Juniper

Chapter Three

The truth behind Miss McKenzie's pronouncements on Mr. Hargrave's appearance would remain a mystery for June to solve at another time, as she was informed the master was not "properly in residence." She didn't rightly understand what they meant by that, but it felt rude to ask so many questions of her hosts when she had only just arrived. Soon enough, she was too preoccupied to remember much of what the other chambermaid had said, and forgot entirely about the master of the house.

Dredmour Estate sprawled like a great, many-legged beast with an infinite number of spinning passages and yawning corridors. June tired herself in those first few days attempting to keep pace with Mrs. Denton as she explained each room and outlined the many tasks waiting to be completed. She hefted water buckets up flights of stairs and carried carpets to balconies, shook out curtains taller than three men standing upon each other's shoulders, and hefted freshly split firewood to the dozens of looming hearths. More than once, she found herself almost too faint to carry on, and Mrs. Denton would press her to sit on the nearest flat surface with a cup of tea, tutting all the while.

The older woman proved terribly patient with June, for which she was grateful. She found more strength with each passing morning, her arms and legs less sore, and soon she could take the main flight of stairs without being winded at the top. By the third day, she took over her tasks without Mrs. Denton's supervision. Her new strength was needed, as June felt just as lost in the massive house by her seventh day as she did on her first. It seemed she perpetually took wrong turns, and she swore the rooms moved!

She found a fast friend in Miss McKenzie—Hazel, as she insisted on being called. She was bright and easy-going, and though more prone to gossip than would be considered polite, she always had a positive thing to say about those they encountered. She introduced June to many of the servants; the undercook, Julian Denton, who was Mrs. Denton's son. Harold Iarundsson, the butler still recovering from his head cold. The laundresses, Gracie and Anne Cawle, identical twins who gossiped more than Hazel as they completed their work. The cook, Ravi Naidu, a dark-skinned man Hazel told was from the far east, who had very little patience for anyone crowding his sparkling kitchen. The minstrel, "Homer" Parlowe, who took his name from the great poet and loudly claimed he was him reborn with the gift for song. Then there was the marshal, Hubert Blackburn, a red-haired man some years older than June with an eye patch who looked at an oblivious Hazel as if she hung the moon and stars in the sky. He explained he'd received his injury in the last war, and the reminder of what was happening again out in the world churned June's stomach.

"Mr. Blackburn tends the stables and the guards and the huntsmen," Hazel explained as they folded the linens the Cawle sisters had cleaned. "His men live in the south tower along with some of their families, though we haven't much call to go out there. That's Ethyl's duty."

Ethyl, who hadn't much warmed to June, eyed the pair with disapproval before returning to her task of repairing a torn blouse. June guessed she didn't care for people from the city, or took exception to her occasional forgetfulness; the most June had ever heard her say was a sharp reprimand when June trod dirt from the yard on her way to beat out yet another carpet.

"Are there many guards here?" June asked. "Do you have need of them often?" The thought made her anxious and again reminded her many young men back home were already off and enlisting. Strangely, no one here mentioned the war, and the subject didn't take root when brought up.

"Oh, on occasion, I assume. We're farther in the country here and haven't the Magisterium or police to rely on as they do in the south. Sometimes Mr. Blackburn and his men have to attend matters in Gardinell as well."

For her first week, the grandeur of Dredmour continued to overwhelm June. She marveled at finery she'd never thought to witness in her life, and even took a measure of pride in ensuring the rooms she cleaned sparkled like new. She'd stand in the middle of the floor and gaze upward at the gilt medallions on the ceiling, the intricate woodworking and darkly stained cornices. Some ceilings bore frescoes of the night sky, huge swaths of the celestial sphere, or scenes of the Caelesic myth. One room by the main dining hall depicted a rather garish, bloody battle, and June didn't wish to venture in there again.