Hearts Return - Part 12

That afternoon, Immalaine once again finds herself down in the villa's cellar, scrubbing at linens in the big cedar washtubs. Dame Brookish, the housekeeper – really just a commoner, but she insists all the servants call her 'Dame' as if she were nobility – has announced that all the fabrics in the villa must be cleaned in time for the wedding, whether they need them or not.

Immalaine looks around at the room’s stone walls. In these last days before the wedding, her chores have been limited to those that keep her away from the temporary servants, yet her workload seems only to have increased. She studies the bleak room, clenching her waterlogged hands. And how many women, she wonders, were chained up wringing out linens right before their wedding?

She crinkles her nose and turns back to the task. And it wasn't just her. Mary was just as miserable, with her own workload doubled in preparation for this mockery of an event. And that poor girl, Allie. Half starved, like a kitten desperate for a mother. She slaps her fist against the soapy water, sloshing it over the side onto the stone floor beneath. But they'd get out. Mary left that morning to speak to Ceolfred again. Immalaine's glance darts to the door. Yes, and she should be back by now.

As if in response to the thought, the washroom's heavy door swings open and Marybelle appears, moving awkwardly with another basket of washing balanced on one hip. She shifts it as she passes Immalaine's guard, Deven, who leans back against the wall in an old wooden chair, looking bored. Mary picks her way across the damp stones to the further washtub, on Immalaine’s left, already filled in anticipation of her arrival. Mary's hands tremble slightly as she crouches and pulls out the first item to plunge into the soapy water, sloshing even more onto the floor.

Immalaine watches Mary settle in front of the tub, then angles her head to watch Deven. The guard picks at a button on his uniform as though it were a marvelous new invention. Immalaine's eyes roll, but she quickly turns back to her basin and begins to pull out the heavy sheet she’s been rinsing. As she hangs it over a large metal rod, she lets the end flip out, splashing droplets of water near Mary. When Mary looks up, Immalaine mouths the words, "Did you see him?"

Mary stares blankly at Immalaine for a moment, distracted, as if not quite seeing her; then her attention seems to refocus. She looks past Immalaine at the lounging guard. "You, guard" she says, peremptorily, standing. Deven turns his watery blue eyes towards her. "You just going to sit there when there's work as needs doing?" she demands.

The guard shrugs. "Tol' me it's my shift t' watch th' young miss. So I'm watchin'."

Mary puts her hands on her hips. "Well do something more useful and fetch the other one of these baskets from the lesser hall." The guard scoffs.

"What, do I look like a scullery or laundry maid to you? Fetch it yerself, girl."

Mary's fists ball. "It's Dame Brookish who wants it done soonest," she says, with emphasis.

Deven just laughs. "You girls may be afraid of Missus Brookish, but not me. She wants me to start doing chores, she can just talk to my captain." Mary's fists begin to tremble - not something Immalaine has often seen.

Looking between the two, Immalaine speaks up. “Would you please go fetch th' basket for us, Deven? It'd help out a lot an',” she adds with a faint smile, “You'd have no trouble liftin' it. Not like we would.”

Deven's expression softens as he shifts his attention to Immalaine, but he shakes his head slowly. "I'm sorry Miss Immalaine," he says - and almost sounds sincere - "I’m supposed t' keep an eye on you." But at Immalaine's hang-dog expression, he pushes himself to his feet. "Oh, alright," he says. "But I'm puttin’ the bar on the door while I'm gone. Not like yer going to walk through the walls. An' you've got that one to look after you anyway," he adds in a harsher tone, indicating Mary before he turns toward the heavy door.

Behind Immalaine, as the guard steps out and fastens the door behind him, Mary's fists clench tighter, her knuckles going white, and her lips move in a silent curse.

Immalaine waits for the heavy thud of the falling bar, before looking back up from her tub. "See? You can relax now, he left jus' like you wanted," she smiles briefly. “How .... how did the meeting go? Was there a meeting?" she asks as she twists the cream-colored sheet back on itself.

"With the uncle? Yes, a brief one anyway. We ... didn't have much time to speak."

Both girls work on the washing, Immalaine watching Mary struggle angrily with a small linen tablecloth in the tub. “And?” Immalaine finally demands, after several long moments. “Mary, what’s wrong?”

"Wrong? Nothing’s wrong.” Mary splashes more water as she shoves the next article from her basket viciously under the surface of the soapy water. “The old fellow said he should be able to get inside to meet us at the right moment. After that ... I guess we’ll just take whatever looks like the best route out of the villa.” Her voice is strained.

"It'll be a'right Mary,” Immalaine reassures her. “Ceolfred will get us out. And then we'll get your ma safe too." She glances back at the door nervously, then lowers her voice. "An' I maybe know a way t' distract e'eryone enough so we get can away unnoticed."

Mary looks up from her wrestling with the linens. A worried frown clouds her features. "Distract?" she echoes. "How?"

Immalaine quickly tells Mary about her meeting in the courtyard with Allie, finishing up with "An' so, if they can get th' uniforms, then maybe they can help us get out wit'out bein' noticed. Pretend they’re guards escorting us or the like" She falls silent as she pushes aside the sheet she's wrung and grabs a pair of pillowcases to throw into the water.

