By the Bay Ch. 01

"You've a good grasp on what the household needs, dear," the Madam commented, leaning back against the settee that she'd been sitting on. With a flick of her wrist, she asked Anita to pour the tea.

Too nervous but to do so, Anita leaned forward and poured the tea as quickly as possible. Luck was on her side, for not a drop spilled, and she hastily hid her trembling hands in the folds of her sari.

Madam Ruth raised an eyebrow, impressed with the girl's skill. She was almost too perfect, after all the other unqualified maids she'd interviewed before her. But Madam could tell that the girl clearly knew what she was talking about. And she wasn't all that pretty, either.

"If I gave you the job, would you be willing to take residence here, at the servant's quarters? The Duke did not specify if he wanted you to stay throughout the day, but there is a servant's quarters next to the kitchen. Would you be able to adjust to that?"

Oh dear, Anita thought. What about Meera?

"Actually, Madam, I live with my younger sister and I can't possibly leave her alone at our house..."

"There are three rooms for the servants, child, and I am only hiring two maids. Your sister may take the third room if she wishes to, as long as she does not appear before the Duke and enters the house through the back gate."

"I – I think that would be fine," Anita murmured, hoping that Meera would be all right with the new arrangement. She did not want to lose this job because she didn't want to work throughout the day; she was perfectly willing to.

"It's settled then, dearie. Come back tomorrow at this time and we'll put you to the test."

"Thank you very much, Madam," Anita gave the woman a quick smile and exited the room.

It didn't hit her until she stepped out of the house. She'd been so nervous in there that she had not realized that working in this house meant that she would not have to carry another heavy weight ever again! Her joy was incredible, and she laughed to herself as she walked away from the house, looking back from time to time just to check if it was still there.

*

When Anita broke the news to her sister that evening, Meera was excited. A new environment could help with her writing, she said. And she wouldn't complain about staying in a colonial house; it was much better than their small one-room house.

Anita had to agree with her sister on that account, and was almost grateful to have a new place to rest her head.

Early the next day, Anita and Meera gathered their things, locked up the old house and made the half an hour walk to the big house. Meera was accordingly impressed, and she let out a low whistle when the house came into view.

"This is one huge house, 'Ka," she said as they climbed the short flight of stairs in front of the house.

Anita didn't have trouble finding the servant's quarters, and after setting all their belongings in the hallway, she told Meera to leave before school started. Meera asked if she would be all right alone before pulling her books out of her bag and heading out the back way.

She explored the servant's quarters for a while, noting that they were sparsely but tastefully decorated. Every room had a color code, and the sheets and cupboards would match that color. She particularly liked the room in royal blue, with its contrasting white sheets and white cupboard. It was a pretty room, one she would never have imagined herself living in. She hoped she'd be able to have that room.

Madam Ruth came in an hour later, after Anita had already familiarized herself with the house. She heard Madam scolding Charles about not locking the door before leaving yesterday as she climbed down the stairs.

"Madam," she said quietly to gain the woman's attention.

Madam Ruth turned swiftly to stare at her before launching into another tirade. You see, she said. "See what could've happened because you were irresponsible enough not to lock the door! If it were anyone else, god knows... I want you to check this house and see if anything has been taken." Then her gaze focused on Anita.

"And you, did you take anything from the house?"

Anita quickly shook her head.

"How long have you been here?"

"About an hour."

"And you just entered the house?"

"The door was unlocked, Madam. And I do work for this house now, do I not?"

"Yes, dear, you do. But next time, try to stay on the first floor. What were you doing up there anyway?" Disgruntled, Madam moved towards the kitchen.

"I was looking at the rooms, Madam. The room at the corner of the house has a great view from the balcony."

"Ah, yes. That it does. Have you chosen your room?"

"Y-yes, Madam. Could I have the blue one?"

"Frankly, child, I do not really care which room you take, as long as you leave one for the other maid. Where is she, by the way?"

