No One Notices the Hired Help

"How can we ever thank you?" Celestine asked.

"You can promise me you'll never do something as dumb as you did this afternoon!"

Dylan and his mother both tried to prevail upon Celestine not to go home to collect her belongings, but she was insistent. "Even if you could find everything, Mother would never let you anywhere near my room," she said.

"Quite right," Lorelei conceded. "I just hate to think of you having to brave Troy again when you could stay safe up here."

"Mother knows where you live," Celestine reminded her. "If Troy wants to find me, she'll have no qualms about leading him right there. It might even be safer for you both." She hugged them both in turn. "Look, I'll just pack my trunk and bribe a servant to carry it over here, and I'll be back in time for dinner, all right?"

"See you then," Dylan said, kissing her goodbye.

"Trust me, Dylan!"

"I do!"

Celestine felt more naked on the fully-clothed walk through the streets of Candover than she had ever felt in the Green Lake. Who among the many passers-by who smiled at her knew everything? Who had heard even worse than what had really happened? Just what had become of Jimmy Aldrich? She didn't want to wish him dead, but she couldn't have denied she wouldn't be terribly sorry to hear he was. But no one made any comment to her as she made her way home, so she was left to wonder.

She was fully prepared to brave her mother's wrath by the time she got home, reminding herself again and again that she would never even have to see her again. But upon her arrival it promptly became clear that Troy had held his tongue. He was sacked out in the parlour, reclining on Portia's least-favourite sofa while she dabbed at his wounds with a damp cloth. "Celestine, thank God you're home!" she said. "Troy's had a terrible accident, he fell out of a tree while birdwatching, and I've sent for the doctor. Grab a cloth and help me, will you?"

"Certainly, Mother." Celestine carefully avoided eye-contact with them both as she dipped a second cloth in the basin and wrung it out, and dabbed at Troy's head while her mother cleaned the angry burn on his side, where what was left of his shirt was still hanging limply. "Troy, I never knew you liked birdwatching."

"Well, it's a lovely thing to do up around the Green Lake, you know," he said.

"Oh, I am glad to hear someone has found something wholesome to do up there!" Portia said. "Ever since I was a little girl, I've heard the worst sort of degenerates swim in that place and do heaven-only-knows what else. Celestine always knew I'd whip her if I ever heard of her going there."

"My mother always said the same," Troy said. "But I figured birdwatching is acceptable. I just didn't count on falling out of the tree while I was doing it!" he managed a laugh through his discomfort.

"I must commend you on keeping your sense of humour after what you've been through today," Portia said. "Celestine, you could learn some things from your husband-to-be."

Celestine ignored her.

When Portia realized she was getting no reply, she returned her attention to Troy. "Now then, Celestine, if you'll take over, I'm going to order up a hot bath and a special dinner for Troy."

"Wouldn't it be best to just wait for the doctor at this point?" Celestine asked.

"Celestine! What a question! Take care of your husband-to-be! Have I taught you nothing?" Without another look at her daughter, she rushed out of the room.

Seeing no other option, Celestine continued dabbling at the bloody bruise on Troy's head. He said nothing and didn't look at her, but once it was clear Portia was not returning, he grabbed Celestine's arm and swung out to face her. She looked back defiantly and said nothing.

She saw it coming, but was powerless to dodge it: with his free hand, Troy slapped her full-force across the face.

"Have you got anything to say for yourself?" he demanded.

Celestine couldn't hide the tears that welled in her eyes, but she maintained her silence.

"Well, regardless, my dear, now I own your cooperation. I'm quite sure you do not want your mother knowing what really happened, do you?"

"I --"

"Oh, you don't, whether you're too stupid to understand that or not! Now, go to your room, and expect a visit from me after my bath! Not every part of me is injured!"

Celestine wriggled out of his grasp and stood up straight. "I will never --" Her voice broke off as the parlour door opened and Portia returned, followed by Doctor Burton.

"What will you never do?" Portia asked her daughter as they strode up to the patient.

"Leave my beloved when he is in such a state," Celestine managed to say.

"Oh, Portia, I was just telling her I think she ought to go have a nap," Troy said, his anger of a moment before having evaporated. "Best to leave the good doctor to his work."

