Tea and Knives

"Of course, she shows no remorse," someone whispered through the arch of the afternoon tea stand neatly stacked before them. "Her poor mother was so ashamed; she dared not show her face after that. I suppose this will end up being the scandal of the decade here in Thornmere."

Miss June Seddon opened her wet mouth and foisted the wedge of cake in with the kind of dexterity peculiar to women who preferred teashop gossip over silly letter writing. Her companion sat across the table, wearing a stern, thin-lipped expression, as Miss Seddon divulged the scandalous details, but had remained ominously silent thus far.

"Of course, she always had a bit of a sluttish look to her, don't you think? Not half as wild or unkempt as she used to be, but in a pretty dress, she always gave me the impression of a tarted-up stage actress. No wonder her young man didn't want to marry her."

For the first time since the conversation began, Mrs. Elda Hughes leant forward with interest. "And who is her young man?" she asked hollowly.

"Well, I say her young man 'didn't want to marry her' – seems he couldn't marry her. All the frightened little lambs she associates with were put through the wringer once they all got home – seems all they know is that he's already married. Blanche told me all about it – her girl can never keep her mouth shut, and it has all the young wives in the vicinity in a complete tizzy"

With a grim expression, Elda sat back, picking up the pastry fork before her so that she could return to listlessly playing with her food. "Sounds to me like she was seduced by a morally dubious gentleman."

"Well, he could have chosen her for a wife if he wanted."

"Not if he is some years older and married before she came out in society."

Miss Seddon sighed histrionically, and took another large bite, this time of a spiced cake so dry that it made her cough splutteringly before she could continue. Pressing a napkin daintily against her sodden lips, she gazed at her dear friend affectionately.

"You shouldn't pity the girl, Elda," Miss Seddon chided. "She made her own bed, so to speak. Men can't control their urges, but we as women have a moral obligation to stay chaste and true-"

"And what could you know about that?" Elda asked abruptly.

With the handkerchief at her chin, Miss Seddon was suddenly suffocated by her lack of an answer. Her eyes darting around uncomfortably, and a faint blush perceptible on her cheeks, she began to fold it frantically and uncomfortably, while muttering, "Well, now, Elda, dear…"

"This was not an immaculate conception – there is a man out there whose reputation remains intact while this poor young woman's life is in shambles. She is not innocent, but if you exerted as much energy as you exert gossiping trying to find and shame the man for his part in her demise, you'd keep yourself entertained for weeks my dear. I've rather had enough hearing about Aurora Carnall for one afternoon, thank you very much."

And with that, the subject was well and truly dead.

Yet, Mrs. Seddon, as proud and stupid as she was, felt that she had just suffered a personal attack. In her eyes, she was merely relaying the events of a garden party her companion hadn't bothered to attend and was doing her a kind service.

Straightening her back, and raising her chin, she became quite intent on giving her friend the silent treatment. There was nothing she could do if dear Elda chose to be ignorant of the facts. As far as Elda Hughes was concerned, however, it was less of a punishment and more a reprieve.

While her friend did her best thinking out loud, Elda Hughes was a more reticent soul. Her presence was strong, her steely eyes still tinged with the melancholy and romance of her girlhood, but there were battle scars visible in her demeanor. Almost forty years ago she had come to Thornmere on the arm of her handsome, young husband, after swearing she would follow him to the ends of the earth if he asked it of her. Now he had been gone for close to eight years, and she still dressed in mourning. 

She was naturally aware that she could leave and start fresh somewhere else. If anything was certain, it's that there was far better company than this endlessly gossiping spinster on the outside. What she was uncertain about, however, was whether or not she would recognize the world outside. Thornmere had been constructed to keep the Age of Discovery out, and if forty years of progress was a mere unturned stone, she only need reach out to see what lay on the other side.

Elda glanced down at her nails - still strong and opalescent. She wasn't quite sixty - she could lay down roots somewhere else, if she so desired. It frightened her though. There was something so terribly frightening about opening the door on a new world and letting it in.

