by Unknown
But mixed in were other feelings that she could not unravel – and knotting them all together was a fizzing, nervy thrill that could have been anything from excitement to fear. What was it? It was tangled up with Sebastian, with the way he looked at her, with the sound of his crop on his puppy’s back, and the sound of his voice calling her his darling. How could one man be so strange and contradictory? Which was the real Sebastian – the man who had saved her life, who had run to her and helped her tenderly into his carriage, or the one who had beaten his pup to death in front of her eyes?
She was afraid of him – although she could not say exactly why. But she was drawn to him too. He represented everything that was missing from her life – luxury, excitement, even tenderness. It was a long time since anyone had called her their darling – not since Papa had died, perhaps.
But most of all, he represented an escape.
The sketch book fell from her hand and Belle whined and jumped as the spine dug into her side.
‘I’m sorry.’ Rosa picked it up and stroked Belle’s warm, panting side, feeling the thrum of her heart beneath her fingers. ‘Oh, Belle. What’s wrong with me? I don’t know what I want. I don’t know what I don’t want. I wish I could be like Clemency; she’s so happy with Philip.’
She pulled back the lace curtain and looked out of the window, down to the yard. The back door opened and out came a figure. It was Luke. For a moment he just stood in the courtyard, his head down, his neck bowed. Then he seemed to shake himself and he walked across to the pump and stripped off his shirt, sticking his head under the faucet. Rosa shivered in sympathy as the icy water gushed down, soaking his hair and spilling over his shoulders and back. He stood, shuddering, rubbing his wet face with his shirt, trying to chafe some warmth into his body. His skin was raw with cold, the muscles on his back and shoulders hard and taut as he shivered.
As he scrubbed his damp hair with his shirt she noticed the dressing was gone. In its place was a blurry scar on his shoulder, red as fire from the cold and the chafing. The door opened again and Becky came out.
Luke stopped stock-still, his shirt in his hand. Then he dragged the wet shirt over his head and almost ran to the stable block.
‘Luke!’ Becky’s cry filtered faint through the closed window. ‘Luke! Wait!’
‘Can’t stop,’ he shouted back. Then the door to his room slammed shut. Becky stood for a moment, the ribbons on her cap blowing in the wind. Then she turned on her heel and went back into the house.
‘Miss Rosa.’
Rosa jumped and dropped her book heavily on to Belle, who squealed and ran under the bed in a huff at this final injustice. Ellen was standing in the doorway, hands on her hips.
‘Ellen! You almost gave me an apoplexy.’
‘I’ll thank you to make yourself scarce, Miss Rosa, for I’ve your drawers to turn out and your trunk to pack.’
‘Oh, Ellen . . .’ Rosa felt her face fall. ‘Must we do this now?’
‘Tell me when you’d like me to do it, Miss Rosa?’ Ellen opened Rosa’s chemise drawer, pulled out a handful of white lawn and then shut it with a resounding thump that made the brushes on top of the chest clatter in sympathy. ‘Because I have to have all your belongings laundered, darned, pressed and packed by this time tomorrow.’
‘Never mind.’
Rosa picked up her book and went downstairs to the drawing room, but she knew she’d made a mistake as soon as she opened the door and the smell of Alexis’ cigar filtered out.
‘What?’ He turned as she peered in and his face over the top of the chaise longue turned red and ugly. ‘Oh it’s you.’
He had been drinking already. The brandy decanter was open on the table beside him.
‘I’ll go.’
‘Yes, do.’
She backed out and shut the door and then laid her forehead on the silky wood, feeling that she did not belong here. Matchenham was her home – it always had been. If she were at Matchenham she could saddle up Cherry and go for a gallop across the fields, letting the cold clear air and the fierce exhilaration of the ride chase away all her fears, along with the headache that was making her skull feel as if an iron band were closing around her head.
I want to go home, she thought, feeling the tears rise inside her. But she could not.
There was only one place in this house where she did not feel harried and miserable. One place where she belonged. The stables.
