This is not from the point of view of the protagonist from the first three posts referred to as a Child of Venus, it is instead a servant in the house. Matthew wrote it and the greater portion of the credit should go to him but I did rewrite it and as I stated in the introduction it is my property. Enjoy.
The Twelfth of Tal, Sixteen Seventy-Four
I am surprised that I have the time to sneak away to write a bit, it’s that small silver time between night and dawn and I really should be asleep Father should be awake in a few moments but I really must write down my day, some may even hazard to say it’s the damned hour of sorcery. I am thankful for I rarely have this time to myself. Usually my early chores send me around the manor, not having anything to worry about just running back and forth, even maybe seeing a few of the other servants, Mrs. Argall still dotes on me as if I were still nine and not fourteen.
With my chores I find myself running back and forth through the back halls acting as an invisible servant never seen by the lord regent or his equals. Even though based on what I’ve heard he finds no one to be his equal. At fourteen, I have been a servant in this great house for eight years, my dad works as one of the cooks under Mrs. Argall, a slight if I’ve ever seen one. He has worked for the family since I was three, just after mother fell ill. I ran the width and breadth a dozen times before our dear Lord Regent roused himself; running firewood about, delivering vegetables, and passing along messages to the gossiping chambermaids.
After that is done I was working the halls lighting the gas lamps, I cannot wait for the rest of the wiring to be finished and that chore to be struck for my list, and once again scouring the floor. If I was a footman I would be dealing with the silver but based on the scarlet hue the footmen had emblazoned on their cheeks last night I don’t think that work is for me. I like to think that Father got this job because he has no preference on gas or wood stoves, unlike most. Not to mention that the Lord Regent is quite taken with a few of our family recipes and insists upon them for his magnificent soirees.
The afternoon meal in the servants hall was quite nice and ensured that I was still energized for the afternoon chores, one of which involved a grueling time with the horses that I would rather not go into. It was a rare treat that I had to go into town, on foot mind you, a message for a man, a dozen letters from some of the men on the estate to various women that kind of thing. I did take a bit of a break and had a stint down near the shore, I love watching the waves roll in and fantasize about sail off to see the world. A quick stop to the spinners to put in an order for new stemware and I did tarry for a bit, I just love watching the spill water into glass, mind you we do live by the crystal coast it is only right that the greater portion of the world loves our craft.
As I have grown and time has passed I have found myself wondering if I’m truly a slave and not a servant. Yes it’s true I eat just find, and I have clothes on my back, but nothing I have is more than the most common of fabric. Listen to me talking on and on as if I deserve fine silks and velvet like our Lords Charge and probably soon to be spouse. I have found myself wondering if father is hiding the money from me, or if he gambles it away on knuckle bones and drinks that rot alcohol that our Lord’s Valet enjoys.
Father is waking up, it’s going to be a terrible day on no sleep.