“Ellison.”
How that woman’s voice could stop me mid-stride, I may never know. Or worse, how she always seemed to sense my presence. It might have been impressive under different circumstances.
“Come here, please.”
I did. Charlotte’s eyes glinted with pleasure at my summons.
“Yes?” I stopped just short of the doorway. I didn’t want to see the remnants of my nighttime excursion in full daylight. Particularly not if Cook and I had failed to adequately disguise my doings.
“Cook tells me raccoons entered our home last night and made a terrible mess of my beautiful parlour.” She turned to me then, not angry but resolved. “She has done you the favour of seeing to it the rug is restored. You, on the other hand, will clean out the fireplace.”
I’d do what?
“If the disgusting vermin return, at least they won’t track ash all over my Persian rug and draperies.”
Ah. Cook. How I underestimated the woman even still.
“Edward feels ill,” I protested. “I’ve had Gretel call for Doctor Hofstadter and I plan to spend the remainder of the day with him.”
Surprise flickered in her eyes, but she recovered quickly. “You called without my permission?”
Certainly Father would not overlook this when he returned. “I didn’t think it necessary to get permission to treat one’s illness.”
“It costs money, child.”
“Family is priceless.”
I matched her, stare for stare, until she relented. “Very well. I’ll tend the boy while you sweep the cinders. Doubtless he needs a mother’s touch.”
I couldn’t contain myself. “You are not his mother.”
She laughed. Yes, she laughed. Deep and strong and full of cruelty, but she laughed. “We’ll see about that.”
She swept from the room, leaving me with Charlotte and a task that required me to swallow all memories of the night before. Charlotte, however, eyed my yellow lace dress and pearl necklace. I didn’t like the way she looked at me, so I moved away with intent to begin my task.
There was a firm tug at my throat and I felt something give. I gasped, whirled, and found Charlotte carefully folding my necklace into the palm of her gloved hand. I reached to snatch it back, but she pulled away and shook one finger in my face as though scolding a disobedient puppy.
“That’s mine. Please return it immediately.” I attempted tact at first, though I doubted it would be effective.
Charlotte raised her eyebrows, tucked my necklace into her bosom, and lifted empty palms heavenward. “Whatever do you mean, sister?”
The woman was nothing short of a thieving cow, if cows could be thieves. “Return my necklace now.”
She shook her head. “You must be mistaken. Might it have been lost in a basket of laundry? Or perhaps somewhere in the kitchen? I imagine you must miss it terribly.”
Yes, I did.
So I plunged my hand down the front of her dress, touched the object in question, and pulled it out as Charlotte screamed with the lungs of a banshee.
“You brute,” she shrieked, naturally just as Celia thundered down the stairs and into the room. “Mother! Mother, this … this … beast attacked me! I was only trying to make conversation, oh Mother … ”
I couldn’t speak. How had this turned on me in an instant?
Charlotte spilled tears as she launched herself into the arms of her mother, who glowered at me.
“Ella, I thought better of you after our talk this morning.”
And I had thought young women were beyond such displays. “She stole my—”
Charlotte wailed again, louder this time, though she flashed a wicked grin between cries. Celia’s teeth clenched, her red lips shining all the brighter as she condemned me. “Once you finish here, gather your things.”
“But—”
“Silence.”
“She stole—”
“Quiet.” If she had been any closer, I believe she might have slapped me as her daughter had on first meet. “It’s time you learned what gratitude means. Pack your bags. Victoria will have your room. From today forward, you will sleep in the attic.”
13
The Attic
She would not let me see Edward.
She would not tell me of his illness.
Instead, I snuck out through the back door on pretense of emptying the bucket of cinders and ran after the doctor, my skirts flying every which way and billowing up clouds of dust and ash with every step.
I caught the doctor as he climbed into the carriage, and I breathed a sigh of relief that Celia had not loosed our regular driver as well.
I suspect cooking and driving were the two things she was not willing to risk at my hands.
“Miss Ellison, how do you do?” The doctor appeared somewhat taken aback by my emergence, though even now I suspect it had more to do with my outward appearance than anything.
I curtsied, though not necessary under the circumstances. Rather, I did so to convey my own efforts at courtesy in comparison to that received from the new ladies of the house. “Fine, thank you, Doctor, though I’m uncertain whether I can say the same for Edward. Please, how is he?”
The doctor removed his floppy black hat, twisted the brim, and replaced it on his head. “A bit of influenza, I believe. It seems quite mild and he’s a spirited boy, so I’m sure he’ll recover rather quickly.”
Thank the Almighty! “You’re quite sure?”
The creases of weariness around his eyes softened. He had kind, gentle eyes. I had always liked Doctor Hofstadter, even if his visits often meant something terrible had already befallen—or was about to befall—one of us. “He’ll be all right, Ellison. Please give your father my regards, will you?”