Luke paused from his mucking out to wipe the sweat from his forehead and for a moment stood, leaning on the pitchfork, looking out across the yard. The manure heap steamed in the cold air and he was hot and tired. In the big house he could hear the clatter of washing up in the kitchen and the sound of Mr James lecturing the boot-boy about work ethics and elbow grease. In Rosa’s window he could see Ellen traipsing to and fro across the bedroom, shaking out frocks and linen, her crossness palpable even at this distance.
But his work wasn’t finished and, if he were going to get the stable clean and swept before supper, he needed to get on. He picked up the fork again.
‘Luke!’ It was a whisper, nothing more. He stood for a moment, looking about, and then shrugged. His tired mind was playing tricks.
‘Luke!’
There it was again – no mistake this time. A girl’s voice, hoarse and low. It seemed to come from the lane behind the yard. He put down the fork and strode to the gate, looking up and down the lane. He almost missed her, even so, a pile of huddled rags pressed against the wall to the stable block. It was only when a familiar voice said hoarsely, ‘Luke, thank gawd it’s you!’ that he turned and looked.
‘Minna!’
She’d been crying, clean tracks across her dusty face.
‘Minna, what’s wrong?’
‘It’s Bess, Luke. She’s dying.’
‘Minna, no.’ He put his arm around her awkwardly, and she gave a great sob, pressing her small, skinny, snot-nosed face into his shirt. ‘I’m . . . Isn’t there something we could do?’
‘What? I took ’er to Billy Bones. He says she won’t last the week.’
‘Billy’s no horse doctor. You need to take her to a vet, Minna. A real one, not a quack like Billy.’
‘And where am I going to get the money for a bleeding horse doctor?’ Her small face looked up at him, fury mixed with misery. ‘I ain’t even got enough to feed the kids, let alone get some ponce to look at Bess and tell me she’ll be feeding hounds in a week. I need a job, Luke. I came to ask – d’you think they’d take me on here?’
He looked at her, at her bare, dirty feet, her tangled hair, her pinched face covered in tears and snot and the dust of the streets.
He shook his head.
‘I’m sorry, Minna. They’re no better than paupers themselves. I’m working for nothing.’
‘For nothing?’ Her face was aghast. ‘Why in hell would you want to work for nothing?’
‘Long story. But they’re not going to be taking on new staff, trust me. And I wouldn’t want you here even if they were.’ Luke rubbed his hand over his face. Then he remembered something. ‘Wait here.’ He disentangled himself from Minna. ‘Right here, understand? I won’t be a tick.’
Upstairs in his room he stood for a minute, looking at himself in the mirror, thinking about William’s sacrifices and all he’d done for him. Then he pulled up the loose board, took out the two sovereigns and shoved them in the pocket of his work trousers.
Luke clattered back downstairs and out into the yard – and stopped dead. Minna was in the centre of the courtyard, right in front of the stables. And she was not alone.
‘Rosa . . . Miss . . . What . . . ?’ he stammered. Damn Minna. Damn her.
Next to Minna she looked like a rare exotic bird, her hair glowing like fire in the winter sun, her golden-brown eyes wide, her magic glowing and shimmering
around her like a heat haze on this chilly day. In a strange way they were so alike – both of them young, both of them small and slim – skinny you might have called it – eyes large and dark in their faces, personalities too big for them. But Rosa was simply built like that; you could see it in her narrow bones and long slim fingers, in the shape of her face. Minna was half starved, skinny by force rather than nature, and that was the difference. Next to her Rosa seemed to glow.
‘I met your friend,’ Rosa said. Her face was troubled. ‘She says she’s walked all the way from Spitalfields looking for work.’
Dammit. His fingers clenched on the sovereigns in his pocket.
‘Yes, miss.’
‘I’m so sorry. I wish we could offer her something here.’
I’m not, he thought. Not for anything would he have had Minna mixed up with this, with the witchcraft and deception and the blood that would follow soon enough.
