Delphine Inland

The open-top horse-drawn carriage stops in the suburb of Ampra. It is a cold evening, and Camelia has not been home in months. The area is too peripheral and does not yet have street lights. On the other hand, a line of pylons dangles the cables above her parents' inn, continuing to enter the urban hinterland.

The area is quiet, and only four gendarmes are escorting. They are not for her. She would not even deserve her carriage. But for the Princess sitting next to her.

“Thank you for accompanying me.”

Camelia talks about her while looking at the brown and black dress, full of openwork lace, ribbons, and bows, given to her by her friend. It is an expensive gift, which honors her and makes her feel embarrassed.

I will never be able to repay her for a gift like that.

The Princess pets the cat with her bandaged paw. She places a hand on her friend's and smiles at her.

“Wait, your beret is just down.”

Viola-Maria adjusts the position of the small hat hanging on Camelia's head.

“Anyway, go figure, I have nothing better to do. My tutors are excited about the party, but I'd rather think of a friend than the Presidential Prince.”

“But, you…”

“Don't worry, if it's about my brother's matter, I've already told you what I think. You did well. In a few years, when I am married, I will rehire you as my handmaid.”

Camelia blushes.

“I thank you, Your Holiness. But I fear, in a few years, I will already be settled.”

“Hm, too bad…” the cat meows as the Princess squeezes his paw. She smiles at Camelia. “Are we still going to be friends? Everyone in the palace is old. You are my only friend.”

“Uh, thanks… I…”

The cat meows louder and tries to escape, failing. Then it goes quiet again.

“Elea, does your paw hurt?” Camelia bends to see, but the Princess pulls the cat to her chest.

“Camelia, I think it's time for you to go. I might start crying, which would be unbecoming of a future Witch. I'll send you some letters, okay?”

Camelia nods, still worried about the cat. But it is true. She feels like she might start crying. Those months at the palace were the best of her life. Everyone was so proud of her. She is a maid and friend of the future Third Witch.

Coming down from the carriage, Camelia greets everyone present. From the coachman to the gendarmes to her friend.

They leave again after having reciprocated her, leaving her alone in front of the lit window of the inn. There are few electrified structures on the outskirts. Her parents' inn must have become electrified while she was away.

Noises of chatter come from inside. Opening the door, Camelia finds herself on the threshold of a distant world. A world now forgotten.

The workers who have recently left their shifts, mostly workers from the nearby steel mill, are having dinner and playing cards, and some are getting drunk.

Smells of tobacco, alcohol, spices, and sweat fill the air in a mixture that the young woman had forgotten. Nobody watches her enter, not even her mother, who is waiting tables, helped by her nephew.

Camelia would like to go and help them, but dressed like that and with an envelope of Lire under her arm, it is not the case. She would only confuse, distract them, and put everyone in difficulty. It is what she did at the palace.

Convinced to wait until the customers have left to talk, Camelia approaches the stairs leading upstairs. She tries to pass between people naturally. The girl knows the way, and there are about thirty covered tables. She avoids the directions taken by her relatives, trying never to look them in the face. Her clothes can be deceiving, but her mother would surely recognize her face.

Having begun the stairs, Camelia silently thanks the workers. Their cackling drowns out the creaking of the iron-wood steps.

At the top of the stairs are the rooms of the house. Camelia rushes into her, finding it as tidy and empty as when she left it. Viola-Maria said her things would arrive the next day, accompanied by a final thank you. So, Camelia has no suitcases or anything other than her envelope and expensive clothes.

Groping near the door, Camelia finds the switch and turns on the light. It is strange to see her room illuminated by that incandescent light so usual in the wealthy rooms of the palace. Reaching the other end of the room, she looks out the window, which overlooks the street and the night fields.

She opens the window to allow the evening breeze to enter. The smell of stew rises from the fireplace on the low, nostalgic roof.

After all, it's nice to be home.

Camelia reaches the wardrobe. She takes out her old rough wool shirt, a pair of loose-patched trousers, and a pair of comfortable sandals. She studies those clothes for a few moments, so different from the luxurious dress of the Delphine house.

Even the servants dress in fine materials.

The damask dress she wears is the pinnacle of the attention paid to her.

Having carefully folded the clothes given to her, Camelia places them on the bed and goes downstairs.

People are already leaving, but most of the tables are occupied. Seeing her arrive, the mother makes a series of expressions of amazement, perplexity, reassurance, agitation...

“I'll explain later, Ma. Is there anything I can do?”

The mother serves a mug of dark beer. An elderly worker takes it. She then turns to her daughter.

“The table over there still has to be ordered. Would you take care of it?”

Camelia nods and begins to bow, but she freezes. A force of habit, she is no longer a servant. Smiling, the young woman goes to work.

Around midnight, the inn is empty. Camelia is wiping the tables with water and a rag. The grandson has already gone to bed while the mother cleans the floor.

The kitchen door opens, and a white-haired man in a chef's outfit comes. The kitchen boy who goes out with him says goodbye and quickly leaves.

“Dad.” Camelia looks at him. Like his mother, he has not aged in those six months.

“My daughter! Come here!”

The man approaches and hugs his daughter, kissing her cheeks and inviting the mother to join. Camelia is embarrassed by greeting and hugging situations. She slips back, making her parents laugh.

“Still the same shy one.”

“Sorry, I'm glad you're happy.”

“Uh, well. We're fine.” The mother sits down, and the father does the same. “Sit down. I imagine you have a lot to say.”

