How…. Pretentious!
Insufferable upper-class fool, Duckworth complained in his mind as he groaned out loud, letting all the tension leave his body as he made a frustrated gesture out into the air.
How could you be that… snobbish? It was not like Duckworth had done anything to him besides existing. But he supposed that was the name of the game when you were rich and noble.
Duckworth had barely sat down to look at the taken measurements before the door flew up and in came Madame Michaut along with the younger seamstress Alaine, who was still in training.
“What were you thinking?” Madame Michaut hissed out as she walked over to Duckworth, who now was on his feet again. Alaine looked like she was trying to be a part of the furniture as she hid behind one of the cutting tables.
“I didn’t do anything on-“
“You came barging in here, and then you have the gall to retort Mr. Batton! How dare you be so insolent to our clients?” Madame Michaut continued to seethe while Duckworth wondered how in the world she would have known what Duckworth had said, unless Mr. Batton had said anything, but…
Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a figure in the door, and it took everything Duckworth had in him to not roll his eyes with disgust. Of course.
The son of Madame Michaut now walked in, Jerome Michaut, with that smug expression that he was so even known for. The man was tall, and had the same, pointy chin as Madame Michaut, but dapper did he look in his green attire. Duckworth’s expression spelled out “tattletale”.
… “Are you listening, Duckworth? Next offense, and you will have to pay your full debt right then and there, or you will find yourself a warm welcome in jail,” Madame Michaut snickered with glee as she saw Duckworth’s fright pass over his eyes.
“You know I can’t do that,” Duckworth’s tone was low as he squinted his eyes.
Madame Michaut’s glee only grew. “Quite so. Seems like you will have to improve your attitude for the next 37 years,” she chuckled coldly as she slowly turned, aiming for the door where her stupid son was standing, chuckling along at Duckworth’s misery.
“But I already paid more than half!” Duckworth said as he followed them for a few steps.
“Ah, Duckboy, there is an interest, isn’t there? Along with the cost of living, feeding you…,” Madame Michaut grinned. “Your parents should have thought of that before they buried themselves into a hole of debt so deep, attempting to keep that wretched farm up and running,” she said, as disgust wrinkled her nose.
Duckworth clenched his fists as he looked at her, his teeth slightly grinding the edges of his incisors. “They did it to feed us,” he muttered as shade passed his eyes.
“Their mistake,” Madame Michaut shrugged it off with the cruelest coldness before closing the door, accompanied by the sound of her and her son laughing as they walked away from the workroom.
The room got quiet as Duckworth breathed out, feeling how anger had shadowed his eyes but it started to slowly lift. Alaine perked her head above the cutting table, looking at the tailor with both compassion and sorrow.
“She is… the most horrendous person,” Alaine sighed as she shook her head dreadfully.
Duckworth snorted as he looked at the door before going back to his chair.
“Yeah,” was the only thing he said, sounding so spent as he started to sketch out the design for the evening suit for Mr. Batton. Who had shown such disdain for the lower class that it had made Duckworth feel like hurling.
Maybe he should just make him a suit with the colors of a clown. It would be a prank that surely would end with Duckworth in jail, considering he would lose his job, but it would be worth it. Just for a moment.
Not that it would change his circumstances with much.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
The pale, blue eyes find their way to the window. The sun was streaming in, and the breeze was kissing the leaves, so it made them dance. It sent him back to a time of sunny days, long grass tickling feet and mama’s homemade biscuits. Flashes of what life had been prior to being locked into a debtor’s prison overwhelmed his senses. The flashes turned into a dream, he knew all too well.
I will get out of this mess. I just don’t know how. At least my family is…
The sound of Loup, the cat, knocking over the inkbottle rushed Duckworth to his actual reality. Loup had walked all over his sketches, leaving spotted pawprints wherever he went.
Duckworth rushed up from his seat. “Loup, you devilish cat!” he exclaimed as he tried to save the papers. Duckworth was sure that he heard the cat laughing as he jumped all over the tiles of the workshop before leaving out the door.