I nodded, but thought to inquire further. “Doctor, my deepest thanks for coming with speed. Please, have you heard these rumors of terrors in the town? No one will explain—”
His expression darkened, brow furrowing and closing him off like a veil. “Don’t you listen to rumors, Ellison. Your father is a good man and I don’t believe a word. As for the terrors in the night, well, we seem to have had some respite these few days. Perhaps it’s over.” He lowered his face to mine, voice quiet and scratchy like sand. “Be careful, Ellison. If that woman should prove to be more than you can bear, remember I’m but a carriage ride away. I’ve seen too much suffering in your family to stand idly by.”
And with that, he doffed his hat, stepped up into the carriage, and awayed.
I stood in our carriage drive, no further to understanding William’s rumors and yet relieved at the news of Edward. While I appreciated the sentiment of the doctor, he left me staring after him with more questions than before.
What had Father to do with any of this?
I did not dump the ashes.
While some part of me urged to do as I’d been told—more to prevent myself from repeating the events of the previous night—something deeper grabbed hold of my sense.
I admit, I was curious. The terror of the spirit, or being, or ghost’s appearance had eased until the memory felt like a hazy dream, and the temptation sprung forth that I might try—as I was assuredly better prepared now—to repeat my success to the fullest. After all, I’d gone to all that trouble and hadn’t even asked for anything. Clearly, I needed the passages hidden before it was too late.
A nastier request crossed my mind at the memory of Charlotte’s claws at my necklace, but I chided myself with a stern reminder: I could not become them, lest I lose myself. Cruelty would be no punishment in return, so I would turn the other cheek and seek a better way to co-exist with them.
A way that would keep Edward and I safe and healthy. A way that would preserve our integrity and humiliate theirs.
Don’t laugh.
I am well aware that I failed.
I hid the bucket of ash and cinder in the attic behind a cracked mirror that had been propped against a du
st-coated chest of drawers. The attic smelled of damp wood and dry leaves, accented by dust and grime that coated every surface and floated through the air when disturbed. A mattress rested in a far corner, doubled over and full of mites, or so I suspected. A plate-sized window that looked toward town provided the only light, and I feared that open candle flame might set the whole room ablaze.
I moved several boxes of old books and Lord knows what else—carefully, as I didn’t yet have the physical strength to lift them—to create a makeshift bedframe for the mattress, distasteful as it seemed, as well as a small end table and a desk. The latter I constructed from two of the wardrobe’s drawers and a cracked wooden door.
While I didn’t intend to give up my room and passageway access—for I very much doubted I’d find a passage entrance in the attic—I thought it best to utilize the time given to move rooms constructively, just in case.
In the midst of my attempts to make the space liveable—or at least, not inherently dangerous—my stomach began to complain, a reminder that I hadn’t found opportunity to fill my belly since the day before. With Celia’s attentions elsewhere while I moved from bedroom to attic, I wondered if perhaps I could sneak a morsel or two of the sweet cakes the rest of the house’s ladies indulged in several times each day.
All ladies but myself and Gretel, that is.
I traversed the creaking staircases with care, and came to find Gretel struggling under the weight of firewood for the ovens. Her face was flushed and brow damp with sweat. I rushed to her without hesitation, for she had not hesitated to help me.
“Let me assist,” I said, lifting several logs from her arms and placing them atop the kitchen’s near-empty pile. “Surely you can afford fewer logs per trip? It might add a mite of extra time, but—”
The pile dropped from her arms in a heap and she bent over at the waist with hands on knees, breathing heavily.
“Time for nothing, girl. You know as well as I.” She nodded at the firewood. “But you may be right. Dropped a piece or two along the way in, anyhow. They send you to fetch something?”
“Ah, no, I was merely hungry … ” I realized the selfishness of my request. Celia worked the both of us to the bone, and Cook had helped me on borrowed time. How could I ask anything more of her?
But she must have sensed my hesitation, for she gestured to the back door with a nod. “I’ll find something for you if you check my steps and bring back the pieces what fell on the way.”
I agreed with a greater enthusiasm than the moment warranted, but empty stomachs and guilty consciences have a way of motivating even the most stoic of individuals.
For the second time that day, I left my now-stifling home and stepped outside. About five paces away from the door was the final piece of wood that had tumbled from the load, and several more beyond. I decided to make the short trek into the stables and start from the pile, collecting pieces as I moved back toward the house.
But when I drew close to the stable door, several snorts from within stilled my steps. The horses certainly would not greet me, nor their keeper, in such a way. Horses do not complain for nothing, and with the rumors of terrors about, perhaps I should have taken greater care. But who gives heed to dark rumors in broad daylight?
Still, the horses’ warning gave me cause to search the ground nearby for an object I might wield in protection, but all of Gretel’s dropped logs were behind me. I could turn about and race back to one of the pieces of wood on the ground, or continue only a few steps forward to an entire stack of splintery weapons—though these were just inside the door of the stable. Either choice might place me at risk.
It is strange even now to recall that not once did I consider running back to the house for help. Perhaps some part of me knew the danger I walked toward couldn’t be worse than what I already endured—or perhaps I simply couldn’t bear the thought of losing something else, even if that something happened to be a four-legged creature.
