by Abigail Agar
The wind whipped across the fields, crashing against the windows. Marina fought her urge to leap in bed and shiver beneath the bed sheets. She wanted to appear strong, confident, when Ms Hodgins came to her door to tug her down the steps and into a carriage below.
At the first flash of sunlight, a firm rap came from the door. Marina reached for her dress, flung it over her shoulders, and snapped up a few of the buttons. Sally was a bit earlier than she’d expected. But she kept her face calm, her lips flat. She took firm steps towards the door, and then twisted the knob, her heart hammering.
But, to her surprise, her doorway filled with the dark, foreboding form of the Duke himself. He arched his neck, tossing his black curls behind his shoulders. His skin was red, his eyes black and ferocious. They seemed to peer directly into her soul, despite not seeing at all. His fingernail clacked at his cane, the only noise in the stunned silence.
“Marina. Please, let me in,” the Duke whispered. “Before anyone sees.”
Marina shuffled back, allowing a large space to form. The Duke took light steps into the shadowed space, ambling towards the bed. He perched at the edge of it, his feet wide apart and angled away from him. Marina felt she was living in a kind of dream. Why on earth had the Duke sought her out in this way? What was he doing there? Had he come to reprimand her all over again for the violin?
“Duke, I want you to know …” Marina began. “I never dreamed that I might … I mean. That violin, it was an absolute masterpiece …”
“It was,” the Duke affirmed. “But Marina, I’m not here to discuss that. I don’t wish to speak of it again, in fact. For it’s far too painful.”
Marina cast her eyes towards the ground. There was a kindness to his tone, one of protection, almost, rather than ferocity.
“Rather, I want to thank you for being so forthright about what you heard from my employees, Ms Hodgins and Jeffrey,” the Duke continued. “I must tell you that your report has kept me awake all night. And, this, combined with another report from an ex-employee, leads me to the conclusion that I must take action and get to the bottom of this.” He clicked his cane upon the ground.
The man’s face scrunched slightly as he spoke. His eyes glittered.
“Can I possibly be of any help, sir?” Marina whispered. Her insides ached, yearning for her to ask him to keep her at the estate. Why would she be cast away if he was having such doubts?
“Marina, it’s absolutely essential that you assist me in this endeavor, in fact,” the Duke stated. “Within the hour, I will have Ms Hodgins arrange for the carriage boy to pick you up. But I will have already informed the carriage boy to make a stop at the musical instrument shop. Whilst Jeffrey and Sally believe you to be halfway home, you will arrive at the shop and march directly to my office. Do not take a single pause, throughout this mission. Otherwise, you may meet Jeffrey along the way, something we wouldn’t be able to recover from.”
“What will I find in your office?” Marina asked.
“The ledger book, darling,” the Duke offered.
Darling? He hadn’t called her this before. Marina’s heart fluttered, a collection of butterfly wings popping up and down against her ribcage.
“You’ll find the ledger book, and you’ll go over it yourself,” the Duke continued. “I know you’re handy with mathematical calculations, aren’t you? You’ve certainly been teaching Claudia.”
“Absolutely, sir,” Marina whispered. “But surely it’s far more complex. A selection of receipts, perhaps, I should bring …”
“If you find anything amiss, initially, gather everything, and I will discuss it in greater detail with my accountant,” the Duke said.
“And if I don’t find anything amiss?” Marina continued, her voice crackling. “If there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong. Will I still be allowed to return to the estate?”
Silence filled the room, thick, wrapping around Marina’s neck like a snake. She fell back slightly, recognising the truth. That, if she found nothing off (at least, on surface level) in the Duke’s ledger, then she would be in complete wrong. The ecosystem of the estate would return to the old ways, sans Miss Marina Blackwater. Her time period would be but a stain.
And worst of all, the horrendous acts of Sally Hodgins and Jeffrey would continue until they stole enough to retreat.
“When they do take all your money and run …” Marina began.
But the Duke snapped his palm towards her, halting her speech. “No. Don’t toss around such an accusatory tone before you have the information to back yourself up, Ms Blackwater.”
“But, Duke …” Marina rasped. “Duke, what if they’ve covered their tracks … I can only tell you what I heard …”
“Marina! Don’t you understand?” the Duke demanded. “I’m a blind man with a reputation to uphold. Why on earth would I trust you—a twenty-year-old governess of this household, and a fresh one, to boot, over my oldest associates? No, we must absolutely operate in this manner.”
“And, if I never see you or the children ever again …” Marina whispered. She wrapped her fingers together, allowing her nails to dig into her skin. “If I never find myself back to the estate …”
“Then, I wish you well, Miss Marina,” the Duke said.
