Thedra

It’s too early for this.

The sun’s not even up yet and the head housekeeper Evelyn Murdock has me polishing the chandelier in the front room. With so many servants in this big house I ought to be able to sleep in a bit, but instead I’m up working. The only one up working, I might add. I think Evelyn herself went back to bed after giving me the order.

“Someone please explain to me how this is fair, when I get paid the exact same wage as the other servants,” I grumble as I balance on the ladder with my arms outstretched and aching, polishing the gold till it shines.

But of course it isn’t fair, my internal dialogue begins. When has life ever been fair to you?

I am Thedra Clyde, youngest child of Baron and Baroness Clyde. The earliest years of my life were spent in a grand house on a vast estate, though somewhat poorly kempt. My father was a good man who did his best to run the barony, but circumstances of the war combined with a long drought quickly drained his coffers. He died of illness far too young, and my eldest brother John had to quickly learn to fill his shoes.

John did alright for a few years; he had a natural mind for administration and was on his way to somewhat restoring the glory of our house. But when I was eighteen he was killed after being thrown from his horse, leaving my second brother Carl in charge of the estate.

Carl was my mother Florence’s favorite darling, and she never once denied him anything his heart desired. Intending to leave the hard work of managing the estate to our elder brother, Carl neglected his studies as a youth and idled his days away as a worthless person. Needless to say, he was the last person who could be trusted to inherit such an enormous responsibility.

In less than six months his reckless gambling addiction bankrupted us. We had to fire all our staff, sell our home and move to our smaller country lodge where I began to work as sole caretaker, keeping house and preparing meals all on my own while my mother and brother continued to spend money as though there was no end to it.

But of course, there was an end. Not just to our money, but the loan sharks’ patience. We were in trouble.

It started coming up then nearly every other day, the discussion of my marriage. I was young, pretty and feminine, with dark brown hair and eyes the color of deep red roses, and for all my family troubles, I was still the daughter of a baron. My mother got it in her head to sell me to the highest bidder, but I refused. I absolutely would not— could not!— marry a man I didn’t love.

I am an educated woman; I grew up reading the great classics, stories of daring heroes and passionate, everlasting love. That was what I wanted for my life, and I wasn’t going to settle for anything less.

Taking this stand and going against her wishes was the first and only selfish thing I ever did, but I did not regret it. Not even when we were forced to sell the country cottage and move into an even smaller home in the meanest part of town. I went with my head high, and continued to manage the house and take care of mother, taking on any odd job that came my way to ensure I’d be able to put food on the table that week. My brother, for all the work he supposedly did, rarely brought home a copper.

Then one month ago on a cold September morning, we woke to horrific news. Carl, who was always running afoul of loan sharks, had crossed one crook too many. He was beaten nearly to death for his treachery and taken to a hospital, where he died a week later from his injuries.

If the loss of her one remaining son was not terrible enough, soon Mother had debt collectors beating on our door, demanding we repay his debts. They took everything, all her remaining ball gowns and jewels, and left us paupers. It was then, when we were sitting shell shocked in a bare house, that the talk came up again: marriage.

“At twenty-two you are no longer in your prime, but you are still young, Thedra. If you’d just clean yourself up, you’d be sure to catch some wealthy bachelor’s eye.”

Normally I am a very quiet, passive person, but this is something I simply could not budge on. And besides that, it made me angry, so I shouted at her, which I think surprised her.

“Clean yourself up, if that’s how you want to make your money! I’m still young, what about you? You’re only forty-five— that last bachelor you had come look me over was almost seventy!”

“Me? You want me to spend the best years of my life tethered to that old fossil? It would be the death of my social life!”

  “And what about my life? Why should I have to settle when it’s yours and Carl’s fault we’re in this mess in the first place?”

“Wicked, selfish girl! If you loved me, you would do this for me!” she exclaimed, then she broke down in tears.

I’m not sure I do love my mother. I can’t say she’s ever shown me matronly love, or anything but indifference while I was growing up. Now she uses me without a thought, and would hang me like a choice piece of meat in a butcher’s window if she had it her way.

No, I do not love Florence Clyde, but I still have my sense of duty to her as her only remaining child. When it comes to hard work she is as worthless as Carl was, preferring to spend her days idly and throwing away our money on impromptu shopping sprees. She’s always been a lovely, frail thing who wouldn’t know what to do with a bucket and a mop if someone handed it to her.

But I am young and strong, toughened by years of servant’s labor for which I received not a copper of my own spending money. And I’m fine with that. I have no needs or wants in particular. I gave up a long time ago on wearing nice dresses or having fancy things. So long as Mother is provided for, my sense of duty is satisfied, and that’s all that matters.

Like this I determined that if earning money was all I was good for to her, then I would go out and do it on my own terms.

There was news in town of the old Van Horn estate in the country being purchased after more than ten years of lying vacant. The new owner’s staff were scrambling to get the place cleaned up in preparation for their master’s arrival, and were hiring workers.

So the next morning, without Mother’s permission, I left her with a note explaining my intent, saying I’d send her money for food and rent, and went to start my new life in the country.

Things went great at first. The wages were excellent and room and board was provided. I decided almost immediately I was more than suited to the life of a domestic, and even began to imagine one day managing a grand estate of my own as head housekeeper. Thus it was for a few brief, sunny days in the last week of September, I was finally happy. But on the first of October, one of the new workers from town recognized me as the daughter of the Baroness, and just like that, my happiness vanished. 

Their mockery I could endure. I’d heard it for the better part of my life. I was a nobleman’s daughter turned servant; that put a target on my back no one could ignore. If they didn’t make fun of me to my face, they did it behind my back, and left me ostracized.

Soon after came the bullying. Giving me the chores no one else wanted to do, stealing my cleaning supplies, making messes and blaming them on me. When things went wrong Evelyn the head housekeeper wouldn’t hear a word in my defense, and beat me cruelly with her cane. It was awful.

There were many nights where I lay awake and thought about going back home, but I couldn’t do that. I resisted my mother’s will and came here of my own volition; if I went back now she’d say I couldn’t make it on my own, and insist upon marriage.

So I determined to put up with it. The cruelty of my new position somehow does not seem worse to me than the prospect of marrying an old man I do not love. And it still pays well, I remind myself as I polish the final arm of the chandelier with trembling, cramping arms.

No matter what, it’s better to be my own person, and live my own life. I’m sure one day, if I work hard and never give up, I may even find a little happiness all my own…