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The two young maids made their way toward the nearby river, each carrying a basket full of clothes that needed washing.
"I'm glad that you're accompanying me today," Clara said as they walked along the narrow trail through the woods. "I would've gotten bored scrubbing all these alone."
Myra smiled, excited to finally be doing her first job. "Does the butler usually send you alone to wash clothes?"
Clara shook her head. "Sometimes."
It was a calm, overcast day. The sunless sky stretched over the treetops, that were formed a canopy above them. Myra felt a cool breeze on her face as she walked over the wet crimson and auburn leaves scattered on the ground.
She could hear the rippling sound of a stream in the distance, accompanied by the chirping of crickets.
"Watch out for leeches," Clara cautioned, her tone shifting to serious.
Myra, who had been admiring her surroundings, turned to look at her new friend. "Huh?"
Clara had a blank expression. "It rained heavily last night. So obviously, the population of leeches would've increased." She slowly glanced down at Myra's feet, emphasizing her words.
Myra followed her gaze—and instantly went pale.
"Eeeek!!" she shrieked, jumping and shaking her right foot vigorously while dancing around. She hated leeches—or any insect, really. The fact that a slimy black creature was sucking on her blood was more than what she could handle.
She panicked, shaking her leg wildly, but the stubborn fat leech clung tightly between her toes.
Clara laughed at the sight, only to be met with a glare from Myra.
"AHHH! Get it off, get it off!" Myra squealed, hopping from foot to foot in panic.
"Amyra," Clara said firmly, "calm down."
But Myra wouldn't listen. "Ugh, this ugly slimy thing isn't letting go!"
Clara sighed, plucked a leaf from a nearby plant, and handed her basket to Myra. "Hold this for me. And stop moving."
Myra steadied herself on one foot, holding both baskets, trying to balance without falling over.
Clara bent down and removed the leech with the help of the leaf, then tossed it away.
"Done," she said, taking her basket back.
"Thanks," Myra muttered, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
"Anytime," Clara replied with a chuckle. "Now walk faster if you don't want another one crawling on you."
Myra's eyes widened in horror, and she started hurrying along. Clara was lucky—she wore knee-high boots under her skirts. But Myra only had worn-out sandals, which left her exposed. She made a mental note to borrow boots if she was ever sent to wash clothes again.
Soon, they reached a clearing. A clear stream ran through the woods, flanked by large rocks on either side. Some of the rocks were wet and green with algae, while others were dry.
The girls placed their baskets down and sat on a dry rock. The water was icy cold, and Myra could see fishes swimming beneath the surface.
"So, what work did Mr. Bossybutt assign you?" Clara asked, dipping a cloth into the stream.
"Mr. Bossybutt?" Myra echoed with a frown. "Who's that?"
Clara grinned. "The butler, idiot."
Myra blinked. "You call the butler Mr. Bossybutt?"
"Mmhmm," Clara hummed as she soaped the cloth. "Not just me...everyone calls him that behind his back."
"That's rude!" Myra said, joining her.
Clara paused and tilted her head at Myra, eyes narrowed. "No, that's not rude. It's your first day, so you don't know him yet. He deserves a much worse nickname."
Myra didn't respond and instead answered Clara's original question. "He assigned me to look after the young master."
Clara's eyes widened, and Myra sensed a flicker of sympathy—or was it pity?—in them.
"Oh, that's unfortunate," Clara said. "I don't know what you did to make the butler hate you, but that's pretty bad."
The words made Myra feel even worse.
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Both maids returned to the Swanson mansion before lunchtime.
"I'll hang these wet clothes in the backyard and come in later," Clara said. "You go inside."
Myra nodded and stepped in.
"Miss Brooke!" the butler's voice startled her. She hadn't seen him enter the drawing room.
"The young masters' home," Simon said, his tone serious. "I need you to bring them down for lunch."
Myra opened her mouth to ask where she could find the young master, but the butler had already walked off, leaving her alone in the hall.
She sighed and started roaming around the mansion in search of the so-called young master. Heck, she had never even seen him. How in God's name was she supposed to find him in such a huge place?
"Looking for someone?" a soft voice asked from behind.
Myra turned and saw a little boy, around five or six years old, sitting on the wide bannister of the staircase.
Her eyes widened. "Oh my God!" she exclaimed. "Little boy, please get off the bannister. It's dangerous to sit there."
The boy tilted his head, as if analyzing her.
"I'm not a little boy!" he shouted. "My name is Luke!"
Before Myra could react, the boy slid down the bannister with a loud, "Woohoo!!"
Her heart did a wee somersault and she instinctively lunged toward the railings, but it was too late. Luke had already landed safely at the bottom.
"Thank God," she sighed in relief. Luke looked up and winked at her before running out of sight.
Who is that boy?, Myra wondered as she continued searching for the young masters.
Just then, she saw Ava in the corridor.
"Ava!" she called, waving.
"Hey, Myra!" Ava greeted, walking over.
"Ava, have you seen the young master?"
Ava gave her a strange look before replying, "He must be in his bedchamber."
Myra nodded. "And where is that?"
"The second room over there," Ava said, pointing at a closed oak door.
"Thanks," Myra said and began walking toward the room.
"And Myra," Ava suddenly called out.
"Huh?"
"Good luck!" Ava said with a mysterious smile before walking away.
Myra slowly opened the door and peeked inside.
"Young master?"
A small boy was sitting on the floor, working on a jigsaw puzzle, his back facing her.
"Yes? How may I help you?" the boy asked politely, turning around.
Myra staggered back, eyes wide in shock.
"Lu-Luke?!"