The sound of refined, male laughter draws me to the window. The curtains are open, and I stand in front of the clear pane, pressing my palms against the glass to peer down. I spot Mr. Garret and the younger Mr. Nathanial in their fine clothes and top hats [Comma here.] standing on the street beside a carriage. Watching them with an ache in my bones, I attempt to ignore my already-cold fingers. The two men talk idly. Envy curls in my stomach when I study their relaxed demeanors. The gentlemen represent everything I do not have, everything that was stolen away from me. Everything I want, once enjoyed, and took advantage of, such as beauty and love, negligence and wealth. Not so long ago [s]I’d[/s] I had a future beyond the next room I have to clean. Is there such a future for me anymore? [I'd suggest 'Does such a future still exist?']
Beatrice sets her full bucket of water down with a clatter. “Get away from that window, Rachel. You’ll only torture yourself.” She wipes her wet hands against her smudged apron, and picks up her bucket and wash-rag again.
I glance at the silk laid out on the bed and nod again. Beatrice disappears once more. After another moment, I tear myself away from the window and the bitter-sweet sight of Mr. Garret and Mr. Nathanial, and pick up the sheets that I am to bring down to the wash-room. As I always do before leaving a room, I quickly look around, enviously soaking in the rich furniture and ornate rugs. I covet the elaborate, warm crackling fire that adorns every room in the house, and the large [Comma here. intricate mirror that hangs above it, with its golden and gleaming edges. I bite my lip and shake my head to clear it completely of such longing thoughts.
“Hello, Amy,” I mumble. She groans and leans against the door-jamb dramatically.
“He is handsome, isn’t he?” Amy reaches up to twirl a wayward curl round her finger once more. “I’ve heard much about him from my friends. I see that they have good reason for their swooning.” Again, I don’t respond, because I know she doesn’t expect an answer. Amy often talks to herself. I think that she likes the sound of her own [Comma here.] sophisticated voice.
A slight beam of light is shining down inside the house, and I see that Amy is wearing yet another new gown. It is an effervescent yellow, and heightens her angelic appearance. She looks very much like our mother at this moment, and part of me hates her for it. Amy is achingly striking, with her large [Comma here.] blue eyes and that mane of pale [Comma here.] shimmering hair, while I favor our father with my large [Comma here.] green eyes and brown hair. She wears a fine wool material cut into the latest fashion. [I'd like to see more of a comparison of their appearances here. How people look goes far beyond eye and hair colour. What are their complexions? Are their faces soft or sharp? Do they have thin, drawn faces, plump cheeks, protruding noses, curved mouths, pointed chins? Are they slender or plump? Tall or short? Give more information.]
I look down at my own attire. I am wearing the customary drab uniform, required to be worn by the household maids. My chest is blandly flat and my stature small. [=)]
“Almost every day. He’s best friends with Miss Nathanial’s brother, James Nathanial. But Mr. Garret and Miss Nathanial are also good… friends.” I hesitate on the last word. The way Miss Nathanial looks at Mr. [s]Garrets[/s] Garret indicates far more feelings than just those of friendship. And he does not shy from her, what with her seemingly sweet demeanor [It might just be English vs American spelling but I believe it is spelt demeanour.] and syrupy conversation.
I purse my lips. The high lace collar of my dress seems to be tighter, choking me. “He is known for his… his lack of fortune,” I say lamely, trying to find a flaw in him so she will turn away. I do not want the man for myself—I’ve had more than enough with the male sex. But I do not want Amy to get her claws into him. He is a good and kind gentleman from what I’ve seen of him, and he deserves far better than my devious sister. I would even rather he be with Miss Nathanial. At least her head is empty, and doesn’t have the ability to scheme.
“Whose ball?” I ask in interest, despite myself. I had once [s]adorerd[/s] adored dancing.
Amy makes a move to go. “It doesn’t matter. You’re too busy.” She blows me a kiss and finally flounces away. I start after her for a reason unknown to me, but then I stop. I should know better than to participate in her cruel, silly little games. I free one of my hands from holding the sheets and swipe at my eyes. The movement draws my attention to the mirror beside me. The reflection beckons to me mockingly. I stand in the exact spot Amy [s]had[/s] has just vacated, and stare at myself. One mirror, two sisters, and two entirely different reflections. One lovely and the picture of life, the other drained and insignificant. I simper at my reflection, hoping for some sort of improvement. It does not help my appearance, so I halt my efforts. It is no use. I will always have the same stubborn chin, the same boyish body.
