Seek out Martha right away!

The kitchens had finally begun to settle.

The last of the baskets destined for the hunting party had been loaded onto waiting carts, while the remaining servants busied themselves with preparing the evening meal.

For the first time that morning, there was little left to do.

You spotted Martha near the yard pump, splashing cool water over her hands before wiping them on her apron.

"Finished already?" she asked, noticing you.

"For the moment."

She snorted.

"Enjoy it while it lasts."

You couldn't help but smile.

"I've noticed you never seem to stop."

"Someone has to keep this place running."

She leaned against the stone wall beside the pump.

"The gentry think luncheon appears by magic."

"I suspected there might be more to it.", you said jokingly.

"A great deal more."

Her grin softened.

"But I suppose you've noticed that by now."

The two of you stood in comfortable silence for a moment.

"So," she said at last, folding her arms.

"Tell me something about yourself."

You answered as best you could, speaking briefly of your years in Sir Edward's service.

When you had finished, she nodded approvingly.

"You've done well for yourself."

"I've been fortunate."

"Fortune only gets you through the front door."

She tapped a finger against your chest.

"The rest is earned."

There was no flattery in her voice.

Only certainty.

"And what about you?" you asked. "You've been at Kingsmere long?"

"Nearly six years. I was kitchen maid to begin with."

She laughed.

"Burnt enough pies to feed half the county."

"I find that difficult to believe."

"You shouldn't."

"I was dreadful."

Her laugh echoed across the yard.

"But Mrs. Wilcox saw something in me."

"Now I keep half the younger maids from making the same mistakes."

"You seem well suited to it."

"I like knowing people can rely on me."

She looked across the courtyard, where a pair of young servants hurried past carrying flour sacks almost too large for them.

"If someone's struggling, I help."

"If someone's being lazy..."

She smirked.

"...they soon wish they'd worked harder."

"I can imagine."

"You'd be surprised how quickly a sharp tongue gets people moving."

You had no difficulty imagining exactly that.

After a pause, her expression grew more thoughtful.

"My father worked horses."

"He always wanted a little holding of his own."

"A few fields."

"A stable."

"Enough that no one could tell him what to do."

"What happened?"

"He died before he ever managed it."

Her voice remained steady, though quieter than before.

"I suppose I've inherited the dream."

"You'd like a place of your own?"

"Wouldn't you?"

She shrugged.

"I'm not asking for an estate."

"Just somewhere honest."

"Somewhere that belongs to me."

She looked at you and smiled.

"Besides... I've spent enough years cleaning other people's houses. It might be nice to have one I didn't have to leave at the end of the day."

The house bell rang in the distance.

Martha rolled her eyes dramatically.

"There goes my peaceful afternoon."

She pushed herself away from the wall and picked up an empty basket.

"Come on."

"If Mrs. Wilcox catches us standing here talking, she'll have us peeling potatoes until midnight."

You laughed.

"I'd rather avoid that."

"So would I."

She gave you a playful nudge with her elbow as the two of you walked back towards the kitchens.

As you returned to work, you realised the formidable young woman who barked orders around the kitchens was only part of who Martha really was.

Beneath the confidence was someone who wanted nothing more extravagant than a life she could call her own.

And you found yourself hoping she would have it one day.