No One Notices The Hired Help

The Isles of Chauncey were on the eastern fringe of a great kingdom. The town of Candover was the last outpost on the Isles of Chauncey, twenty miles east of Morton City, the county seat of the Isles (and only a city in the broadest definition of the term). Portia's Café was on the edge of Candover - the edge of the edge of the edge, was how Portia's daughter Celestine had always thought of her mother's restaurant. With its well-kept tables for ladies and its carefully cultivated reputation for family-friendly dining, Portia's was the last vantage point from which people could watch the ships as they left for the wide world.

Few cared to do so; most were there to eat Portia's renowned meals and enjoy the sea air. But Celestine was among the few who could often be found gazing longingly at the departing ships. Somewhere out there was a world just waiting to be discovered, and rumour had it there were even places out there where women could live on their own terms.

Candover was no such place, as Celestine's mother had reminded her again and again as a girl, from the first time Celestine had made the mistake of saying she envied the sailors. "Want to be a sailor, do you?" Portia had laughed. "You're a lady, my dear, and that's not your place."

"But what is my place?" Celestine could still remember asking as she tried and failed to come to terms with having her dreams crushed in one sentence.

"To make a good home for a good man, and to look beautiful for him. We ladies really are blessed, Celestine. The men do the business of running the world, but we give them what they need to run it and we provide a beautiful backdrop for their lives. Never forget, we may be in the shadows, but we have the real privileges. No need to get our hands dirty with anything but tonight's dinner."

"But I don't want to be in the shadows!" Celestine had known it even then. "I want to find my place in the sun out there like the sailors do!"

"Then you chose the wrong body to be born into, my dear," Portia had advised her. "It is every woman's curse, honestly," she had said, looking down at her own body, which was shapely and beautifully clothed as always. "Men are strong and tough and brutal when they need to be, and a woman's body is but a pathetic reflection thereof and a deadly temptation for a man at the same time. It is our responsibility to do what we can to control that temptation, and you had best never forget that."

Celestine had in fact never forgotten that admonition. She had been much too young at the time to have any real idea what her mother meant about temptation. Now, ten years or so later and two years out of school and her body having long since taken shape, she still didn't agree but she understood much too well.

The crew of the

Reprise

, having just put in that morning, were not likely to let her forget.

"Bloody hell, that ain't ever Celestine!"

"It is you, ain't it? Last time I saw you you could'na been a day over fourteen!"

"What's it now, nineteen?"

"Twenty," Celestine said, forcing an agreeable look on her face as she tried to focus on wiping down the empty table next to the sailors'.

"Twenty!" came a haughty voice she didn't recall hearing on any of the

Reprise

's many comings and goings in the past. "Why, that's old enough for me to --"

"You shut your mouth, Stradlater!" snapped Captain Young. "That lass is the owner's daughter, and she runs a respectable establishment!"

"Then why'd we come here?" quipped one of the other men.

"You want one more meal of hard-tack when there's real food available?" the captain asked.

"Hell, no!"

"There's your answer. But all of yeh's, save the dirty talk for later, understood?" To Celestine he added, "I hope you can forgive me crew, they ain't seen a lady in weeks."

"Well, now, we're glad they're here to see this one." Celestine knew her role, no matter how much she abhorred it, and she knew what she was in for should her mother spot her failing to flirt gently with the clientele. "Welcome home, gentlemen," she added. "Can I get you anything else?"

"Kinda pie has Portia got just outta the oven this time?" Captain Young asked.

"Blackberry," Celestine said as saucily as she could stand to. "An old favourite of mine."

"A slice for all the boys, please, and then we'll be outta your hair."

"As fine as that hair is!" quipped one of the mates.

"Why thank you," Celestine said, patting her chestnut curls. "I'll have that pie for you in just a moment."

Flirting just enough with the sailors was an art rather than a science, one that Celestine was forever being reminded she had yet to master. As she turned to bring the pie order to the kitchen, she saw her mother standing arms-akimbo in the doorway and knew she had missed the mark again.

"Fine hair, Celestine?" Portia sounded livid.

"They said it, Mother," Celestine pointed out. "I merely thanked them."

