What had once been a beautiful garden now stood as an echo of distant years. A flower may soon bloom, yet blossoms took much time and care, regardless of how many hands could be hired.

  However, she atient. The world had sted millennia before her and would tinue on for millennia after her. pared to that, the time it took a tree to grow meant nothing. What beauty the tree would hold was not for her to admire. In truth, little she did was for herself, albeit everything she did was selfish.

  While she knew she may not live to see the blossoms, she khere were people who would and they would think fondly of her at such a time.

  The page in front of her was a mess of sketches. She had learnt such a hobby as was suitable for her bearing, whiow proved particurly helpful as flowers had been a on subject. Her task, then, was to prepare for a spri, so she sought te such flowers as to plement it. The sooner such a task was dohe easier it would be to make happen.

  “A Mr Jacob has arrived.”

  Her gaze stayed upon the page, seds trig by until a minute had piled up, only for her to then move on to a fresh paper. Although her movements cked the trol of dedication, they showed the foundation she had built for herself. Stroke by stroke, she brought out a rough design of flowerbeds and paths and even a pond, all of which loosely followed the existing ndscape of the garden. The tre of her design aodated a gazebo—a pce-holder for now, the precise details something she would think ohe ing months before carefully drawing up when needed.

  With that, she finally said, “Bring him around.”

  “Yes, My Lady.”

  The maid returned ihe house. Eventually, a footman led someone over, following the path along the building’s edge.

  Her guest was a young man, nky and gaunt, mouth stu a polite smile while his brow had a perpetual wrinkle. A man with a slight ta callused fingers. He kept his bck hair short, a touch of curl to it, while his attempt at a beard gave him the look of a half-shorn sheep. Despite his youth, a heaviness lingered both in his eyes ah them.

  He followed the footmao her, theo speak, only to bite his tongue and bow his head, for a moment looking like he was sidering whether or not to kneel with how he began to squat.

  She let him stew a moment, then broke the silence as she stood up. “This is Mr Jacob?”

  “Y-yes, ma—My Lady,” he said, nodding along as he spoke.

  “I am to uand you are a journeyman carpenter,” she said.

  He hesitated, then, with no more spoken by her, he answered. “Yes, My Lady.”

  Her gaze lingered on him until he dared raise his eyes; instantly, he looked back down, staring at the floor. “You became a journeyman at a young age.”

  “Y-yes, My Lady.”

  “And still are not a master.”

  He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. With no success, he forced out the words anyway, strained. “Yes, My Lady.”

  “Expin.”

  The single word stilled him, for a moment feeling like even his heart dared not beat. “Th-that is, there is nothing to expin, My Lady,” he whispered.

  “I do not recall asking for your opinion oher or not my question is worth being answered.”

  His eyes prickled, every bone in his body quaking in fear. “I, I don’t know what to say, My Lady. I tried, but I was always told it’s not good enough.”

  “Why?”

  The straight-forward question again dug deep, sharper for how brief it was. “W-well, th-the masters gave their reasons, but….”

  He didn’t want to say more. His heart pounded in his chest, already feeling cold from waiting outside, now chilled by every brush of wind as he grew slick with sweat. However, she would say no more and the silence pulled at him, trying to tug out any words it could from deep within his chest, words he had long learo keep buried.

  Until it became too much. “My Lady knows why they’ll never make me a master,” he whispered.

  “You think you are worthy of being a master, then?” she asked.

  Whether the cold, whether the catharsis of finally admitting that silent truth, he felt too numb to be afraid, yet was not so dumb to be disrespectful. “Yes, My Lady.”

  Again, silence fell, albeit more fortable this time. He did not find the same pressure to speak. After a while, she moved around her papers, then found oo present to him.

  “Do yhis?” she asked.

  He looked up from the ground and stared at the page. It was a crude drawing, he thought, only to realise it was instead something teical. A drawing with only as many marks as it o vey the essential information.

  “A spinning wheel?” he muttered.

  “Indeed,” she said and, reag farther, ha to him.

