“It’s fine,” Aoife said. “I barely felt it.”
Clara smiled. “I think I’m going to enjoy working for you.”
Clara’s accent slipped further on the last words. It was an Eldrossi name, Clara. Aoife was almost certain her lady’s maid was not Eldrossi.
“You don’t sound like a Clara,” Aoife said.
The girl hesitated, then confessed, “It’s Clíona. My first mistress said it was too hard to pronounce, so she called me Clara instead.”
“Clíona suits you better.”
“Please don’t use it,” the girl whispered. “It’d get me in trouble.”
Aoife nodded. “I won’t,” she said. “But I might think of you as Clíona.”
Clara eased the dress up over Aoife’s head and reached for the next garment in the stack. “Arms up, miss.”
“How long have you been here?” Aoife asked.
“Four years this harvest,” Clara said as she pinned up the skirt. Whoever these dresses had been made for was slightly taller than Aoife.
“What was it like for you, as the newest member of the household?”
Clara thought for a moment.
“When I first came here, I was young. Didn’t know anything. I’d had training, of course; you don’t get a job in a house like this without references, but my last place was tiny in comparison. I used to get lost, mix up the hand towels and the face towels. One time I reached the top of the house only to realise I’d forgotten to bring a bucket of water and had to go all the way down to fetch one. That’s a mistake you don’t make twice.”
“But you know everything now.”
“I do. Took time to learn. Mrs Harrow doesn’t have the patience for teaching. But Mr Alton helped.”
“In what way?”
“Quiet-like, so no one knew.” Clara’s face changed as she spoke about Alton. “He showed me how to find everything and taught me how to sew. Without him, I wouldn’t be here now. And he never made me feel stupid, not once.”
Aoife looked down as Clara knelt to adjust the hemline. “He sounds like a good man.”
“He is.” Clara smiled down at her hands.
As Clara looked up, Aoife could see she was coming to a decision. She looked toward the window and the door as though checking no one was listening. “There was a lamb, spring before last,” she said softly. “Its mother died birthing it. I didn’t know what to do, but I couldn’t leave it.”
Aoife leaned forward. “What happened?”
“I tried feeding it, but it wouldn’t take the milk.” Clara’s lips curved into a small, private smile. “Alton found me crying in the stables. Didn’t say a word. Took the lamb, wrapped it in his owncoat, and showed me how to get it to drink. Came every night to check on it.”
“Did it live?” Aoife asked.
“It did,” Clara said proudly. “Grew strong, too. Followed me about like a dog any time I went outside.”
She gave a shy little laugh, then shook her head at herself.
Aoife reached for the next piece of fabric. “That tells me everything I need to know.”
Clara blinked. “About what?”
Aoife smiled. “About Alton. And about you.”
Clara avoided her eye, pretending to focus on the dress. “There’s nothing to know about me and Alton.” She said hurriedly.