"Elda," June whispered frantically.

Someone was tugging her sleeve. Elda glanced up in irritation at her friend, who was now leaning across the table, her own dangling sleeve now resting in a lukewarm bath of Elda's half-drunk black tea.

"What?" 

"-that was her, did you see? Fancy showing her face in public already."

"…who on earth are you talking about?" Elda asked, but she already knew the answer, and regretted asking almost instantly.

"Aurora Carnall!" 

June had whispered so loudly, that the sleep-inducing drone of ladylike conversation came to a halt, as everyone in the room raised their eyes towards the grand storefront window. It gave one a broad view of the cobbled street outside, but the girl must have been so quick on her feet that they all began craning their necks to gauge where she had gone. One young woman was bold enough to get to her feet, and slowly walked towards the window to peer out.

"Goodness, the girl still lives here, of course you're bound to see her eventually," Elda scolded.

She rather wanted to return to her tea, now likely infused with all kinds of perfumes and powders from June's stained sleeve, but for some reason, her shoulders felt uncommonly rigid. In fact there was a prickling sensation in her neck, and reluctantly she turned to look over her shoulder. The young woman at the window now had her gloved hands pressed against the glass, and Elda realised that the poor lamb was trembling.

"No one thought they would see her so soon," June continued, but Elda was not listening.

The young woman took a few tremulous steps back, affording Elda a glimpse of her face. It was utterly expressionless, but... not quite. Almost as if she could perceive something that no one else in the room could. There was a clink of porcelain, and then someone at the back of the room giggled, and then the young woman was gone. 

There was silence at their table. June was staring at her friend impatiently, as if she were waiting for an answer.

"Goodness, Elda, what has gotten into you all of a sudden?" the other woman was chiding. "You must be getting silly in your advanced age."

A few women winced as a chair was pushed back and the floorboards creaked in indignation. When they looked in the direction of the noise, they only saw a white-haired woman sitting there looking utterly bemused.

And then, she too fled.

 ---

"Your mother is going to be up in arms when you get back, miss."

 "Oh, she'll be apoplectic with rage," Aurora agreed wistfully.

There was a slight bounce in her step and she ducked down another side street. It felt marvelous to have the wind in her hair again, although the town centre was rather gloomy compared to the moors.

The young maid with her seemed more colorless than usual and trailed behind reluctantly. Every now and again, she would glance fearfully over her shoulder, as if the tongue-lashing she anticipated she would receive was already playing out in her head. Lady Honora was determined to keep her daughter confined to the house for 'the time being' - the shame had made her already frail health that much frailer, and her fiery disposition that much fierier. There would be no more sneaking out, no more mingling at parties, no more unchaperoned walks and certainly no more fashionable clothes.

"Penny," Aurora had said that morning, as the maid brushed her hair. "I rather think if Carnall Hall had a dungeon, I would be in it."

Aurora had agreed, some years ago, that there would be no more frolicking outdoors and coming home with flowers in her hair. There would be no more needlessly asking 'why?' to everything and becoming indignant when she did not receive an adequate answer. She was now twenty, and had strictly adhered to more ladylike pursuits, such as tea-drinking and parasol shopping. She did not hate it. She just didn't prefer it. These past times did, however, function as a means to an ends occasionally.

Today, she was buying gloves, but mostly staying as far away from Carnall Hall for as long as possible. 

It was an almost mechanical process. She knew what the local fashions were, and chose accordingly - snug around the fingers with flared lace around the wrist - responding "hm" and "ah" whenever appropriate. The girl was speaking to was wearing a modest dress of warm brown, with a much slimmer silhouette. This indicated she lived outside of Thornmere, where the fashions were sometimes dramatically different, and that at least put Aurora's mind at ease as she signed for collection one week from now. 

"Is there anything else, miss?" Penny asked eagerly, wringing her apron as they stepped out. "I think we ought to be getting a move on."

"Nonsense," Aurora responded. "It's not even half past ten yet."

And it was a Thursday, which meant, if she were lucky, she might be able to catch a glimpse of the thing in the sky.

