Garnet or Garnets Curse

against the pillow. I tried to stand, but I felt dizzy. At last, I managed to attend myself, but nearly fell off the chamber pot. I had slept an unnatural sleep, as if I had been drugged.
    Harriet must have been sitting right outside my door to have so quickly heard me stir. Her normal crisp white apron was replaced with a black one. She set a tray of food on the table. It was an expected breakfast along with coffee and a glass of milk. My eyes fixed upon the glass. Drinking the warm milk was the last thing I remembered the night before. Did Dr. Lowers give Harriet a sleeping tonic she infused in my milk? I decided to be careful with my trust in her.
    I watched her closely as she prepared my attire for the day. When I was a child, she performed this task. When I reached my teens, I was granted the privacy to dress myself. Now, it appeared that privilege had been taken from me.
    “Eat my dear,” she said, as she walked across the room to open the curtains. I ate the plate of food, but left the milk.
    “Garnet, shall I help you dress?” Harriet said, holding up a dark brown wool dress.
    “No thank you,” I answered. “That dress is too warm for the day; I will make my own selection.”
    She rested her hands on her hips and looked at me before she spoke. “Suit yourself, it is only temporary. Madame Louise will be up shortly for your fitting.
    “Fitting?” I asked.
    “Garnet, your mourning wardrobe. Madame Louise has been here since dawn. She has already dressed most of the servants. Well, all but Ellen’s— she is a big one,” Harriet said, smiling. “Hers will have to be a special order. It is going to cost a pretty penny to get enough fabric to wrap around that bun. “
    “Harriet, who is to pay for all of this?” I asked.
    “Charles will as always,” she replied, looking irritated.
    This time I walked in front of her to look her directly in the eye. “And where does Charles get the money?” I demanded.
    “Garnet, you will have to ask Charles that question. I am only the maid here and I have no business in the financial affairs of this estate!”
    I would have asked more, but the knock on the door halted the conversation. Harriet started to the door, but stopped and looked back at me. “Garnet, your aunt’s death was most unexpected. I am aware this is difficult, but there are certain things that will be expected of you. Trusting me will serve you well.”
    She opened the door and Madame Louise walked in, along with two young French girls. I could barely see their faces over the mountain of black garments they carried in their arms. Harriet motioned toward the bed and the girls unloaded their burden with a sigh.
    Madame Louise looked me over and then rummaged through the heap of dresses. She held up a black satin dress adorned with black beading. “Let’s start with this one, shall we?”
    I looked at Harriet and she nodded her head. Immediately, the two girls hovered over me and in a matter of seconds, they had unbuttoned, unpinned and disrobed me down to my chemise. Then as if I was only a mannequin, they hoisted the heavy black dress over my head. A hook was caught in a strand of my hair. They paid no mind to the pain it caused. When the hair broke and released the dress, they poked my arms through the sleeves and smoothed out the skirt. Then came the struggle to lace it. Anyone could have seen the dress was obviously too small.
    Madame Louise took over their position, “Take a deep breath darling,” she said, as she pulled tightly against the laces. She secured the dress and stepped back to take a look. “See, it is a perfect fit.”
    I was to spend that evening perched on the edge of a chair next to the coffin. It may have been the proper form of mourning for the rest of the world. Yet, I had not been spared a moment to myself nor allowed to shed a tear.
    One by one they came, dressed in their fine attire, dabbing their dry eyes with their dainty little handkerchiefs. What a mockery it was. Most that came could care less if she was dead or alive. They saw it as a chance to socialize and stuff themselves at the buffet. They knew not my name and many did not know hers.
    It was not surprising to see the numbers less at the church. “We must not think of this as a funeral mass, but the celebration of Christian burial,” the priest reminded me.
    I was bone cold with fear and loneliness and my teeth were chattering as the priest delivered his final words. “Dear Lord, may we all receive