To the Bud of Dawn, Rose the Day

The sheer curtains did nothing against the pale glare of morning sun. I squinted at the new day. My heart continued to pound with recollection of the dream. The dew of anxiety melted with the sunlight warmth of the new day. I shifted to find the bed empty. The linens straightened though untucked around me.  

Camellia’s gentle figure loomed in the frame off the main room. “Good day, Mistress. Magareen.”  

The maid appeared refreshed and prepared as if awake for some time. The sun seemed high enough to have missed the first breath of morning.

“Would you care for tea and breakfast, Mistress? Or would you prefer a lighter beverage or broth in the comfort of the bed?” Camellia approached.

I worked my voice awake. “I think I would like to freshen up. Last night, I must have been so fatigued. I failed to wash the travel from my skin.”

“Yes. I helped you into your bedclothes. You seemed quite comfortable.” Camellia moved for the curtains. “You are feeling better, I trust?”

Sensing the maid’s intent, a surge of energy swept over me. I straightened from beneath the covers. 

“No.” I had not intended the command to be so harsh. 

I drew back in repose. “Please leave the windows closed. They allow too much of the morning as they are.”

Camellia drew her hands to her sides. “Of course. I only meant to offer fresh air. 

Vertigo fell away, along with memory of the dream. “I am much better this morning though not quite ready to face full assault of the sun.”

“I shall prepare a bath then.” Camellia offered another curt bow before taking leave. 

The sound of running water soothed the fancies from me. I had not considered how good a bath would feel until I heard the filling tub. 

The well of the cottage had been old, the plumbing unreliable. Ama claimed to have neither funds nor desire for updates to such luxuries. Yarrow Hart would be a welcome change in this small fashion.  

I pulled free of my thoughts as the water stopped, and stepped briskly across the floorboards.  

Shock colored Camellia’s expression. “I would have brought slippers had you waited.”

A genuine smile passed my lips. “A cold floor is sometimes the best way to chase dreams away.”

Camellia’s nod remained uncertain. 

I took in the array of toiletries decorating the white iron-worked shelf beside a footed tub so large I considered for a moment I might drown in it.

“Will you be needing assistance, Mistress, or may I have leave to prepare your breakfast?”

A moment of modesty moved me as I lifted the hem of the nightdress and cast a glance at the waiting maid. “I think I’ll be quite alright on my own.” 

Camellia nodded, pivoted away, and drew closed the French doors. 

I caught the maid’s attention before the latch met the lock. “But Camellia,”

The maid pressed the doors open once again. 

“Please wait a few minutes before starting breakfast. I would like to take my time in the bath.” 

Though curiosity concerning house and inhabitants seduced me, I found little desire to rush the day.

“Of course, mistress.” Camellia executed a curt dip as she closed the doors.

I could not be certain, yet could swear I heard the key turn in the lock. 

At last, I peeled free of the long sleeping gown. My mind returned focus entirely to the bath. At the cottage, a bath could hardly have counted as warm, and certainly never hot. The steam rising from this lavish tub promised a wholly luxurious experience.

The stress of travel melted as toes and ankles slipped beneath the water. I sank into the warmth.  

As the water cooled, Camellia’s dutiful steps approached. The maid had locked the door, as she now unlocked it. 

I rinsed the foam from my hair, submerging into the tepid water, and running my hands through sudsy tendrils. 

Camellia stood over me as I resurfaced. Her expression could have been mistaken for horror as she clutched a plush towel to her chest.

“Are you well, Camellia?” I emerged to accept the towel from her delicate hands.

“Forgive me, Mistress.” Her words were a shallow whisper scarcely audible over the rippling water.  

A myriad of curious emotions danced behind Camellia’s pale eyes. 

“I have laid your wardrobe for the day, Mistress, and set the dinette. I hope you are fond of goose eggs.” 

Camellia assisted drying my hair as I hugged the comfort of a lush dressing robe to my shoulders, as I nestled my toes into silken slippers though I grimaced at their crimson hue. 

Camellia leaned to release the water to the drain and as the water swirled away I saw it. A single petal fought against the descending whirlpool, though it slipped into the hollow of the drain before I could be certain of its existence.  

Returning to the dressing room of the apartment, I found Camellia had indeed laid out a simple yet elegant cotton house dress. The deep maroon of the fabric brought roses to mind yet again. I ran my fingers over the fine, cream tatting of the trim before finding the hem and slipping into the garment.

