Chapter 68 The House's Weight
The kitchen was a sleek marble-and-stainless-steel space. It was not a place for clumsy happy cooking rather it was a clean professional setting.
With an uncomfortably tied white apron around her waist, Annabel stood in the middle. It had a costume-like feel. A sink full of soiled pots was indicated by the chef a strong man with a permanently stern face.
“Start there.”he ordered in a deep rumbling voice. “It must all be immaculate. Next are the blades. They should be polished as opposed to merely cleaned. I’ll be watching.”
He turned away without waiting for a response, disappearing into a walk-in pantry.
Annabel inhaled deeply. She dipped her hands into the hot soapy water. The first pot was heavy and had a stubborn residue coating on it.
Her hands were not used to the weight and size of the professional-grade cookware and her movements were awkward.
A tiny drop of water fell onto the spotless floor and she flinched reaching for a cloth to quickly wipe it off. Her shoulders started to hurt as she washed and scrubbed.
The metallic clang of a pan and the gentle slosh of water broke up the silence in the kitchen. In an atmosphere of professional efficiency she felt vulnerable and like a fraud.
Margery came into the kitchen an hour later as quiet as a shadow. Annabel was unnerved by her effortless grace in her movements.
Annabel's workstation caught the maids' attention right away followed by the pile of freshly cleaned pots. A thin line formed between her pursed lips.
“This is acceptable.” she stated in a flat voice. “Yet it might be better. They have dirty bottoms.”
She pointed to a slight smudge on a pan she was holding up in a bright light.
“Madam Victoria demands excellence. Isn't this how you did things at home?”
Annabel's cheeks began to flush. She placed her hand on her hip.
With a low murmur she stated “I did things my own way. This is not the same. It's…different.”
“Different.” Margery said again the word a cold murmur. “Nothing is different. It is superior. Here, there is a method that you will discover. The Lancaster method will become second nature to you.”
Then she gestured toward a lengthy countertop.
“The silverware. All of it is for dinner tonight. It has to shine.”
Through the afternoon Annabel worked. Her fingers cramped as she polished silver. Every tool served as a tiny reflecting mirror and she could see her own weary irritated face looking back at her.
The dust particles became tiny dancing gold particles as the afternoon light slanted through the kitchen window.
Margery came back with a quiet pressure. With her eyes on the silverware she said
“You are slow. It's a straightforward task.”
Annabel’s back tensed. She put down the spoon she was rubbing. She raised her gaze to the maid.
She said in a quiet but firm voice “I’m doing what I was told to do.”
With an unwavering gaze Margery asked “What more do you want? Madam Victoria demands that you do your share of the work. You are not a stranger anymore or are you?”
She started to walk away but stopped.
“I can see that you are accustomed to a different way of living. An unstructured life. Now however this is your life. Do you get it?”
Annabel went back to polishing her movements now more fierce and methodical. A new silent resolve fought against humiliation.
She used the back of her sore hand to push her hair out of her eyes. It seemed impossible to return to the old life of loud neighbors and basic coffee. She failed to see it's genuine chaos.
She felt as though she had lost the easy joy she had experienced with Carson. A gilded cage where her hands were to be used for serving rather than creating was what she had exchanged that for.
A light was on over Annabel as she remained in the kitchen as the mansion grew quiet.
Her assignment had been to arrange a spice pantry. All of the labels were written in a foreign tongue. She picked up a tiny jar and repeatedly turned it. She felt like yelling.
Her intention was to hurl the jar at the wall. Rather she replaced it cautiously on the shelf her hand trembling a little.
A growing resolve replaced the silent rage. This would not shatter her. In this location she would not become lost.
Margery reappeared, her footsteps silent on the tile. “Still here?” she inquired. “Your learning curve is slow. Maybe you ought to think about your stance.”
She moved in closer her voice becoming almost a whisper.
“The legacy bears a heavy burden. If you're not prepared it can crush you. But it can also strengthen a person. Madam Annabel, strategy not emotion is what this is for. Feelings will weaken you.”
Annabel gave her a serious look. She saw a person who had lived inside these walls for the first time not just a maid.
The maids eyes were a peculiar mixture of hard icy wisdom and sympathy.
Quietly Annabel said “What is your name again?”
Her eyes flashed with surprise as she said “Margery. You are now a Lancaster though. But you will speak to me with respect.”
Annabels lips formed a thin line. She put down the spice jar she was holding.
“My name is Annabel” she said steadily. “And you won't expect me to follow this sick rules tomorrow.”
Margery did not respond. She just turned and left leaving a rustle of silence behind her uniform.
Annabel lingered in the deserted kitchen. She felt as though the house was pressing down on her, the legacy looming large. A spark ignited though as she noticed that her hands were no longer soft but rather slightly reddened and more capable.
Despite the house's attempts to frustrate her and turn her into a common maid, she would find a way to be herself and be here.
It was only starting to get tougher.