No one of any consequence , I corrected, silently. Shallot and Tintagel were the two biggest cities in the kingdom. Tintagel was the capital, home to the king himself, while Shallot had Magus Court and the Great Houses. Anyone who thought they were anyone would want to live in the big cities. If Reginald goes to Caithness, he’ll be gone for good .
“Why?” Reginald demanded. “Why does he want me to go now ?”
I said nothing. Reginald wouldn’t listen if I suggested it was a pretty good deal, all things considered. A master in Caithness wouldn’t be that different to a master in Shallot, although I supposed it wouldn’t be quite the same. Reginald would certainly never be introduced to the movers and shakers of the kingdom ... although that might be something of an advantage for him. Too many of the movers and shakers already knew him. I doubted he could hope to restore his reputation now.
“Damn the man,” Reginald said. “What is he thinking?”
He glared at me. “What is he thinking?”
“He thinks he can convince you to go,” I said. It did sound a pretty good deal, but there was no point in trying to suggest Reginald take it. “If you left of your own accord, he wouldn’t have to kick you out.”
“Exactly,” Reginald said. He shook his head slowly. “As if I’d give up trying to claim my rightful place ...”
His eyes narrowed, sharply. “Did you get the ingredients?”
“They’ll be delivered in a couple of days,” I said, carefully. “They have to be purchased first, then delivered ...”
Reginald raised his hand. I closed my eyes, awaiting the blow. But it never came.
“My father is failing,” Reginald said. I risked opening my eyes. He was turning away from me. “I spoke to him today. He’s ... not in a good state of mind.”
“No, My Lord,” I said.
Reginald picked up a book, as if he was about to throw it across the room, then put it back down. “Fetch me my blue jacket,” he ordered. “And then clean up this mess.”
“Yes, My Lord.” It was hard not to feel a twinge of resentment. It wasn’t the first time I’d had to tidy up a mess someone had made in a drunken rage ... and Reginald, I was fairly sure, didn’t even have the excuse of being drunk. The only upside, as far as I could tell, was that I wouldn't have to do it while I was in considerable pain. “I’ll see to it at once.”
I hurried into the bedroom and searched through the wardrobe for the jacket. It was so fancy - and covered in so much gold braid - that it would have embarrassed an admiral, although I was starting to suspect that the aristocracy was immune to embarrassment. Too many young men at the ball had looked absolutely ridiculous. I was surprised that no one had laughed at their pretensions. There’d been kids in school who’d been mocked for wearing the wrong clothes ...
“I’ll be back tonight,” Reginald said. He inspected his appearance in the mirror, then nodded thoughtfully. “Clean up the mess, then spend the rest of the evening studying the potion books. Don’t try to brew anything.”
“Yes, My Lord,” I said.
I watched him go, then sat back on the sofa. My hands trembled. Sweat poured down my back. Reginald had been angry, so angry. It hadn’t been my fault, but I knew he could have taken it out on me. I eyed the remains of the table, trying not to think about what would happen if he used such a spell on me. My meagre protections wouldn’t stand up to the curse for a second. They’d be picking up pieces of me in Hangchow.
But he didn’t , I thought. The idea that Reginald was a better man than my stepfather was oddly amusing. Reginald had killed. My stepfather was a braggart, fond of telling everyone about how he’d cracked skulls in bar fights, but I didn’t think he’d killed anyone. They’re both monsters, through and through .
I sighed and forced myself to stand. A pair of cleaning spells took care of most of the sawdust, transporting it into a bag for later disposal, but I had to pick up the larger pieces of wood personally. My spells refused to touch them. I dropped them into the bag and wondered, as I cast a lightening spell, if someone would notice that the table had been destroyed. Reginald had been very lucky he hadn’t accidentally set off an alarm. But then, his rooms were so carefully warded that he might be able to get away with anything. I was pretty sure that was going to change when Lord Anton died.
Shaking my head, I hefted the bag and carried it down the concealed staircase. There was no sign of anyone when I reached the bottom, so I left the bag for disposal - the manservants would get rid of it tomorrow - and started to walk back to the room. It was too early to ask Cook for something to eat. I’d just have to collect something for myself - and Reginald, perhaps - later. I hurried down the corridor, telling myself that I would finally have a chance to look at Reginald’s books. It would be something new ...
“Girl,” a voice said. I stopped, dead. Wesley was standing by his door. “Come here.”
I hesitated, unsure what to do. If he wanted to get me alone ... I wasn’t a scullery maid any longer, but I doubted it would matter. Reginald wasn’t going to protect me. I might be in real trouble.
“Come here,” Wesley repeated. “Now.”