“Someday I will make a rug out of that scoundrel,” Duckworth muttered as did a despairing gesture with now the ruined papers. Now he would have to start over… and clean up all the mess that cat did.
Alaine snickered with a sympathetic softness at the honest remark. “Would be best for everyone, I think. Especially the mice,” she pointed out, which made Duckworth smile slowly.
--------------------
It was deep into the evening before Duckworth’s day was over. First, he had to clean the mess that the cat had done, so the ink didn’t stain too gravely whatever Loup had touched, and then there was his actual work. Along with the missing chores from the morning, and then the evening chores like feeding the animals, cleaning the shop, cleaning the stairs, and doing whatever soothed Madame Michaut’s wrath at Duckworth’s poor manners…
Duckworth sighed out loud as he plopped down on the cranky straw-bed as the first thing when entering the attic. He was so spent, and his fingers felt like they were breaking off his hand after all that cleaning.
Normally he would read one of Germain’s eccentric love stories so he could dream himself to sleep, but he was just so exhausted. He just wanted to sleep right away but it was a chore on its own to get ready for bed.
He winced as he took off the gloves as his fingers were aching and red. He could barely get his shoes off as the ties were bothering him.
A light tap-tap-tap made him look up. It was one of the mice scratching at the window. Duckworth recognized it as Arnaud, the mouse that always tried to tickle his feet in the morning.
“What is it, Arnaud?” Duckworth yawned as he got up. With sluggish feet he got over to the window where he opened it up. The first thing he saw was the downtown of riches, where the mansions and manors were located, close to the city center and the beautiful castle, that was the setting of much of his daydreaming.
The mouse looked at the sky, and so did Duckworth too.
“Wow,” he breathed out, amazed.
It was a wishing star. Bright, and twinkling down to its audience of a poor tailor and his mice.
He hadn’t seen one since he was a kid and soon memories of his dear mama pointing up at the sky came to him. It made him mute as he was astonished by its beauty.
“What do you say, friends? Should we wish upon it?” he said to the mice with a teary-eyed smirk. The mice that had garnered up on the window frame, all tickled their whiskers at the gleaming star.
Duckworth pulled over a footstool that had seen better days as it had a massive hole right through it. But it didn’t discourage Duckworth from placing his knees on it as he pushed it up against the wall, close to the window.
Duckworth locked his scarred, sore hands together with his gaze at the sky as if he was praying for a miracle.
“Dear Mr. Wishing Star. I wish for…,” he stopped himself for a moment.
What did he wish for? The easy answer was riches, because if he was rich, he could just pay the debt, and get out of here along with the life of luxury as his greedy tooth demanded. It wasn’t sure it would work though, as there was no end to Madame Michaut’s own greed and exploitative nature, and she had the last say in terms of what he, and his family owed her. There had to be more drastic measures before he would ever get off her hook.
“I wish for you to get me out of here,” he whispered as his eyes started to well up. As he closed his eyes, a single tear rolled down the ink-stained cheek.
“Make my dreams come true, I beg of you. And be kind to my family in these trying times,” he said as another tear escaped him.
When he opened his eyes, he was sure that he saw the star winking at him. Duckworth smiled as he just sat there, pulled into its wonder, and made him forget how achy he felt after a long day of work.
But soon he heard the bells of the church. The clock was twelve o’clock and if the next day should be bearable, he should go to bed. For one last moment he gazed upon the wishing star, before glancing at the castle. It looked stunning in the moonlight.
“Seems like it is bedtime, my friends. Better hit the hay,” Duckworth said with a soft smile at the mice as he wiped off the tears with his stained sleeve.
The window was left open as Duckworth found his way to the old bed, embraced by the mended blankets.
“Goodnight,” he said to the mice as one of them snuggled close to his pillow. As the lights went out, the room was only lit by the gleam of the wishing star as it twinkled and blinked down upon the wooden floor.