"I don't know. I heard no one come in after me."

She heard Madam mutter something along the lines of useless men.

"Fine, then. We'll begin first. Put your bags in your room and meet me in the kitchen."

*

By the end of the week, Anita was exhausted. There were twelve bedrooms in the rooms, two sitting rooms, a kitchen and a dining room. Between Nanthini, the other maid, and herself, cleaning the rooms and preparing meals for Madam Ruth and Charles sapped their strength. On Friday, she was beyond glad that Madam had given them the Saturday off to rest.

She toweled her hair dry as she exited the servant's bath, running through a list of things that she had to do tomorrow. She had to run by Mrs. Druberry's office and pay the teacher with the money her previous employer had given her for the time she'd worked for him. Then she had to press the dress that she would be wearing in front of the Duke. After that...

A peculiar scratching noise caught her attention and she padded to her sister's room to check if Meera was all right. Her sister was sleeping, and there was no light in Nanthini's room. Instantly alert, she crept from the servant's quarters, grabbing a wooden spoon from the kitchen for good measure, and tried to identify the source of the noise. She didn't try to light a candle, for it would alert whoever was out there that they were being tracked.

After a good deal of scratching, there was a shoving noise, like someone was pulling a window up. A gust of cool air brushed the hem of her sari and she turned to the direction which it came from. She froze, staring blankly at the open window as moonlight poured through it. She could've sworn that she'd closed it earlier that night.

She stifled a scream as two hands settled on the window sill. A head, shoulder. Then a whole body rolled through.

She didn't think twice about it. The wooden spoon was in her hand and he was just standing in front of the window, unmoving. She rushed forward and swung the spoon as hard as she could...

*

The Lady Annedocked in the port two hours before midnight. Its occupants stood at the railings, watching the soft waves slowly push the ship into its allocated area. Jay, however, was still in his cabin, looking for the keys he had taken from his late father's study. He had been so sure that he'd put them in the little compartment under his luggage, but they were not there now. Without his keys, he'd have to put up in a hotel for the night and find Madam Ruth Tatiana for a spare set of keys in the morning. How inconvenient the thought was, when he'd been looking forward to spending the night in the house by the bay.

Cursing himself for being so careless, he slung his traveling bag over a shoulder and stepped out of his room just as the last passenger stepped off the ship. The wind rustled the loose-fitting white shirt that he'd haphazardly tucked into black pants as he walked across the ship as he made his way off the ship and onto the lined wooden planks of the port.

Even late at night, the port was bustling with activity. Chinese middlemen cried their wares on one side of the dirt roads and stalls selling snacks lined the other. Intrigued by the smells, so foreign to him, Jay skirted the crowds and walked along the road, noticing that a fried type of ring-like bread was rather popular amongst the customers. When he reached the end of the road, he ordered two of that bread from the Indian woman behind the wooden stall. He watched in fascination as she flashed him a smile, and quickly washed her hands in a bucket of water before dipping the dough into a pot of hot oil. When they were done, she fished them out of the oil, placed them in a carry-on paper wrap and handed it to him. He placed a few coins in her hand, knowing that they accounted for more than the two pieces of bread, but he felt that she needed it more than he did anyway.

He savored the crispiness of the freshly-fried bread and the spiciness of the green chili in the dough as he crossed the street to walk along the stalls selling everything but food. In one stall, he found a lady's dress, obviously worn before, but put up for sale. In another, a brassiere hung from a string tied between two sticks. He also found an old typewriter that still worked and decided to bargain with the stout Chinese man for its price.

In the end, they settled for a price that was half of what he'd been willing to pay for the typewriter, and he smiled as he walked away from the stall, now looking for a hackney to bring him to a hotel.

It was while he was waiting for a hackney that he realized that he didn't really need to put up in a hotel for the night, especially since it was the key to his own house that he'd lost. If he managed to climb into the house through a window, it wouldn't be breaking in, because he owned the place. And it would be more convenient than staying in a hotel.