His voice was no longer tender. The conversation had proceeded far too long, as a result of Marina’s hesitance. She felt she had no choice in the matter and had to proceed with his given plan. She retreated from his path as he strode from her bed, towards the door. He didn’t pause after opening the door, but instead marched down the hallway, his head high, while Marina remained—a quivering vessel of fear, knowing the next few hours could alter the course of her life.
Nearly an hour later, Marina had packed her things. She perched at the edge of her bed, staring down at the crack in the door. Sure enough, Sally Hodgins’ feet appeared, two shadows at the base of the doorway, before that now-familiar rap echoed out. “Marina! It’s time.”
Marina stood, her back straight as a pin as she tugged her suitcase from the floor, drawing her purse around her shoulder. When she opened the door, she gave Ms Hodgins a cold, perhaps too sharp stare, one that echoed back all Marina knew was wrong with the woman. But instead of feeling this wrath, Sally Hodgins only delivered a cruel, twisted smile.
“Come along. The Duke has already fetched the carriage boy for you. Remarkable, isn’t it, how quickly he can spring to action when he finally sees reason? I suppose he’s feeling better than these past few weeks. You have to understand. The blindness took a real toll on him. He was a stronghold in this house, before …”
Marina followed behind Sally, keeping her chin high. She tried to send thoughts up to the children, just a few floors up. Tried to remind Claudia not to be so hard on herself and to keep herself open to her fantastical mind, even as she grew older. Tried to beam thoughts of confidence up to Max, who, despite being more fearful, was brimming with artistry and possibility. To Christopher, to Lottie, she sent endless buckets of love—wishing she could hug them tight against her, or listen to them cackle again.
Outside, rain pattered across the stones, making them glisten beneath the grey sky. Marina nearly slipped against the rocks and gripped her suitcase tighter, not wanting to falter in such a way in front of Ms Hodgins. How she could imagine it: limbs flailing, her elbow and knees bleeding. At the doorway of the carriage, she ducked her head and fell against the interior bench. She took a final, long glance at the mansion, at the figure of the Duke—standing at the top of the front steps as if he could see her as the carriage clopped back down towards the road.
“Goodbye, Duke,” she murmured to herself, as the carriage boy leapt onto the front of the carriage, making it rock back and forth. “Maybe I’ll see you later.”
Chapter 23
Minutes after they lost sight of the estate, the carriage boy—whose name was Lucas—shot his head around, his hands still locked around the reins. He called to Marina, through the slot in the carriage: “Duke tells m
e I’m to take ye over to the shop, hey?”
“That’s—that’s right,” Marina stuttered. She linked her fingers on her lap, trying to holler loud enough that Lucas could hear her over the whooshing wind and pattering rain. But after a moment, she shook herself from the little interior perch, slipping through the crack between the inner box of the carriage and the front seat. She tugged her skirts up with her, sitting alongside Lucas and allowing her cap to drop down behind her, bouncing with the clacking hooves. “I just—I couldn’t quite breathe in there,” she said.
Lucas, an attractive boy of perhaps twenty-one, twenty-two years old, flashed her a smile. He allowed his whip to glide along one side of the flank of a horse, increasing their speed. “So, what’s the deal with all this, hey?” he asked. “What the grand old Ms Sally Hodgins was saying back there to me, saying that she was grateful ye were out of the house for good. But the Duke, he say that I’m to listen to you. That you’ll be the one to decide, we go back to the house or not.”
Marina’s stomach lurched with anxiety. The entire situation felt severe like she was playing a game without knowing all the rules. But she nodded, trying to force her face into a smile. “That’s right.”
“And if not, where am I supposed to take ye?” Lucas asked, arching his brow.
All the blood drained out of Marina’s cheeks. She imagined leading Lucas back to her mother’s farmhouse. Just the image of it, flashing up in Marina’s mind, made her lips curl downward. She tried to imagine another option—perhaps the city? A convent? Somehow, going back to her mother’s felt like some kind of death sentence.
“It’s all right, Miss Marina. We can speak of it when we come to it. If we do,” Lucas offered.
Marina didn’t speak again. She gripped her knees, listening to the faint whistle from Lucas’ lips as they cantered closer to the musical instrument shop. The rain continued to snap against her cheeks, but she needed it, somehow, to keep her awake. Her body was terribly aware that she’d been awake all night: every muscle aching, her shoulders sagging. Remain awake! Remain alert!
The musical instrument shop was a far grander building than Marina had expected: made of elaborate stone, with statues arching their hands towards the sky on the corners, as well as the name of the Duke’s grandfather etched into the side. The carriage halted in front of the door, with Lucas giving Marina a firm look.
“I’ll be right back,” Marina whispered, mostly to herself.
She scampered down from the carriage, allowing her feet to fall in a soft pool of mud at the base. Immediately, she kicked out from it, rushing towards the front door. A few of the craftsmen stood just outside, cigarettes dangling from their mouths. They drew their eyes up and down little Marina, marvelling at her seeming anxiety as she raced past them.