"Yes, and now they'll think it's perfectly fine to comment about it next time," Portia said. "I don't know why they should compliment that of all things about you anyway; of all the things your father could have passed on to you, that was among the worst." Portia's own mane was straight and copper-coloured; that was just another on the long list of things on which she had never got over her disappointment that her daughter had not taken after her. "But if they must comment on that rat's nest, you don't have to play along."

Celestine kept a stiff upper lip as usual as she counted out the slices of pie to put on the tray. "And if I hadn't said thank you, you'd have criticized me for not playing along."

"Perhaps, but you still could have avoided giving those heathens just what they wished for," Portia seethed. "You know your place in this world as a lady, my dear. And hadn't you ought to learn to comport yourself better before you marry Troy?"

"Speaking of heathens!" Celestine couldn't help herself.

Portia grabbed her daughter by the arm and dragged her into the kitchen, having expertly taken note that none of the diners were looking that way. She shoved Celestine up against the wall; the kitchen staff, having seen it a hundred times before, carried on as if nothing had happened. "Now you listen here! Your father, God rest his soul, he and Troy's father made a deal, fair and square, that you would marry Troy. It is not your place to go against that deal, and to deprive our family of the money that's at stake. You know your father left us far too little to live on should the restaurant fail. And we have talked about this before!"

"We've talked about it all right, and I've told you again and again I don't even like Troy!" Celestine retorted. "Father never asked me what I thought of him, and I'd have told him --"

"You'd have told him you would obey him!" Both women knew it was a blatant lie, but Celestine knew her mother was not to be dissuaded. "You've had all the time there is to do what you needed to learn to love Troy! You are twenty years old, and I shan't let you shirk marriage until the bloom is off the rose! Besides, who else is there?"

"Well, for one..." Celestine began, fearless as ever in the face of her mother's determination.

"Good Lord, Celestine -- Dylan?" Portia laughed long and hard and heartless. "That boy knows his place and he knows your place. That's why I allowed you to be friends when you were children. Do not force me to forbid you to continue with that friendship! Troy likely will if he suspects you harbour any feelings for the boy, mind you."

"Dylan is no boy!" Celestine snapped. "He's a man, a wonderful young man, and --"

"And if you married him, you'd find yourself working in the general store all your life like his mother. My God, Celestine, is that what you want when you could live on Troy's estate?"

"Absolutely, Mother." Troy Russell was from the oldest and best-established family in town; Celestine had always known all about the prestige their marriage would bring to her mother's new money. But she had never been attracted to Troy in any way.

"Brat!" Portia slapped her daughter across the face. "Enough of this! Go bring those men their pie, and then I want you ready for dinner with Troy this evening. Understood?"

"Yes, Mother," Celestine whimpered.

"You may have the afternoon to collect yourself," Portia decreed. "But you know what I'll be expecting of you at dinner."

They both turned toward the door, to see Agnes the housemaid standing in the doorway. "S...ss...sorry, m'lady, but...I just..."

"Oh, what is it, Agnes?" Portia snapped. "Celestine is perfectly fine, isn't she?" With that she turned to glare at her daughter.

"Oh, of course," Celestine said. "I've been a very bad girl again, Agnes. When am I going to learn?"

"Sometimes I wonder about that myself," Portia said. "Now what is it you want, Agnes?"

"The kitchen staff at the house was short of a few things," Agnes said. "I brought a list."

"You know where everything is," Portia said. "Collect it and get out of here." She turned and shut herself in the business office. Agnes, who had seen such things a hundred times before, offered Celestine a sympathetic look before she returned to the dining room.

Celestine was sure the sailors could see her mother's handprint on her still-stinging cheek and the tears she had barely held back. But none of them commented as she set the pie plates before them. "There you are, gentlemen!" she said, feigning a cheerfulness that was but a pleasant memory in reality.

Their hearty thanks and joyful first tastes restored her happiness just a bit. But it was her nemesis Stradlater who really brought her joy back. "I say, boys, all me life I've heard about the Green Lake, and it's hours to sunset yet. What do you say we go there next?"

"Forget it, Strad," said one of the others.

