This Dark Salvation

XXI.

I can think back to it now, this memory, so clear in my mind that I could tell you the exact amount of dust on my hat, how many beams of light shone through the stain glassed windows. Although, I can't quite place it exactly where it should be. Was it during June or August? I can't recall, maybe I want it that way. The days were beginning to blend together, and the dates were unknown to me. I never tired remembering them, it was useless, besides, I was ill.

Nothing ever helped me, not the food, not the books, or distractions made by Thomas—my brother. Not the days of lying in bed and nodding off to sleep to only be woken by the cat. That cat became, very quickly, my least favorite part of the whole experience. Its long tuffs of grey hair clung to my pants and its whiskers scratched my chin. I hated its yellow eyes, God, they were huge. It would stare and yowl at me then try biting my fingers. Stupid thing—animals are so dependent; I hate that about them.

So, I began closing my door to keep it out, but it would sit there and wail, clawing at my door until I yanked it open. The cat would look to my feet and lay on the carpet, tail flicking through the air, its hair swirling free from its skin. It would lick its paw and rub it over his ears purring like he achieved what he wanted. Then it would leave me.

I'm not sure how that is supposed to accommodate this memory, it has nothing to do with it. Maybe I'm still mad, that could be it. Yes, Thomas agrees.

It was near noon and I was lounging on the sofa in my bedroom, the air was slick, and the lack of sound muted my ears. The fabric underneath me was colored yellow, nearly cream, and it was quite thin. It had two humps on the back that was lined with wood, connecting with the armrests, and it was particularly springy. I wanted to be comfortable but no matter how I shifted I could never achieve it.

I had begged Jack, hours earlier, to join me but he was reluctant to, saying, I have loads of work to be finished, I'm not sure I can find time. So, in response, I followed him to the servants' hall and helped him with his chores. It was the least I could do. Jack couldn't abandon his position; the Josey's wouldn't understand. Besides, I was very desperate, so anything that could take my mind and body away from the current situations, at that time, was most certainly gracious.

We had finished the work in the halls, so we lounged in my room.

"You're still taxed?" I asked, absently staring out the window watching Jazlyn chase the cat around the thorn bushes. The roses were plum and wrinkled, so all that was left was the prickly bushes.

"It's odd actually," started Jack, a little breathless, "I'm beginning to get the feeling that they don't want me around."

"How rude." I held out my cup near his elbow. "Fill this with that over there." I pointed to the sherry bottle. Before I could catch myself from ordering him it slipped out naturally. I gritted my teeth. It was hard to correct myself. I didn't want Jack to continue working for me as my valet as I had then known that he was my brother.

"Yes, they bark at me to move and that's about it. Apparently, I'm not allowed in their kitchens anymore. Seems like the cooks have rank over a valet now." Jack handed me my glass then took his seat again. "But I've been gaining a friend. She's a maid to Lady Gwendolen."

I frowned but acted as if it were because of the sun. "Really? What do you talk about?"

Thomas leaned back into the wooden chair and peered through the window. "Anything really. She likes talking about her family and homeland. But recently, she's been a little shaken. I have a feeling she's homesick," Thomas waved it off.