“Eh, slow it down, girl!” one of them cried.
But she didn’t need to be told twice. The moment Marina rushed into the warehouse she stalled to a slow, ambling walk. In this, the front show house room, were walls and walls of perfectly-crafted violins, cellos, double basses, even drums, flutes, clarinets. She drew her hands to her chest, willing herself to take a breath. Each piece was so lovingly crafted, someone’s hundreds of hours.
But no. She couldn’t wander around this place, giving each piece the time of adoration it required. She ducked through the violin aisle (trying her hardest to admire each one as she flitted past), and then shrugged into the craftsmen room.
She blinked several times at the marvel of it: nearly fifty or so men, all hovering over their instrument—sanding, painting, their glasses at the tips of their noses. Nose hairs curled out from nostrils, untethered. These were the oldest, grisliest men in the world, perhaps, and yet they had the most tender, precise hands.
Marina was grateful that nobody seemed to notice her. It was still very early, and the men were staining their teeth and lips with coffee. Marina darted to the far side of the room, where she spotted a doorway that seemed to lead to a selection of office rooms. She entered, nearly blasting her head against a strange, bulky man on the other side of the door.
“My goodness!” the man blurted, showing his busted teeth.
“I’m terribly …”
“Who on earth are you?” the man demanded, drawing his thick arms over his chest. They were lined with coarse, blond hair, which shone from the light of the flickering candle and made him seem oddly boyish.
“I’m—I’m terribly … I’m just. I am the Duke’s governess, for his children,” Marina said, forcing her chin upward. “I was sent here to grab the Duke’s ledger, to go over the expenses for the year,” she continued, loving the sizzle in her belly as she lied. “In fact, Jeffrey is waiting for me in the carriage.”
“Is that so?” The man sniffed. He drew himself upward, forcing his fatty shoulders behind him.
“It is,” Marina countered. She matched Sally Hodgins in tone (for who could possibly refute that woman in her ability to make you feel two inches tall?).
“Hmph. Well. All right, then,” the man said, drawing back.
“I just. I’m terribly sorry …” Marina began, giving the man a soft smile. Perhaps flirtation would actually be the best tactic, in this case? “I’m a silly girl. But really, I haven’t been inside the warehouse since I began my employment with the Duke. Could you please point me in the direction of his office?”
The man’s cheeks grew ruddy. He pointed a fat finger towards the office door, guffawing. “You can’t possibly miss it,” he said. “I swear. If you women didn’t have us in this life …”
“It’s terribly true, sir,” Marina said, her eyes sparkling. “It’s terribly true. Thank you.”
The man continued his grumbling as he sauntered down the rest of the hallway, with Marina shooting towards the Duke’s office. She sensed she was taking too much time. The Duke had told her that Jeffrey would arrive at the office not long after her, and she was not to raise suspicion. Her skirts whirled at her feet, tossing to-and-fro as she threw herself towards the large desk. She tried each drawer, snapping it all the way open and digging through the innards.
The Duke hadn’t organised them in quite some time (assuredly hadn’t needed to, given his blindness, she supposed). Each was filled with strange curiosities, little sculptures, small toys that, perhaps, the children had played with when they were visiting.
The drawer on the far right held the ledger. Marina gripped it to her chest, closing the drawer slowly and splaying the ledger out on the desk. She hadn’t taken a single look at a ledger in all her years. She’d been raised a farm girl. Had known only her academic studies and her chores. And now, she knew very little beyond the children’s fairytales and their schedules, their bath time and their food likes and dislikes. That, and the violin, of course. She was very little more than all that.
The ledger had been started at the beginning of the year, just a few months after the death of Marybeth. Marina treasured the Duke’s handwriting, during these first months—articulating each sale, an analysis of the instrument that was sold, the name of the man or woman who’d taken it. Often, he’d write something a bit personal about each sale as if the instrument was more like an orphan, being given a place in the world.
But after the illness, Marina found the handwriting to be clunky, a personification of everything Jeffrey appeared to be—unorganised, a blubbering idiot, a man without articulation or beauty in his life. Marina wondered if the man had ever even tried to play an instrument, in all his life. She couldn’t imagine him with such a delicate tool along his neck, allowing the bow to sweep back and forth like the swaying of a boat.
“Alright, alright. Focus,” Marina muttered to herself, forcing her eyes into slits. She marched her eyes down each line, arriving at the Revenue space at the bottom. Feeling flustered, she grabbed a pen and a pad of paper, beginning to record everything she could make sense of. The sales. The names. The amount that had been taken out, compared to what it was recorded had been made.
It was clear
that the sales had remained constant, at the warehouse, in the months since the Duke had gone blind. In fact, several of the months had generated even more sales than ones prior to Marybeth’s death (a time of true prosperity for the business).