  He carefully took it, ping the edges so lightly a sudden breeze almost stole it from him. After a moment of panic, he held it tighter, now fretting over actally tearing it.

  “I have a simple question: would you be able to build one?”

  He almost ughed, but he was gd that he hadn’t, still very much mindful of his pce. “Th-that’s… I’ve mended one before. Making one? I, I’m not sure, My Lady,” he said, his voice distant as his mind whirred with thoughts.

  “I did not ask if you are able to, but if you would be able to. With suffit time and such funds to cover housing and food, would you be able to uand the meism by which a spinning wheel works, thus able to design and strue?” she asked.

  For a moment, he didn’t know what to think. It wasn’t the kind of question anyone had ever asked him before. He was often asked what he “” do, but not what he “could” do.

  It was terrifying.

  “I, I don’t know,” he murmured. “I just copied the part—when I me. What, or why, I don’t know. It was wood and o be a shape and I’m good at that. I learnt lots of things, but those were… taught to me. I, I don’t know how I learn what I don’t know. I copy all the parts and put them together, but if that doesn’t work, I—I don’t know.”

  As if to punctuate his ramblings, a tear fell and blotted on the page, smudging some of the ink. He quickly brought up a hand to wipe his eyes, the other still carefully holding the page.

  “M-my apologies, My Lady,” he said, still hunched over, yet bowing his head further.

  For a moment, there was silence. “Well, it is what it is,” she said, her tone lighter than before as she turard the garden once again. “I already have three others w on this and only reached out to you because Miss Gianioned your name.”

  His head jerked up. “Gianna?” he asked, voice hoarse, and his gaze darted around, only to settle on the young woman beside her. “Gianna….” A whisper little louder than his poundi.

  The maid gave ion as she stayed standing so very still, her hands crossed in front of her, gaze lowered.

  “Gianna, when I heard—I tried not to go far, always asked, and I ran bao oold me what happeo you and I—” he said, stopping as his voice cracked. That pause gave him the self-awareo stop. He mirrored her, his head bowed and gaze on the floor, paper ly held. “My apologies, My Lady.”

  She tittered and gave a wave of her hand. “Please, do tinue. I find your little drama rather amusing.”

  His mouth squirmed, a tremble pig at his self-trol. However, when he raised his head and looked once more upon the maid, the wrinkle on his brow left. “Gianna, I didn’t want to leave, but I thought—I wao be a master. I wao take you away from it all.”

  At st, the maid raised her gaze. He smiled until that gaze of hers met his. “Mr Jacob, do you know what I hated more than my father?” she said, not a whisper, but quiet and clear.

  “What?” he asked, his heart ag.

  “That the same people who had pulled my father off of my mother before, when he had screamed he would kill her—they gave me their dolehey told me they wished they had done more, that they could have done more. Yet, even when he was held by the bailiffs awaiting trial, they still told me I should plead for him, that he was my father and it was only right for a child to support their father. That she wouldn’t e back, that he wouldn’t do the same to me, that I needed him to live a good life, that I would struggle as an orphan.”

  Her tone never wavered, no pain nor sadness in her voice. She simply spoke. As she did, his tremble returned, face creased with borrowed emotions.

  “All my life, I suffered at his hands and was told to be thankful. It was not the neighbours who saw how vile he was, nor was it his own family who saw responsibility in his as, nor was it my mother’s family who saw a o protect me and her. No, it was My Lady who heard my story and, by the m, my father had found justice.”

  What little posure he had left finally broke. He hunched over, his breaths ing out in shudders, such a pain in his chest that he thought he might die. “I, I didn’t know—”

  “It is a sin to lie.”

  Her words dug deeper into him than any knife could. However much he had lied to himself, God would always know.

  “Oh my,” Julia said, her tone light, “I suppose this drama is a tragedy?”

  The ent helped him to gather his posure once more, albeit his face paler and breaths unsteady. “M-my Lady?”

  “I rather thought this was to be the cherished reunion of childhood sweethearts. As, it seems that I am quite mistaken,” she said, a hint of ughter apanying her words.

  “My Lady is mistaken,” her maid said.