The decision came easily and I filled my lungs with intention to count to three, lunge forward into the stable, grab a log, and use it however necessary to defend our horses—while calling for help, of course, though with all our staff dismissed, who else would come beside Gretel?
“One … two … three … ” I leaped forward and reached for a piece of wood, but snatched my hand back with a start. “Oh!”
A hooded figure crouched in the darkness next to the wood pile, a log in each hand. The figure appeared to be searching for something amid the wood, but as I burst through the doorway, he dropped both pieces and rolled backward in the same instant that I recovered and closed fingers around a thin-chopped spike—and swung it toward the figure with a scream rising in my throat.
He leapt to his feet and at that moment, the hood fell from his brow to reveal—
“William?”
I stared after him, incredulous. His expression mirrored my own, and he glanced from me to the spike in my hand and back again. I thought to drop it but only lowered it instead. I am not sure why.
What was the Prince doing in our stable? I hoped Gretel had not heard the beginnings of my cry for help.
“Uh … hello.” His mouth gaped open as mine surely had, and I almost laughed.
“William is your name, yes?” I noted the long cloak he wore, dark and billowing and ending at the knees, as if the garment intended to obscure the identity of the wearer. His gold medallion, hung around his neck, sparked a memory. Fear flared in my empty gut. Had he remembered and come searching for his cloak and ring?
I chose my words with care, for if he’d come to personally claim his belongings, he might still wish to keep up whatever strange ruse he played at. “What are you doing in our stable?”
“I’m … I … ”
“If you’ve come searching for treasure, I’m afraid we don’t keep our valuables hidden among the horse puddings, nor the firewood. Be honest, or I might complete the swing.” I drew back the piece of wood in my hand and fought the smile that struggled to betray me.
“No, wait.” He held up his hand and stepped closer. Did he truly believe me? Curiouser by the moment. “I’m looking for something. I, uh … my coin purse was stolen on my way into town and I thought I saw the culprit dash in here.”
That had to be one of the poorest—and stupidest—stories he could have possibly given.
“It was stolen on your way into town?”
He nodded. “That’s right.”
“We’re not on the way into town, if you hadn’t noticed. There’s no major road that leads from the south, as the central roadways draw travelers in from the east or west as a matter of defensibility.”
He really should have known that.
“I … hadn’t noticed.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed, glancing from the wood I held to me.
“And you say the culprit ran in here?”
“Yes!” William’s nod became furious. “Small boy, I think. Youngish. Ten, perhaps.”
“Did he come by way of the road? You know, the one into town?”
“Yes?”
By all things, whatever was he doing here? I gripped the wood tighter. “Despite living on a gated and locked property.”
“Well—”
“And I suppose you saw this thief drop your coin purse into our wood pile? Because that’s what thieves do, of course.”
He swallowed again, harder this time. “Look, I didn’t know you lived here, but … ” He paused for a moment, his expression becoming thoughtful. Without warning, he sprang forward and tore the piece of wood out of my hand before throwing it back on the pile.
“Oh!” A sharp pain in my hand revealed half a finger-length of splinter lodged in the skin of my palm. I bit the inside of my lip and silently cursed myself for not seeking Gretel’s assistance immediately. As a mule tied unwillingly to a cart, I am as stubborn, but I would not take the blame for this injury. “First, you bother me at my mother’s grave, then you break into my family’s s
table for heaven knows what reason, then stab me with my own—”
“I didn’t stab you!” The look he offered was one of incredulity, so I held up my hand. Color drained from his porcelain cheeks and he grabbed my palm. I flinched at his touch—a warm, soft hand. Nothing like mine, which was now slightly roughened and worn raw in places from several days of hard labor under Celia’s rule. “I’m very sorry, I can’t seem to do anything right around you, can I … ”
His voice trailed off as he pinched the skin at the splinter’s base, holding my hand with his own. Indeed, the action was entirely improper, but I didn’t believe it any worse than having been seen in my nightclothes. We seemed to define the very notion of impropriety.
Gently, so as to not leave any smaller remnants, William drew out the splinter and tossed it to the floor.
I pulled my hand away from his in an instant. “You haven’t finished answering my questions.”
His shoulders lifted and sagged. “That’s because I don’t have a good answer for you.”
His surprise at seeing me was long gone, replaced with the same effortless self-assurance of our first meeting. My stomach tightened and stirred as a slow smile spread across his face. He glanced at my clothes and shook his head, and I wished that for once, he might catch me wearing something clean and appropriately befitting for meeting a prince.
“You had me going for a moment,” he said, a true laugh escaping this time. “Honestly, I’m not here to cause trouble, but I am looking for something.”
“Did you ever think to use the front door?”
“It’s not that kind of something.”
So he hadn’t come for the coat and ring after all. “Would you be so kind as to enlighten me? Or shall I call for the constable?” Never mind the constables rarely made their way to our district.
“Girl? You all right out there?” Gretel’s shouts from the house told me I’d been too long already. I peeked around the corner of the stable door to return her call.
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