It was a hot, sultry summer evening; blissful and serene save for the low buzzing of the cicadas, when a shrill scream rang out from the Winsten manor of Triciella. The scream tore through the quietness of the white southern terrace and through the tranquility of the lord Winsten’s cherished rose garden, and caused a flock of Bubblebirds to fly away hastily in a flurry of pink and white feathers. The guard dogs of the manor barked fiercely and their keepers exchanged quick glances of confusion with each other. A handful of maids scurried out into the courtyard and ran towards the source of the sound.

 

It undoubtedly came from the western wing of the manor.

 

More specifically, it came from the room of Lady Joanna.

 

The maids abandoned all pretenses of knocking and burst into the room with various states of confusion on their faces. Their panicked voiced rang out over each other noisily.

 

“Are you alright, my lady?”

“What happened, my Lady?!”

“We heard your scream all the way from the courtyard!”

 

The lady in question was standing stock still in front of the large silver mirror at the centre of her room. The place was in chaotic disarray, with bed sheets and curtains and silken clothes strewn haphazardly on the floor. The lady stood in her underwear, mute and frozen. If one looked carefully, one could see the quivering of her lips, the whitened knuckles and the horror in her pale face. But the maids had no time for such dramatics. It was Lady Joanna after all.  It was common knowledge among the staff that the firstborn child of Lord Winsten was a spoilt young lady of gaudy preferences and foolish dreams. That she wore arrogance like a cloak, and regularly sneered at the workers and the maids to remind them of their places. And if the rumors flying from mouth to mouth in the mansion were true, then the lord wasn’t too fond of his eldest daughter and her questionable habits. All the maids who were hired quickly came to the same conclusion: The master of the manor didn’t care for the lady, therefore they needn’t care either.

 

Nevertheless, this distasteful young lady was still of noble birth, and if anything were to happen to her, it is undeniable that heads would roll. So the maids swallowed up their distaste and pretended to worry over her, while stealthily checking for any injuries on her person.

 

“What am I doing here?” Joanna mumbled, more to herself than to the maids standing behind her. “Where on earth is this place?!”

 

“You are in your own home, my lady” said Perry, a young maid who had been hired recently and had been warned discreetly of the Lady’s temper tantrums. It was seven o’clock in the evening, and she just wanted to fold the laundry and finish off her work, dammit! “It is the Winsten manor. You have lived here for all your life, my lady.”

 

The other maids glanced over at her in various degrees of respect and admiration. It was understood that you will need a special brand of patience to deal with the daily shenanigans of Lady Joanna. It was, very amusingly (and to the horror of those that came here unawares), a rite of passage for all the newly hired servants to take the full brunt of the lady’s tantrums and escape unscathed. The old staff of the manor were up to no good either; they secretly placed bets among themselves about how long it would take for the lady Joanna to lash out against a newbie because either: “I don’t like the way he is acting in front of me!” or “This maid needs to know her place!” or some such creative new insult that she liked to come up with. To not only be unfazed by the sight of the room and calmly answer all possible kinds of idiotic questions unflinchingly, Perry was slowly and surely becoming one of the most admirable maids through the first week of her employment. Why, even the cook, Mrs Tabitha, and the gardener, Mr Rowell had attested to that fact!     

 

“Winsten manor?” the Lady whipped around, face full of freckles and sweat, “Did you say WINSTEN MANOR?!”

 

Did I stutter? Perry thought irritably, “Yes my lady, the Winsten Manor.”

 

The other maids exchanged glances. What on earth was going on? Was this perhaps a new ploy to bother them? Was she getting desperate for attention? By the Goddess! Did she finally go crazy?

 

Lady Joanna stood there for a few seconds, gave them a blank stare each and looked at herself in the mirror once again. When she turned back towards them, there was a rare smile on her face, all dimples and pearl white teeth. And then laughter bubbled up from her throat. The maids shrank back in fear.

 

“Ahahaha! I see how it is!” she laughed heartily, and as much as the maids loathed admitting it, she looked normal for once. Her voice rang amused and clear, devoid of the usual acidity, so much so that even the stoic Perry found her own eyes widening in wonder.

 

“It’s a dream, I reckon. An awfully realistic one at that.” Joanna shook her head, grinning, as if coming to a particularly obvious conclusion for a stupid dilemma that has long been bothering her, “Oh, of course it’s a dream! Why didn’t I think of it before?”