When a hackney finally rumbled to a halt in front of him, he instructed the driver to bring him to the Shackleton house on the bay. The driver was a friendly young fellow who engaged him in conversation about the island until the house came into view.

He could make out its form even though it was the dead of night. It was just as he remembered – large, white and welcoming. He could smell the salt from the sea in the air, and hear the roar of the waves as they rolled across the sand.

Tipping the driver, he opened the front gate and quickly climbed the front steps. The door was locked, as he'd expected. But he doubted that the windows would be.

He climbed back down the stairs, and looked for the nearest window that was low enough for him to climb through. He finally found one at the side of the house, the kind that slid up and allowed enough space for a man to climb through. He tried to pry open the window, but the wood was too heavy for him to do it with his fingertips. Setting his bags down, he used one hand to steady himself and pushed the window open with the flat of his palm. The window slid open and he quickly lowered his things into the room before pulling himself into it as well.

He doubted anything had changed over all those years. He could still see the living room in which his family had taken their meals when he'd been a boy. The white settee that his mother loved, the ancient radio on the set of drawers that held the silverware...

A sudden movement caught his attention, and before he could even process the thought, he knew that something was about to hit his head. All he could see was a shadow, and the instinct garnered from the battlefields re-surfaced, making him lash out in time to catch hold of what he supposed was an arm. He twisted it until the weapon fell out of the intruder's hands, hearing his harsh breathing permeate the still night air. He moved the person back against his chest to hold him there, an arm coming up to close over the boy's throat. He assumed it was a boy because he couldn't be more than five feet, five inches in height.

But as he pinned the boy's hand to his back, he could've sworn he touched soft flesh. Then a small whimper escaped the boy's lips, sounding all too much like a female. He leaned forward and took a whiff of him, and the scent of jasmine assaulted his senses. Damn. Definitely a woman.

"Are there any more of you in here?" he asked, thinking that she'd broken into his home.

"N-no. 'Tis just me," came the whispered reply.

He let the woman's hand go and reached into his pocket for a lighter. As the small flame lit the room, he got a good look at the small figure that he was holding, his arm offensively draped across her neck. She was an Indian girl, fairly young and wrapped in a sari that was frayed in places.

"Please don't steal anything," Anita tried to say, but his arm across her neck was making it difficult to breathe.

"What're you doing in my house?" He didn't loosen his hold on her, but noticed that her eyes snapped to meet his when he mentioned that the house belonged to him. Her mouth opened and closed, and he realized that he must be holding her more tightly then he realized. He loosened his hold and she took gulping breaths, making him feel a twinge of guilt for starving her of it, perhaps unjustly. What if she'd stumbled into the house by accident? Even as the thought entered his mind, he knew how ridiculous it sounded. There could be only one reason why she was in his house: to pilfer what his family had left behind on the island. Even so, he couldn't dredge up the anger to turn her over to the authorities. It's probably her sari, he thought. If it's a representation of her life...

His hand dropped from her neck to rest on her forearm, and he nearly started as her large eyes rose to meet his. Of all things, he hadn't expected the little thief to have those peculiar colored eyes. They were a dark blue, like the blue of Sapphire stones, and disarmingly innocent.

"S-sir?" Anita stammered, fearful of the way he was staring at her, his green eyes full of something she couldn't quite ascertain. She had already put pieces of the puzzle together to determine that she was facing the Duke of Shackleton, but what she couldn't understand was why he had crawled into the house through the window when there was a perfectly sound door in the front.

She averted her eyes and tried move away from him when she found that he wouldn't stop staring at her. "S-sir, you're two days early. We expected you on Monday, with your family..."

"Do I know you?" he interrupted with a raised eyebrow, then shook his head. "I suppose a more appropriate question would be 'who are you?'"

Anita swallowed thickly. "I'm the housekeeper."

*