She witnessed a murder. And then she agreed to work for the man who committed it.
What had she done?
She can still leave. She doesn’t have to accept anything else from him, especially since a man like Garrett is the kind to hold charity over her head. What more will he expect of her after all of this? The dresses, the bath, the food? He claimed it would be nothing more than her service and her silence, but a coiling in her low belly warns her otherwise.
A tray lies at the foot of her bed, the warm smell of coffee swirling her insides. She’ll ignore it. She’ll return to her old dress and leave that instant. Her mouth waters, and she tosses back the covers, dipping her body into the cold morning air.
At once a reminder of everything she left behind coils around her like smoke, lingering no matter how hard one waves it away. The hunger, the bone-chilling cold. The loneliness.
“Have a bite then, come now,” Mrs. Tidmouth says. “We haven’t got all morning.”
The argument dances on Ada’s tongue, but Mrs. Tidmouth stands beside the tray, arms folded imperiously. In spite of herself, Ada makes for the tray.
“Thank you,” Ada tells Mrs. Tidmouth, taking bites of bread and fruit, savoring the hotness of the coffee spilling down her throat and filling her stomach. Mrs. Tidmouth watches her with displeasure, waiting impatiently for Ada to move against her better judgment and slip into the simple but fine blue gown.
Ada ties her hair back in a way she hasn’t been able to in months. It hasn’t been this clean. Her fingers stroke through easily, so unlike the ratted tangle her has been in the past. The feeling slowly eases her worries. Can it all be in her head?
“Don’t get used to service, Miss Havens. Starting tomorrow you’ll be up before dawn just like me. Tomorrow your real duties begin.”
“Yes, Mrs. Tidmouth,” Ada says, smoothing a hand over the pretty dress and admiring the white flowers in the fabric.
“Mr. Garrett says I’m to give you a day to adjust. Says you’ve got some things to take care of before you can officially start. If that be so, Thomas is waiting in the stables out back.”
Her father’s books. He remembered her father’s books. The loosening knot of worry eases that much more.
He can’t be all bad. He can’t be.
“Thank you, Mrs. Tidmouth,” Ada says again, making for the door. She pauses. “Excuse me, but, my shawl?”
“That terrible old thing deserves to be burned. You can wear this.” She pulls a brown shawl with tassels along its triangular bottom edge from over her arm and thrusts it into Ada’s hands.
Ada doesn’t hesitate to make her way down the narrow stairs indicated for servants. The staircase leads out into a pleasant kitchen, with the latest model of stove, its silver glistening and polished, across from a sink and china cabinet.
How cryptic, she thinks. Nothing here appears as she thought it would in the home of someone who would take a life as Augustus Garrett did last night. Everything is prim, orderly, and proper, yet the man who owns it lacks any properness to his being.
She wonders if word has been spread yet, if the police have found the body. Looking over her shoulder, she ducks to take a glimpse at the newspaper sprawled on the table in the adjoined dining room.
The Spare-Tooth Bandit Strikes at Local Banquet
Sources report that a Mr. Henry Shaw was found in an alleyway last evening after attending the engagement banquet of a Ms. Ernestina Timothy to Mr. Alonzo Whittaker. Henry’s feet had been severed from his body in a gruesome fashion, his body left behind for partygoers to find on their way home.
Ada’s stomach turns. The Spare-Tooth Bandit. It seems her patron has a pseudonym, though she doesn’t quite understand what it means. Spare teeth? Ada reads on.
The name was given to the bandit who always leaves his victims devoid of one or more of his or her extremities. Ada shudders. The stray shoe. The case Mr. Garrett handed his driver. She didn’t question what was in it at the time. Could it have held…?
The thought addles her. She can’t stay here—how can she? Mind reeling, she slams the paper down and rushes through the door between the stove and the sink, out into the brisk morning air.
Sunlight glitters across the snow, setting the house in a beautiful glow. Ada squints, catching her breath. What a ruse. Is anything as it appears?
The brightness casts away the darkness just enough. Ada inhales the scent of something baking nearby. It wasn’t long ago her stomach would have knotted itself just to have a single taste. Not so this morning. She has a full stomach. The thought gives way to her other arguments, justifying all the reasons she should stay that battle with her reasons for escaping.
If the article reads true, Mr. Garrett is collecting pieces of his victims. But he told her himself he would not seek what he needed from his staff. What is it he’s planning with these gruesome outings he takes? She didn’t manage to bring herself to ask in the carriage, but now she wishes she had.