 

Before any of the stupefied maids could interrupt her, she skipped over to the bed and promptly climbed back in, ill-fitting underwear and all, and snatched the velvet blankets off the floor. There was a quiet murmur that sounded suspiciously like: “Jesus! This body is scrawny!”, but they could have misheard that. She tucked herself comfortably under the covers and lazily poked her head out from underneath. When her gaze landed back at them, that fearsome smile was still gracing her face.

 

“Thanks for your concern, ladies!” said the infamous Lady Joanna of the Winsten manor, cheerfully waving her skinny, pre-pubescent arms at their direction, “Y’all can go back to your businesses now. Whelp! I’m off to sleep again!”

 

And then there was silence.

 

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In all the years that she has worked for lord Winsten, this was the second time that Mirian felt a twinge for genuine concern for Lady Joanna. The first time was five years ago, when Mirian had been just in the fifth day of her employment.  A poor male servant had accidentally spilled some scalding hot tea on the frilly dress of eight years old Lady Joanna, and Mirian had rushed over to her side in worry. The young lady had screamed and screamed, fat tears spilling from her eyes on to her freckled cheeks. Mirian, the then level-headed 27 years old woman, had felt a rush of protectiveness at the sight. She had shushed and soothed her gently, and had tried to take her tiny hands into her own to check for any burns. But the young girl had snatched her hands back with a viciousness that had left the maid stunned.

 

“Don’t you dare to touch me, you filthy maid!” Joanna had glared at her like she was human scum, eyes icy and acidic, “How dare you let that lowlife spill tea over me under your watch?! Do you think that YOU are blameless? Filthy rats! Know your place! Why, all of you ought to be sacked this instant! ”

 

Mirian had shrank back in fear and shock, but mostly in disbelief that she had never heard such an acerbic choice of words from an eight year old. In the end lady Joanna had stubbornly sat through the entire ordeal, refusing to be touched by the servants, till her parents came running and coaxed her inside for a checkup from the royal doctor of Triciella.

 

That day Mirian had finally been able to understand the hard earned advice of her older colleagues: “If you ever feel sorry for Lady Joanna, you ought to feel sorry for yourself first.” Needless to say, Mirian had learnt her lesson after that, and never questioned it again.

 

It was quite easy to follow through as well, since lady Joanna never changed herself through the years, spoiled and toxic and ever predictable in her disdain towards commoners. But today, faced with that cheerful smile, Mirian felt like she had accidentally drunk dishwater for breakfast. It was all kinds of wrong and weird, because the lady never smiled at commoners. For the Goddess’s sake! She, Mirian Connelt, was the oldest maid in the western wing of the manor, and even she had never seen lady Joanna smile even once.

 

As if the smile wasn’t already strange enough, the lady had waved at them and thanked them for their concern!

 

Mirian thought that she might faint.

 

“Hey hey hey!” said Lucia, the brown haired, mousy little maid, who liked to put an average of about ten “Hey”s in every sentence, “Hey everyone, what do you make of that? I mean hey! I saw her smile and was like ‘Hey! Who is this normal human girl and what has she done to our mean Lady?’ Just kidding, hey!” she laughed, and then surreptitiously looked back and forth to the hallway, “But hey, seriously! What on earth was that?”

 

“Two more left.” Perry murmured to herself thoughtfully, ever the diligent person, and then straightened up. Her poker face had a hint of confusion. That is also a first, huh? Mirian thought.

 

“I don’t think that the lady’s had anything weird for lunch.” Perry said, “And I say that this is some new mischief she’s come up with. She’s figured that lord Winsten won’t just up and fire any servant without good reason, and she is quite unable to make our lives miserable. So the lady has to resort to more refined tactics now. Do not let your guard down. Do not let that smile fool you.”

 

The other maids all vigorously nodded their heads in various levels of enthusiasm. As expected of the talented newbie. She just said the very thing that everyone wanted to (needed to) hear.

 

Mirian was torn between feeling amused and impressed. Perry approached everything with cold, hard logic, and basically treated everything around her like a battlefield. In another life, she might as well have been a general of an army. Although, treating lady Joanna like a seasoned enemy might be a little overkill. That girl was just a dumb, spoiled, and arrogant brat. No need to get so worked up over her.

 

No need at all.

 

Do not let your guard down, Mirian thought to herself, and repeated it around in her mind for good measure. Do not let that smile fool you.