Camelia does not have to be asked and sits at the table with them.

“You ate?” The father asks, looking at the kitchen, ready to leave again.

“Don't worry, I ate before returning.”

“Tell us, did they give you a break?”

Camelia lowers her gaze. It is not easy to rearrange thoughts, to give them a form that allows them to be explained objectively. The truth is that she is sad.

I would also disappoint them greatly. They worked so hard to get me to that position.

But lying is useless, unfair, and counterproductive. Camelia realizes this and hopes for an understanding.

“No, sorry. I am no more in the household of Delphine.”

A dry “Ha”, in chorus from the parents.

“And what happened?”

Thinking back to that event makes the girl frown, still angry. Tears want to come out, but she holds them back and tells the story.

That is what she says. She talks at length about the months spent at the palace. Of the friendship born with some servants, the statuesque beauty of the gendarmes, and the small crushes she took on several of them. Of the furniture sculpted by nameless artists and the vastness of available space. At the palace, there are some sweet guard dogs, cats, and rabbits on the lawn. The flowers. A lot of beautiful flowers.

And then there is the Princess. She is as beautiful as she is delicate. Always kind and understanding, she is best friends with her. She gave her several gifts and chatted with her for evenings.

“A shy person, but maybe that's why she liked my company.”

The story is full of beautiful things. Even the work shifts seem like a distant dream. Nuanced.

“I don't understand.” The father scratches his chin. “From how you speak, it seems you were all satisfied.”

Camelia lowers her head to stare at the old wooden table.

“There is someone I haven't told you about…”

“Forbidden love?”

“No. The servants are quite free in those matters as long as they don't interfere... the problem is the Prince. Or former Prince.”

The parents look a little puzzled. It makes sense that Delphine would have a son, but in the story, he turns up like this after a series of positive things.

“Did this Prince hurt you?”

“Dad calm down. The Prince has played pranks on all the servants in the house. The other day, I lost control... I lost control and slapped him. He…he…”

Camelia starts to sob. She tries to wipe her tears and continue the story. A story that gradually becomes darker and angrier. All the negative emotions come out as insults and cursed wishes to this Prince.

When the flood finally subsides, Camelia sniffs.

“Sorry, sorry. I said some horrible things. They were right to chase me away. I would have hit him again. It's unfair. It's so unfair that such a bad person is so high up in society.”

Drying herself with a handkerchief handed to her by her mother, Camelia blows her nose. She feels better now, even if a little guilty. After all, he is just a child. Perhaps as he grows up, he has room for improvement.

“Incredible, these nobles…”

“Dear, no. Don't start with tavern talk now.”

“But did you hear? How is it possible to listen and remain impassive? The tacks in the shoes!? Nothing but a slap, I—”

“Dad, mom. There is one last thing. Beautiful, but I want you to decide with me.”

“Tell us, we're listening, honey.”

“The Princess gave me a farewell gift. They are tailor-made suits, so expensive. Unfortunately, I won't be able to wear them down here. It is risky, and they are unfit for the job. So, if you prefer, we could sell them and…”

Camelia does not end. She is saying those things because she thinks they are right. However, the girl would not want to sell those clothes. She would put them in a display case in the room, given that there are no display cases in the house like in the palace.

The parents look at each other with understanding and smile at her.

“Don't worry, the inn is fine, and we don't have any needs. I think I speak for your mother too. Take care of them. You don't want to sell them, nor is it right to sell a gift.”

Camelia nods, reassured.

“Well, let's go to bed. Starting tomorrow, you'll be back to us, but I bet they'll compete to have you in some middle-upper estate family. They left you a recommendation, right?”

“Yes, the reason for the dismissal is not mentioned. Massimiliano wrote a very positive letter.”

“Well. Sorry if we don't throw you a party like you described, but you know life here…”

“Don't worry, I'm happy to see you again. The rest doesn't matter.”

The parents get up from the table, and so does Camelia. She hugs herself one last time before retreating to her room.

That night, sleep struggled to come. It is not only her thoughts that crowd her head but also the old, hard mattress with a not-exactly-pleasant smell. Furthermore, crowded structures heat up. The palace and large spaces are fresh, making the hot season much more bearable.

Camelia falls asleep at the first light of dawn, only to be awakened less than two hours after the start of the morning work. At Delphine's palace, she gets up early, and the same at the inn.

She has to help with the day's preparations, go and buy food from shops and bakers, clean outside the place, and more.

Around middle-morning, a courier arrives with a silver-studded trunk for her.

“But it's big, there must be a mistake.”

“Miss, no mistake. The Princess guarantees that the contents are yours and gives you the chest.”

Helped by her parents, the girl carries the trunk upstairs. Upon opening it, she finds a letter with a seal and other clothes, watermarked paper, and ink with a pen in a wooden box.

“Of course, this Princess…”

“Wait, can I read the letter alone?”

The parents agree, admiring all that wealth as they leave.

Camelia opens the bag, and a vanilla aroma wafts through the room.

Sweet & Dear Camelia,

I know you have been paid sufficiently for your severance pay, but since I find it unfair, here is a small compensation from me. Unfortunately, I do not own Lire, but I own clothes and other precious things.

Elea died to my great sorrow this night. It has always been so fragile. I cried a lot, and it was like losing two faithful friends in the same evening, and my heart almost burst. But now, I am better and trying to think about the future. I also left you paper and ink. So, you can write to me.

I already miss you, and when I become Third Witch, I will call you to court again. Kiss,

Viola-Maria Delphine