The Widow

Chapter Twelve: Tea Cup Full of Rum

The journey to England was a long one, two and a half days long to be specific. There were many stops, with the horses needing water, Queen Martha's legs cramping up every hour, and the need of a proper bed during the night- the two did not arrive to the Manor until dawn on Sunday. Emelie was uneasy about leaving France, like she was uneasy leaving Netherlands. Even with her father close by, just by a day travel in boat, Emelie felt alone and frightened to start her new path to a different life. She could not predict rather it will be fair and good to her or miserable and wicked like the last.

The young woman knew Martha was a tough woman, she can already feather bickering and harsh words of a cold old woman down the road, but how tough can this woman become now that Emelie has no barrier or witnesses of Martha's mistreatment. But here she is, arriving to another temporary home where she would hope to feel free and able to clear her mind from the past.

The home was surrounded by acres of land, it would take a carriage ride to arrive to the next house along the path that Emelie spotted along the way. Martha's Manor was large, white painted wood and gray stones to keep the home from sinking into the ground during spring when it rains nonstop. Flowers bloomed along the brick path, door pained burgundy, and clean steps occupied by six servants. "It was my grandmother's childhood home." Martha announce when stepping out of the carriage with the help of her tall servant, an Indian man with fine clothing of blue silk and cloth, as soon as Martha's feet was settled on the ground- the man extend his hand to grasp Emelie's, then when she's secure and well he went to his protective position; one hand upon his sharp machete, and the other flat by his side.

"It's a bit drafty in the winter, hot during summer." Martha continued as if her security were nothing but a tree. "There's five bedrooms, a kitchen, sitting room, tea room, dining room, and a garden in the backyard. There's seven servants- four maids, and two footmen that's also guards, plus the cook who has a strict schedules it's best not to miss out on meals. This tall man here is the chief of staff, Raj Aul, whatever you need he will get- whatever you ask, he will do."

Emelie looked at the silent mountain built man, obviously feeling a sense of fear as she never laid eyes on a man like this before. The rest of the staff were of the same ethnicity, other the cook who was black and old with a snow beard and bald head, his dark brown eyes told a story, and body showed he was man of power with learnt class- just like her. Emelie was so use to having servants that weren't of color, who mostly came from the lower class and her father had a few black servants that worked in the garden and kitchen- but she never saw them. The young woman was reminded of the world, how class and race played apart of power and she grew lucky to be born in a higher class. They all bowed, even Raj, their deep bows and curtsies was evidence they were committed in showing respect to their newcomer and lady of the house.

*~*~*~*

Martha was kind enough to give Emelie a view of the small garden, the rainbow colors of roses, lilies and even tulips. England was cooler than France, but there were no sign of fog, unless one is to count the light fog at the crack of dawn. Light drops of rain passed by, but it did not last more than an hour and barely made a difference.

Emelie's room was smaller than the one in Chartres, which is pleasing because she did not need the large space all to herself. The theme was white and gold, with specks of purple from the lilies settled upon the small tables in each corner of the room near a window or airway. It was so bright and smelt wonderful- the help of the flowers made it so. Along with the fact she was free from everyone and everything in France, Martha slept on the other side of the manor, not close to ease drop nor hear personal things- not that Emelie will be doing anything personal.

It was so quiet, even with the servants walking around to clean whatever there is left to clean, Emelie was left with her own mind without no sound of helpless people screaming nor the smell of burning flesh in the air. Peace, that's all she asked for, especially in the returning letter to her father.