message to Eriath open on her com-tab, she went to
the luxurious dressing room to meet her mistress.
In Beritha’s opinion, Mrs. Gillfillian was lazy,
extravagant, and ambitious. The first and the last of these were in a constant
state of battle. To gratify the middle one, she descended to every malicious trickery
that she thought she could perform without being caught. Her niece’s immense inheritance
came from her mother, who had been Swienzean
nobility. While Abledina’s father improved the inheritance by doing mercantile
speculations with his brother, Mrs. Gillfillian burned through the Lieutenant’s
share of the business—which she saw as her rightful money. Beritha had been
with her long enough to know the inner workings of her employer’s mind. The
lack of capital pushed her husband to pursue risky investments.
Accomplishing the union between her son and niece to
offset her overspending was her prized scheme. Messages on both sides were
intercepted, were read, and more affectionate ones were substituted. The
purported sender repeatedly declared his or her all-engrossing passion. The sacredness
of the pledge they made as mere children under exceptionally trying
circumstances was constantly repeated to them.
By sending Eriath away to school, the Gillfillians
had separated them for years. Without any way of having free, innocent conversations,
Beritha’s messages mutually deceived them. Currently, each feared that
withdrawing from the agreement would fatally wound the heart of the other. When
they had a few moments alone together, guilt made them too slow to explain
their real feelings, and Mrs. Gillfillian made sure they never had much time
alone.
Beritha showed the message to Mrs. Gillfillian
when she entered her dressing room.
“This must never go! It would ruin all our plans,”
Mrs. Gillfillian declared after reading the message. “Thank you for intercepting
it. You can have this bracelet for your service, but I’ll continue holding it
temporarily. My daughter has one like it, and she might disapprove if she
matched a servant.”
Beritha realized immediately this was yet another
false gift. The heat of anger showed on her cheek, forcing her to turn from her
employer to hide it. Her mistress continued looking at the message and saw nothing
of her ire.
“Now that is settled, there are a thousand preparations
to complete for our ball, which I can trust to no one but you.” Her mistress gave
directions with the ease and nobility of one accustomed to being obeyed. Beritha
remained sullen. She had not been well paid for her work—again.
No comments:
Post a Comment