Ada takes another breath. Whatever the case, Mr. Garrett said he would expect nothing more of her than her housekeeping services and her silence. She is safer here than she would be back on the streets. She can do this.
Light breaks through the trees, and Ada pauses, unable to help but admire the landscape, a beautiful gazebo and line of rose bushes, carefully tended, even in winter, before making for the set of stables.
The stiff scent of manure strikes her nostrils. Stalls lie to the left, their doors rising only halfway and leaving space for several horses to peer over.
The same dark carriage that delivered her here last evening awaits in the stable’s open center, but the tall young man is different from last night’s driver. He is slimmer, his face less stern. He hooks the horse’s bridle to the tethers connecting it to the carriage, patting the horse’s neck and mumbling in a soothing tone to the creature.
Her feet crunch the hay strewn across the cold ground, catching his attention. He glances over his shoulder. “I’ll be right ready, miss. One more moment.”
“Are you Thomas?” she asks.
“That I am,” he says, overlooking his work before turning to face her.
Her breath catches. He is much younger than she thought. Not much older than she, actually. His eyes glisten, his brown hair parted along the side. He adjusts his vest and gives her a crooked grin, rolling down his shirtsleeves to replace the brown jacket that coordinates with his vest and trousers. His breath leaves his mouth in little puffs in the chilled air.
“Good day, Miss Havens.”
Does he know his master is a murderer? And if so, he can smile like this? Ada withdraws, cursing herself for finding the boy attractive.
A sudden plan forms in the back of her mind. She cannot remain here knowing what she knows. She will have Thomas return her home, and she will have him leave her there. There can be no other solution.
But the thick shawl around her shoulders blocks out the frigid air. Her stomach is full this morning, and from her earlier glance in the mirror, she looks better than she has in months. What is she to do?
Thomas checks the rigging joining the horse to the sleek black carriage. The horse chuffs from its nose, and Thomas pats its velvet, reddish brown flank before turning his attention back to Ada.
“I am yours to command, Miss Havens. Shall I take you to Redding?”
Ada lowers her head, embarrassment flushing across her face.
“Excuse my forwardness, miss. But it’s nothing to be ashamed of. There are worse things than being poor.”
Her eyes flick upward. His kind glance holds softness, along with understanding. Unspoken camaraderie travels between them with that glance, a warm thread of acceptance, of friendship and interest.
“Mr. Garrett tells me you’ve some belongings to collect?” he says.
She’s lost in his gaze for several moments, questions peppering he
r mind. Speak, fool. “Yes, I did.”
He smiles, opening the door for her. “Allow me.”
Ada climbs into the carriage. Thomas retrieves the long fur drape, placing it across her lap. Her cheeks burn as their hands touch, and Thomas closes the door behind her before climbing beside the driver on the seat. She hears him click his tongue and judder the reins before the carriage lurches forward, down the drive and onto the street.
The ride is silent, her legs warm and secure beneath the fur drape. She lowers her head against the seat and closes her eyes, trying not to think about the previous night’s events, or the previous month’s, or the previous year’s, nor of the turmoil currently in her heart.
Why must her mind change so? Why can she not simply make a decision?
After a brief journey the carriage pulls to a stop, and Thomas opens the door to the display a snowy overlook. His cheeks are rosy and flushed against his pale skin, and by the excitement in his eyes, he seems to relish the outing. The squalid, overcrowded district of Redding is visible below, a sad patch on an otherwise spotless quilt.
“I thought it might draw too much attention if we entered in this rig,” Thomas says, glancing up as if admiring the carriage before returning his gaze to her. “Thought you might be more comfortable accompanied by a dashing young stranger instead.”
He offers her an arm and a grin.
“Because that won’t draw attention at all,” she says, fighting a smile and slipping her hand into his.
He helps her down the few steps until her shoes touch the snow.
“Can’t let you go alone now, can I?”
Ada narrows her eyes. Thomas works for Mr. Garrett—surely he knows what is going on. But a young man this kind and attentive wouldn’t possibly choose to work for such a man, would he? Augustus Garrett as good as threatened Ada into service. What is he holding over Thomas’s head?
“I’ve done it dozens of times,” she says. “I live here, remember?”
Thomas straightens his jacket. “Miss Havens. I must insist. Would you allow me to accompany you to your home?”
