Sayuri Cho's Story

Sayuri glared at the chef as he gave her a Cheshire grin. White flour covered her ink black hair and dusted over the shoulders of her dress. "Say, is it snowing, Sayuri?" She could only glare some more at him as she threw her towel down and carefully picked up an egg. "What- What are you doing? Oh, no... Oh no you don't! Sayuri! Sayuri don't!" Alas, it was too late. The fragile shell cracked against the swell of his pregnant belly, sending it's slimy contents down the front of his apron. "Brilliant." A small smile toyed with the corner of her mouth, but only slightly, as she picked up her rag and began to scrub the white powder from her dress. After she was finished, she pulled down her hair from the tight bun that it was in to shake the particles out of her onyx locks. Once her mane was once again completely black, she braided it down the left side of her neck. It was freezing outside, and the snow had not stopped falling since the previous day. The little warmth that her hair could offer would be appreciated once she stepped outside.

"What are you doing down here, anyway?" "Getting firewood," she answered, offering the cook a smile. "Oh, love... We're all out down here, you'll have to go to the shed." The shed. Sayuri looked out of the small window above the sink, out onto the grounds. The estate was completely covered in what had to be at least two feet of snow. "Alright," she sighed, walking over to the door and slipping out of her heels and into her tall back rain boots. "Be sure to bundle up," the chef warned over his shoulder, too busy kneading bread to look up from his task. "You could always go for me?" The chef laughed, shaking his head. "Lots to do here! Hurry back." She shook her head with a smile and went to grab her coat, but it wasn't there. Frustrated, and short on time, she decided to abandon the jacket idea, and just hurry through the cold. As she opened the kitchen door, a gust of wind nearly threw the wood into the wall but she managed to catch it in time. Taking a breath, she stepped outside and pulled the door closed behind her.



As she stepped outside, she held out her hand, watching in awe as fat snowflakes delicately fell into her palm. The warmth of her skin melted the frosty design within moments, reminding her that if she stayed out too long she would be soaked to the bone. Sayuri hurried across the lawn to the shed at the mouth of the woods. She filled the wheel barrel with a large pile of already chopped wood and pushed it back across the estate. By the time she made it back inside her shoulders and hair were soaked, and she was shaking. Sayuri quickly slipped back into her heels to avoid tracking mud through the house. Then, she handed off some wood to the kitchen servants and then filled her apron as full as she could to take to the living and dining room. She entered into the dining room with her back to the room, having used her hips to open the swinging door.

As she turned around, she froze, caught completely off guard by the Mistress and her son eating breakfast already. Sayuri mentally cussed the chef for not warning her about the Lords and Ladies being up already, and dining at that. "Good morning, Mrs. Courtenay. Sir Courtenay," she said softly. A blush warmed her cheeks as she carefully made her way across the room. Please let this fire start quickly, Sayuri prayed, kneeling beside the fireplace at the back of the room. She unloaded her apron and set about starting a fire. Thankfully, within moments the wood sparked to life and began to burn. She stood, straightening her dress and apron, knowing that she must look terrible. Wet hair, wet dress, dirty apron. Just eat your eggs, she thought to herself as she kept her head down and scurried out of the room for more firewood to light the living room fireplace.

After Sayuri finished building the fire in the living room she decided to sit by it for a short while. Both of her wards were currently not in need of her, so she found herself finding odd jobs to do around the house to entertain herself. Currently, though, the fire was warm and she could feel her dress and hair becoming drier the longer she sat.

This time of year, Adam was used to waking in absolute darkness. It took him a moment to identify the otherworldly half-light that glowed dimly in the window of his cottage. He never drew the curtains, preferring to wake and sleep with the world's natural rhythms. Pre-dawn light on a blanket of snow, he realised as he swung his feet onto the cold stone floor. So the flurry that had fallen on his walk home from the village had settled, thickened. There would be no gallop for the horses today.

The cottage had retained some of the warmth from last night's fire. Indeed, Adam could see a dull orange glow in the hearth, earthy, almost malevolent, in the ghostly silver coming in the window. His head a little muggy from the night before, Adam dragged open the front door and flung his naked, sinewy body into the nearest drift. He gasped as shock coursed through his body; his blood pounded, electrified, and he sucked in lungfuls of cold, fresh air. Hangover gone.

"Shut that bloody door, you bloody Taff maniac," came a muffled yell. Browne, the veteran stablemaster, wouldn't drag his bulk from his bed for a few hours yet. Flakes of snow still clinging to the wiry hair on his legs, groin and torso, Adam dragged on his work trousers, a clean undershirt, a rough woollen jumper, and hardy workboots. "Warm up that water before you give it the beasts," Browne grunted at him as he left. "And get that Chinee to bring me some grub."

Browne could wait for his breakfast. Adam didn't like the way he spoke about Sayuri. For a start, he was almost sure the pretty little maid wasn't Chinese. Somewhere in the Orient, for sure, but Chef had mentioned it and it wasn't China. Besides, 'Chinee' didn't seem like a nice thing to say. She seemed a little too meek and gentle to be fully to Adam's tastes - not like Betty, the village publican's daughter, who'd sat on his knee by the roaring fire last night - but her mysterious half-smile and shadowy eyes were intriguing. But indoor and outdoor staff didn't cross each other's paths much.

And besides, thought Adam as he pushed open the stable door and inhaled the warm musk of the horses, there was another filly on the estate he'd much rather saddle and ride, though it would get him whipped all the way back to Wales. The heavy snowfall meant the lords and ladies would most likely be sequestered inside all day, reading their letters and playing their games. But maybe they'd brave a small walk to the stables. Maybe the Lady Josephine would shake her headstrong locks at her stern but embattled father and come to the stables alone to see her favourite animal. Adam flashed a dark, sharp-toothed grin in the gloom of the stable.

"Harry, me boyo," he called out to the stableboy, and a startled horse whickered in its stall. "Come on, up about ya!" The boy's tousled head popped out from the loft, a clump of straw sticking out wildly. "Has Jack the fire lit? Ah, good lad. Now go on, get out there and help him." Adam grinned as the younger stableboy scampered down the ladder and out to the stone outhouse attached to the stable. Both boys had lost their fathers in the Great War; Lord Courtney-Hale had shown great foresight in taking them in, Adam thought. They could earn a living for their families, saving them from the poor house, and the two boys would still learn from the company of men. He'd already had to warn Jack, the elder by two years: "You plant that stalk in a girl's garden, she'll grow you a big surprise." The boy had blushed a deep red, then his eyes had grown wide in surprise when Adam continued: "And you bring it out near the high-born ladies, they'll snip it right off ya!"

Adam fervently hoped this wasn't the case, at least not with the ladies. The Lord of the house, and his eldest son, would probably try it, but Adam knew he would still risk it. He liked all kinds of women - big ones, small ones, old and young, and not just for their bodies but also for their company, their knowing amusement at the follies of men, their different ways - this one, well, she was beginning to trouble his sleep. She wasn't just ladylike, she was almost lordly in her bearing. She had a power and a confidence Adam found almost overwhelming. He felt like getting down on his knees and worshipping her, in more ways than one.