“Thank you.” I force a deep [Comma here.] calming breath, again trying to shove down all the feelings that bubble up within me.
“What did she come for? I have trouble [s]believeing[/s] believing someone such as her would come for a friendly chat.” Beatrice wrinkles her nose as she speaks of Amy.
I try to smile again but fail. “I don’t really know. She mentioned a ball…”
We both walk together to the washroom, where the sound of Jillian shouting orders and bustling about reaches our ears. I set down the sheets wearily, tucking stray [s]heair[/s] hair behind my ears.
“We are finished, aren’t we?” I ask Beatrice. A thick, damp fume [s]air[/s] fills the room from the heat of the water. Several girls dart about, trying to stay busy and avoid Jillian’s nasty temper.
“Rachel!” our housekeeper, Jillian, shouts. I snap to attention. “Help these girls with the rest of the laundry! When you’re all done [Comma here.] I need help with the dining room! There will be guests coming at six o’clock!” Jillian does not still for an instant, constantly flapping around like a chicken, and then she leaves the room with a purposeful frown.
After all our duties are finished for the day, most of the household maids sit in the kitchen and eat supper before returning to their homes. Normally my appetite is as [s]enourmous[/s] enormous as the next girls’, but I find that tonight I have no desire for food. Instead I’ve a massive headache.
I abandon my plate, still heavily laden with food. “I will see you tomorrow,” I say to Beatrice, keeping my face carefully emotionless. “Grace, thank you for the meal,” I tell the cook, who washes the dishes at the sink across the kitchen. She is a thin [Comma here.] angular woman with a constant small smile, who nods in [s]acknowledgment[/s] acknowledgement and turns away.
After I’ve stepped outdoors, and left the [s]Nathnials[/s] Nathanials' behind, the cool air and a slight breeze [s]makes[/s]make me shove my hands in the pockets of my coat.
Strangely, there is hardly anyone about—unusual for this early time of night. No doubt it is due to the fact that the number of murders in London has increased much of late. Everyone [s]that[/s] who is [Actually, this would sound better as 'The people who are usually in the streets...'] usually in the streets are, indubitably, all safe in their homes with their families.
My nose grows numb, as do my fingers on my left hand—I wiggle them and discover a new small hole in the pocket. I heave a sigh and look up into the dark sky. Having released their supply of rain, the clouds have thinned into wisps, and even they are leaving.
I hum a [s]meloncholy[/s] melancholy tune to myself and keep a brisk, steady pace. Greensleeves was my delight. Greensleeves was my heart of gold…
“I really don’t have time to talk, sir,” I mutter, holding my breath and ducking my head down [Full stop here.] I make an anxious beeline for the boardinghouse.
I don’t know any of the other maids. Beatrice is my only friend, because she is the only one I will speak to. My reason for this is simple: I don’t like to have ties to anyone. I’ve learned that they only bring pain. It is better for me to have few friends, than with an abundance of them being torn from me eventually. [This is a touch awkward. Perhaps '...few friends, than have an abundance of them, to be torn away eventually.'] I am alone, and it is better this way. It benefits to all. [Maybe 'It is beneficial to all.'] I am not hurt and no one else is either… I briefly wonder if I will continue my life such as it is forever. I push away the unwelcome thought.
Surprisingly, I find I am. The cold air has refreshed me and given me a new hunger. I remember that I did not eat much of what Grace [s]had[/s] served. “Thank you,” I say, conceding to my appetite. Sarah smiles again, this time with soft pleasure, and starts to prepare a small meal for me. I sit down and drum my thumb softly against the table. I rest my cheek in my hand and stare restlessly at the wall. I am trying not to think. My thoughts usually lead to painful memories that are better avoided.
I look down at my own attire. I am wearing the customary drab uniform, required to be worn by the household maids. My chest is blandly flat and my stature small.
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