"I'd have to agree, Celestine," Portia said. "You do look utterly agitated. Go get some rest, and I'll call you for dinner."

Celestine was all set to object, when it occurred to her that being alone in her room was perfect just now. "As you wish, Mother," she said. "Doctor Burton," she curtsied.

"Nice to see you, Celeste," he said. Celestine paid no mind to the mistake the doctor had been making all her life, and gratefully she took her leave. "Now, Troy," he said. "Let's have a look at you. Fell out of a tree, did you?"

"And I seem to have burned my hand on something or other as well," Troy said. "Not my day to go out in the woods, I suppose."

"Oh, it's a good job you only had a fall," the doctor said. "We had two men with gunshot wounds this afternoon at the hospital. Something about a hunting accident, I guess. Who goes hunting in the afternoon?"

Celestine lost no time in filling her trunk with her favourite dresses, lingerie and shoes. This was but the work of a few minutes. Thinking better of it once the trunk was packed, she reopened it and folded up two days' worth of clothing and placed it in a shoulder-bag. There was no guarantee she'd be able to get a trunk past her mother, after all. With that set, she gathered up a few cherished pieces of jewellery, a few favourite books, her diary, and the music box that had held court on her dresser for as long as she could recall. When everything was stowed discreetly in the shoulder-bag, she took one last treasure from her writing desk: the only photograph she had of her father. After kissing his cheek through the glass, she slid the frame into the shoulder-bag alongside her diary.

Now there was nothing to do but wait. She had to admit that she really could use a nap after the afternoon's misadventures. So although it felt less than safe, she drew the curtains against the bright sunset and turned out the lamp, and lay down on her bed without pulling the covers back. Troy's promise of a visit after his bath soon made it all too clear that she would not be getting any sleep, but Celestine decided her best course of action was to pretend to be asleep.

Once Doctor Burton had pronounced Troy's injuries nonserious and Portia had seen him off to his bath, she decided a word with Celestine was in order. The silly girl had been entirely too unconcerned about the state she'd come home to find her betrothed in! So she swept up the stairs and, disregarding her own suggestion of a nap, she helped herself into her daughter's darkened room without knocking. "Celestine!" she proclaimed in her not-to-be-trifled-with voice.

Celestine had, in her panic upon hearing the door open, grabbed a candlestick from her bedside table. She hadn't the time to set it back on the table after realizing it was only her mother and before Portia had turned on the light, and was caught still gripping it in her hand. Portia laughed haughtily. "Going to club your own mother to death, are you? Do you need your inheritance that badly?"

"Sorry, Mother." Celestine set the candlestick back in its place. "Bad dream, is all."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Portia sat down on the edge of the bed. "But I've got to say, I wish I could say the same of your behaviour this afternoon."

Celestine's heart leapt in her throat. Had Troy told her everything after all?

No, it soon became clear, he had not. "I don't know or care what you were up to all afternoon, but to come home and find your beloved in such a state, and you need to be told to help nurse him? My dear, have I taught you nothing about a woman's role in every marriage?"

"We're not married yet, are we?" Celestine hoped she might make her mother angry enough to storm out.

"You always did have a most unladylike attitude about you, my dear," Portia said. "If I couldn't beat sense into you, perhaps Troy can."

"Mother!"

"My dear, what choice have you given either of us! How many times have you heard the words: love, honour, obey!"

"I have no intention of doing any of those to Troy and you know it."

For a wonderful moment, Celestine thought her ploy had succeeded, for Portia stood up hastily and gave her a disgusted but wordless look. "I shall have a few choice words with you over dinner about this, but for now I must go look in on Troy. At least someone in this house has some respect for me!"

But as she brushed past Celestine's writing desk, she took a second look and stopped in her tracks.

"Celestine," she said in the tone that had struck fear into her daughter's heart for as long as she could recall, "Where is your photograph of your father?"

Celestine's heart leapt, but she kept her tone even as she feigned indifference. "That old thing? It's around somewhere."

"That old thing, Celestine?" Portia swung around and glared at her. "Do not be absurd, young lady. Do you think I don't know what that picture means to you? If it were lost, you would turn this room upside down until you found it. You know exactly where it is, and I want an answer!"

