After a pleasant Saturday, I’m looking forward to Sunday as well. Not in a rush to buy anything today, I take my time in the morning, lounging in the bath and trying out a few different styles for my hair. I do like fancy braids. For some reason, my talent for spirit magic seems better lately (maybe some of Evan’s talent rubbing off on me), so braiding is easier than before.

In the end, I go for my usual updo. While I can’t exactly change my hair colour, I can make it look shorter and, keeping it out the way, make it less noticeable. Every little bit adds to my “disguise”.

Newly bought gloves and umbrella in hand, I stroll into town, happy as can be. Even after messing around, I’m still the first waitress to arrive (other than Iris), quickly getting changed and offering to help set the tables and such.

Yesterday, Terri pulled me aside and put on my makeup despite my protests of, “I can do it myself.” But, unlike Iris, she actually can do a better job of it than me, so I had to begrudgingly thank her while she laughed at my wounded pride.

I still like her, but, really, I’m not a child…. Well, not that much of a child.

Anyway, I’m reminded of that when Iris brings down the makeup set and I put it on myself, trying to copy how Terri did it.

As with the last two Sundays, the church bells ring as mass ends at ten o’clock and the first customers come a bit after. I don’t actually know if they’re coming from church or they just use the bells as a prompt since the café won’t be open any earlier. I guess it doesn’t matter.

It’s not an easy job, I think, but I’m good at it. Because I don’t have any sort of ego about my status, I’m fine acting as a “servant”. And since I basically grew up learning etiquette and poise, I am already half-trained for the job. The trays are a bit heavy, but I’m not frail, and serving tea isn’t exactly difficult to remember when I’ve watched it be done so much.

Besides, more than the pay, I’m working to make friends. Though I don’t think it’s possible to not be Iris’s friend, she praises me a lot. It’s… nice in its own way. I was praised tons when I was a child, a prodigy in reading, writing and arithmetic, but—just as I knew it would—that sort of talk trailed off as I got older. Like on Friday, with my embroidery, it’s nice to feel appreciated and validated.

So I’m glad I work here and that I can make Iris happy by working hard. It’s, well, I’m not all that keen on putting in hours of work for a sheet of homework covered in ticks and a “well done” scrawled at the bottom. This is better.

The other waitresses, while not as straight-forward as Iris, are kind in their own ways. Millie said to me that she’s glad there’s someone else to attend to the girls from King Rupert’s; she finds them intimidating since they’re proper upper-class daughters, not the usual middle-class women she attended to—she only joined the café at the start of the long summer break. (This makes her the newest weekend waitress after me, unsure of the waitresses working weeks.)

Len, on the other hand, has been working here for two years. She’s engaged and, though sad to be leaving in a few months time, is happy that someone capable (me) will be here to help fill her shoes when she goes. She’s only nineteen, but she’s quite motherly, so I guess she has been worrying over Millie and Annie since they joined.

Lastly, Annie. While Millie is a bit childish, and Len motherly, Annie is just Annie. She’s competent and nice and happy for the help. Not for herself, but for the others, since it was mostly Iris and Len taking on the extra work before I joined. She likes to talk about my hair, someone who keeps her own hair too short to do much with. I feel like she’s working up the courage to ask me if she can play with it—the last few working days (when we’re changing after our shift), I’ve seen her fiddling together a short plait in her own hair only to give up with a sigh.

I would still call them all normal girls. Well, maybe not exactly Iris, a bit too much like her father, or her mother, or both. But, in general, the way they talk to each other and what they talk about sounds like what “friends” talk about, what “normal” people talk about. Annie and Iris always asking after Len’s fiancé, all of them making comments on each other’s outfits (ah, I might need more dresses if they’re going to pay attention to me!), plans to meet up in the week, how the family is.

I’d be lying if I say I’m not envious of their friendship, but I understand that these things take time and I’m willing to wait. No, I’m willing to work for it, not just wait around and see what happens.

After the lunch rush settles down, Iris, Millie and I go through for our break.

“You’re doing so well, have you really not done anything like this before?” Iris asks me.

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Smiling, I shake my head. “I probably won’t get any better, though,” I say.

“Oh don’t worry, you’ll be fine. It’s not like the Queen’s going to turn up.”

“Well, I’d do my best if she did,” I mumble to myself, but Millie hears me, giggling.

We chat a little more as we finish eating, not going too far as we don’t want to leave the others waiting. My bladder getting the better of me, Iris lets me upstairs to the Thatcher’s “home”, a flat made up of two bedrooms and a bathroom. I guess they use the café’s kitchen and lounge. With that sorted, I come back down to work.

The afternoon trickles by at first, seeming like it’ll be peaceful and just more of the usual. I don’t mind that. Then I catch sight of a familiar shade of hair outside.

“Ladies Dover, Horsham, Challock and Lenham. Miss Ellie will attend to you.”