"Your mother might be awake by now," Penny wailed, now wringing her mousey hair in distress.

"Might be," her mistress agreed, "but really who can say."

Lady Honora sometimes decided she was having a bad day before it had even started, and spent most of it weeping and refusing the porridge her maids had prepared for her but weakly accepting a sip of brandy every now and again. This had been a common occurrence since the incident.

Aurora's pace slowed suddenly, giving her maid ample time to catch up. "I really think," the girl continued mindlessly, "that given your mam's constitution and all that - I mean Lady Aurora's constitution - she needs you at home right now. It's easy to refuse food when its us maids, but if it were her daughter by her bedside praying for her recovery, her appetite might improve a little and-"

"I'm no daughter of hers, right now," Aurora said quietly.

Penny stopped dead. 

Of course, she knew what had happened. She had been there that day. And she knew that the people of Thornmere weren't like the folk from outside. Penny's own mam had been married to her father with their chubby, gurgling firstborn at her hip because they simply hadn't found the time to get married before all that. It would have been unthinkable here, in this living, breathing time capsule. 

"...don't say that miss," Penny murmured, pathetically. "It's not all that bad."

"Oh, I assure you, it's quite bad."

"But everyday, those feelings of resentment get smaller - you just need time to-"

"I really," Aurora said abruptly, "don't want to hear platitudes from a fifteen-year-old maid."

The street was silent. Almost instinctively, to avoid the gazes of curious passersby, Aurora had walked them to the northernmost point of the town centre, which was overlooked by fields of grazing sheep. They stood apart from one another on a street flanked solely on one side by fortunetellers and curiosity shops, and that was when Aurora Carnall finally looked over her shoulder at the trembling maid.

Aurora Carnall was as emotional and fallible as any human being - there was no denying that. However, while most individuals in Thornmere buried that vulnerability down deep, Aurora almost seemed to embrace it.

She possessed an emotional intelligence that could be intimidating. She was ready to acknowledge her shortcomings, and made no excuses, but her eyes always challenged onlookers.

Do better, be better, or say nothing.

Penny was one of the few maids who could meet that gaze, but Penny herself was emotionally intelligent and knew instinctively that what had happened at the dinner party, and all that preceded it, was not just a mishap.

Aurora Carnall was facing very real consequences. The sharpness of that gaze meant no malice - it was self-preservation. She would not be shamed easily, but she would bear her fate with the utmost dignity. Between them, in that moment, there was so much to say and yet so much left unspoken. 

"Perhaps, miss," Penny said weakly, " we should make our way to a tearoom..."

"Indeed."

"I believe we passed one on our way here - although I'm not entirely sure what they specialize in, I just noticed there were a lot of folk in there..."

Penny, tremulously, had taken a a few steps in the direction of her mistress, whose gaze was now thoughtfully levied towards the uneven cobblestone path. She had intended to guide her by the arm, to a place where she could relax and unwind, and so timidly reached out her coarse hand to grasp that too-thin wrist, lost somewhere in layers of muslin. 

And then, Penny was on the ground, dazed. She was staring up at the sky, a dull pain emanating from her elbow where it had struck the cobblestones underneath. There was a burning sensation in her palms too.

It occurred to her that she had been pushed, and a great sadness washed over her at the unwarranted cruelty. This was short-lived, however, when her other senses slowly overcame the shock of impact, and she heard the voices.

Aurora Carnall was stood, triumphantly superimposed over the backdrop of the sky, holding someone else's arm up in the air. It belonged to a raven-haired beauty, fashionably dressed in bottle green, and she was holding something that winked menacingly as the light hit it.

"A... dagger?"

No, it wasn't a dagger. Dazed, Penny crept to her feet. It was a cake knife cutter, and a rather blunt one at that. 

"Stop!" someone barked from a close distance.

Penny was no coward, but she shrunk back as a well-dressed steel-haired lady in mourning swept in and took the lady in bottle green by the waist, pulling her back.