‘But I was just telling her about Mr Knyvet. His family runs soup kitchens and factories in the East End. Here.’ She took out a pen and scribbled on a bit of card. ‘This is the name of the street where the soup kitchen is. If you go there and show them my card, tell them I sent you, they’ll give you a hot meal – maybe even a job, if they’ve got one in the factory.’
‘Thank you, miss.’ Minna smiled, the skin stretched tight over her bones. When had she last eaten a hot meal?
Behind Rosa’s back Luke shook his head, willing Minna with his eyes not to take the card, not to get mixed up in this, with Knyvet, with everything else. But Minna bobbed a curtsey and put the card in her pocket.
‘Did you want something, miss?’ Luke said, his voice expressionless, but trying to tell Rosa without words that she was not wanted here, that this was not her place, but his.
‘I . . .’ For the first time she faltered. ‘I – I just wanted to see Cherry.’
‘She’s fine, miss. No need for you to worry. I looked her over after yesterday and you wouldn’t know anything had happened.’
‘It wasn’t . . .’ She stopped and then seemed to fold, turning her face away so that he could not see her expression. ‘Thank you. Never mind.’
As she turned to go back into the house she looked very small and Luke had the strangest impression that she was steeling herself to go back in.
After she’d gone he turned back to Minna.
‘Don’t go to the factory, Minna.’
‘What? Why ever not?’
‘Because . . .’
Because Knyvet was a bastard – and a man he wouldn’t trust with a dog, let alone a friend. Because he was a witch.
‘I can’t explain. But you don’t want to be mixed up with Knyvet. He’s a bad lot.’
‘Who cares about his morals?’ Her face was blank with astonishment. ‘Lord’s sakes, Luke, it’s not like he’ll be hanging round the place, is it? And if it’s a job – well . . .’
‘I came to give you this.’ He pulled the sovereigns out of his pocket and held them out. But Minna was shaking her head before she’d even seen the coins.
‘No. No, Luke. I can’t take it. I won’t.’
‘Minna, take the money.’
‘Jesus, Luke! It’s two sovereigns. Where d’ya get these?’
‘Just take them.’
‘How will I pay you back?’
‘I don’t care about that. Get Bess better and then pay me back. Or, if you have to, sell her, buy a donkey, and pay me back out of the spare. Anything’s better than letting her waste away and losing your job.’
‘I . . .’ Her hand hovered over the coins and he could see she was wavering.
‘Take it. Please. I don’t care how long you take to pay me back.’ She never would, he knew that, but the pretence was the only thing that would allow her to accept his charity.
‘Oh, Luke. Thank you.’ She took the coins and flung up her arms to kiss him, and he kissed her back, her cheek too thin and gaunt beneath his lips. There was something strange on her breath and he pulled back.
‘Minna, have you been on the laudanum again?’
‘No,’ she snapped. But he knew by her face that she was lying.
‘Stop it, Minna,’ he said warningly. ‘Stop it now while you still can.’
‘I’ll stop it when me bleeding tooth stops hurting! Don’t be such a fussy old woman.’ She shoved the coins in her pocket, all her smiles turned sour from his scolding.
‘Minna—’
‘What’s all this?’ A voice boomed out behind them both, making Luke turn sharply and Minna jump like a cat.
It was Mr James, standing in the stable yard, his arms folded.
‘What’s all this?’ He spoke to Luke rather than Minna, jerking his thumb at her as if she were no better than she should be. ‘I will not have loose women hanging around the stable yard in full daylight, Luke Welling.’
‘Full daylight – so would it be all right at midnight?’ Minna said pertly, recovered from her fright. ‘And who’s Luke Welling when he’s at home?’ She shot Luke a look that said, I’ll have this out of you later. Luke glared back, fury in every nerve and bone, willing her to shut her smart-alec mouth before she got herself a clip round the head and him fired.
‘Be quiet!’ thundered Mr James. ‘And get out of my yard, young woman.’
