That night was our second dinner in the Beardsley manor, but unlike yesterday, we knew them better and had suddenly became something akin to a legend.

"So how was your first day? And is dinner suited to your palate?" Otis asked.

The cook, old but still talkative and had a good air about him, was the first to talk to us. He already knew each of us by our names and loved describing what everything on the plate was. Today it was some asparagus, baked potatoes, and well done mutton. For morning we had oatmeal, milk, and eggs. The food was better than anything I had, as expected of a noble family's head chef.

"Did the greetings yesterday go well?" Mattheus asked. We all nodded.

"But Clo had an argument with Mister Silas," Beth recalled, looking at Clo, who only shrugged.

"And the two children asked about me and Shuyan."

"Talking about that, I think I know where China is!" Matthew said.

"Great Britain has it under their power recently after selling them opium." Holden, I learned, was into politics. He always read the newspaper first thing in the morning and apparently lost his eye in some war, thus the eyepatch. It made him look proud, like a veteran wearing a medal or war scar.

"Yes, they are a valuable asset to the empire."

"That is true, but we also need spices from India. That is our priority—" Otis began.

"We don't need anything from any country," Phillip grumbled.

"None of that matters," Rudy, the skinny man, said gently, guiding us back on track. "What matters is if the girls enjoyed their work."

"Yes, yes," Otis sang.

"They need to meet Harper too," Matthew said. "He wasn't here yesterday because he had to attend to some private business."

"Yes, yes," Mister Kupka, who sat at the head of the table, nodded. "This is Harper Wakefield, valet to Master Olive."

He gestured to a man sitting down the table. He was probably the youngest there, which was he was valet to the youngest son. Harper nodded his head without saying much. He was freckled all over, pale, and had a quiet air about him.

Mister Kupka went on to introduce each of us again before asking how our first day went.

"Horrible!" Beth decided to take the stage first. She took some bread from the plate that was passed around and sighed. "Master Augustin is so messy!"

"I will not listen to you say disrespectful things about the masters of the house we work for," Mister Kupka glowered.

"Well, it's true," Beth said, and jutted out her chin. "But Mister Valentin's room wasn't too bad. Or maybe it was because you helped. Thank you very much for that, Mister Kupka." He sighed.

"You are very welcome, Miss Bethany."

"My day was fine," Clo said. "This meat is incredibly good, Otis."

Otis smiled. "Meatloaf is my specialty! I made it tonight just for you girls! Eat more and have a good rest tonight!"

"Thank you," Clo, Rhiannon, and I said in unison, while Beth threw her hands up in the air.

"Thank you so much!"

"As for me and the children's room," Clo continued, "it was simple enough, but it was also sad."

"Sad?" Beth echoed. The valets and Mister Kupka seemed intrigued too.

"And why would you say that?" Mister Kupka asked.

Clo looked at him, but she wasn't hostile. Her shoulder were down, and she did, honestly, look like she was sympathetic.

"The children didn't have many things. They each had a bed, nightstand, and desk, books, and that was it. No drawing materials or toys. I feel bad for them, even though they are so rich." Then she smiled a wry smile. "I've never imagined the day I'd feel bad for such rich people."

"What do you mean?" Matthew asked.

Clo shrugged again—it was a habit of hers. "It's just that I have siblings, and they seem to have so much more. Sure, small trinkets and worthless stuff, like picture books and pressed wildflowers, handmade dolls and drawings, but it meant so much more—" she froze and stopped.

"I can't explain it well," she said, choking on her words. The plate was suddenly still, no longer passed to me, who sat next to her. Everyone was staring at her, but for once Clo seemed small and lonely. 

Like me.

"Anything else?" Holden turned to us. "Miss Rhiannon? Miss Shuyan?"

"I found it easy. I'm used to doing this." Short and simple, like everything that came out of Rhiannon's mouth. Then they looked at me.

My heart pounded, guilty even though I shouldn't be. Or should I? Their state's reminded me of the stares I often got when people saw me and asked me about my origins. In the orphanage. In public.

I looked down at my plate, and thought of Master Eugene and what he said to me.

"I—I think it went fine."

