Chapter 8: The Household Chatter
1219 Words
“I brought fresh pot of tea,” she announced as she entered the dining, it's made of ginger and honey. She arranged the sandwich, curtsied and left.
I turned to Richard and said, “Mrs Higgins seems to be a very dedicated person.”
“Yeah, she has been here since I got this place. She understands the rules. She anticipates the house needs and acts accordingly. With her around, everything moves smoothly and most of all, she is trustworthy.”
I just nodded reflectively “maybe we would get along subsequently.”
“You have nothing to worry about, Oma,” he assured me. This is your home, and I am here for you,” he said, patting me on my shoulder. “Now let's eat, the baby needs food to thrive. Remember the doctor’s instructions.”
I rolled my eyes, for lack of what to say next, and began to eat the food beginning with the fruits.
“I will need to get to the office; I may take some time coming. I have an unfinished property contract that needs review, but I will come as soon as I am done. Take your time and rest. If you need anything, talk to Mrs Higgins.” Richard advised.
“I will take time to explore the garden, and of course I will rest. Thank you very much,”
“For what?” he asked, looking at me sharply.
“For everything, Richard. You know, barely forty-eight hours ago, I was a waitress struggling to survive, and now I am being spoiled with everything I don't think I deserve.”
“You deserve everything, Oma, and I am the lucky one to have you. Don't overthink it.”
“Thank you Richard.”
“You need to stop thanking me. Now it's time to go. Can I at least have your phone number now so I could check on you?” He asked with a grin and raised eyebrows like a child begging his mother for a favour.
I blushed as I realised that all along, we have not exchanged our phone contacts. “Of course, you can,” I replied, returning the grin.
He took the number, drew closer to me and kissed me on my forehead. “Take good care of yourself and see you when I get back.”
I took a walk around the beautiful garden, admiring the flowers and enjoying the freshness they brought to my weary soul. I later sat in the middle of the garden in a deep reflection of what my life was gradually turning out to be, from the moment I was thrown out from my father's house.
Richard returned from the office in the evening with two big shopping bags, one containing more clothes, simple maternity gowns, and lingerie. The other bag was filled with expensive women's toiletries, soap, body and hair creams, and makeup accessories.
“Hey, babe,” he called from the door, calling me babe for the first time. “I’m home,” he said excitedly.
I came out and covered my mouth with my palms, surprised to see him with shopping bags.
“What are these?” I asked.
“May I come in?” he demanded, avoiding my question.
I stepped aside; he entered and dropped the bags on the table. “Check them out and if there are more things you need, let me know.”
I opened the bags and gasped when I saw the contents.
“Richard, you didn't have to, this is too much,” I said, blinking my eyes as tears of joy gathered in my eyes once more.
“Nothing is ever going to be too much for you my babe, calling me babe again.
This time I took the initiative, moving closer, I embraced him, burying my head in his chest and he kissed my hair. “Thank you,” I said.
“I have told you to stop. I am not doing you any favours. I am fulfilling my obligations.”
A few days later, I was heading towards the library, hoping to find a distraction from my growing morning sickness, when I heard voices from the laundry room, not the professional, hushed tones I was getting used to, but something distinctly spirited.
“Honestly Sophie, you can practically see through the sheets if you hold them up to the light,” Evelyn said, followed by a giggle. “Mrs Higgins would have a fit if she saw that.”
“Maybe someone should remind the mistress that we're running low on the good detergent, “Sophie retorted with a sharp edge to her voice. “It’s not like she's managing a pantry.”
I froze midway, my heart hammered against my ribs. I knew they were talking about me. The casual disrespect, the thinly veiled sarcasm, stung more than I expected.
I wanted to leave and pretend I hadn't heard when a tiny spark of defiance ignited within me. I was the mistress of the house whether I felt like it or not. Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the laundry room door.
The two junior maids, Sophie and Evelyn jumped, dropping a pile of crisp white towels. Their faces, flushed from their gossip, turned stark white.
“Miss Oma” Evelyn stammered, scrambling to pick up the fallen linen.
“Good morning,” I greeted them, my voice steadier than I felt inside. I walked into the room, my eyes scanning the neatly organised shelves and the industrial sized washing machines.
“I couldn't help but overhear. Is there an issue with the detergent, Sophie?” I asked calmly.
Sophie flushed scarlet, her gaze fixed on her shoes. “No, Miss Oma, we were just…just discussing stock levels.
“Stock levels, I see. And what about the sheets, Evelyn? Are they not up to Mrs Higgins standards?”
Evelyn opened her eyes wide, and shook her head vigorously. “No Miss Oma! They are perfect! We were just…. admiring their quality.”
I knew they were lying but I walked over to a shelf, picked up a bottle that looked like industrial strength cleaner.
“I understand that there are protocols and standards in a house like this. And I appreciate the dedication you both show.” I paused, letting my words hang in the air for a brief second. “However, I also understand that a house thrives on respect, not just for the 'stock levels' or the ‘quality of the sheets,’ but for the people who live and work here. If you have concerns about supplies, or anything else that impacts your work, I expect you to bring them to Mrs Higgins or directly to me. Not to each other in hushed tones behind closed doors.”
Sophie and Evelyn exchanged a quick, terrifying glance.
“Is that understood?” I asked in a calm but unwavering tone of voice.
“Yes, miss Oma,” they chorused with their heads bowed.
“Good,” I said, with a small, triumphant thrill running through me. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave you to your chores.
I left the laundry room, and as the door swung shut, I heard a faint, “oh my God, she heard everything!”
- Writer
