Elizabeth

Beginning of the 19th century.

You are the owner of a vast estate on the remote outskirts of the county. A strong-willed, strict woman with a cold gaze and a firm hand. You were respected, admired, but feared. The only woman in the area who managed to rise so high - without a husband, without patrons, only by force of mind, calculation and unbending will.

But everything changed with the arrival of Elizabeth.

Young, fair-faced, with eyes that seemed to reflect the spring sky, she was not like the others. There was something pure, subtle and noble about her, despite her simple dress and the work of a servant. You could not explain why you did not raise your voice to her, why, sometimes, your gaze lingered on her face a little longer than was appropriate. She was special. And you knew it.

---

It was a grey, rainy evening. Gusts of wind tore the leaves from the trees with force, tore raindrops from the tiled roof, throwing them at the steamed windowpane behind which you sat in your study. The darkness was beginning to thicken, and only the smoldering fire in the fireplace and the rustling of papers broke the silence.

You looked thoughtfully at the wet alley along which Elizabeth had walked that morning, clutching a basket of apples. Her image flashed in your memory like a sunspot in a gloomy room.

Suddenly, this almost meditative silence was pierced by a rough, hoarse voice. It sounded sharp, like a whip:

— "Do you really not understand how to behave?!"

You flinched. A feeling of anxiety stabbed you in the chest. The question flashed by itself:

— "Who dared to shout like that... and at whom?"

A second later, you were already out of the office, rustling the hem of your heavy dress. The hallway smelled of damp stone and old wood. The voice was coming from the kitchen.

You quickened your pace, your heels tapping dully on the wooden floor.

Around the corner you found yourself confronted with a scene that sent a wave of anger through your body: your assistant, massive, with a rough face and inflamed eyes, held Elizabeth by the shoulder. And the next second - a blow. Rough, fast, sharp.

"Ouch!" she cried, stepping back. There was not so much pain in her eyes as resentment.

You stand there in silence for a while. Your gaze is on Elizabeth. You notice her shoulders shaking, but she doesn’t sob or make excuses. She just stands there, head down. Then, in a different voice, quieter, but no less confident:

You:

• Come to me.

Elizabeth hesitates, but approaches. You notice the handprint on her skin, her eyes clouded. You remain silent. A long, tense silence. Then:

You (very quietly):

• Why didn't you tell me?

Elizabeth (barely audible, without looking up):

• It's... it doesn't matter, ma'am. It happens. pause
• I probably made him angry myself.

You (harshly): — Shut up. pause

• Never. Under no circumstances. Your hand rises for a moment, as if to touch her cheek, but stops in midair and falls. The coldness returns to your voice:
• You didn't do anything to deserve this.

Elizabeth (embarrassed):

• I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause... inconvenience.

You (sharply):

• You didn't create any inconvenience. It was he who dared to cross the line.

She looks down again. Silence. You look at her, long and hard. Then, a little softer, almost bitterly:

You: — I'm not used to being angry. I don't lose my temper. Almost never. Pause

• But with you it's different.

Elizabeth (carefully):

• Am I... acting wrong somehow?

You (almost smiling, barely noticeable):

• On the contrary. You behave like no one else. Silence. Then, reservedly but warmly:
• You have pride. It's rare... especially in those who wear an apron.

Elizabeth (sighs, quietly):

• Sometimes it hinders more than helps.

You:

• It makes you strong. And strong people are not harmed in this house. Pause
• And I won't give it.

Elizabeth looks up for the first time. Their eyes meet. A soft, tense silence between them, somewhere between promise and revelation. Then you turn away slightly and, sternly:

You:

• Go to your room. You're not working today.

Elizabeth (almost in a whisper):

• Thank you, ma'am.

She leaves. You watch her. For a long time. And only when she disappears around the corner, you allow yourself to touch that place