"It's lovely," agreed another, "But I've had enough of being on the water with only you lot for company." The others laughed in agreement.

"Happy to bring you there another time, Stradlater," Captain Young said. "But I think I speak for us all when I say there's another place entirely in this town I want to visit next!"

Celestine knew just the place he was talking about, of course: Fliss' Place, over on the other side of Candover's little downtown, a converted mansion that at least looked wholesome enough from the outside. That plus the not-inconsiderable income it brought in, was enough for the authorities to pretend it was just a tavern with a hotel attached; but none of the respectable folks in town ever went there. Least of all Celestine, who was only willing to brave her mother's temper so much.

But she was delighted to hear the sailors were headed there, if it meant they would steer clear of the Green Lake. It meant the coast was clear for her and Dylan to make one of their trips there, and maybe -- just maybe -- today would be the day she could entice him into the water as well.

She thought of paying Agnes a visit to apologize for having to witness the scene in the kitchen, but she knew what Agnes always said. "If there's anything I can do, just ask."

There bloody well wasn't anything Agnes could do. She meant well, but Celestine didn't need to ever hear that again. So she opted to steer clear of the kitchen until Agnes had taken her leave with only a sympathetic look.

The Green Lake was officially called that, and it was said to be known all over the world thanks to sailors who had braved a dip there. Something about the type of algae that grew there and the angle at which the sun hit the rocks surrounding it gave the lake the appearance of a beautiful green glow misting up from the water. It was most dazzling of all at sunset, when the glow was as bright as any campfire would be. For all the many tales Celestine had heard about the wide world, there didn't seem to be anyplace else quite like the Green Lake.

Not all of the locals considered that a good thing. Rumours abounded that bathing in the lake would kill you slowly or at least render you infertile. Celestine, though, had fearlessly jumped in when she was maybe ten years old, on the first of countless surreptitious visits with her dear friend Dylan, who had refused to follow her lead. They had agreed to tell no one -- if it killed her, then no one need know just why she died. When she had reached the end of that summer as healthy as ever, Celestine had concluded that the only remaining worry was "infertility", whatever that meant. She had remained ignorant of that for quite some time after she had started getting the rude monthly reminder that she was not infertile; nowadays she could only wish that rumour had come true.

Dylan, all these years later, still refused to go in the water. But Celestine had struck a deal with him that had him looking forward to their visits just as much as she looked forward to that delightful water. Having lately discovered a book in an officially-forbidden corner of the town library with all sorts of salacious information about love and the expression thereof, she had found herself hungry for a visit to the Green Lake nearly all the time.

None who knew Portia or her daughter would have been surprised to know Celestine had been devouring that book so eagerly lately. They also wouldn't have been surprised to see Celestine hoist her skirt up scandalously high as soon as she was down the block and around the corner from the restaurant. Celestine, so named because she'd been born in the dead of night and because of her father's love of the night sky as a guide, had inherited none of her mother's sense of purpose and place in their conservative society; but she had inherited every ounce of resolve and determination that had made her mother such a success. It was often whispered in other middle-class parlours what a dreadful shame it was that Portia hadn't had a boy with the same personality; there was no doubt he'd have gone far indeed. But for a girl, all those big dreams and that drive were nothing but a curse. No one else in their social circle seemed to know just what to make of Celestine, and she had never felt anything but tense and not quite welcome among them.

But there was one place in Candover where Celestine had always felt welcome: the general store and the cosy flat above it, home to her best friend Dylan. His mother ran the store, his father having long since been lost at sea, so Celestine had always had her to look up to as a woman who'd made her own way in their town. Any inkling of class differences was still years off when Dylan had first brought her home from school to play in their tiny backyard, and even when she had come to understand such things, Celestine had never let them deter her.

Portia, naturally, had found their friendship abhorrent. But she had also learned early on to choose her battles when it came to controlling her daughter. And she'd had to accept that the silly little boy was probably harmless. Surely he knew no daughter of Portia's would ever marry a boy who lived over a store!

Celestine, for her part, had found that idea sounding better all the time. Having already considered it here and there as a girl, she had found herself considering it more and more seriously ever since Mother had revealed the betrothal to Troy, whom she had never liked at all. She hadn't dared float the idea with Dylan himself, but their recent ritual at the Green Lake had made it clear enough that he was attracted to her. So why not?