Celestine wracked her brain for a way to forestall her mother's reaction. But something in her eyes betrayed that she would not be giving her a truthful answer, and Portia took matters into her own hands. "I shall just be having a look in your closet!" she declared. Celestine could do nothing but look on in horror as her mother tore open the closet door to find the shoulder-bag sitting fully packed atop the trunk. "Well, well, well," Portia said, opening the bag. One look betrayed everything, and she turned back to glare at her daughter. "Taking a trip somewhere, are you?"

"Mother," Celestine said in her own not-to-be-trifled-with tone. "I have told you time and again I feel no love at all for Troy, and now I know the feeling is mutual. He doesn't even like me!"

Portia roared with haughty laughter. "You think marriage is about love, do you? You think a woman gets to choose her husband? You don't understand a single thing about your gender! Never have! I should have put you in the orphanage when your father died!" She snapped up the shoulder-bag in her hand and strode to the door. "I shall be keeping this until I can get you and Troy married! And you'll be staying in this room until then!" With that she slammed the door, and Celestine heard the detested noise she'd heard every time she'd been in trouble in her life: the bolt turning in the door as Portia locked it from outside.

Lorelei had, some weeks before, accepted a job catering a dinner in town. She had no choice but to leave Dylan on his own to await his true love's return on his own. "Don't worry!" she told him on her way out the door. "Celestine is a smart girl, and she's been putting up with that ice queen mother of hers all her life. She'll be fine!"

"Thanks, Ma." But Dylan was nowhere near as sure as his mother was. When seven o'clock arrived and Celestine didn't, Dylan made himself a sandwich for dinner and sat facing away from the door. He knew if he could see the door, he would spend every bite staring at it. As it was, his heart leapt every time he thought he heard a footfall on the stair, and it took every bit of resolve he had not to jump up and tear the door open.

When he'd finished the sandwich, he picked up every last one of the crumbs to eat. When the plate was as clean as if it were unused, he got up and washed it, and gave up any pretence of not staring at the door.

It never opened.

Just past eight o'clock, the sun vanished over the hills behind the city. It wouldn't hurt, he decided, to take a walk and look for Celestine.

The night was warm and the pubs and restaurants were bustling, but no one paid Dylan any mind -- a welcome development after the afternoon he'd had -- and none of them betrayed any sign of Celestine. Of course she wouldn't have gone to a restaurant, he reminded himself. So he made his way through downtown, to the quieter outer streets, and finally up the hill to Portia and Celestine's house.

Even from the street, he could see a light in Celestine's window. This pleased him. She probably just hadn't made her escape yet. But he wanted to be sure. Of course the guards were on duty by the entrance, but Celestine had taught him years before about the oak tree on the edge of their property that one could climb and leap over the wall, with just enough of an angle against the house that the guards couldn't see a thing. He had never tried doing it at night before (although Celestine herself had many stories about doing so to evade her mother's curfew), but he knew the branches well enough that it took just a bit longer than usual. He couldn't see the ground in the dark, but it was a chance he'd have to take.

After tumbling harmlessly onto the grass, Dylan lay still for a moment to make sure he hadn't been detected. Once he was sure, he scrambled to his feet and ran across the yard to the trellis outside Celestine's room. He knew the weak spots and easily avoided them, and clambered up to her window.

He raised his hand to knock on the window, only to see the room was empty. The light was on, the bed was made, everything seemed to be in order, but Celestine was nowhere to be seen.

A rustling breeze in the trees caught Dylan's attention, and reminded him that he could be spotted at any moment. He leapt to the ground, and remembered to his horror that there was no tree to climb on this side of the wall.

The only way out was through the front gate. So he would just have to put in an appearance at the front door.

It wouldn't hurt to see if she was in the parlour, Dylan rationalized as he crept around to the front of the house and rang the doorbell.

His mind was racing too fast to think of any plausible explanations when Jameson arrived at the door. "Master Dylan," he said. "I do not believe Celestine is available at the moment."

"Is she here, then?" Dylan asked.

"No," came Portia's icy voice, followed shortly by her appearance in the far end of the foyer. "I have sent her to visit her aunt and uncle on the mainland. Dylan, I shall tell you very frankly, you will not be seeing my daughter again. I know all about what you have planned, and I'll see you both in Hades before I'll allow it to happen!"

