Hearts Return - Part 8

As the wedding has drawn ever closer, extra villagers have been brought in to help with the preparations. For all that Sallastin seems to hold the commoners in contempt, he also seems determined that the wedding will be a proper spectacle. Immalaine has even heard some of the servants whispering and giggling behind her back that the master is besotted with her. How they can think this, with the manacles still chafing her ankles, she can't imagine.

 

With the arrival of these outsiders, Immalaine's chores have changed too, keeping her segregated from the new workers. As if any of them could help her escape.

 

Escape! Marybelle's words from yesterday run through her head now - Rastellion's uncle has returned, and will help her and Mary slip out right in the middle of the wedding celebration itself! She bites her lip, hiding the nervous grin, and picks up the heavy basket of laundry that has been soaking overnight, to it hang out to dry along one side of the inner courtyard.

 

Her ever-present guard pushes off the wall he's been leaning against to follow her outside. At least today it's Deven, one of the nicer guards. It could have been Gundor, with his moist lips and lecherous eyes. She shudder and pushes open the courtyard door.

 

Outside, Immalaine sets the cumbersome basket of wet clothes on the smooth cobblestones and groans as she straightens up to begin the task of hanging the clothes. The sun is just high enough to clear the eastern wall, and early morning ground beneath her feet is damp with dew. She hops around as she tries to keep her feet dry while she lifts up a large set of trousers and throws them over the line.The wet fabric shines in the early light.

 

Deven watches her for a few moments, then wanders off several paces to where an empty crate is set beside the wellhouse. He sits down heavily and begins to clean under his fingernails with the tip of his dagger.

 

As she finishes hanging the next piece, Immalaine stretches her back and briefly lays her hand protectively over her belly before catching herself. Fortunately, the guard is distracted, and Immalaine closes her eyes in relief before working on the next few items. As she does, she frowns and thinks back on her conversation with Mary. ‘Rastellion didn’t come,' she thinks, her humming stopping as she stares up at the sky. 'I wish ....' But there’s no sense wishing, and she can only wait now until the rescue. She itches to help somehow; anything would be better than doing nothing. But having thought of nothing she could do so far, she feels bound even more than by the shackles hanging heavily on her ankles.

 

From the other end of the courtyard comes the familiar scrape of the door leading in to the kitchen. A thin slip of a girl steps out, a bulging burlap sack over her shoulder. She blinks a few times before starting to trudge across the cobbles toward the far corner of the courtyard.

 

Immalaine recognizes the chore - lugging the accumulated kitchen waste to the compost heap for the kitchen gardens. The sack bulges, fuller than usual with all the extra cooking lately, and the girl staggers slightly on the slick cobbles, then, with a little cry, slips. Desperate, she flails her arms to regain her balance, sending the sack tumbling. It hits the ground, tears, and its contents fan across the stones.

 

Immalaine lets out a sympathetic gasp a she watches the girl scramble to gather the errant scraps, frantically pulling them together with her hands. Without thinking, she runs as best she can to go help the girl out.

 

"Hey," Deven calls, looking up as Immalaine starts to make her hobbled way across the courtyard. He stands and intercepts her as she passes the wellhouse, grabbing her shoulder with one large hand. "Where d'ya think you're going? Supposed to stay at yer chores!"

 

“But the girl needs help! It weren't her fault and if cook or …. or Sallastin sees her ...” Immalaine shudders at the thought and struggles to make her way forward.

 

Deven follows the direction of her gaze, where the thin girl is scrabbling to get the kitchen leavings back into the torn sack, her face, under the unevenly cropped line of her bangs, a picture of misery. The guard's own expression softens somewhat, but he says, "I dunno. Yer not supposed t' be mixin' with these new folk. Captain said I was t' make sure of that..."

 

“I'm only goin' to help her though, you know what'll happen if someone catches her like that.” Immalaine gazes back towards the house and shudders. “She's barely a child. So either let me help her …. or …” she turns and stares up at the man, anger flaring. “Or help her yourself! But someone should!”

 

Deven looks at the struggling girl for another long moment, then lifts his hand from Immalaine's shoulder. "Ye're always so kind," he says, his tone half-impressed, half-pitying. "Go on then. 'sides, I can't see that it's any harm. Jus’ mind your tongue.” He sits back down on his crate and turns it to keep an eye on the proceedings.

 

Immalaine watches Deven step away, then finishes making her way over to the girl. Struggling to her knees, Immalaine gathers some of the scraps to her and crinkles her nose. "Will have t' make a few trips wit' the hole in that bag," she says, turning to study the young girl, who looks to be barely fifteen. "I'll help you gather th' stuff together."

 

The girl looks up, her eyes wide and tear-tracks clear on her smudged cheeks. "Th-thank you, miss," she stammers. She picks up the torn bag and stretches it out to receive what Immalaine has gathered. But the ancient burlap, now that it has begun to rip, seems intent upon continuing. At the impact of half a spoiled cabbage on the taut fabric, the sack tears again, leaving the girl holding two separate bits. "Oh!.." she moans.

 

Immalaine stares at the decaying sack, frowning as she looks for a way to get the scraps to the compost pile. “Here, hold your apron out an' I'll put stuff into it. You can carry it o'er an' then come back for more.”

 

The girl rubs her nose vigorously with the back of her wrist, then nods. "Okay." She lifts both sides of her small apron. "You one of the usual servants?” she asks. “A laundry girl? I'm Allie."

 

Immalaine glances back at the guard, unsure how to respond, then turns back to the girl. "I'm .... I guess I do a little of everything 'round here. I'm Laine."

