The Scarlet Lady
On the day the Scarlet Lady returned, Dorée was roused from her slumber by the sound of footmen running in the halls and someone pounding on a nearby door. At first, she stuffed her head under her pillow to drown out the commotion. She had lain awake late thinking on her humiliations and was now in no mood to be dragged from bed before her habitual hour, which already came early enough. But the sounds continued, and soon enough her curiosity overcame her sleepiness. She rose, washed, and dressed in haste. When she went to the servant's kitchen to break her fast, she found it bustling with an overflow of work from the main kitchen. Orders were being sent out for huntsmen to bring quails and pheasants, for the butcher to slaughter a lamb, for figs and spices to be brought from the orangerie. And all this was not for a lavish dinner to be held later that night, but for a light mid-day repast!
Dorée wanted to ask Berenice what it all betokened, but she could not find the Head Chambermaid anywhere. Her room was empty but for a pair of pewter goblets with dregs of wine in the bottoms, and her bed-linens were heaped in an unsightly pile. Dorée hesitated a moment on the thresh-hold, then entered and tidied up quickly for Berenice. It was a disgrace for a chambermaid to leave her own room in disarray, and Dorée didn't want Berenice to be disciplined for a slip on what was clearly a momentous day. On her way to the laundry with the used sheets, she asked a laundress who was also heading in that direction if she knew where Berenice might be.
"In the Lady's chambers, dolt. Only Berenice is allowed to clean them. But, oh, wasn't she busy with something else when the Lady arrived!" The laundress cackled suggestively.
Dorée's mind flashed to the two goblets. Of a sudden, she understood the scent in the sheets she held to her breast.
"You'd better hurry along or you'll be cooked in the same pot," the laundress added.
"Hurry where?" Dorée asked in confusion.
"Why, the South Wing vestibule. The Chambermaids must all be there when the Lady arrives to show their willingness to serve."
Dorée stopped dead in her tracks. No one had told her anything about that.
"Well, go on then! Don't be late, dullard!" The woman laughed at her.
Dorée felt a wave of suspicion. Was this another cruel trick designed to get her in trouble? Or was the laughing laundress telling the truth?
Not willing to risk it, Dorée scrambled to drop Berenice's bed-linens at the laundry. She took the back hallways, where she could run full-tilt without impropriety, and made her way to the South Wing. When she arrived, all the other chambermaids were indeed dutifully assembled. Dorée took her place at the end of the line, grateful that she had heeded the laundress' warning instead of giving in to mistrust. She straightened her skirts and then stood with her eyes lowered and her hands clasped in front of her apron, as she'd been taught by Berenice. No sooner had she adopted this pose than the door was flung open by two footmen.
The Lady entered the South Wing vestibule like a galleon upon the waves, lofty and grand in a scarlet riding dress. Behind followed her gaily-apparelled Lady's Companion in a buttercup-yellow morning gown. After her came several men bearing travelling bags and trunks. The Lady barely glanced at the chambermaids lined up along the wall, but instead sailed up to the door of her suite at the South end of the long, elegantly appointed vestibule. Then she stopped. The door did not open. The footmen, who were still holding the North doors open for her retinue, looked at one another in panic. Clearly something was not right. The lady folded one arm over the other, swung her raven hair back upon her shoulder, and tapped a booted foot on the parquet floor.
The room held its breath.
Then, all in a gust, the door swung open. Berenice stood on the other side, her hair wild and her wide-set eyes even wilder. She stepped aside, curtsied very deeply, and panted,
"Your chambers, my Lady."
The Lady looked down between lidded eyes and said with the greatest contempt,
"Late. Again."
Berenice -strong, capable, cynical Berenice- looked as though she might burst into tears. Shame stained her cheeks, and her eyes were rimmed with red. A powerful surge of compassion swept through Dorée, whose own cheeks were still flushed from running to make it on time.
"My Lady, it wasn't her fault."
The Scarlet Lady turned around. Dorée found herself stepping out from the line and into the centre of the vestibule to address the noblewoman again.
"My Lady, Berenice was late because...ah...because she had to make up my room as well as hers after I left mine in disarray. Please do not punish her for my slovenliness. The fault is mine."
The Lady turned slowly. Her gaze raked over Dorée as a poker rakes over embers.
"Is that so." She said in a flat tone, clearly unconvinced. Then her eyes focused on Dorée's mane of honey-gold hair.
"Ah, it's you. The Golden Girl. The martyred saint. Now this makes more sense. Poor Berenice is in trouble, so you thought you would give yourself up instead to save your...what is she, your mentor, is that it?"
Dorée shifted from foot to foot.
"Yes, my Lady." She finally admitted.
The great woman looked knowingly at her Companion, who giggled in response. It was a strangely merry sound in the tense hall.
"Well then, Golden Girl, I'll give you a choice. You can take Berenice's punishment here and now, in front of everyone. Or, I can deal with Berenice in private later, and double the severity of her punishment for your sake. What do you choose?"
Dorée froze. Helplessly, she sought Berenice's gaze. The older girl seemed to be pleading with her eyes for something, but Dorée couldn't tell whether she was begging to be spared or asking to be given over to the Lady. In the end, Dorée could only respond the way her inner nature dictated.
"I will take Berenice's punishment now."
For the first time since entering, the Lady smiled.