There was silence. I tried to think of something Beth would say, a complaint? No. Something Clo would say? No, that would be too bold. Something Rhiannon would say?

"Oh yes," I raised my head to look at them, "we should clean the windows sometime, it's a bit blurry from the dust."

I watched them carefully for there response. Then Mister Kupka nodded. I almost sighed audibly.

"That is true. Today I assigned you girls to mop the floors because I found it more concerning, but tomorrow you girls can do the windows. If there's time, maybe even the balconies."

"What?" Beth moaned. "It's September! It's too cold to do so!"

"Then would you prefer to do the chandeliers?" he asked. "For your information, there are nearly fifty chandeliers in this mansion."

"We will take the windows, thank you," Clo cut in. Beth only pouted.

I smiled, glad everything was over.

After dinner ended the servants had free time. It seemed a bit strange, almost like playtime at the orphanage. I didn't know who to go to. I looked around, and the male servants had already left to play cards, besides Mister Kupka, who was probably in his office, still working, and Phillip, who always stayed away from everyone.

Rhiannon was reading a book at her seat, and Beth was talking to the other staff and making friends, which I could never dream of doing in years. Then I turned and saw Clo, who was walking towards me, in her hand a Harper's Bazaar catalogue, and a cigarette in the other.

"Shuyan—What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing, I only felt kind of unused to this place," I said. "And free time, since I don't have anything to do."

"Really?" She slid onto the chair next to mine and opened the book, skimming though illustrations of the latest fashion, women in bustles, corsets, and holding parasols. "You don't like doing anything?"

"Well, I do like embroidery." I looked at her, assessing what she thought of it, dreading a laugh, but she only smiled warmly.

"Really? Now that's wonderful!" I quickly shook my head at the praise.

"Not at all, it's a skill I had to learn after I left the orphanage. I worked for a few years selling embroidered handkerchiefs and small things." Her expression fell.

"Oh—I'm so sorry." I shook my head again.

"No, I don't think it's a bad thing. Do you like fashion?" I asked in return, gesturing at the magazine in her lap. She laughed.

"Yes, I do, in fact. Only I can't afford a single thing here, so I only look. Maybe one day I'll buy a good dress for myself, but then again, I wouldn't have an occasion to wear it. Unlike the nobles, I don't go to tea parties or balls, nor have a day dress and night dress." She scoffed a little, but I could tell it was in good nature. I thought of what she said at dinner.

We were alike, in a way, and I wanted to be her friend.

"Clo?"

"Yes?"

"I'm not rich either—and I think because of that, I feel like I understand what you said during dinner."

"Oh. Forget about that." She turned back to her book away. "I was just being silly. The children are probably happy, and who am I to judge?"

I couldn't stand hearing her say that.

She wasn't being honest.

"You don't have to force yourself to change your view," I said. "I mean, I feel I understand, but not everyone can understand what you mean."

"Maybe. I think a few years ago I wouldn't have, neither." She turned to me to give me a pained smile. "When you're poor, money seems like the answer to everything, right?"

I tensed up, unsure how to reply.

"I don't know. I never wanted money when I was a child."

Clo raised an eyebrow. "Then what did you want?"

I turned and looked at the small dancing flame in the lantern. It looked so happy.

"A family. Maybe a sister like you."

"What?"

"Today when you told me I couldn't make everyone happy and to live for myself—put myself first—I was really happy." I smiled as I looked at my intertwined fingers. "I've never had anyone talk to me like that."

"What?" Clo frowned even harder, and her cigarette slowly dissolved into ashes.

"I grew up in a church, and we were always taught to be good to others, to put others before us and be as polite and considerate as possible, because we were already unwanted children. I think today I realized something important, for the first time in my life." I looked at her. "Does it sound funny to you?"

"No."

"That's my answer, I think. To your question about what is the answer to everything. A family member that really, really loves you. I can tell you miss your siblings, but don't be sad, because they are very lucky to have you."

"Oh." She paused for a moment. "Thank you."

The two of us sat there at the empty dining table, me fiddling with my hands, and she looking at the dresses she could never buy.

It was silent, yet the silence didn't feel bad at all.