A maid was brushing her long blonde hair. But it wasn't Sarah nor Jane. She was sitting in the same, fancy vanity table in Bettina's room in the Whitman estate. But it was the first time she saw this maid.
And yet… this maid didn't feel like a stranger. She felt familiar. She felt like family. In fact, she could feel the love and care from the maid's gentle brush strokes which mirrored the feelings she also had for this maid.
Closing her eyes, she covered the hand of the maid who stilled her brushing. And the maid lifted her other hand to cover hers as well. Those hands felt so reassuring.
"You're doing well, my lady." The maid praised her softly.
"But… Is it truly the right thing to do?" Despite the praise, she remained troubled. Though what troubled Bettina, she didn't know. It seems her words were not coming from her own thoughts, but from Bettina herself. She was just a passenger behind the driver, a bystander, helplessly listening in on their conversation.
"Beyond all doubt, it is so."
"Certainty eludes me," Bettina told the maid with a deep sigh. "I fear that harm may befall those undeserving of it."
"What one sows, so too shall they harvest—whether it be ripe or rotten, none are exempt from fate's hand."
What a very wise… and frightening advice. She thought, as the maid ushered her to bed and snuffed out the lights before leaving her to sleep. It was but only a few moments after she closed her eyes, that she began dreaming… or perhaps dreaming some more…
A dream within a dream…
*****Resist no more, for fate is wise*****
Haaah! Haaah!
Wait…why am I running?
Haaaaah!
And where is this place? Am I still dreaming?
But her panting, the way her lungs seemed to be begging for air, the feel of the cold and misty night on her skin, even the thunderous beating of her heart felt all so real.
She seemed to be running through a narrow path in the woods. Actually, she was running after some girl who was bolting ahead of her.
It was her.
The unfamiliar maid who was brushing her hair.
The maid was still in her nightgown and was running through the woods as though her life depended on it.
And she? She was still within this borrowed body…Bettina's body...and running after the maid.
Why?
She could sense Bettina's urgency. Beneath her own, thin nightgown, beyond the soft, wet soil under her bare feet, she could feel the rapid beating of her heart. The fear of losing sight of that fleeing maid drummed inside her chest and out through her ears. And then…
And then they stopped.
A large, two-story building was looming over her. In the lightening sky, she could see how much of the building was damaged. Copious amounts of smoke were still drifting upwards from the building that was clearly burnt by a massive fire. That fire must have recently been put out. But she can't hear anything. Has she gone deaf?
Wiggling her toes, her bare feet could feel the cold, wet earth that was sparsely grown with grass. Visibility was still low even though the sky was turning from dark to light. Whether it was due to fog or smoke from the building, she didn't know. But when she looked around, she could see people surrounding her.
All of them facing her. All of them covered in soot. And yet, they were not looking at her. They were looking down toward her feet. Most of them, still wet and getting wetter by a light drizzle of rain. What was she doing here, with these people, barefoot, and still in her bedclothes?
Their mouths looked like they were crying out loud, tears making tracks on their soot-covered faces. Some were holding their hats to their chests, while others were embracing each other. As she tilted her head, sound just began entering her ears and her consciousness. Now, she could hear their cries of anguish and pain. It was a heartbreaking and, at the same time, terrifying cacophony of sound.
Everyone was crying and wailing… and so, she looked down just like them.
People were lying on the ground. Many people. Their entire bodies were covered with dirty sheets. And some of the crying people were almost sprawled on top of the still bodies. Her maid, the one she followed, was sprawled across two bodies, screaming.
Are they really… dead?
Once again, her body was moving of its own accord. It was walking toward two covered bodies lying in the center. Those two bodies were covered with just a single, large sheet of cloth. As if they were meant to share it.
Her knees buckled and, with trembling hands, she grasped the edge of the sheet and slowly uncovered them. No…no…not them…please…
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!"
*****Two fates converge; one shall rise*****
"Mother."
"No…no…not them…please…"
"Mother?"
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!"
"Mother!"
"Huh? W-what?" She opened her eyes. Her own scream still ringing in her ears. She had shot up in bed, her hands clutching at her hair.
Disoriented, she looked around the bedroom, enlightened by the pinkish dawn. She was back in bed and a pair of arms were hugging her tightly across her stomach.
"J-Jason?"
"Mother."
"What's going on? What are you doing here?" Her arms automatically went around the boy.
"The rain was too loud last night. I couldn't sleep." The boy never released his hold on her. "Father was not home so I went looking for you."
"Did you mean you slept here in bed with me?"
"Yes. But then, you were crying out in your sleep. I think you were having a bad dream." The boy reached out a hand and wiped her forehead drenched in sweat.
"I-I see." What was her dream about? Ever since she woke up in this world, she had been having dreams almost every night. Most of them, she could not remember upon waking up. She could only remember impressions, vague places, and sometimes distinct voices that she did not recognize.
