AMBERGILL: What Lies Within

CHAPTER 03

“My mother… was your teacher?”

The name Cecilia Beverly sparks fear when heard around town. Most of the women here were nothing but mere slaves and entertainment to men if they were born without the blood of nobility. King Ernest had often belittled women throughout his reign, a habit that echoed through generations of rulers before him. Under their governance, we were often considered less significant than even donkeys, a societal standard that perpetuated in the eyes of men. But, it was different for my mother.

She was a true fighter. She had taught me many sports as a child, like fencing, archery, and killing bears. Despite her lowly status as a maid in the palace and a woman in this prejudiced world, she wielded knowledge and wisdom like a weapon. Her influence extended beyond her duties; she was whispered about in hushed tones, her opinions valued and her warnings heeded. Her knowledge served fright.

She commanded silent respect from those around her, instilling fear in anyone who might consider demeaning her in her presence. Men feared her!

She taught me to never hide in the shadows of men but to take pride in being a woman. She revealed to me before that her work in the palace was not merely about serving the royal family… but about striving to illuminate a path forward within the darkness of men.

And she was no ordinary woman in the eyes of the King as well. I have solved this puzzle long ago.

My mother must have known something about the deep dark secrets of the royal family for her to intimidate the King. I knew she was lying about her job being a “maid”. But I cannot believe she was this child’s teacher!

I knew my mother well—perhaps better than anyone outside the palace walls. Her strength, her intelligence, and her unwavering sense of justice were etched into my memory. Yet, amidst all that I understood about her, there remained a lingering mystery: what had led to her death at the hands of the King?

I wonder… I wonder what she knew for her to be silenced like that.

“Yes! Cecilia was my teacher. My cook, and maid… But I rather not call her that,” Lady Priscilla pauses.

Her soft, cold hands touched mine as she pulled me closer to her bedside table, revealing at least ten stacks of thick books.

“She was like an aunt. My mother, the Duchess of Ashbury, is always in Hollingworth as per the King’s order… Cecilia was my only company,” she adds.

“These must be…!”

I restrained myself before rushing over to the table. Oh, mother! You really did take care of her!

My eyes widened as I beheld the stacks of books belonging to Lady Priscilla. They were identical to the journals I had back home! Mother had always insisted I write in them diligently.

“These are journals, aren’t they?”

“Oh! Yes, yes! Cecilia always made me write on the notes she brought. Every night!”

My heart swelled with warmth at the confirmation. How I missed my mother. “I knew it,” I whispered softly. As a child, my mother would give me these empty books I must write on every night about how my day went.

It became clear that Priscilla's upbringing mirrored mine in unexpected ways. Her mother, the Duchess of Ashbury, was always out of town… And my mother became hers. We had been both shaped the same way by the same woman.

“Did she also make you do these?” her enthusiasm was nice to see.

“Yes, she did. I have the same ones at home.” I answered, my smile widening. In my excitement, I forgot formalities and dropped the honorifics, only realising my lapse after a moment. “Oh—I—I’m very sorry! Please forgive my rudeness, Lady Priscilla… I was just very thrilled to…”

She continued to smile at me, her gaze gentle and unwavering. The revelation that my mother had been nurturing another girl, old enough to be my younger sister, came as a surprise. Lady Priscilla did not resemble any of the royalty I had encountered personally. Intrigue replaced my initial apprehension about serving this unfamiliar Lady. The thought that she had spent years under my mother's care sparked a newfound interest in her.

I can’t take it! In my eyes, she is merely a sweet, innocent girl who had been raised much like I had by my mother. It is hard to consider her an enemy.

“It’s alright, Martha! You may just call me Priscilla… Or Jane?”

Her suggestion caught me off guard, throwing me into a flashback of last night when I had encountered the Prince.

Her offer to use her given name instead of her title felt like an invitation, a gesture of openness that mirrored the Prince's approach the night before. But… unlike that moron man, I can feel her sincerity.

Of course! My mother raised her!

“Thank you, Priscilla,” I said warmly, returning her smile.

However, I must not get too comfortable with her. “But, I’m afraid the King would not like to hear that that is how I address you.”

“Oh, ‘tis fine! He’ll never hear it anyway!”

“...Pardon?” My brows raised.

She settled eagerly on her bed before responding. “I am forbidden to step outside of this room… ever. Therefore, no one will know!” she tells me as if it was a casual thing to occur.

I ask her, “You may not come out? And she immediately answers with a polite nod.