Mary's expression grows thoughtful as Immalaine recounts her brief discussion with the serving girl. She glances past Immalaine at the closed door, but Deven has yet to return. "Maybe," she says, slowly. "This girl - did she say how many of her brother's friends would be trying to sneak into the kitchens? Or what they planned to do, other than just steal some food?"

Immalaine shakes her head. "She didn't say exactly how many, though she seemed t' think two uniforms would be 'nough to get them all in. An' ... well she ne'er mentioned them doin' anything else. Jus' that they were hungry And didn't like Sallastin one bit."

Several emotions flicker across Mary's face, settling finally on guarded interest. "Might be useful," she allows. "I could get the uniforms to them tomorrow when we go back into the village to pick up the last of the orders. Or could if I knew how to find this brother of hers, that is. She say anything 'bout that?"

Immalaine shakes her head. "No, but I 'spect she goes t' see him after her work here. I could ask her ... well could if I could even see her again." Immalaine bites her lip. "She was takin' th' scraps t' the garden heap. She must be workin' in th' kitchens, an’ I’m not allowed there now."

Mary draws a breath to answer, but just then there's the noise of a heavy basket being dropped down by the door, followed by the sound of the bar being lifted. "We'll figure something out," she says quickly, then bows her head over her washtub - and is hard at work by the time Deven pushes the door open.

Immalaine is diligently scrubbing two pillowcases together as the guard sets the heavy basket down with a thump by her tub. "Thank you,” she says to him, with a brief smile. Deven grunts non-noncommittally -- but not unkindly -- then stumps back across the room to resume his seat by the door.

The minutes seems to crawl by after that, as the two girls bend over their work, exchanging few words except those related to their chore. Finally, though, the whole load is soaped, rinsed, and wrung, and the baskets full of the damp laundry.

Mary hoists the largest, with an effort, and carries it over to drop into Deven's unexpecting lap. "Wha?" he begins, but Mary has already turned to pick up a second, and gestures Immalaine towards the third. "Unless you want to make two trips out to the courtyard," she explains, tossing her hair as she strides past Deven and into the hall, with Immalaine hastening behind. The guard mutters something about getting his breeches soaked, but he brings the basket, carried in both arms.

At the end of the corridor, rather than turning right toward the courtyard, Mary heads up the short flight of steps that leads to the kitchen. "Here," Deven calls from behind, struggling under his load of wet linens. "Where're you going?"

"To see if Cook has any leftovers," Mary calls back. "This washing's hungry work."

"Aye but the Imma girl isn't supposed to.." Deven breaks off as he realizes he's talking to empty air and hurries in their wake, his expression growing angrier.

Immalaine follows Mary, listening to Deven curse under his breath as he catches up with them at the kitchen door. Mary pauses a step or two ahead, then turns to look at Immalaine, a question in her eyes.

Peeking inside, Immalaine watches the blur of activity as cook shouts out directions. She shifts the basket in her arms and tries to pick Allie out from all the crowd. Finally, she spots the girl, busy slicing a mountain of potatoes on a table at the other end of the kitchen, just past a barrel of apples. Immalaine indicates the serving girl to Mary with a brief tip of her head.

At the same moment, Allie looks up from her work, rubbing the back of her neck tiredly and staring through Immalaine for a moment before recognizing her. Allie starts to rise and greet her, but Immalaine shakes her head and the girl resumes her seat, glancing between Mary and Immalaine. Seeing the question in her eyes, Immalaine nods briefly and mouths 'friend'. Then Mary is striding forward purposefully, the basket she carries coming dangerously close to knocking down pots, food, even a worker or two.

"Here, what're you two doing?" demand Cook from the far side of the room as Immalaine follows her friend, Deven hastening to catch up.

"Just taking out the washing," Mary answers, turning ... and knocking half of Allie's potatoes onto the floor as she does.

"Now see what you've done, clumsy girl," Cook fumes, trying to get to them, but impeded by the other workers and by Deven's bulk, as he navigates his way past the counters and worktables. Grinning to herself at Mary's cleverness, Immalaine sets down her basket and helps Mary and Allie retrieve the fallen vegetables.

"I'm helping with the uniforms," Mary says to the girl; "I'll find you later, to talk." Allie turns wide eyes to Immalaine, who nods agreement. Another few moments and the potatoes are gathered up. Mary leads the way out of the kitchen into the courtyard and over to the washing lines.

Deven scowls as he comes up and sets down his burden. "What was all that, then?" he demands.

Mary grins, then produces three apples from under her apron and tosses one to him, a second to Immalaine. "Don't be such a grump," she says. "Told you: I wanted a snack. Now, you just going to stand there frowning, or would you like to help us hang these?"

Deven throws up his hands with a disgusted noise and strides off to lean against the well-house, munching his apple, as Immalaine and Mary begin to hang up the laundry.

Immalaine takes bites from her apple, between hanging out the items of the washing, her heart a bit lighter despite the heavy manacles. Soon she and Mary will be free from this prison. Then she can go home and see Rastellion. She pauses, and drags a sleeve of her dress across her eyes, before grabbing another pillowcase to hang. No. No crying. She will see him, and apologize for not telling everything sooner, and beg him to forgive her.

If it’s not already too late.