 

Allie nods a few times, then, as Imma lifts the first handful of the gathered scraps, the girl glimpses the ankle-manacles. Her mouth and eyes both go round and she stares at Immalaine. "Oh," she whispers. "You're... you're a slave?"

 

Immalaine nods as she deposits the scraps into the girl's apron, then motions her to stand. "Go, take those while I get gatherin' more up."

 

Carefully, Allie makes her way across the cobbles toward the compost pile beside the kitchen garden. The lifted apron and dress reveals her worn shoes and thin ankles... the girl seems half-starved. She dumps the scraps on the pile, brushes lingering bits off her apron, and scurries back toward Immalaine.

 

Immalaine watches the young girl approach and shakes her head sympathetically at her fragile appearance. As Allie crouches, apron held out, Immalaine puts more scraps into it. "It's seems a shame t' waste food," she says, noting several pieces of potato in the mix that had been tossed for having dark spots. “You could take these home with you,” she says, as she moves them to one side of the gathered scraps on the ground. “You're new here, aren't you?"

 

Allie nods. "Just hired on as extra help for th' wedding," she says. "Been tough on me an' my brother lately, an' food costs so much! They let us have a bit t' eat from the kitchens too." She glares back at the villa; the apron drops a bit and some of the scraps slip back out. "Not that they'd invite the likes of us to the festivities," she adds bitterly.

 

Immalaine "I know," Immalaine agrees, as she catches the girl's hands and lifts the apron back up. "And there's more than enough food t' feed every person in th' whole town too! Most o' it will probably get thrown t' th' dogs." Immalaine looks at the full apron and nods to the girl.

 

"Seems that way in th' kitchens, though I'm just doing the sweeping an' cleaning." She grins, a flash of white teeth in her dirty face, one front tooth missing. "I snuck an onion when cook wasn't lookin', though." Then she gives Immalaine a worried glance and her hand jerks, as if wanting to fly up to cover her mouth after this admission.

 

Immalaine glances over to make sure the guard hadn't overheard and then turns back, placing a finger against her lips with a nod. "Not that they'll miss it any. E'en cook doesn't count that well." She motions the girl to stand up again. "Go take those over," she says, watching the girl sway as though the light weight would topple her over, "An' I'll have more ready when you get back."

 

Allie nods and trots off toward the garden again. She slows on her return, worrying at her lower lip, and glancing between Immalaine and the hanging laundry across the courtyard. This time, when she crouches down beside Immalaine and holds out her apron for a third load, she leans in to ask, softly, "Lanie, do you do all the laundry here? The guards' too?"

 

Immalaine nods as she continues gathering the scraps together. "I hang out what they give me t' hang, an' I've seen all sort o' clothes. Uniforms too. They're heavy when they're wet." She rolls her shoulders at the thought and begins to fill Allie’s apron again.

 

Allie grows thoughtful, the more sober expression accenting the stark lines of her face. "Are there lots of them?" she asks, after a few moments.

 

Immalaine considers. "They've got quite a few guards here, an' I don't know how many uniforms each has but, it seems like a lot o' them. I’ve not counted though."

 

Allie looks up at Immalaine with wide eyes, the apron slipping down a bit again. "Lanie... can I trust you? Can you ... keep a secret?"

 

Thinking the girl was going to confide some other scrap of food she'd made off with, Immalaine nods at her as she finishes piling up the apron, placing a small, bruised, but otherwise relatively fresh carrot near the top.

 

Allie leans forward a bit more, sending the carrot, and a few other scraps, slipping off the top of the pile. "My brother says, if he could get a uniform or two, he thinks he an' his friends could get inside the walls here on th' wedding night. Then I could let ‘em into th' kitchens. Get us all proper meal for once. There's more than one of us haven't had one because of that..." she scowls toward the villa again and spits out the last words like a curse: ".. that man."

 

Immalaine opens her mouth, then turns and sees the guard watching them, fidgeting with his uniform. She quickly motions the girl to carry her load to the scrap heap, and starts to gather up another pile, thinking hard. 'They want to sneak in and ... oh!' Immalaine's eyes light up, though she keeps her expression neutral as the girl returns and crouches back down, looking at her expectantly.

 

“Your brother ... he an' his friends are wantin' t' come in for th' food? I ... I think I can help. It'd not be easy to get the uniforms, though ... not wit' th' guards always watchin' ... but ...." Immalaine chews her lip as she piles Allie's apron with the last of the scraps.

 

Allie nods eagerly, relief spreading across her features. "Jus' tell me where the uniforms are an' I'll get them an' take them out with... oh." Her face falls. "'cept the guards check us when we leave. Make sure we're not stealin' anything." She shoots a glance over Immalaine's shoulder at Deven, then ducks her head again and holds her apron out further.

 

Immalaine nods and again places the small carrot near the top of the pile, hoping the girl will take the hint, and the snack. "Th' guards watch e'erything. But ... there may be a way to get them to you. I ... well, I have t' think on it a bit. No one should go hungry though, not when there's plenty t' be feedin' everyone."

 

Allie nods eagerly. "An' you'll tell me when you think of something? Soon? It's only three days 'til the wedding. I'll be doing cleaning an' the like every morning 'til then, so you can find me. I..." She breaks off as her eyes dart past Immalaine's shoulder again. Deven has risen from the crate and is just starting over toward the two girls. Allie gives a little gasp, shoots Immalaine one last, pleading look, then flees toward the compost heap.

 

Immalaine struggles to her feet and steps toward Deven. "There, went much quicker an' she'll not get a beatin'. Poor girl, looks half starved," Immalaine says, then hurries – as best she can – past him and back to the laundry to continue her work.

 

Deven watches Allie for another few moments, then, with a slight shrug, turns back to resume his supervision of Immalaine at her chores.