"Don't!" the raven-haired lady wailed. "Don't stop me! She deserves it! I know it! She seduced my husband!"

The steel-haired lady had no response for this, and faltered for a moment before biting her lip in frustration and giving another violent tug.

Once there was enough distance between the two young women, a flurry of pink seemed to descend, and Penny watched aghast as a white-haired woman began wrestling the cutter from the attacker.

"I am sorry about this, dear. Be a darling girl now, won't you? Give me the cake cutter. Pretty please."

Penny had never witnessed such a polite tug-of-war.

Of course, Penny realized. That's June Seddon. 

The cake cutter finally slipped from the assailant's grasp, and she wailed in indignation as June Seddon scurried to a nearby wall, pressing herself up against it.

"I have the knife, Elda!" she cried shrilly. "Dear!" she added, superfluously.

Taking advantage of a lull in the commotion, Elda Hughes forced the younger woman to face her, and slapped her so hard that the sound seemed to ring out over the moors. Penny watched as the woman tumbled, clutching her face.

"Explain yourself," Elda barked. "You are the most foolish girl I have ever had the misfortune of speaking to. A cake cutter? Really?"

Penny averted her gaze.

"She- she seduced my husband! Her baby was his! I just know it!"

"Just know it...?" someone echoed.

"I saw his face! I told him what happened and all the blood ran from his face!"

"...well maybe he's just squeamish," someone offered.

"How dare you!"

There was another fumble, albeit shortly lived. Penny, weakly, glanced at the scene. It was unchanged, with the woman in bottle green resisting the apparently much stronger woman in black who was now forcing her by the shoulders back down to the ground.

"Aurora Carnall," Elda Hughes began, apparently frustrated the girl's silence. "Do you have anything to say to quell this young woman's paranoia?"

Aurora appeared unperturbed as she looked down at the struggle.

"I suppose," she said emotionlessly, "but... who are you again?"

There was silence. The woman in bottle green stopped struggling to stare at her, mouth agape.

"Who am I?" she repeated. "Who am I? Why, I'm the wife of the man you seduced - whose child you carried."

Aurora blinked, apparently undisturbed by the scene.

"Well, I'm deeply sorry for the misunderstanding, but I can assure you fully, that the man I loved is not your husband. Unless he was hiding several wives, of course."

The woman faltered momentarily in the grasp of Elda, who staggered back with the entire weight of the woman against her. Aurora Carnall, if the rumors were true, had been involved with a married man, and it was quite clear that she was implying her knowledge of the identity of his wife. It was somehow more scandalous than the entire thing combined.

"You- you-" the woman spluttered. 

The strands of raven hair that had fallen into a disarray in the struggle fell limply around her face. Elda did not relinquish her grasp, however, and just looked down powerlessly at the cowering thing hanging limply in her arms.

"Elda," the woman in pink called, still pressed against the wall. "Can I drop this, please?"

She nodded towards the cutter fearfully, although it was little more than a cake-cutting implement and likely would have caused very little damage. The woman called Elda nodded with a sigh, and the knife fell with a clatter to the ground.

"You must get a hold of yourself," the older woman murmured into the ear of the younger one as she knelt down. "That was attempted murder - you were willing to commit a crime worthy of the death penalty. You must have been eating yourself alive with doubt."

The woman was sobbing, and Penny felt a pang of grief. She was dismayed to look upon her mistress and see her glaring down at the aggrieved form with disdain.

"I just- he was so upset. I've never been able to give him children. It made sense in my head-"

"You're a fool," Elda said, but not unkindly. "Now get up, before you dirty your gown."

Penny couldn't stop staring at Aurora. She had proclaimed she did not know the woman and therefore did not know her husband, but there had been no emotion on her face. She watched the woman rise without pity, without empathy. The dreamy, whimsical girl who bounced when she walked and rolled in grass was gone. It was almost like she had killed her own true self to feel nothing. 

Suddenly, they were not alone.

Three men dashed around the corner, dressed identically in bold scarlet jackets and black breeches, their shoulders relaxing when they saw the bloodless, teary scene.

