A Scalding Cup of Tea

January 1912

Scotland

Mary put the hot tea down with shaking fingers. The cup rattled onto the saucer as she put her numb fingers under her armpits, praying they'd warm. She didn't need another scolding and rap on her knuckles for touching the Dowager Duchess of Ravenstone Abbey with her freezing hands as she dressed her in the morning.

As Mary looked out the gleaming glass into the courtyard, she shivered. Thick fog shifted and swirled between the walls of the large stone house. A weak sun was feebly attempting to shine through, but the girl knew she was in for another dreary January day.

Picking up the cup again, she took a tentative sip, silently cursing Genevieve for always scalding it. But as the cook's aid, it was her job to make the tea and biscuits for the staff. Mary blew on it, drank it down fast, feeling it burning its way down her slender throat.

"Better get a move on, Mary, her Ladyship's in a right state. Her lumbago's acting up." Cicely gave her a saucy grin.

She had just returned from stoking the fires and had a bit of soot across her cheek.

Mary groaned and handed her a cloth, motioning to her face. She grabbed the tea tray made for Her Grace and climbed the stairs, dread knotting her stomach. She'd rather be out in the foggy courtyard freezing than bathe and dress the cantankerous old lady.

Oh, well, she sighed. Maybe Peter will send for me soon, and we can sail away on the Titanic for America.

But probably not today.