The House for Lost Things - Part Two

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NOTE: All pictures here are strictly for viewer's pleasure. Those of any people may or may not be the writer's idea of what a character looks like and were chosen to reflect the mood of the scene or an attribute or emotion of the individual, rather than the character.

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As I bend over near the fireplace in the library where Master will take his morning meal, sparks jump out, reaching for my too long skirts. I frown and stoke the fire before I edge away from the heat and straighten from my hunched position. Dark brown, almost black ringlets are formed into a bun on the back of my head, but some of them have come loose and swipe at my cheeks, irritating the pale skin. I pull my shawl up closer around my body, as it has slipped down my shoulders.

The little sparks pop in the fireplace and the flames crackle softly as I back away. Going to the far side of the room, I open the curtains from the windows, revealing sunlight that steals through the frosty glass. The sun is still pale and only provides a little light.

But any light is better than none, especially sunlight.

The large stone walled room is still chilly, and I shiver as I make my way out of the library and into the hall to the small table outside the door. I pick up the gold tray that sits atop it and the delicate white china set rattles with every wracking shiver of my body.

I could see the shape of my face in the tea plate as I set the platter on the desk. I checked the setting on the tea tray, looking for spots on the napkin or smudges on the silverware. I was so engrossed in trying to make the setting pleasing to the eye, I didn’t hear Master walk into the room.

“Esme, you’re breathing on my breakfast,” his voice seemed pleasant and teasing.

I startled, like a dog caught about to steal a bite to eat off the table. Scooting back from the desk, I smiled weakly. My master walked into the room, past the desk, and to the window. This window, like the one in the Tower, looked over the villages and to the mountains beyond it.

“A beautiful morning,” he said, the traces of a Welsh accent delicate and airy in his voice, clearing his throat.

Master wore a suit as always, today’s selection in black rather than color. He turned and walked to the desk, pulling out the high-backed chair and taking a seat. I turned to look at him once more. Before I can offer, he picks up the teapot and pours his own tea.

“Did you sleep well, Esme?” he asks me then.

I wrap my arms around myself and answer, “Yes, Master.”

He looks up at me from pouring his tea, face not amused, but tender and happy. His brown eyes smile some and hold an expression of fondness. Master sets down the teapot.

“I’m glad,” he replies. “Have you eaten yet?” I shake my head and open my mouth to make an excuse about how I was waiting but once again, I’m not given time. Master shakes his head and lifts a small white tea cup in his large hands as he muses, “Staring out that window again, are we?”

I feel my cheeks pinkening. Master’s eyes laugh and then he takes a sip of tea, looking away.

“Hmm,” the sound comes out on a nasal sigh. Master’s throat bobbing as he swallows. “You make wonderful tea, Esme,” he says.

His eyes look through me, rather than at me.

“Thank you,” I come a few steps closer to him.

Master rubs the wooden arm of the chair with his fingertips, and then leans back in his chair. He tips his head back and looks up at me as I open my mouth to speak.

“Have you checked the front room?” he interrupts once more.

I clamp my mouth shut once more and shake my head.

Must he always interrupt? I suppose, it is his nature to have both the first word and the last.

“Righto,” his lips press into a slight smile. “I’ll finish my tea and we’ll get on it. We’ll see what treasures have been lost over night.”

He takes another long sip of tea, eyes running over me and then stopping at my feet. I frown and look down, hoping to see what negative thing he must be seeing. Master clears his throat and takes another small sip.

Then he continues, “Perhaps we’ll find you a better fitting dress.”

I realize suddenly what he is seeing and take a small step backward, lifting the hem of my skirt from underfoot.

“Perhaps,” I agree softly.

Master stands, tipping his cup back and draining the hot liquid from it. He sets the teacup back on the silver tray where it settles with a slight click, and I hurry around the front of the desk to remove the tray.

He removes his coat, revealing a light blue button down beneath it. Then, he unbuttons his cuffs and begins to roll up his sleeves as he strides past me towards the door. I pick up the tray, moving his teacup onto the small plate. The cup is still warm and burns my fingertips. I shiver, enjoying the feeling of warmth left by Master’s unknowing presence.

“Esme?” Master stops in the doorway.

“Yes, Master?” I turn, lifting the tray to follow.

His wide, joyful smile has returned and his eyes sparkle tenderly again as he asks, “Have I ever told you that you look lovely in blue?” A smile presses it’s way across my face and I bite my lip. Master laughs and then he is gone.

How very odd Master is.

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