"I see we've resolved our conflict," the one in the middle muttered, sucking his teeth in annoyance.

In Thornmere, people referred to them as "the watch". It was one of the more well-regarded jobs for outsiders, but dull work. They all wore colored sashes that indicated their level of superiority within the group, although it was more of an indication of how long they had been with the force. 

No one was ever apprehended in Thornmere.

Penny felt awfully self-conscious upon realizing that the young man closest to her was the older brother of her childhood friend. It was embarrassing wearing such a frilly, dated maid's costume in front of him, although he too was dressed appropriately for Thornmere. 

"Just a squabble between girls," June Seddon said cheerfully, clasping her hands together. "Someone must have alerted you, but pay no mind-"

"It was attempted murder," Aurora said simply.

All three men paled. "Attempted murder?" one repeated uncertainly. "In Thornmere?"

"This lady was accused of seducing another's husband," Elda said, narrowing her gaze towards Aurora in warning. "There was a quarrel, but nothing worthy of your time. Would you kindly escort this young woman back to her friends? They should still be waiting for her at the Custard Cream Tearoom."

One of the watchmen eyed Aurora lecherously. "Seducing husbands, eh?"

All three guffawed, and Penny frowned at the youngest, who was her acquaintance. He had always given her butterflies, with his boyish good-looks, but now she found him rather unlikeable. 

"Excuse me," Elda snapped. "I'm not quite convinced you know your place."

The three watchmen stopped abruptly. The senior of the three snarled at Elda, but knew better than to say anything. He muttered, "Alright, alright," and beckoned to the lady in green, like an adult beckoning a toddler.

Haughtily, the woman stood, brushing dust from her skirts. Her face was blotchy and tear-stained, but she still managed to disengage herself from Elda with her chin held high. She did not appear grateful that she had avoided apprehension due to Elda's quick thinking, but rather offended that Elda had also protected Aurora from the mocking laughter of the watch.

Penny sighed inwardly. It was all over. She would have to patch up the hole in her sleeve where she had caught her fall... and then there was the matter of Lady Honora, who would need to be informed of all this. 

Oh, she was going to take a battering for this one. Lectured for over an hour by the senior maids... again. 

"Can I leave?" Aurora asked drolly.

"You can do what you want love," the middle watchmen said cheerfully, "just don't get anyone's husbands involved while you go."

He winked at her suggestively as they lead the sobbing woman down the street, quietly ridiculing the other women for her comfort as they disappeared. 

No one said anything for several seconds. Aurora merely stared at the ground in front of her as if she had a personally vendetta against it. Sheepishly, Penny rejoined her mistress, passing Elda Hughes, who had her eyes closed meditatively, and June Seddon who seemed to be having trouble relaxing her body and appeared more cubelike than usual. 

"Well," the latter said brightly. "I should go back and pay for our lunch. Are you coming Elda?"

Slowly, Elda Hughes opened her eyes. She hesitated for a moment, and then nodded, before fixing her gaze on Aurora Carnall. 

The younger woman's feet had not moved; she stood, unmovable as a boulder, and daringly, met Elda's eyes.

"I'll be with you shortly," Elda promised her friend, "but you go on ahead."

Penny was reminded of a schoolmistress she had been frightened of as a child - a woman who was always fair, but whose presence alone made her knees tremble in fear. It was happening now, as the woman slowly approached, her feet making no noise on the ground.

"I don't dislike you, Aurora Carnall," the woman said softly, "far from it."

She reached out and put a motherly hand on the girl's shoulder. Defiant and emotionless, Aurora looked on.

"That's why I say this with no malice: you no longer belong in this town. Get out while you still can."

Penny's legs felt so weak that she wasn't entirely sure she could walk straight, but, without hesitation, she grabbed her mistress and began running. Aurora Carnall did not protest as they arrived at the carriage, and she boarded it without a word. She did, however, rest her head on the frame of the window as they made their way back to Carnall Hall, strangely fixated on the sky.

