Sal knew the questions might blast out of her any minute, but she tried to reel it in. It was hard more so especially when she is sitting across the maid herself.

The woman as blase and placid as ever was like a doll who was not given a smile to perhaps scare a child by a grumpy dollmaker. And like it was always said, grumpy people are old maids.

“Were you an old maid?” Sal asked.

The maid did not look up from the cloth that she was sewing. “That was rude, Signorina. You would not ask the Signor a similar question.”

Sal pricked a finger on the needle at the mention of the Signor. Her mind ran back to the conversation she witnessed a few days ago. It was hard to wrap her head at the calmness of this woman. It did not occur to her perhaps that she was afraid of someone. If it was the Signor, any servant is afraid of their master and she seemed different and-

“You seem to be getting bolder these days. You do not want to upset the Signor who was gracious enough to you.”

As easy it was given, as easy it was to take away. She ran her hand across the embroidered threads outlining Ren’s full name. Duren Leaugood Lidelse. She gripped it tight, as if he will be wrenched away from her. Their adventures and meetings have always been in secret but if anyone were to discover this unruly girl, such a grace of marriage they’d deem her undeserving.

Sal nodded, “I’m sorry.” Should she add her thoughts? Or an explanation? There was no need to. All she needed to do was obey and apologize for her behavior for the past days. She’d been asking too many questions it seems.

Sal stared at the woman in front of her. Was she also asking too many questions before? She was afraid too. Only children and little girls get scared, not older women like her. Then, perhaps, was she mistaken in thinking the voice was hers?

“Mi apologias. Et yo comportarsere.”

“ Empty words? I hope not.” the maid replied.

Has the maid always replied to Caligarian? Did the Signor and his visitors speak enough of the language that she knew how to speak it now? Her throat dried up. Words stuck in her throat.

“I’m thirsty. Can I go-” “Stay here. I’ll get it.” The maid clucked her tongue as she went out.

Blood pooled on Sal’s finger, dropping on the embroidery of Ren’s name. Horses neighed outside telling her that visitors have come. The maid quickly came back, and they both settled onto their usual routine of holding in silence until there was another signal that the visitors have left. The silence was torture, this time. Alone she was in her thoughts.

She watched a the maid stayed quiet, deferential. It did not occur to her until now, that perhaps, she too was afraid. And who else was there to be afraid of?

“Was it the Signor who came?” Sal bundled up her hands in her skirt.

The maid paused, “You remembered to be filial this time?”

It was more proper to nod, at least, no matter how embarassing it was for how unfilial and ungrateful as she was as a daughter. But it was something else. Was it better to wish him to leave? Sal wrung her hands. Fairy tale heroines don’t have to think this way. Yet, here she was.

“Yes, so I hope you do behave.”

The maid left for awhile. At her exit, Sal threw herself in a frenzy, tidying up the books strewn on the ground and the unruly mattress on the floor, hiding her stash of notes and sketches in the place. She checked the windows, to see if there was a trace of a dent or a hole in the capiz windows. She sat herself on the table on the window and secured the veil on her head., practicing the part and posture of a proper lady. A proper lady who’s about to be married.

She kept herself by the table, resisting the urge to go hide under the table or the corner. The Signor hates her doing that. She covered her ears as gossip and formal, fake, repetitive greetings filtered through the window. Remember, it was rude to listen in. It is improper to ask too many questions. Tamper yourself, she’d reminded herself.

She’d promised to contain herself but how could she. People were not visiting the Signor. They were visiting her brother.