Camellia slipped behind as if on cue, to fasten the clasps outside my reach and to adjust the gather of the bell-like sleeves. 

I paused the maid before she tightened the overdress. “I would like space for the lovely breakfast you have prepared, please.”  

Camellia offered a genuine smile at the mild jest. “As you say, Mistress.”

Once attired, I followed Camellia to the dining area of the apartment. Shafts of midmorning light cast familiar patterns across the polished floor, alighting on a small glass topped table. Indeed a fine breakfast awaited there. 

I sidled past the diminutive stove. The device offered barely enough surface for a tea kettle and a small pan, yet Camellia managed quite well the task of balancing preparations of a fair meal. I seated myself as Camellia fussed with a tea kettle. 

“More roses,” I marked as I traced the stained mosaic adorning the table.

“They seem to pop up everywhere.” Camellia filled my cup.

I had no more than settled the linen in my lap before Camellia began her speech of the day’s itinerary. “Madame Elestren requested I convey your activities today, and suggested a tour of the main gathering spaces, ballroom, library, theatre, and a luncheon in the gardens with a-.”

I paused the maid’s speech with a gesture. “I was left with the impression that days, on the whole, might be my own.”

Camellia nodded. “Of course Mistress, Madame Elestren however requested this first day be spent with myself as your escort and guide through the main house. She wished me to point out areas and activities of interest, and those of limited admittance. Now that Yarrow Hart will be your home she also wishes to remind you that some rooms and wings currently remain off limits entirely.”

I offered an interruption yet again. “Forgive me, but off limits?”

Camellia’s expression fell to a dutiful mask of secrecy. 

“Yes, Mistress. Entirely so. I would suggest we finish our tour at the library, as you expressed interest in genealogical studies.” At this conclusion of her assignments for the day’s activities, Camellia returned her attention to a small basin. 

Questions whirled my mind, though it appeared an itinerary would be all I was to get from the maid for the moment.

I turned my attention to the plate before me. I drew the knife through the rise in the egg allowing the liquid to pool over the dish. The blade proved equally efficient in slicing a succulent round of mignon. The deep red which emanated from the filet blended with the golden yolk. 

 I rose upon finishing the meal. “Camellia. I am impressed with your skills in the kitchen. I will tell Elestren as much. When next I speak with her, of course.”

At this, Camellia effected a solitary nod as she swept clear the settings and linens. Leaving Camellia to her duties, I glided to the narrow doors beyond the dining nook.

“The balcony lies beyond there, Mistress.” Camellia faced the wash basin though her words carried to me. “If you would like, I can unlock it for you. The view is quite lovely.”

Before I could offer answer, Camellia crossed the room, loop of keys in hand. I stepped aside to let the maid pass. She flipped expertly through the loop finding the appropriate device to open the passage.

“The doors, are they always locked?” Inquiry slipped free.  

“It is necessary, Mistress.” Camellia stepped aside for me to enter to the balcony. “I will unlock the doors at the other end. I will be detained no more than a moment.”

A flash of uncertainty danced across Camellia’s face, causing an obscure anxiety to course my spirit. For what purpose should a secure balcony be locked. I eyed Camellia as she closed the doors behind me. The woman flitted a quaint wave before disappearing in the direction of the bedroom.

I breathed aside minatory concern and stepped the narrow reach to the sun bleached concrete of the molded rails. The cool of morning lingered on the stone, though the promise of summer’s torridity threatened.

How far had we climbed the night before within the labyrinthine twists of that main staircase? The thought quickly swept away as I took in my first view of the inner gardens. Following the initial shock at the height, I agreed the view to be spectacular. Moreover I was elated to find flora other than roses in the array below. I picked out elegantly laid paths of pansies, camellias, and mums coiling a ring of white roses to a cage-like greenhouse of gilded iron and grey green glass. Benches of marble and dark wood elegantly disseminated throughout the gardens. These were flanked at intervals with planters and urns that must easily have been the height of a person. 

Furthest from view an exquisite gazebo dominated the yard. As my eyes danced the pillared walls of this Hadowen Eden, this domed roof beckoned my attention. Yet another rose. Burnished red by weather the rusted iron bloom stained the pillars in ruddy threads.