Not this time. The burnt building. The people in despair. The maid who was brushing her hair. The same maid who was wailing and embracing one of the dead people. She could still see them in her mind's eye. Who were they? Where were they? Were those Bettina's memories?
"Mother," Jason sat back on the bed and looked shyly at her. "I'm hungry."
"Oh, okay. Shall we go down to eat?" Absently, she stroked the boy's head. She will try to make sense of it all later.
"Yes please!"
She stood up to wear a robe and her slippers, then she took the boy's hand and together they padded downstairs, still in their bedclothes.
Since it was still too early, the estate was devoid of any household staff. Although, when she glanced out of the passing windows, she could make out the figures of the earl's knights outside who were on night duty, waiting to be relieved by the next set of knights. With Jason's direction, they were able to get to the deserted kitchen and she started looking around for food to prepare for eating.
Since she wanted something warm to eat, she decided to make some chicken noodle soup using the available pasta, milk, and other ingredients. Jason sat by the kitchen table, watching her with avid eyes.
"Mother, that smells wonderful." Jason said as he smelled the savory aroma of diced chicken being sauteed in garlic, onions, and other diced vegetables.
"I just hope they will taste wonderful too," she teased and the boy laughed aloud.
Several minutes later, the soup was done. She ladled some on a bowl and placed it in front of the boy with a spoon. "Be careful, it's hot."
With great care, the boy spooned some soup and blew on it several times before eating. "It's delicious!"
Smiling, she took the cloth cover off a basket of bread on top of the kitchen island and brought it over to the boy as well. Together, they started eating.
"Mother, I didn't know you could cook," the boy remarked casually while all of his attention was on his food.
Panicked, she tried to think of a plausible answer to the boy's comment. "Ah, I…I just didn't have a reason to cook here because we have our kitchen staff to cook for us."
The boy nodded and smiled at her. "I'm happy to eat mother's food."
There was a moment of silence as they enjoyed their meal and she deliberated whether to ask the boy or not. Eventually she decided to ask. "Jason, is it really okay for you to be staying with me?"
The boy bowed his head lower, as if he could not look at her directly. His eating slowed down. Patiently, she waited for him to answer. "I want to stay with mother," he said quietly.
"But…it seemed like your nanny doesn't like me, though. Is this really, okay?"
With a sad look, the boy admitted. "Father and nanny does not want me to stay with you. They said you were…bad."
"I see." She knew it. They must not have wanted Bettina to be near the boy because of that poisoning incident. She would need to know more about that incident.
"But I don't believe them!" The boy quickly laid his spoon on the table and looked at her directly. As if he wanted her to see the earnestness in his face.
"Thank you for saying that, Jason." She reached over and ruffled the boy's hair. "But I think you should follow what your father and your nanny told you to do."
"But—!"
"Of course," she interrupted the boy. "You could always spend time with me if they're not around. Just like today. And maybe, one day, they will allow us to be together the whole day. Everyday."
"Will they, really?"
"Really. I will work hard to convince them that I'm not a bad person. But it may take time for them to be convinced, though."
"But… you promise to convince them?"
"Yes, I promise."
After their meal, she shooed the boy back to his own bedroom, then she started to gather their used dishes and wash them. She was just about finished when a few kitchen staff started arriving.
"Uh, what's she doing here?" The servants, looking dumbfounded at her, were whispering with each other.
"She's washing dishes?" Whispered another.
"Noodles in a chicken soup? What is this slop?" Said the sous chef who was peering into the steaming pot.
"Good morning," she greeted them first with contrived nonchalance. Thankfully she was done with the dishes.
"G-good morning, madam." They hesitantly greeted back.
"I made some soup, you're welcome to it." She added and quickly left the room.
After her very early breakfast with Jason, she went back to her bedroom to begin the next step of her plans for survival and going back to her own home. To Ethan.
With one last stroke of the brush, Jane stepped back and pronounced: "You're all set, my lady."
"Right," she stood up and surreptitiously felt for that slight bulge in the hidden pocket of her skirts. She could feel the weight of the pouch containing several coins that she found inside one of the drawers in her room. It was a great find and perfect for her plan—venturing outside.
These past few days, she had been talking a little bit more with Jane. The maid's feelings about her seemed to have thawed a lot and was a bit more forthcoming to her. The maid not only talked to her more now, answering her questions with more information, she also had been teaching her a lot on etiquette, correcting her whenever she displayed incorrect mannerisms and giving her books to study.
And when she talked about maybe going to a nearby market, it was Jane who helped schedule her outing.
Sarah, who was absent today as always, still treated her the same though. Come to think of it, she hasn't seen Sarah for days now. That's okay, she thought. One step at a time.