I swallowed, hard, and followed him into his suite. Wesley’s living room was surprisingly bare, for a man of his status. There were no bookcases, no comfortable chairs and sofa ... there were a handful of hard wooden chairs, but nothing else. I wasn’t even sure where the light was coming from. It had to be a spell. There were no visible lanterns. There weren’t even any paintings on the wall.
I lowered my eyes as Wesley closed the door - I felt a privacy spell slam into place - and turned to face me. Up close, it was easy to believe that he was Reginald’s uncle. Wesley was older, but they shared the same eyes and cheekbones. I reminded myself, sharply, that Lord Anton and Wesley were twins. No wonder Reginald and Wesley shared the same appearance.
“My Lord,” I said. My mind raced. What did he want? Should I curtsey? Or kneel? Or ... I didn’t know. “What can I do for you?”
I could feel his eyes burning into me. “How much did you overhear?”
It was easy to sound innocent - and frightened. “My Lord?”
“Don’t play the fool with me , girl,” Wesley snarled. “Do you think you’re the first personal maid to leave a door open so you can overhear a conversation?”
“No, My Lord,” I said. “I overheard some of your conversation.”
Wesley reached out, put his finger under my chin and lifted my head so our eyes met. “Let me be blunt, girl. Your master is going to leave this house. He will leave willingly, or unwillingly, but he will leave. And when he does, what will happen to you?”
I tried not to cringe at his touch. “I don’t know, My Lord.”
“He won’t be able to take you with him,” Wesley said. “You’ll remain here.”
“As you say, My Lord,” I said.
“Or you may simply be dismissed without character,” Wesley added. “A maid who spies on her employer is not trustworthy. We could hardly write you a suitable reference if you had a habit of eavesdropping, could we?”
“No, My Lord.” I tried to sound nervous. It was far too easy. “I’m sorry ...”
“So you should be,” Wesley said. His eyes bored into mine. “I want you to keep a close eye on your master. I want you to inform me if he does anything I should know about. And, if you do, I will see to it that you become my wife’s personal maid. I’m sure you will find it a suitable reward.”
“Yes, My Lord,” I managed. It would have been a suitable reward, if I’d had any intention of staying at the hall. Wesley’s wife would be amongst the top-ranking women in House Bolingbroke. Her personal maid, too, would be highly-ranked amongst the servants. “I ...”
“Think about it,” Wesley said. He stepped closer, looming over me. “There won’t be a second chance for you, after he goes. You’ll be kicked onto the streets without a copper to your name.”
“And if he catches me spying on him,” I said, “what then?”
&nbs
p; “I already caught you spying on me,” Wesley pointed out. “Do you have a choice?”
I wanted to pull my hair, hard. Everywhere I turned, there was someone who wanted to use me. Reginald wanted me to brew the potion, Zadornov wanted me to steal the notebook; Wesley, now, wanted me to spy on Reginald for him. And yet ... I cursed under my breath. I could tell Wesley the truth, except I couldn’t. The geas would stop me in my tracks if I tried.
“I can’t,” I said, carefully. “My reputation for keeping my master’s secrets is all I have.”
“You won’t get a good character out of him,” Wesley said. “And if you refuse to help me now, I will refuse to write you a character too.”
I felt a hot flash of anger. Wesley was putting me in an impossible position. If he kept his word ... I shook my head. My days at the hall were numbered. They would have been numbered even if I was a real maid. His wife wouldn’t want a maid with a proven history of spying on her previous employer. I’d be lucky if she didn’t insist that I be dismissed on the spot. And she certainly wouldn’t write me a character.
Perhaps he isn’t planning to tell his wife , I thought. I’d seen enough intrigue in the hall to wonder if Wesley thought I’d spy on his wife for him . Or maybe he just plans to discard me after he uses me .
“I can’t,” I said, truthfully. The geas would keep my mouth firmly shut. “I won’t betray anyone.”
Wesley’s eyes narrowed, dangerously. “Do you know what I can do to you?”
“Yes, My Lord,” I said. I resisted the urge to smile. There was no way Reginald would thank me for keeping his secrets. “But I won’t break faith with my master.”
I braced myself, wondering what would happen. A hex? A curse? An order to report to the butler for a thrashing? Or ... Wesley let out a heavy sigh and stepped backwards. I was almost relieved. At least he wasn’t invading my personal space any longer.
“That was the wrong choice,” he said. He jabbed a finger at the door. “But it was yours to make. Go.”
“Yes, My Lord.”
I dropped a curtsey, then hurried out the door before he could change his mind. He was actually being kind , by his standards! He could have tried to threaten me or ... he could have cast a spell. Wesley could have put a geas on me too. I wondered, as I flew back to my room, what would happen if there were two spells on me. Would they fight it out for control? Or would one of them kill me when I tried to satisfy the other one? I didn’t want to know.