Drawing my attention from this metallic blossom, I counted ornate railings encasing balconies on the opposite wall. Peering directly down from my perch I guessed my rooms to be at least seven full floors up. I had not considered how large the house could be. I was glad to have gleaned this information now rather than when originally traversing the twists and coils of the stairs.  

“Journeys are far less taxing when one assumes them short.” The words tumbled from my lips to the gardens below.  

My attention was beckoned by the rattling of doorknobs at the far end of the veranda. I allowed one more sigh at the gardens with promise they would be among my frequent excursions, before making way to the doors. 

I thought it odd that Camellia would be troubled by the locks, as thus far she had not a hesitation in their opening. In truth I amazed at the maid’s ability to pick the right key for each lock in what appeared little thought at all. Maybe her talent had finally found fault. The doors ceased shuddering as I paused at the glass. 

Within the room the curtains were drawn, leaving only apparitions. 

What at first appeared to be a towering armoire, shifted. A figure far too large to be Camellia lumbered free of the other shapes in the room. I strained to make out the features. Then, A distance that would have taken a grown man several paces to cross in a breath was against the doors. Lurching from the doors, my hands found the pressing cool of the concrete rails at my back as I half expected the glass to explode from the force of the figure’s assault. For a dizzying moment I thought I might tip over the barrier into the open air beyond.  

Curtains fluttered caressing the panes as I and the figure stood as statues to one another. Even with the doors between us the energy was as palpable as that of predatory felines crossing the boundary of another’s territory. Though my posture held, uncertainty rattled my senses.

Our contest was broken at the sound of a key shifting in a lock. I dared a glance at the lever before me. It had not moved.  

“Mistress?” Camellia’s voice jerked my attention to the kitchen entry.

“Oh it is a lovely day isn’t it?” Camellia sighed. “Perfect to enjoy the gardens. If the mistress would be so obliged.”

I reverted once more to the doors directly before me. 

The silhouette was gone. 

In a fit of courage or madness, I all but sprinted to the end of the veranda, nearly knocking Camellia in my rush to enter the apartment.  

 Without pause for the stunned maid, I strode to the entry to sleeping quarters. 

“Open it.” My demand was ragged with nervous frenzy. 

Without question Camellia worked her magic to provide entrance to the room. In strides and sweeps I inspected furnishings and scanned the barest corners to the glass doors, in a multitude of turns I at last came to rest on the balcony doors. 

Camellia was at my side at once stumbling yet again with the loop of keys dangling in confusion at her hip. 

“These doors, I want them opened.” The command in my voice shocked even me.

It sent Camellia to action, though in a state of startlement she found the latch with dexterity and deft sleight of hand. 

Waiting not for the key to be cleared of the socket I flung the doors asunder. 

Once there, I panted in anxious demand. “Who was in the room with you?” 

“Mistress, forgive me?” Camellia’s blended confusion and concern as she reclaimed the keys mid swing from the door.  

“Someone was here.” Even as the words passed my lips, I had begun to feel foolish. 

“Mistress no one has been here.” Camellia’s hands wrung white around the bend of the key loop.

I clutched the layers of my skirts, worrying the lace against my thoughts.

“You did not unlock the bedroom doors as you said you would.” I turned on the maid with more fervor than intended.

“Mistress, I spent longer in the kitchen than expected. I thought you might be waiting on me. I thought it faster to follow and open the doors from the balcony side. I had some trouble, as you saw, with the keys.” Camellia’s expression was distraught.

“You were in the kitchen the entire time I was on the balcony?”

“Yes, mistress. Please, forgive my asking, but what is this about?” The strain of tears tightened her tone.

Her face betrayed more emotion than our first meeting.

“Pardon.” My tongue damped my lip in apology. “I fancied a figure through the curtain.”

Camellia scanned her inspection and wandered to the doors. 

“A figure from the balcony?” Camellia’s ask was in humor as much as consternation.

My certainty of the vision waned.

The maid caressed the curtains that stretched top to bottom on the doors. Her attention, when returned, cast a smile that unnerved rather than assured.

“The light, it plays tricks.” 

Distrust rested on my brow. “Yes. I suppose it does.” 

Even as my mind acquiesced to this explanation the rush of fear that washed over me at the sight of the figure moved like a waxing tide. For a breath, I wondered if the madness Joram spoke of was settling upon me so soon. I would not allow myself to shake the feeling Camellia knew more.

Thoughts of Joram tumbled as I considered if he might perpetuate jest at my expense, or quell my fears.