  He brought out the st of his ce to look at the maid once more. There was nothing there to make him smile, yet he still did.

  “Oh well, there is eai in tragedy too,” Julia said, then turo the side. “Mr er, if he could be shown to the servants’ hall while the paperwork is arranged.”

  “sider it done, My Lady.”

  Jacob almost jumped, the man’s voiing frht behind him, having never heard a single footstep. “P-paperwork?” he asked, theedly added, “My Lady?”

  “It would save us the hassle if you wish to dee. However, given your circumstances, I do not think you are in a position to turn down ho work, are you?” she said, an eyebrow raised.

  He stilled, taking a moment to realise what she meant. “M-my Lady is… hiring me?” he asked.

  “I am. While your answer leaves much to be desired, it is nothing for me to support another person who may provide a crucial insight into a problem I am trying to address. That aside, if Gianna tells me you are petent, I have no reason to doubt her. However, if you prove otherwise… perhaps I shall have to doubt her iure.”

  At those words, he straightened up. “I’ll do my best, My Lady, ho I will,” he said.

  She slowly turned her gaze upon him, the ers of her mouth rising as she let out a slight sigh of exasperation. “Men are such simple creatures. Pray do not think I would hold her atable for your mistakes, rather take me at my word.”

  With that said, she gave a small wave of her hand. Her butler cleared his throat; Jacob did not o be told again, turning around, but his gaze lingered on her maid a sed longer.

  Then he was gone.

  Sile for the wind, she sorted through the pages oable until satisfied, at which point she walked away. Her maid picked up the pages while a pair of footmen came over to move the table and chair baside.

  Down from the patio, she walked along the path to a loch of colour amongst the autumnal shades.

  “Does Gianna know why these flowers are here?”

  Her maid, ing to her side, looked at them, then shook her head. “I don’t, madam.”

  “My father phem to orate my mother’s birthday. He cimed they were her favourite for this time of year, so they have been pnted every year that either he or I have mahis manor,” she said, her voice soft, yet not gentle.

  After a moment, her maid asked, “Madam thinks these were not her favourite?”

  “Who would doubt a loving husband over such a matter?”

  For a while, they stood there in silence, simply staring at the flowers as they shivered in the chilly breeze.

  “As for Jacob…” Julia said.

  Her maid didn’t fidget; no, she stilled. “I truly reended him because I thought he will be useful.”

  “I do believe you. Rather, I am amused at how I have… influenced your behaviour.”

  No reply came for that, but her maid soo out a sigh and then spoke. “He liked to make toys. I think he fot that. When madam mentio was about spinning wheels, I remembered he loved carving spinning tops. He’d sit for hours to get the bance just right….”

  With her maid apparently finished speaking, she let out a light chuckle. “My maid certainly does keep her mistress’s is in mind.”

  “It is my duty to serve madam,” her maid replied without hesitation.

  “Indeed, and it is my duty to be worth serving,” she said, her gaze still upon those chrysanthemums.

  Eventually, she turned away. The walk back to the manor passed in silend it was only upon her return to her office, her maid pg the pages there for her, that she spoke again.

  “As, it is a frustrating thing to be uo uand that which is uood by others. I may look at this diagram and read a report of how it is that yarn is spun, something which even children do, and my thoughts fail to e together. Without that uanding, I ot even begin to think of how this process may be improved,” she said, more speaking aloud than talking.

  Knowing that, her maid said nothing, all the more so as she did not kher.

  “Such is life. There are many matters with which I am hopeless and so I must hope that others may take on the work on my behalf,” she said, ending with a sigh. “Then again, even if I must make do with yarn that is not worth weaving, that is certainly something I may make use of. How I yearn t the paper-makers here….”

  Her maid could not help but smile; however, she did not think her mistress would notice, almost jumping when she gnced over and found those pierg eyes staring right through her.

  “Is something amusing?” Julia asked, her voice light ale.

  Her maid bowed her head. “Madam is very good at using what she has, not what she wishes she has,” she said calmly.

  A smile came to her lips, wide enough that it pinched her eyes. “Indeed.”