Dylan was struck dumb. "I..."

"Never mind how I know; that is none of your concern. This time tomorrow I intend to have her married to Troy, and you'd best not darken my door again. Not if you want your mother to continue receiving her wonderful deals from her suppliers at any rate."

Dylan was too numb even to cry. He gaped wordlessly at Portia. She glared back, and behind her appeared Troy, looking rather the worse for wear but wearing the nastiest smile Dylan had ever seen.

"I shall count to five, Dylan," Portia said, "and if you're not off my property by then..."

Now the tears did come, and Dylan turned and ran without another word. The guard, having heard the exchange, had the gate open for him, and he rushed through it and off down the hill.

"Well, that is one inconvenience out of the way," Portia intoned as she watched Jameson shut the door. "I never did trust that silly boy."

"What did he and Celestine have planned?" Troy asked.

"Oh, I have no idea; the little wretch won't tell me anything," Portia said. "But Dylan doesn't know that!"

"Explains how you intend to have her married to me tomorrow if she's on the mainland tonight, doesn't it?" Troy said with a laugh.

"Oh dear, I didn't quite get my story straight, did I? Portia joined in on the laugh. "Well, that dear boy is too stupid to notice anyway."

Dylan did in fact realize the contradiction as he ran through town in a blind rage. But it didn't matter that Portia was lying if she could keep Celestine away from him. And just where was she really? Evidently not anywhere that would enable her to get to the docks tomorrow!

When he reached the corner of the street that would lead him home, Dylan paused. He couldn't face his empty flat, and explaining things to his mother would be worse still. He was sure Celestine wouldn't want him to give up, wherever she was, but he could think of nothing else he could do for the moment. With nowhere else to go and still feeling the need to calm his nerves, he opted to continue downtown and get a drink at the pub. There always was wisdom in drink, and right now he needed some wisdom.

The pub was crowded, and the last thing Dylan wanted was to chat with anyone right then. So he paid for his pint and stepped outside onto the terrace. There happened to be an empty corner, and he staked his claim with his glass. He had taken but one first sip when a familiar looking woman passing in the street caught his eye. She was heavy but attractive, and swathed in an outlandish brightly coloured dress that could only mean one thing.

All at once he realized he knew her. "Relly?"

Aurelia perked up at the sound of her nickname. She smiled with joy when she recognized Dylan, one of the few of her schoolmates -- Celestine was another -- who never teased her for being fat or poor at school. "Dylan!" She rushed up to the other side of the counter marking the edge of the tavern's domain. "Dylan! Haven't seen you since school ended!"

"Two years flew right by, didn't they?" he said, leaning over the counter to kiss her cheek as she approached. But his heart sank as he put two and two together as to what his old friend was doing dressed like that in this part of town.

He wasn't the only one to do so. A barmaid collecting glasses at a recently-vacated table spotted her and rushed over to Dylan's side. "Sir, this woman is not welcome here!" she said. "We don't welcome that sort here!"

"She's here as my friend, and if you kick her out, you're kicking me out," Dylan said. "And I believe you know who my mother is..."

The barmaid looked furious, but she said, "If you are here only to buy a drink, Miss..."

"It's on me, Relly," Dylan said. "What would you like?"

Aurelia kept her cool long enough to request a glass of chardonnay. But as soon as the barmaid had left with the order, she burst into tears. "I guess you see what's become of me," she said.

"I'm so sorry!" Dylan said. "I wish I'd known. My mom could use an assistant at the store, you know..."

"Would she have me now?" Aurelia sniffled. "People talk, you know."

"People talk, but they also need to buy things only my mom sells, unless they want to go to the next island!" Dylan's own troubles were forgotten for the moment on behalf of his old friend. "And she loves helping people who need it. Now tell me what landed you here anyway?"

"I was doing okay as an apprentice at the dressmaker's," Aurelia related sadly. "But it didn't pay much, not yet anyway, and my mum got fired recently. My little brother and sister are still at home, and we were out of money. I just didn't have any choice!" She shook her head in despair. "And right now even Fliss won't take me because she's got a full house. I've just been by there tonight to ask again, and the answer's still no. So I had to go to...you know..."