When she reached the foyer, with Jane right behind her, she saw beyond the open front doors that a carriage was already waiting for her. A uniformed driver was already seated in front of the white and blue carriage, keeping the two horses in line, and a footman already sitting on the rear floorboard behind the carriage. Jane must have told them to be ready for her.
The carriage itself looked perfect for a princess. It was brilliantly white with a blue roof and blue detailing; it even sported a dignified-looking crest carved on the door. The crest itself depicted a blue wolf howling at a full moon with a blue ribbon encircling it that was inscribed with the words "Fidelis Etiam in Umbris"—"Faithful Even in the Shadows." It seemed that her newly acquired language skills was able to translate those words for her.
"Oi, footman!" Jane yelled at the uniformed man behind the carriage. "What are you doing?"
Startled, the footman jumped down from where he was sitting and took a block of wood from under his seat in the back of the carriage. Then, he ran and placed the block of wood in front of the carriage step before opening the door for her.
Oh, right. The actual iron step by the carriage door was indeed a bit high up and the block of wood would help her reach it. Grabbing the edge of the carriage for balance, she lifted her foot.
"Wait, my lady." Jane stopped her then turned to the footman once more with a pointed look.
Mary Jane was amazed at the sudden deep blush that appeared in the footman's pale face as he stepped closer and offered her a hand. What's the hand for? She thought, confused.
Jane leaned closer and whispered to her. "My lady, the footman is supposed to help you up."
"O-oh, thank you." She placed her hand on top of the footman's hand and struggled not to lose balance as she climbed into the carriage. She didn't notice the footman's surprise when she thanked him. Well, she may have read a lot of mangas and manhwas about transmigration to medieval worlds, but they didn't really focus on etiquette nor proper forms of addresses.
Once she was seated, she busied herself with arranging her skirts while tamping down the rush of excitement that was enveloping her at the thought of seeing another part of this world with her own eyes. Jane climbed up the carriage as well and sat across from her, her back to the driver. Once the door was closed, Jane knocked on the roof and that's when the carriage started to move.
Looking out the window, Mary Jane enjoyed the beautiful scenery that passed by. The Whitman gardeners really did a splendid job in manicuring the lawns and the gardens of the estate. It looked like a beautifully maintained state park. And once they bowled out of the gates and got started on the road, she began to see just how expansive and picturesque the Whitman estate really was. It looked even better than the other estates that they also passed by thereafter. It seemed that their home was situated in the more affluent part of the capital.
It took them several minutes of passing a few estates before she could actually see a beautiful archway that, according to Jane, would lead them to the business district.
The cobbled stone road, the brick buildings with storefronts, the colorful shops, and the beautifully dressed people walking around in and out of shops gave Mary Jane a vintage, Renaissance European city feel. And with how she was dressed, being transported by a white carriage, and with that white castle that she could see in the horizon, she was feeling a lot like Cinderella who was off to see her prince. She chuckled to herself. What a fanciful notion!
Jane knocked on the roof again and the carriage wound to a stop. She was about to reach for the door to open it when Jane stayed her hand.
"Please wait, my lady. The footman should be the one to open the door."
She felt herself blush. This won't do. She was making it too obvious that she wasn't aware of normal protocols that should have been second nature to her. She didn't know how Bettina's changed behavior would affect how others treated her, especially her husband who was obviously an influential figure in this world's society. But, what can she do? There was no one for her to ask. Plus, she had more important things to search for that she did not have time to hole up in the library just to study etiquette.
"If we go across the street, my lady, that's where the mercer's shop is." Jane told her as they stood by the brick pavement. The mercer's shop, according to Jane, is the place that sells fabric and sewing materials. She wanted to make herself a pair of bra and panties to replace her current underwear since they were too old fashioned and uncomfortable for her body's peace of mind. She didn't know if her small pouch of coins would be enough to buy a needle and a thread, but it's better to start exploring her new world more so she went on this outing anyway.
Their carriage left, probably to find a place to park, while the footman stayed behind with them. The footman, Jane said, would help them carry any possible purchases and would be the one to run and call the driver back once they're ready to go home.
She started to walk across the street when, all of a sudden, a big man bumped her shoulder causing her to stumble and sprawl on the floor.
"My lady!"
"Uh oh, I'm sorry!" The big man immediately crouched beside her and extended a hand. "Are you alright, my lady?"
*****By blood once lost, by vengeance sworn*****
He just came back home. It was a grueling three days' work, inspecting products, reviewing documents, meeting up with business partners, as well as fulfilling the emperor's request of visiting the military barracks. But he was satisfied with all the work that he finished doing. And now, back at the Whitman's estate in the capital, where he should be playing with his son, he was instead being bombarded by outlandish reports about his wife.
"How goes the estate, Ferguson?" He asked as he sat comfortably behind the mahogany desk in his study.