Maybe today's the day, Celestine thought to herself as she turned the corner onto the high street and made her way through the crowds to the general store. She hoped the store wasn't too busy for Dylan to get away, for the exchange with her mother had Celestine feeling as confident as she ever expected to be to make her case to her friend.

On opening the door, she was pleased to see Dylan was not on duty. His mother was, and she greeted Celestine with a bright smile. "Celestine! What a lovely surprise!"

"Hi, Lorelei," Celestine said, catching her breath after the brisk walk over. "Is Dylan..."

"Upstairs and lost in that encyclopaedia you two love so much!" Lorelei said. "Go ahead up. Just, if the two of you get off to something, tell him to be back by six for dinner. You're welcome too, if you're free."

"I'm afraid I'm not, but thanks." Celestine turned away quickly toward the stairwell behind the counter; she didn't care to show anyone just how sorry she was she couldn't accept that invitation. But she had to pick her battles, especially where Troy was concerned.

Having been in and out of their home constantly since she was a little girl, Celestine had no qualms about opening the upstairs door without knocking. Sure enough, Dylan was perched on his favourite chair by the window, eyes glued to the latest volume of the encyclopaedia his mother had received for free as a display model. He didn't look up as the door opened, but said "Hi, Ma," absentmindedly.

"Hi, Pa," snickered Celestine.

"Oh!" Now he looked up and flashed that boyish grin that had been driving her wilder all the time lately. "Sorry." He closed the book and jumped up to kiss her cheek. "I was reading all about Polerma."

"Haven't you heard of Polerma before?" Celestine asked. "We do live in a seaport, after all."

"Yeah, yeah, of course I have," Dylan said. "I've heard a lot about it, so bohemian and fun and they have this crazy idea that women and men are equal. I figured it all sounded too good to be true, but I guess it isn't! You should read this."

He reached for the book, but Celestine shook her head. "No thanks. I don't need to hear about how there's a place out there where we're equal if I'm not likely to ever see it. Unless..." Her lips curled into a grin. "You'd like to run away there with me?"

Dylan laughed. "Yeah, how wonderful would that be? But come on, Celestine, you've got Troy --"

"Don't remind me!" Celestine took her friend's hand in both of hers. "Can't you see how desperate I am to get out of that mess? I haven't figured out how yet, but I will. I've just got to."

"If I can be of any help with that, you know what I think of him," Dylan said.

"Thanks. But look, time's wasting. I'm here because I heard some sailors talk about going to the Green Lake, and they decided not to. So it might be free..." She broke into a saucy grin, and hoped Dylan would respond in kind.

"Gee, I don't know," he said. "I mean, I hate to bring up Troy again, but..."

"He doesn't need to know!" Celestine replied. "And you know, if I don't escape, I want to enjoy the freedom while I've still got it. And no offense, my friend, but I've seen how you enjoy it too!"

"I cannot tell a lie," Dylan chuckled, and Celestine had little doubt he was getting hard already. "I just...it's harder every time, looking at you and knowing that's all I'll ever get to do!"

Celestine was delighted; here was her chance. "I never said you were only allowed to look, you know."

"Celestine! We're friends from way back!"

"That doesn't mean that's all we can ever be, Dylan. Come on, can we at least talk about it? Your mother said to say be back by six for dinner, but that gives us some time!"

Dylan smiled and nodded. "I'd love to talk about it. Let's go."

Of course they did not talk about it as they made their way downstairs and into the store, where Lorelei was busy measuring coffee beans for a customer. She did notice them long enough to wave goodbye to them both. As soon as they were outside, Dylan said something Celestine had often wondered as well: "I wonder where she thinks we're going when we go to the Green Lake?"

"Maybe she knows," Celestine said. "She was young once, too, you know. I've been reading about how all those urges and tickles I've been feeling, all young women feel them..."

"Gah, I don't want to think about that!" Dylan laughed and buried his head in Celestine's shoulder; she laughed and thrilled to his intimate gesture as they stepped up the street.