Page 8 of Just for a Taste

As the rattling became louder and more aggressive, I settled somewhere in the middle. “Bless us, O Lord, and these, Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Through Christ, our Lord, amen.”

As the words left my lips and I crossed myself, the room once more fell into silence.

After a moment of pause, I resumed eating. My mind wouldn’t stop racing. What if the abbey was haunted?My hands were shaking, and when I drank, cold apple cider met cold sweat on my hand and chin. What if this place knew I didn’t belong here? I picked up my fork and tried to spear a cube of cheese, but I missed and ground the prongs into the plate. What if something bad was going to happen, and I deserved it?The door creaked open steadily, and my thoughts galloped.

Would anyone care if I went missing?

At the sight of someone in my periphery, I screamed and sprang to my feet. The fork flew from my hand and hit the ground with a clatter, along with the rest of my meal. Fat grapes radiated like marbles, bread sat soggy in a pool of olive oil, and colonies of risotto clung to tile and walls. On the other side of the room, an island amongst a sea of food and with a trident at his foot, stood the butler.

“Oh my God,” I cried, clapping my hands to my mouth. “I’m so sorry!”

He had somehow dodged it all—the fork, the food. His suit was spotless, his demeanor no more uneasy than it had been all day.

“No need to apologize. You did not do that on purpose,” he replied, surveying the wreckage. “I can clean it up. In the meantime, please follow me. I will be bringing you to your room.”

“Myroom?” I repeated, getting up to join him.

“Assuming you will take the position, you will be residing in the abbess’s suite and abiding by its schedule.”

That only raised more questions. I considered pressing further, but it seemed easier to just follow along with the machinations of this place. I pushed myself into silence and shoved my anxiety into the back of my mind.

When we reached the abbess’ suite, which was in the wing opposite the one I had stayed in, the sight of my potential lodging drew me into the present.

The suite was comfortably large with decorations much more ornate than I had expected. Partitions compartmentalized the space into three areas: the bedroom, a reading area, and another room to which the door was currently closed. A queen-sized four-poster bed stood on top of an Arabian rug, complete with a matching armoire and a wingback chair. Everything was silk and satin and mahogany—certainly not the modest accommodations I had anticipated.

More fittingly, the paintings were all reverent—portraits of someone I assumed was Saint Dymphna herself. The reading alcove was more bare-bones, clearly unaltered from its original state. Rather than rugs, the floor was plain tile, the furniture unvarnished. My heart raced at the thought of what ancient treasures the bookshelves beside the fireplace held. Perhaps I could fascinate myself with a diary from the abbess herself, or a first-edition copy of some Latin epic. I might stumble upon some hand-scrawled poetry, or even an old almanac. If I was extraordinarily lucky, I could even find something to help my thesis.

“The maids are waiting for you in the bathroom, signorina.”

I was so lost in the fantasy that when the butler spoke, I jolted. “Huh?”

“Your maids are waiting for you in the bathroom,” he repeated with a scowl. “I will leave you to bathe.”

I couldn’t help but laugh.Mymaids? Getting a big fancy breakfast and a beautiful suite already seemed excessive, considering I hadn’t yet accepted the gig, but adding maids to the equation was downright comical.

The butler didn’t return my laugh. He ended the conversation with a small bow.

Was that supposed to be a joke? Joke or not, I heard water running in the other room. I couldn’t just let it overflow.

When I entered the bathroom, white noise filled my ears. My round lenses fogged up within less than a second, blinding me. But this didn’t matter, as they were snatched off my face immediately. Now the world looked as blurred and moist as the surrounding air, which was heavy with fragrance. In other circumstances, I would have found the scent of rose and sandalwood delightful, but now it felt like that sense had been overwhelmed to compensate for being robbed of my hearing and vision.

Then I was invaded by touch. Suddenly, two pairs of hands were on me, unzipping, unbuttoning, unclasping, and undressing me. They were swift and efficient, yet so gentle that I only felt my clothes themselves move. I didn’t even have the time to squirm or cry out before my clothes were in a heap on the ground in front of me.

Then those hands were lifting me in the air as if I were weightless. I took in a deep breath to scream, but the hot air was stifling in my lungs, and all that came out was a strange croak. I thrashed my head from side to side, squinting to view my captors. The small hands clasping my arms were attached to a bright, round-faced girl in her early twenties. Holding onto my legs was a stern, eagle-nosed woman who appeared wiry yet strong. Their hair was tightly plaited and pinned to their heads in flat, uniform updos, and they wore identical, taupe cotton dresses featuring dark twill aprons and a practical yet elegant design.

I relaxed just a hair. Maids. They were maids.

But this relaxation didn’t last for long, as I was quickly lowered into a massive claw-foot tub. Steaming water enveloped me, rushing up past my chin. Rose petals danced in the swirling water, and before it settled, the older maid poured in a jar of honey, followed by buttermilk. As I curled up to shield myself from both sets of curious eyes, I almost expected to see a massive spoon stir the delicious concoction I was getting mixed into.

“Please relax, Signorina Bowling!” said the youngest maid. “It is our duty to ensure you have a relaxing day.”

I wanted to point out what a ridiculous task it was to make merelax. As if I could relax when no one had told me why I was being treated like a goddess for no apparent reason, when I was quite literally ass-naked and defenseless. Yet she spoke so earnestly that I allowed myself to settle into the tub a bit more.

“You can call me Cora,” I told her.

“Of course, Signorina Cora! I’m Lucia Circelli, your lady’s maid. I will be responsible for feeding, bathing, and dressing you.”

I stifled a nervous laugh into an awkward smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lucia. But I don’t know that I’m going to be staying here, and I don’t think I’d have a maid even if I did. I’m not—” I wasn’t the abbess, or a duchess, or anyone noble, and that fact was at the forefront of my mind.

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