Chapter 02

  Tyrant of Rutherford

  It’s been over 10 years since I first stepped foot in this beast of a mansion, but I still get butterflies climbing up her wide, spiral staircase.

  Perhaps, it’s the humongous halls, mountain top ceilings, and spotless carpets that I cannot get used to. The smell of lemon and artificial flowers tickles my nose. Usually, it's tolerable. This time, however, the overwhelming wave of fragrance irritates my senses; I hold my breath to prevent a sneeze.

  I suppose Stella wasn't lying about Marbury feeling busier recently. You can taste the tension in the air. Or the cleaning agent perhaps.

  Marbury Levington, by the way, is the head maid. Known as Miss Marbury by her employees, she oversees much of the household operations and is typically the one in charge of welcoming guests alongside the head butler.

  Marbury is also a real tyrant, if I may add.

  There’s hardly anyone in this mansion that does not fear or despise her in some manner. She's a perfectionist, I'll give her that. However, at some point, it becomes more of a routine. A quota she has to fulfill. Her day isn't finished unless she's rebuked at least five of the servants.

  She's scared off plenty of our newcomers as well with a rigorous training system I like to call Marbury's sadist fantasies where you can get a free taste of passive-aggressive insults and unnecessarily toxic hazing. Indeed, you may suggest her dictatorial system has allowed the Rutherford family to hold the high-class reputation that it does, but it undoubtedly has led to a critical problem: The constant lack of sufficient staff.

  Every month, the Rutherfords hire new batches of staff to make up for their mass dismissals, including those who were fired or quit on their own. Stella always finds it difficult to believe that the Duke would let this happen; she thinks the perpetual staff changes would cause financial problems or simply raise eyebrows. For nobility, it is not abnormal to take deliberate action in avoiding potential scratches to reputation. Her reasoning is definitely valid. However, after working here for over a decade, a few things you realize about the Duke is that things like reputation has been scratched out of his list of priorities since a long time ago. Besides, the Duke has too much money to care, and not enough alcohol to drink everyday.

  “My dear, heads up. The she-devil is here,” Aca alerts me.

  Right on cue, Marbury appears from the corner walking ahead of two other servants. She seems to be busy giving instructions, pointing at the windows and chandelier. Looks like I can have it easy today. All I have to do is slip past quietly and—

  “Ah! Belle, perfect timing!”

  And… she spots me.

  “A moment please,” the head maid smiles warmly and then shoos off the two. As soon as they leave, she drops the face and looks at me as she always does. As if the smell of sour milk just infiltrated her nostrils.

  Basically, she's human and I'm vermin.

  Oh, did I forget to mention? Not only is Marbury a tyrant, she hates me as well.

  “Heading off somewhere?” She asks with a disgusted look in her eyes, as if I had been caught ditching work.

  “To work, you dumb hag!” Aca answers for me. “Now, move aside! You’re being a nuisance!”

  I take a deep breath and reply, “I’m trying to get to the kitchen to prepare the Duke’s morning breakfast.”

  “Fix your headdress,” Marbury commands. “That hair is out again,” she says with a unmistakeable grimace. I can almost hear her thoughts—that filthy hair, black as a bat. Rotten. And grimy.

  “What’s wrong with my host's beautiful hair?” complains Aca, in my stead. “It'd be a crime not to show it off a little!”

  I tuck my loose hair back into my bonnet and bow politely. It's never worth starting a fight. Not with Marbury, when you know her tormenting will only get more blatant as her disdain grows. As I’m about to leave, Marbury stops me again.

  “Your leave tomorrow is cancelled.”

  “...What?”

  “Hah…” Marbury sighs. “Like I said, your leave has been revoked. Be prepared to work as usual. I will not take tardiness lightly.”

  Aca scoffs, “that bi—”

  “Wait, Miss Marbury. There has to be a mistake, I registered my request and got it approved last week. That can’t be—”

  “Is it a medical emergency?” She asks with a click of her tongue, clearly annoyed that the conversation isn’t ending.

  “No, no. It isn’t, but—”

  “Definitely not family-related, so what’s the deal?”

  “We’re celebrating Stella's birthday, that’s what!” Aca hisses. “You senseless wench, hag, bitc—” The angel continues to spew profanities to no end.

  I’m already dizzy from the sudden news, and the nonstop chatter is making my head spin.

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  I pretend to clear my throat, “cough—shut it—cough.”

  “Did you say something?”

  “No, Miss Marbury.” I smile professionally, pointing to my throat.

  “Then, there’s no problem. Be ready tomorrow morning.” Marbury states plainly. What a blessing that she's deaf as a mole rat.

  She takes a step toward me and grabs my shoulder. Leaning forward, she quietly mutters in my ear, “You are in no position to defy me, Belle. Don't forget you are nothing but an filthy orphan who was lucky enough to catch the eye of the Duke's wife."

  Heat rises to my cheeks and the sudden urge to rip her hand off my shoulder builds deep in my core.

  I keep still, regardless.