---

Following the events of that day, Aurora Carnall did not leave Carnall Hall for over a month. Penny, who had been Aurora's maid since the day of her fourteenth birthday knew that it was rare for them not to meet, even when the latter was being punished, but was directed to work in the kitchens most days.

Penny did not come to Carnall Hall to knead dough and inspect heads of lettuce. The outsider girls who did that kind of thing were training in the culinary arts; Penny's dream was to become a seamstress and own her own business one day. Dressing Aurora Carnall, adjusting or repairing her clothes with a needle, and shopping with her - that's why she had come here.

As soon as she was sixteen and could legally work, she would go and apprentice elsewhere, but only the people of Thornmere would blatantly ignore new child labor laws.

"Either that, or they're not even aware there are new child labor laws..." Penny murmured with a sigh as she scrubbed another potato. 

It was probably time to cut her losses and leave.

She would be turning sixteen in five months anyway. Aurora Carnall was a pariah in polite society now - an undesirable. How many summer balls would she reasonably be invited to? How many times would Penny need to darn a glove or cinch the bust of a new gown?

Besides, she didn't want to wear this ugly costume anymore!

All the dresses here were so baggy and shapeless. The sleeves were appalling - it was as if the women were competing for who had the biggest puffs at the shoulder. Growing more irate as she swept flour from the floor and sniffed the milk for freshness, her resolution hardened.

It was better to go back to her family.

She was only honing her skills at this point. There were bound to be enough socks and tablecloths back at home to keep her busy for six months. And her youngest siblings were still so small! Someone needed to patch up their clothes when they tripped.

Of course, in the end, the decision was out of her hands.

"What's going on?" Penny asked, bleary-eyed as she entered her mistress' bedroom. 

She hadn't seen her for weeks at this point, and was relieved that she didn't seem to have changed.

"I suppose I am going to a convent," Aurora said matter-of-factly.

It was three in the morning, and the girl was sat at her dressing table, mindlessly brushing through her long, curly hair. 

"Oh..." Penny murmured, "and am I coming with you?"

"Of course not, but I must be dressed for the occasion."

Both women were still dreamy from having been awoken without warning and completed the toilet in silence, barely registering the significance of the situation. Penny at least had enough awareness to stop herself dressing her mistress' hair too ornately, but it still had not occurred to her that she would likely never see Aurora Carnall again.

"Oh, and I should pack a book for the journey," Aurora was murmuring to herself, "so I should put that in my travel bag..."

Her bags were packed in haste, although Aurora was unsure what was and was not permissible in a convent. The thought somewhat amused her. A convent of all things - a land far from men, far from ruin, where she could live out her days peacefully. She was surprisingly proud of how her life had been derailed, by her own hand no less, and the promise of adventure deep within her.

Of course, it wasn't going to be too exciting, but the novelty wouldn't wear thin for a while, and in the meantime she could plan her next step. A daring escape, perhaps.

Wordlessly, she stepped through the entrance of Carnall Hall for the final time, and waved goodbye to her parents, who looked on with stony expressions. They hadn't bothered to inform her siblings - they would not miss her. 

"Well, goodbye, Penny," Aurora said, taking the girl's hand fondly. "I suppose you'll be leaving too."

Penny nodded, numbly. 

"Goodbye, miss."

The maid turned away, her eyelashes fluttering as she fought back tears. Now that the carriage door was closed, and she could no longer see the beautiful and rebellious Aurora Carnall, reality had cemented itself. She retreated to the room she shared with the other maids, and noiselessly cried into her pillow.

What she did not notice, as the carriage door shut, was the exclamation of surprise Aurora Carnall made when she saw who she was about to share the journey with.

Elda Hughes put her finger to her lips conspiratorially. 

"The whole world is waiting for us, Aurora Carnall," she whispered, biting her lip with barely concealed, girlish excitement. "The three of us are going to meet it halfway."

June Seddon, whose enormous hat was complete with feathers that brushed the ceiling of the carriage nodded, as she bit down on the sausage and egg sandwich she had brought for breakfast.