Heat

Esther slips silently into the dark kitchen, enjoying the pre-dawn stillness. She gathers some wood from the neat stack in the corner and starts building the day's cooking fire. It's the work of only a few minutes to get the logs crackling in the hearth, and then she pulls her shift tightly around her as she steps outside to fetch water. The deep winter air is a painful shock, and she hurries over to the well, shivering, and fills a bucket of frigid water as quickly as she can. The cold of the bare ground soaks through the soles of her sandals, and as soon as she's finished with her task she heads back inside, being careful not to spill any. She fills a small cauldron and hangs it above the fire to warm.

She steps back and crouches down to check that the fire is still getting enough air. Just then, she hears the door swing open, and looks up to see Dot, the oldest of the kitchen slaves. Dot gives her a warm smile as she pulls her hair back into a messy bun.

Morning, she says, peering at Esther's fire. Nicely done. You start on the bread and I'll get breakfast prepared for everyone.

Esther turns to the pantry and begins her assigned task, saying nothing. Slaves aren't supposed to be talkative, even just amongst themselves, and she doesn't quite understand why Dot is. Perhaps it's because Dot used to be free, she thinks, whereas Esther was born and raised into this life. She gathers some old dough to mix in so the bread will rise and lets her mind wander as she kneads the ingredients together. Shortly the other household slaves will arrive for their simple breakfast before the day's tasks begin, and if she's well ahead on her work she'll be able to eat with them.

Once breakfast for the slaves is served and eaten, it's just her and Dot in the kitchens; Dot prepares breakfast for the Master and his children, while Esther handles preparing food that will be needed later in the day. Her fire boils water first for tea, then for soup; her hands chop and peel potatoes, carrots, and even a fat winter squash. It's hard work but not unpleasant, and she lets her mind wander, thinking about the family that owns her.

Her Master, Lord Horace, is the man of the household. A military man, he won his title in the field, or so one of the other slaves once told her. In any case, he seems kind and generous, and Esther knows that as owners go, she could have been far less lucky. His wife died a few years ago, shortly after he bought Esther, and Esther can't really remember much about the woman. When Esther arrived she was already confined to what would turn out to be her deathbed with a wasting illness, and Esther only has a few half-forgotten glimpses of a pale, gaunt figure with which to try to imagine the woman.

Jeremiah, Lord Horace's young son, is what Esther's own mother might have called a "nasty piece of work", if she knew she wouldn't be overheard. His father doted on the boy throughout his youth, eager to give him everything his own more humble upbringing lacked, and ended up producing a boy with every one of his own good qualities inverted. Jeremiah is impulsive, demanding, and often cruel - and not even cruel to ensure discipline, which is something Esther would at least understand, but rather cruel just because he can be. She's met people like him before, and the only thing she can really do is try to avoid his attention. The only saving grace is that being in his father's home moderates his cruelty and caprice somewhat, and that he never has cause to visit the kitchens in the first place. The slave quarters are less safe, but Esther, homely as she is, doesn't have much to interest a young man.

Rachel is the Lord's oldest daughter, and is a quiet, serious young woman. She's quite beautiful, if Esther is any judge of such things, and seems to forever have her nose buried in a book, or be doing needlepoint, or some other such ladylike occupation. She does visit the kitchens from time to time, and makes a point of sitting, drinking a cup of tea, and chatting with Dot and Esther as they work, although Esther is never sure what she's supposed to say to the daughter of the man that owns her. It took her an embarassingly long time to realize that actually, Rachel comes to the kitchen seeking company. She shares a home with a father who holds his grief at bay by submerging himself in the affairs of his estate and with a brother that she obviously despises, and has no friends or other companions of her own age that Esther's ever seen. She has little to look forward to in life other than some marriage of convenience to another noble, and she seems all too aware of it, and the bleak sense of resignation Esther senses from her tugs at her heart. For that matter, Esther too is resigned to the life she has, but perhaps the difference is that Esther never allowed herself to think that she'd be anything other than a slave.

Dot finishes plating three much nicer meals, carefully laying out pieces of jealously-hoarded fruit and strips of crisp bacon alongside toasted slices of yesterday's bread, and also pours three steaming cups of tea. She leaves the kitchen to carry them upstairs, leaving Esther to her work. Esther judges the consistency of the dough is about right, so she divides it into several rough loaves atop a large flat sheet and replaces the kettle with it. The bread will require careful watching to avoid burning, but luckily there isn't too much other work to do in winter, so she'll be able to give it the attention it deserves.

She hears the gentle squeak of the kitchen door and looks up. It's been less than a minute since Dot left, so it must be someone else - ah, it's Rachel. Esther straightens and smoothes the apron she's wearing over her thin slave's dress, feeling unaccountably somewhat embarassed. Reflexively, she touches her hairline, ensuring that her headscarf is still in place.

Good morning, Miss, she says, forcing some artificial cheer into her voice.

And you, Esther, replies her owner's daughter, collapsing onto one of the small stools arranged around the kitchen table.

Dot's just taken your breakfast upstairs, Miss, Esther says, folding her hands in front of her. Would you prefer to take breakfast down here? I can go fetch it for you.

Rachel shakes her head. No, she says. I'll just have a cup of tea, if you don't mind.

Of course, Miss. You wouldn't care for some toast or fruit?

I'm not sure I can - ugh, Rachel replies, then gives a sigh of frustration. No, just tea.

Esther's anxiety rises and she complies silently, setting the steaming mug down on the table next to her. Rachel takes it in both hands and cradles it, staring down into the brown liquid. A silent minute passes. Just as Esther's about to turn back to chopping vegetables, figuring that Rachel will start a conversation when she wants to, the other woman speaks.

Esther, she says. Have you ever kissed anyone?