‘Try to stop me,’ Minna shot back. She turned on her heel. ‘Bye, Luke.’
He didn’t return the farewell, didn’t say anything, just stood with his neck bowed and the fury and fear running through his veins like acid.
‘Good riddance!’ Mr James bellowed, and clapped the gate to the mews shut with a sound like thunder. Then he turned to Luke. ‘What in God’s name is going on out here? Consorting with women in full view of the house? What were you thinking?’
‘I’m sorry, sir.’ Luke kept his voice as even as he could, kept his eyes on his boots, kept his fists clenched. ‘She just came in off the street. I’ve no idea who she is. Was.’
‘Hmph.’ Mr James looked at him from beneath glowering black brows, still suspicious. ‘How did she know your name then?’
‘She didn’t, did she?’ Inspiration flushed over him. ‘She said, “Who’s Luke Welling when he’s at home?”’ Thank God for Minna and her smart mouth.
‘She said goodbye to you,’ James countered.
‘Only after you said my name. She must have heard you. It was just sauce.’
‘Well then, what were you giving her when I came across the yard? I saw you put something into her hand.’
‘It was a bit of lucky heather.’ He’d never thought of himself as a good liar; usually he stammered and tied himself in knots. Now it made him sick, how easily the lies came. He was growing used to deception. It was living side by side with the vile witches, their deceit rubbing off on him. ‘She tried to make me buy it. I said no. I was giving it back.’
Mr James said nothing, only stood with his arms folded across his waistcoat. Then he seemed to make up his mind.
‘Very well, Luke Welling. But if I see her around here again, I’ll give you notice. Now, get yourself upstairs and get packing for the hunting party. I want you ready for the train at six tomorrow. Understood?’
‘Understood,’ Luke said, and then added bitterly, ‘sir.’
The trunks stacked in the hall were painted with GREENWOOD in white capital letters, and the labels said Southing. The horses had already left. James was out in the road, blowing the whistle for a hansom cab. Rosa stood in the hallway, buttoning her gloves, and thinking of Cherry shut into the narrow railway carriage, tossing her head nervously as the engine whistled and the speed picked up. She hoped Luke would remember her nosebag and give her a sugar lump when the train started off.
Just then Ellen came down the stairs, her face even grimmer than usual. She was not wearing her coat.
‘Your brother’s ready. He’s in the library finishing his business.’ Finishing his brandy was what Ellen meant, and they both knew it. ‘But your Mama . . .’ She paused.
‘What?’ Rosa asked.
‘Your Mama’s not coming.’
‘What?’
‘You’d best go up and see her. She’s in bed.’
Rosa didn’t wait. She picked up her skirts and took the stairs two at a time.
Mama was in bed with a cold flannel on her forehead and her eyes closed, but she opened them as Rosa came in.
‘Mama? What’s going on?’
‘I’m unwell.’ She looked it – her face in the dim light was blanched and drawn. ‘I cannot travel.’
‘What? But – but . . .’ Rosa was lost for words. She clenched her hands, feeling the kid strain across her knuckles. ‘How can I go to Southing unchaperoned?’
‘You’ll have Alexis. He will have to do.’
‘And my dress,’ Rosa cried. ‘What about my dress, Mama?’
‘I’m sure you can think of something,’ Mama said faintly. Rosa drew a breath, trying to keep calm, trying not to give way to the fury with angry words.
‘How, precisely, Mama? It’s one thing to take out a stain or change the colour of a skirt. It’s quite another to magic myself up a dress out of thin air. I couldn’t do it any more than I could sew one! And even if I could, you know what Sebastian would think if he saw me at his ball in a dress spun from charms and air. Do you want me to advertise the fact that we are too poor to afford a real ball gown? Because—’
‘Rosamund, that is enough.’ Mama sat up, her face suddenly angry. ‘I have had enough of your selfishness. Now – all this arguing is making my headache worse. Go. And make sure Alexis doesn’t miss the train.’