I just want to get this over with and get out of here , I thought. I slipped into my room, slammed the bolt into place and sat down on the bed, breathing hard. And leave this wretched family to their private war .
Chapter Thirty-Five
Wesley was not, I discovered over the next two days, the only one making preparations for Lord Anton’s death. Reginald spent most of the time closeted with his friends or outside the hall, leaving me to read the books and wander the corridors, silently noting the number of clandestine conversations taking place in private rooms and dark corners. The plotting wasn’t even slowed by the Alidade and MacDonald Balls, even though just about everyone was invited. I had a feeling that there would be more discussions than dancing at those balls.
“The hall’s nearly empty,” Jill told me, when I went to collect my dinner. “It’s been a little restful.”
I snorted. “How are the girls?”
“They’re learning,” Jill said. “They might even start plotting to take my job in a year or two.”
“I’m sure you’ll move up the ladder,” I said, although I knew it wasn’t true. Jill wouldn’t be able to go anywhere, unless she either applied for another job elsewhere or became a personal maid. And anyone who would want her would have bad intentions. “You should ask Cook to take you as an apprentice.”
“Lucinda would never agree,” Jill said. “And the only other option is ...”
I winced, inwardly, as I carried my tray back to my room. Jill was wasted as a scullery maid. She would have made a good shopgirl or ... I shook my head. Jill was right. Lucinda would never let her go. Jill could leave, but without an assurance of a good character she might simply move from the cauldron into the fire. The Hiring Hall wouldn’t find her a good placement if she didn’t have a character from her previous job. I doubted Ginny’s superiors would take my word over Lucinda’s.
If I do manage to get a shop, I can hire her as a shopgirl , I thought. I wanted to cling to the thought, even though I knew it wasn’t going to happen. Reginald couldn’t be trusted to keep his word. Zadornov couldn’t be trusted to keep his either. And the City Guard still wanted to arrest me. Getting a new shop is just a pipe dream .
I pushed it aside as I ate my dinner - Cook had reheated leftovers from the previous night - and then turned my attention to the growing pile of books on my table. Reginald had been surprisingly generous, allowing me to take them into my room to read; he’d merely warned me not to take them outside his protective wards without prior permission. It was astonishing just how much Master Travis had taught me - he really had been a good teacher - but also to see just how much there was to learn. My instincts were good, yet my background knowledge was very limited. I simply didn’t grasp as much of the underlying theory as a qualified Potions Master.
And that will leave me as nothing more than a brewer if I don’t master the theory , I told myself, as I worked my way through an ancient textbook. Some of the instructions were outdated, but it did give me insights that the newer books left out. I guessed they were taught in school. I couldn’t see anyone actually brewing potions, let alone actually developing new recipes, without some background. I really need a proper teacher .
There was a knock at my door. I sat up, hastily hiding the books under my duvet, and opened the door. Cyanine stood there, wearing a long white nightdress instead of the princess gown her poor governess had made her wear. The woman might be a sour-faced old biddy - she was universally disliked, according to Jill - but she didn’t have an easy job. Cyanine might fire her on the spot as soon as she came of age.
“Young Mistress,” I said. “I thought you were at the ball.”
“I got bored,” Cyanine said. “You do know I have to go to school next month?”
“Yes,” I said. It struck me as a waste of money to insist that Cyanine actually live at the school when she had a home only a few short miles away, but it was - apparently - tradition that could not be gainsaid by mere mortals. “I believe it was mentioned a few times.”
Cyanine grabbed my hand and pulled me forward. “You have to come and help me with some brewing,” she said. “I want to be perfect when I go to school.”
I closed and locked the door, then allowed her to pull me into her room. Her table was covered with potion ingredients, including a couple that - I thought - were on the verge of going bad. Cyanine had been mixing some of them together, seemingly at random. I winced at the sight, trying not to think about Master Travis’s reaction to such wasteful - and dangerous - behaviour. Reginald and Cyanine had a lot in common that way.
“You have to keep a log of what you’re doing,” I said, as I helped her sort out the bubbling mess. “And you have to have a fair idea of what you’re doing.”
“I know that,” Cyanine said. “But memorising all the potion ingredients is boring .”
“You have to learn,” I said, firmly. “If you want to master potions, you have to know what you’re doing.”
I studied her collection for a long moment, then frowned. “Can I borrow a couple of ingredients?”
“Yeah,” Cyanine said. She looked up at me, her blue eyes concerned. “Do you need more salve?”
“No,” I said. I felt a stab of ... something . She was so innocent, compared to me and my half-sisters. And yet, she had troubles of her own. “I just want to try something.”
The Alchemist's Apprentice Page 35