I don’t have to remind myself to smile, nervous excitement happily bubbling up inside me. Walking over to them, it is Violet, coming along with one of her friends as well as two regulars at the café. I guess they told her about it. A pair of maids are outside, I guess their attendants.

“Welcome, mistresses. May I show you to your seats?” I ask, curtseying a little more thoroughly than I normally would—have to give my friend a good impression.

Her expression stern, voice clear, Violet says, “If you would.”

I walk briskly, stopping at a table near the middle of the floor. Once they sit, I help tuck them in, bring them menus, and then go to take my leave.

Only, I look at Violet and notice her braid is loose.

At her side, I quietly ask, “My lady, may I fix your braid?”

Her eyes showing the barest hint of surprise, she reaches up, feeling it. While not undone entirely, the end appears frayed as her hairpin was maybe pushed over or not quite put in at the right place.

“Can you?” she asks.

“I can,” I say, amusing myself by imagining what her reaction would be if I asked her just who did that for her the first time.

She mulls it over for a second, and then says, “You may.”

I waste no time, taking out the hairpin and lightly combing out the braid with my fingers. As I do that, Lady Horsham asks, “You do always have your hair done like that, why is it?”

Violet wouldn’t do something as uncultured as blush, but I could hear the reservation in her voice, a little embarrassed. “It is simply something a friend did for me a long time ago, which I like the look of.”

Ah, I want to tease her, saying such sweet things about me. Even if we aren’t close like we used to be, knowing I left a mark on her, that’s enough to make me happy.

My hands don’t stop as I think. When I finish brushing out her hair, I softly chant, and I imagine all these tiny faeries coming together in groups of ten, picking up strands of her hair and moving them into a braid. I gently move my fingers along, guiding the magic. And while her braid before looked well done, no one can beat me at my own game, especially since I’m cheating and using spirit magic.

The other ladies almost gasp, controlling themselves to an, “Oh,” and an, “Ah.” I feel Violet tense. Though tempted to see what her face shows, I keep my focus on braiding.

It doesn’t even take me a minute before I’m done. Carefully putting in the hairpin, I give it a light pat because I feel like it.

Without saying anything, I step back and bow my head. Before I go, though, Lady Challock asks, “Miss, was that magic?”

It’s not an accusation. While in most fantasy stories magic is something offensive, used to kill or whatever, magic here is, well, it’s not even defensive. Faeries cast the magic and so they just won’t do it if it’ll hurt someone—at best, you can make them uncomfortably warm (say, enough for their skin to prickle). If you manage to get around that, then the faeries will abandon you entirely, no more magic. Enchantments are different but the same, and I won’t get into that now.

“Yes, my lady. That was spirit magic.”

“I see, and it can be used to style hair?” she asks, looking intently at me.

I bow my head in a nod.

Their curiosity satisfied, they look at one another and start discussing what to get. Except, as I turn to go, I catch Violet’s eye. Oh I want to wink, see what face she would make if she realises it’s me. But I hold back.

For the rest of their visit here, I notice Violet looking at me a few more times, her expression giving away nothing. Even when she leaves, nothing else is said. However, from what I hear, Lady Horsham liked it here and so maybe this won’t be Violet’s only visit.

From there, it’s not much longer before the café closes. The moment the door closes behind the last customer, I’m surrounded, Iris and Millie looking at me with excited smiles and wide eyes.

“D’you think—”

“That lady—”

Both talking at the same time, they stopped themselves, and then looked at each other, bursting into a giggle. Iris recovers first, taking my hands and asking, “Well? What did you think of her?”

“Who?” I ask, even though I’m sure I know.

“The lady whose hair you did! She took a fancy to you, didn’t she? What will you do if she asks you to be her maid?”

Millie chimes in, saying, “She looked so proper, do you think she’s a duke’s daughter? Wouldn’t that be wonderful!”

There’s a duke’s daughter right in front of you, Miss Millie, I think to myself. Jokes aside, I just smile, wondering if there’s something about me that makes employers want to be rid of me as soon as possible, already feeling like I’m being pushed onto the next job.

“I couldn’t,” I say. “I already have a job here I’m most happy with.”

Iris waves me off. “Don’t be daft, papa won’t mind if it’s for that. It’s, like, a dream come true to be a Lady’s maid, isn’t it? Treated as a top servant and stuff, and all you have to do is make her pretty and draw her baths!”

Seriously, is this what it means to be a heroine in a story? Even if I was born a commoner, I would have risen up to be the personal maid for some important Lady, maybe falling in love with a baron and shocking the world with a romance that transcends class and status?

Okay, that last bit’s definitely a stretch. And anyway, it’s not like I’d be a good maid, right?

“Let’s leave the dreams for bedtime,” I say, walking away to get changed. “It’s not like she’s actually going to ask me.”

“Such a spoilsport.”

I giggle to myself, a little happy to be the centre of attention even if they’re teasing me.