  “Compose yourself,” she sneers, taking a step back. “And at least try to keep yourself neat and tidy. I do not want to see another strand of that hideously morbid hair.”

  I clench my skirt. The fabric is thin, and my nails end up digging into my palm.

  “Be grateful I can’t fire you on the spot.” She clicks her tongue. “If it weren’t for the Duke, you would have been gone long ago.” Marbury doesn’t bother to hide her glare. She mutters beneath her breath, loud enough for me to hear, “Ugh, how gross… to think you'd look like that woman now.”

  Before I can utter a single word in response, she leaves.

  "Hah..." fuck.

  No matter how many times this happens, it's still unnerving. Of course she'd bring up my dead parents, or may-as-well-be-dead parents.

  Yeah, I don’t have them.

  Never knew them.

  So, what?

  What do you want me to say?

  What could I have done? It’s not like I could have controlled that. What the hell do you want me to do? They've been absent for the entirety of my life, not much to do about that. I am not gonna go looking for people outside of my life who don't give a damn.

  “I know for a fact,” Aca’s low voice snaps me out of my thoughts. His voice is not normally this calm, this rigid. Careful. “Your hair is the most lovely that I have ever seen.”

  I open my mouth to thank him, but I realize my teeth are clenched too tightly.

  Ah. That explains it.

  Aca can tell I'm losing it. My temper. He's trying to calm me down. I take a deep breath and relax my fists.

  “Thank you, Aca.” I mumble. A warm glow envelopes me, as if wrapping me in a blanket.

  Aca’s naturally got a short fuse, so it would have made sense to realize his intentions as soon as his voice grew docile. I guess I was too lost in my emotions. It is interesting, though. Over the last couple days with this chatterbox of an angel, he has shown to have a really keen sense of people’s emotions. At times, his instinct is so sharp it feels as though he can read people’s thoughts.

  Well, I shouldn’t think too much of it.

  “Let’s get to work,” I stretch out my arms and head over to the kitchen.

  . , ; , . , ; , .

  The fragrant smell of spices and herbs in the kitchen makes my mouth drool. I hold back a grumble from my stomach.

  “I heard that,” Aca teases. I ignore him.

  It’s nice in the kitchen, but the heat always makes it difficult to stay long. In the center of the smoke, a buff-looking chef with a white top hat flicks a pan full of stir fry. Unlike me, he’s hardly dripping in sweat and appears to be exactly in his element.

  “Chef, is the breakfast trolley ready?” I shout over the sizzling fires. The gruff man takes a quick peak at me and turns back to his craft, burying his face in the smoke.

  “Belle. That right?” He asks.

  “That’s me!” I confirm.

  Without looking, he points to the corner of the room where I find the trolley, stacked with tea, biscuits, and bread and soup.

  “Breakfast on top, snacks on the second shelf, drinks on the bottom.” says chef Darrel. I stare at the bottom row, carefully covered with a smooth, white cloth.

  Drinks.

  “Thanks as always, chef!” I grab the handle and start moving the trolley.

  “Oh Belle! Hold on a sec!” Darrel hurriedly twists a knob to lower the heat and places a lid over the hot pan.

  “What’s up?”

  He slides to a counter with a massive pot on it. I walk over as he sticks his hand in a thick glove and carefully takes off the heavy lid. A rich aroma of garlic, onion, and creamy mushroom seeps out and diffuses into the air.

  “Mmm!” I lick my lips.

  “Mmm!” repeats Aca. “A fine chef, indeed.”

  Chef Darrel dips a wooden spoon and checks the taste. He grabs another spoon and hands it over to me. I waste no time and take a sip.

  It’s heaven in a pot.

  “You think he’ll like it?” Darrel asks.

  “The young master?” I ask, to which he responds with a bored look as if to say, ‘excuse me, who else?’ It’s no secret that besides Marbury, I might be the only staff around long enough to have seen the Duke’s son before he left for the Academy.

  “Sorry, chef. I’m not so sure. His taste might have changed, too…” I bite my lip. “It has been 10 years.”

  “Ah, no worries,” the chef waves his hand in the air, “just wanted to check.”

  “Working diligently as usual, chef!” I smile with two thumbs up.

  “Bah!” he grumbles loudly, and I think I see his cheeks blush for a second. “I always work hard!” He growls and tries to shoo me away.

  “Ah wait wait wait!” I stop in my tracks. “He likes bread crumbs with mushroom soup.”

  The chef blinks twice. Was he not expecting me to actually answer?

  “I-I mean! I’m not sure, a-and he might not like it now,” I stutter.

  “Great memory!” exclaims the chef. “There’s a reason why you’ve managed to stay here for so long,” he nods in admiration.

  “Haha…” I laugh awkwardly. “I better bring up the Duke’s breakfast now, See you tomorrow, Chef!”

  “Call me Darrel!” he yells as I push the trolley out the kitchen.

  Truth be told, it’s only been a few months since Darrel was employed as chef, head chef at that. The last one was booted out after missing a bone in the Duke’s fish.

  I just hope Darrel stays. At least, for a year this time.