Without a word, I silently addressed the woman with a solemn nod, the inscrutable feeling of intimidation never leaving my gut. Though the woman appeared genial and refined, I couldn't help but feel my intuition stirring inside my gut.
Is this a strange side effect of the potion digestion?
After a moment of silence, the woman stepped back and waved her fan in my direction. "Come inside, you don't want your fannies getting all frigid on me."
At that moment, a few servants approached me and removed my breasted coat, hanging it on a small rack beside the door. When I stepped inside the house, the entire establishment seemed to shine with gold and luster. It was beyond even what I had previously seen with Catherine's house.
"Follow me, please."
The woman turned around with a smile, slowly making her way down the large hall across from the door. As I followed this woman, I took notice of all the paintings lining the walls. Some were of her; others were of a few boys that looked a few years younger than me. One of them had slick black hair and a pair of rounded glasses; another appeared shorter with brown hair and a sunken appearance.
The last one was a boy—the second tallest in the family—who had icy white hair, like an elderly person or a ghost.
We reached a small room with an oriel roof overhead, showcasing the rising crimson moon and the stars that had begun to shine overhead. The refined-looking woman sighed softly and sat down in a plush armchair overlooking a firepit in the center of the room.
"I must say, you look rather youthful for one who seeks this occupation." The woman said, adjusting her posture in the chair.
I gave her an awkward smile as I sat down across from her, gazing down into the firepit. The woman suddenly coughed, and her face flushed slightly as she removed her handkerchief from a hidden pocket.
"I must have been dazed by your countenance, I forgot to address myself."
She coughed into the fabric for a few moments before setting it aside in a small basin of water. "I am Madame Charlotte Fitzgerald, but I prefer those in my vicinity to address me as Madame Fitzgerald. It's easier on the soul."
Her brown eyes narrowed slightly. "And you must be?..."
"Isaac," I replied.
"And your surname?" Madame Fitzgerald continued.
"Surname?" I felt a wave of puzzlement.
"A surname. What's your fathers surname?"
I fell silent, my mind flashing over to the thought of the man. His form darkened, his eyes a beaming red and his face forming a contorted, maniacal grin. At that moment, I realized he had never given me a last name. My mother hadn't ever told me it, and I've never been shown my medical forms or a birth certificate of any kind.
Not that my parents had actually found me as a baby. From that dream I had, I appeared a little younger than I was at the moment.
Why hadn't any of my teachers consulted me on my lack of last name? Maybe they assumed I didn't want to write it. Perhaps it was within the schools database, and considering my American ethnicity and unique circumstance, I was the only person in maybe all of Japan to possess such a name. That would enable me to live in such a weird fashion without backlash.
"I…don't know my last name," I replied softly, sinking down a little in my chair.
"You don't know your surname?" Madame Fitzgerald's brows furrowed slightly.
I shook my head. "For some reason my parents never told me."
"Rather interesting. Luckily, Isaac isn't a common name in Seraphis Kingdom, so your application shouldn't be a hassle to properly distinguish from the others."
"Others?" Had other people offered to take the job too?
The woman chortled heartily. "My stars are you a gullible runt. That advertisement has been sitting in the catalogs for what seems like epochs."
She pointed out of the room, towards a servant who stood in the doorway with a solemn yet unreadable expression. "The servants handle commodities such as bathing and food preparation, while anyone who gets the job must work to entertain my dear Bertram."
I felt a wave of deliberation upon hearing such odd terms like "entertain". Would I be working with a child or an immature teenager my age? What if it's actually a manchild? Who knows how old those portraits in the hallway were.
"Tell me about this Bertram." I clasped my hands on my lap, shooting a glance at the Madame.
"Bertram used to be quite the eccentric and outgoing fellow, unlike my other two boys. My eldest, Raymond, owns the Parterre de Fleurs downtown. While my youngest, Wilfred, isn't actually related to me by blood."
"What do you mean by that?" I leaned forward slightly.
"Wilfred is…a pitiful soul in my own remark. One day, during a particularly vicious rainstorm, my eldest burst into the room with a young soul in his arms, barely conscious and covered in bruises and lacerations."
The woman continued, her expression gradually softening as she continued to recall the ordeal. "That night we bathed and fed him. When we asked him about his origins, he couldn't recall a snippet."
A servant entered the room, carrying a tray of tea and some biscuits. After setting them down and leaving, Madame Fitzgerald continued.
"Aside from the other sons of mine, Bertram was the jolliest of the trio. He always possessed the most life and eccentricity."
"You speak as if it's the past." I said, a small simmer of skepticism bubbling to the surface of my cup.
"That's because it is, Zachery." Madame Fitzgerald brought the cup to her lips and sipped quietly, extruding her pinkie in the formal manner.
"Zachery?"
Madame Fitzgerald scoffed. "I apologize, I possess so many cousins and relatives I tend to mix up similar sounding names." She guffawed quietly, bringing out her fan and running it over her face once more.