As my eyes roamed around the room again, I noticed the chaos—a vibrant mix of chalk drawings adorning the walls, papers taped with notes, scattered toys, painted mugs, clays, and more. There were also cabinets of what I assume contained food. The adjacent room likely served as a bathroom, but aside from that, her entire world seemed confined to this chamber. It was clear that everything she needed to live was contained within this singular space, extending just beyond her bed

The realization dawned on me that Priscilla's existence was tightly controlled, her world circumscribed by the boundaries of this room.

“W…When was the last time you saw the sun, Priscilla?”

The rooms had no windows whatsoever. Only a long horizontal tiny gap on the wall, near the ceiling that can only fit a flatten wood… Perhaps only used for ventilation.

“Oh… My first and last encounter with the sun was five years ago.”

“What?!”

What sick bastard confines a child to a chamber for her entire life, concealing her existence from the world?

This—this sick room is rather a prison than a sanctuary. How long had Priscilla been confined within these walls?

My hands clenched into fists, trembling with righteous anger. Is she really just a victim, like my mother?

“Are you feeling unwell, Martha?” Her concern for my well-being tempered the storm of anger brewing within me.

In her presence, I sensed a purity and innocence rarely encountered among the nobility. Perhaps it was because she was still a child, shielded from the oppressive control of the cruel royals who dictated the fate of so many.

“I’m alright,” I assured her. “So… can you tell me more about your memories with my m—Cecilia?”

“How I’d love to!”

She again enthusiastically stands up from her bed to pull the heavy books on the edge of the table. “You can read these all! These are worth almost seven years of my everyday life starting from when Cecilia came and… unfortunately I ran out of papers when she never returned, ” she offers.

“Read? Don’t you want to tell me about it instead?”

“Oh, I may… And I think that is more fun! But… I lost all my memories from when I had met Cecilia.”

“... What do you mean?”

Lost… her memories?

“The last day Cecilia was here, I had lost all my memories overnight. I just know everything we did together because of these journals she made me write,” she explained, her words hanging heavy in the air.

I gulped. She lost her memories of my mother… And somehow knows about it all anyway because my mother made her write it all…

“When was…” My voice starts shaking. “When was Cecilia last here?”

“January 1st, five years ago.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. That was the exact day mother had passed away. The realisation washed over me, a flood of emotions crashing together—grief, disbelief, and a growing sense of unease.

Nothing is making sense! “Priscilla… Why are you in here? Why… Why are you not bidden to see the outside?” I managed to ask her, attempting to hold back my emotions.

“The King says I am verily sick, and the conditions of the outside world is not good for my health,” Priscilla tries to recall.

“Sick?”

I turned my gaze towards the stack of journals, and the one on the very top caught my attention. If this book was the latest one Priscilla had written, it likely contained entries from the final days before my mother passed away. Could she have maybe left something for me?

“Martha, you can read it all,” she says, noticing my stares.

“Are you sure? This is your private life, Lady Priscilla.” I inquired once more. I badly want to dive into her memories to see what my mother had been like before she died.

“Just Priscilla,” Priscilla smiled warmly, her eyes reflecting a deep sense of trust. “It is alright. Perhaps Cecilia made me write these for this very reason.”

“And, I feel a little guilt within me, knowing that she spent her final days with me, instead of you, her own daughter,” she adds, touching my heart.

I reached for the thinner book, assuming it to be the incomplete one. As I opened it, I scanned through the pages, noticing how meticulously Priscilla had filled them with her daily adventures inside this sickly jail. My fingers traced the lines until I reached the middle, where the entries abruptly ceased, leaving the subsequent pages blank.

“That’s the last day I wrote. It was the day before I lost my memories,” Priscilla confirms.

As I read Priscilla's last written words, my hand trembled.

I am quite upset that mummy will not make it tomorrow, even when it is my birth date. But, I am very excited as Cecilia promises to take me out tomorrow at noon! We will be seeing the sun, and watching the moon appear! She said she would be telling me the greatest secret ever! Goodnight!!!!

- Priscilla Jane W.

My mother died after attempting to set Priscilla free?

Priscilla lost her memories after setting foot outside?

The pieces of the puzzle seemed to blur together, leaving me grappling with uncertainty and sorrow. I start turning the pages aggressively, hoping I can find the answers. What happened that day, what did my mother tell Prisci—

My heart raced as I stooped to pick up the piece of paper that had fallen from the journal, taped securely inside.

“Oh, I forgot about that! Cecilia told me not to open it and give it to you when we meet! I don’t know what’s in it, but I’ve read in one of my journals that it is top secret and I may not read it!” Priscilla exclaimed.

With trembling hands, I carefully peeled the tape from the paper and unfolded it. What had she left behind for me?

The emotions I had tried to contain surged forth as I read the words, and tears welled up in my eyes. I glanced back at Priscilla, my gaze filled with wonder and disbelief.

This sweet child… is the King’s daughter?!