"Everything is as usual here, my lord. As you requested, please allow me to provide my report regarding her ladyship. To start with, the…uh, the Countess has been behaving rather…unusually." Ferguson, the steward began.
"How so?"
"Well…please excuse me," the steward didn't seem to know how to continue. Instead, he turned and opened the door of his study to let several servants in. He prompted each one to start their report on their own.
"My lord, the countess took it upon herself to instruct the maids on window cleaning—claiming vinegar and paper would 'do better than rags and water.' And…" the first maid hesitated.
"And?" He prompted.
"And…well, my lord, the windows have indeed shone brighter," the maid spoke with a slight smile.
"Vinegar and newspaper?" He asked, confused.
"My lord, the countess was also seen crushing eggshells into the kitchen jugs, claiming it would cleanse them more thoroughly. And… I must confess, the vessels did emerge spotless." A kitchen staff added.
"She… interfered with the laundry as well, my lord." Said Mrs. Potts, the head maid.
That made the Earl pause. He slowly lifted his gaze, brows furrowing. "I beg your pardon?"
The steward lowered his voice, as though speaking of something deeply troubling. "She entered the laundry yard, poured vinegar and lemon juice into the wash tubs, and claimed it would whiten the linens much better."
The Earl, still as stone, stared at the man for a long moment before finally speaking. "She did what?"
"Poured vinegar and lemon into the wash water, my lord," the steward repeated. "And… it actually worked."
What craziness were these? "Anything else?"
"My lord, the countess said the cook's stew was 'a disaster waiting to happen' and that her gown was 'a fashion crime.' We do not know what she meant, but it sounded most ominous."
"My lord," one of his knights stepped forward. "The countess has also taken great interest in… warfare. She asked Captain Henshaw how one might disarm an opponent and whether armor 'slowed a man down too much in a fight.'"
"Where is the Countess now?"
"She has gone out, my lord."
He looked up to his people who were clearly waiting for his response.
"Alright, thank you all for your reports. Just let the Countess do whatever she wants for now and let Ferguson know of your observations. Ferguson, make sure to keep note of everyone's observations."
"Yes, my lord." Everyone assented altogether and the steward started ushering them out.
Once he was alone with Ferguson, the steward took something out of the inside pocket of his coat.
"This here is from Sarah, one of the Countess' attendants," the steward stepped forward again and handed him a small book. "My lord, the Countess has taken to writing—feverishly so. But the letters she forms… they are unlike any script known to man. Not the language of our empire, nor that of scholars. It is a cipher most unnatural."
He took the book from the steward and began leafing through it, finding the steward's report accurate. It was indeed strange writing. He could not even consider it arcane nor ancient writing, unable to make any sense of them. What did these scribbles mean? Were they codes?
"Prior to her outing today, has the Countess been in any contact, either in person or in writing, with anyone outside of the Whitman Manor?"
"No, my lord. As far as I'm aware of all the goings on in this household, the Countess has not communicated with anyone else save for the few servants in the Manor as well as her own attendants."
"Here," he handed the countess's notebook back to the steward. "Make a copy of some of these pages and then, make sure this is returned to the Countess's chamber. Make sure as well that the Countess not realize that this was ever taken."
"Yes, my lord."
He looked at his steward consideringly. "Tell me, what do the servants make of these… peculiar changes in the Countess?"
"My lord, opinion is split in a few ways. Some claim she has lost her wits. Others think she is merely playing some grand game—watching, testing. There are also those who find her changed ways unsettling… and a few who whisper that perhaps she is not as terrible as once believed."
"I see," he stroked his jaw. "And what of your own opinion, Ferguson? I would hear your personal observation."
"My lord, I have served this house for many years. I have known the Countess to be cold, proud, and—if I may speak freely—not beloved by others, no matter their station. And yet… this change? It is unlike any I have seen. The Countess speaks and moves as though she has awakened from some long slumber, yet she does not speak of visions nor prayers. She asks of things no noblewoman dare ask, and she looks at the world as if she sees it anew. I do not claim to understand it, nor do I claim it is my place to question. Whether this is a cause for concern or admiration, I cannot say. But my lord, should this change be a blessing or a curse to your household… only time will tell."
Right, he slowly nodded. None of them knows what to make of this new drama that his wife may be playing at. If she was, then she has already stayed in character for more than two months now. Whether she had truly decided to change for the better or was simply trying to play a new trick on them all—one that has been long in the making… Only time will tell.
--End of Chapter--
***Author's Note***
Thank you for spending time with my story — it means more than I can put into words. I'm an indie writer working hard to bring these characters to life, and your feedback and encouragement make the journey worth it.If you'd like to support this story, casting a Power Stone or Golden Ticket would be deeply appreciated. 💛And if you have a moment to leave a comment, I'd be thrilled to hear from you. Meanwhile...live long and prosper to you all!