"My dear Bertram came back from an out-and-about with his many friends, but his expression and demeanor were one of a puppet."
The air around me cooled a tiny amount, making me shiver slightly. The fire flickered slightly as she continued to speak.
"When I check on him late at night, he's either awake mumbling to himself in his bed, or he's sound asleep. During breakfast and meals during the day hours, he eats without a word and disposes of his dishes in an eerily collected fashion. He moves without a stumble or lash."
"You said he began to act like this after he came home from a get-together with his friends?" I cocked an eyebrow.
Madame Fitzgarold nodded. "Indeed. But he hasn't seen them in quite a while since his change in behavior."
Another servant walked into the room, bending down slightly and whispering something in Madame Fitzgerald's ear. Upon hearing whatever it was, her eyes widened slightly and she let out an "oh."
She straightened her back and cleared her throat. "Apparently Madame Jessibel and her fiance want me over tonight for a surprise get-together."
The woman paused for a beat, her expression turning more serious and collected. "I told my children not to touch the platter I laid out for you. At eight thirty sharp, Bertram must be sent to bed. He can either read or fall asleep, but at nine past morning you must inform him of his time to slumber. If he's asleep, don't bother speaking."
"For bathing and cleanliness, let me handle it." A female voice sounded from the doorway. I saw a woman with blonde hair wearing formal servants attire, her yellow eyes flickered with a small hint of warmth, but her hands fidgeted with the hem of her dress.
After everything was sorted through, the woman with heavy makeup was escorted out the door towards her carriage. When I peered outside, I noticed in the interval I had been inside her house, some of the roads had been tended to by the workers.
"She's usually out until about ten past morning." The woman's voice sounded behind me. I turned around and smiled at her.
The blonde-haired servant stood about five foot eight, and her blonde hair was hanging loosely on her shoulders.
"So I assume I'll be here for about…" I looked towards the traditional-looking clock in the center of the foyer hanging overhead the staircase. I had never been taught how to use an analog clock, often relying on the digital clocks in my classrooms and the one on my dresser.
As if sensing my confusion, the woman smiled. "Three hours, it's seven past morning at the moment."
Just then, she stepped back and looked past me into another room. "Have you eaten yet, doll?"
I shook my head. "The only thing I had was breakfast this morning."
"Well then…" She began to walk into the room behind me, beckoning me to continue. "The lads in the kitchen had prepared quite the dining masterpiece for anyone who seeks the occupation."
A small table could be seen in the center of the small dining room. On the plate was a variety of cheeses, fruits, vegetables, and a small collection of pastries for dessert. Inscribed in neat handwriting on a note near the plate were the letters: "don't touch, Raymond and Wilfred."
"Enjoy." The female servant smiled at me and walked away. "When you're finished I'll bring Bertram downstairs for formal introductions."
I nodded, sitting down at the table and sighing softly. Before me was a wide variety of food from all across the kingdom. But what shocked me the most was the sheer agricultural output for the cold winter months. Have they discovered what a greenhouse is?
I reached out, ready to grab a piece of cheese when I felt a sharp slap grace my wrist. I looked up, my blood running cold as I gazed upon another servant, clad in a suit. His face was a mask of solemnity and discipline.
"You must use the tongs to grab food, unwashed hands gracing the sustenance is something ruffians and scoundrels indulge in." He pointed towards the pair of metal tongs sitting beside the plate. They were small enough to not catch my eye at a first glance.
The dark colour of the table made them blend in even more. I slowly picked up the tongs and supplied myself with a healthy serving of fruits, vegetables and a small amount of cheese. When I reached to grab a small cherry drizzled biscuit, I was met with another beat to the wrist.
"Eating pastries before finishing the main dinner isn't welcome here." His voice lowered almost to a dangerous extent. His tone resembled more of a threat than a simple admonishing.
"I get it." I felt the sigil on my forehead burn slightly. The servant who had been correcting my etiquette suddenly took a step back, his body trembling slightly as he gazed into my eyes.
"I-I apologize." He stuttered out, bowing down and departing from the room.
"Is there…anyway you can prevent that from happening again?" I asked The Umbridge inside me.
"Unfortunately, no." The ethereal voice sounded in my mind.
"Is there any way I can stop it?"
"Well…"
I heard the woman's voice behind me. "Come along, don't be shy."
I turned around, gazing at the duo which had entered the room. I saw Bertram and the female servant standing side by side. I slowly stood up, my hands diving into my pockets as I approached Bertram and gazed at the boy.
"Hello." I said in a low yet polite voice.
"Why are you crying?" Bertram asked, his tone eerily emotionless. The boy's eyes were laser-focused on my form, his hands tucked behind his back. He stood about my height, and he was clad in a pair of silk pajamas.
"E-excuse me?..." I felt a strange shiver course down my spine as I continued to gaze at Bertram.
"Why are you crying?" He repeated the question, his voice remaining the same.