The Forbidden Room

The Kitchen

Before dinner, I find myself alone for the first time since the morning. I am sitting on the bed in my bedroom, which is clean and properly furnished, and separated from the master bedroom by two unused rooms.

My gaze wanders along the large four-poster bed, two chests of drawers, a tall wardrobe, a desk, several chairs and carpets. I can't think of any of these as 'mine'. An empty vase sits on the dressing table by the bay window and two candlesticks light the room. It is now dark outside and I need to bring the light next to my trunks to recognise their contents.

I change into a high-necked green satin dress and rearrange my hair before I head out to the kitchen with a candlestick in my hand. I go down the stairs without any difficulty, and I refuse to be unsettled by the darkness and the odd silence that shroud the building. If almost sixteen years of living with Aunt Mae has taught me one thing, it's that there is not much to be afraid of in the dark. Imagining things lurking in the shadows is ludicrous when the world is filled with real-life monsters who are far more likely to hurt you.

I start walking down the ground-floor corridor leading to the kitchen stairs when a whisper echoes behind me. I turn around, my heart quickening.

"Who is it?" I keep my voice from trembling. After all, I am the lady of the house now. But I can't see anything beyond the light cast by my candle. I take one more step and repeat, "Who is there?"

"Did you call, milady?"

I give a start and suppress a yelp as Sam walks out of the shadows in front of me.

"You gave me a fright!"

He avoids my eyes and mutters, "Sorry."

"It's of no matter," I reply, although I'd rather not have him approach me without my noticing, "I was just going to the kitchen and I didn't hear you come."

"Sorry," he repeats, and I start to wonder if he is a half-wit.

We go down to the kitchen together, and I find the room warm and brightly lit by a large fire. The lovely smell of cooking meat reaches me as I step inside, my high-heeled boots clicking on the tiled floor.

A large middle-aged woman with a red face and a white apron stands by the table, shelling peas, and she looks up as we come in.

"Why the hell did you bring her here for?!" she says to Sam as she points at me with her knife.

Astonished by her insolence, I stop in my tracks.

"She came all by herself," Sam mumbles, avoiding her gaze too.

"Well," she says to me at last, "that's my kitchen and I don't need no visitors."

My upbringing coming back to me all of a sudden, along with memories of ways to deal with Aunt Mae's erratic behaviour, I manage to paste a smile on my face before I say in my most cheerful tone:

"Mrs. Edwards, I wouldn't dream of telling you what to do in your little kingdom! You know a lot more about cooking and food that I will ever try to remember. I just wanted to make your acquaintance and ensure you had everything you needed."

I walk around the room, and I pretend to survey the pots and pans on the walls and the vegetables on the table. The cook stares at me with her fists on her hips and her mouth open as if I were a unicorn in her kitchen.

But, as predicted, flattery wins her over and her voice falters when she replies, "Of course I've got everything I need! Went to the market this morning!"

"I'm glad." I smile. "I'm certain dinner will be delicious."

I walk back out of the room and let out an angry sigh after closing the door behind me. I have not anticipated this. At my aunt's house, the servants have always been my allies. The kitchen was my refuge: I went there out of instinct to find a friendly face. What will I do in this dark house when my husband goes away if the domestics refuse to speak to me?

Before I walk away, I hear the cook speak again and I can't help listening to what she has to say in my absence.

"What are you looking at?!"

Her tone is harsh and I assume she's talking to Sam.

"That's not for you," she adds, "and you're not gonna steal something right under my nose. You sit down over there and you wait like every day."

A chair scrapes against the floor and there is a brief sound of footsteps before she goes on, "And what is she doing wandering the house all by herself at night? They're all the same, silly girls with pretty faces and no bloody brains, running down corridors in the dark--"

"I was with her," Sam says, his voice muffled.

The cook snorts. "That'll do her good!"

I wait to see if Sam will reply.

"She don't look silly to me," he says after a moment. "She ain't afraid, and she asks questions--"

"Oh, that's all we need, then!" the cook interrupts him. "A silly girl who asks questions. She's gonna end up just like the others, I tell ya!"

To my surprise, Sam reply is vehement. "No, she ain't! Master Ashton said so himself. He said this time will be different."

The cook snorts again, and her knife repeatedly hits the wooden table as she chops something.

"He said that, did he? Well, he must have forgotten to tell her, then..."

Upstairs, the clock chimes the hour and I hurry up the stairs to be on time for dinner with my husband.

***

 Thanks for reading! If you've enjoyed this chapter, please feel free to vote and comment.

And let me know what you think of Sam and Mrs. Edwards...