Ada’s throat closes at the sincerity in his eyes. She thought Mr. Garrett was sincere and caring as well, the first day she met him. Look how he turned out to be. Much as her heart tugs toward Thomas, she fights any desire to be with him. One cannot trust on first acquaintance alone.
A thousand questions add themselves to the ones already cascading through her mind. Does Thomas know Mr. Garrett took a life last night? Do any of them know? Good heavens, what a secret to keep.
Ada wouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Garrett ordered Thomas to not let her out of his sight. He seems the type to be so controlling. She must put boundaries into place where she can.
“I will be fine,” she says, “though I thank you for your concern.”
Now that she’s here, she isn’t sure how to present the idea of not returning. The truth is, she would feel ungrateful to leave her new employer in such a fashion. And she can’t shake the fear that he would find her regardless.
Thomas purses his lips and bows slightly. “Of course you will. Don’t mind if I wander, do you? See the sights?” A smile plays at the corners of his lips.
She fights her own smile, grateful for his lightheartedness in this moment. “I suppose not.”
“After you then,” he says.
She treads toward the edge of the overlook where the path descends. Footsteps crunch behind her, and the few times she glances behind to find Thomas trailing after, several paces away. Once, he stops to kick a plod of snow, glancing back up to her through the corner of his eyes.
It’s endearing, really, to have him hang back at her request, to feign disinterest and play at sightseeing. She really wouldn’t mind the company, if truth be told. Ada sighs, unable to help smiling at him.
“Hang it all, then, and join me if you must,” she calls back to him.
Thomas jogs forward, releasing that grin. “That’s a relief,” he says, falling into step beside her. “I was beginning to worry for my safety.”
Ada laughs now, feeling as though an extra layer has been added to ward off the cold.
“What is it you do for Mr. Garrett, exactly?” she asks.
Thomas sniffs, staring ahead at the clustering, ramshackle homes. “I tend the horses and clean up in the barn. I help with the gardening and yardwork in the summertime. I also—” He squints at the sunlight. “I help clean in the basement, if he asks me to.”
“And have you always worked for him?”
“Only for about the last year or so. What about you? What will your duties be?”
“I’m not sure,” Ada says. “I’ve never been a housemaid before, though I imagine I’ll have my fair share of stoking fires and cooking meals, which I can do easily enough. This is it here.”
She veers off toward the shack on the left, ducking away from the sight of Mrs. Billingsly’s prying eyes from her own shack across the street. Ada has no doubt they’ll wonder about her appearance, especially if they noticed her lack of return last night compared to her return now. A new dress, with clean hair, and on the arm of a handsome man in a suit? Scandal indeed.
“You don’t have to come inside,” she says.
“And miss seeing your life? Not at all.” He holds the door for her and she enters, her breath catching in her chest. The dismal space appears differently than it ever has. She sees it the way Thomas might be seeing it. How pathetic. How wanting.
He doesn’t have the experiences she did here. Still, she can’t help wondering what’s running through his mind.
“My father’s books are just there. In the corner.” She guides the way past the quiet fireplace, past the uncomfortable pallet bed with its shabby blanket, blinking away the memory of her mother lying there, of lying there night after night alone after her mother died.
The shelf in the corner is the only well fed thing about this whole place. It holds tomes of history, science, philosophy, and her favorite, Shakespeare.
Each step toward those tomes solidifies the decision for her. After seeing Redding again, comparing her old life to the morning she enjoyed, she can’t possibly return here to stay.
She forces a smile.
“While I don’t mind walking away from everything else, I couldn’t leave these behind,” she says.
“Sad place,” Thomas says, eyeing the pallet bed on his way to her. “Though you have an advantage on me, Miss Havens.”
“What’s that?” She slides her father’s copy of Aristotle from its place and hugging it to her chest.
He removes a book as well, smoothing a hand over the title. “Even if I had books like these, I wouldn’t know what any of ‘em said, now would I?”
“You don’t know how to read?”
“That I don’t, miss. Though I’ve always wished I could.”
“I can’t even imagine a life without books,” she says, her tongue slipping away from her without thinking as it sometimes does.
Thomas’s smile falters. “Well, now you can, I suppose. I can tell they mean a lot to you.”
He takes another down, and another, stacking them in his arms.
“They do,” she says. Each title has special meaning, holding its own story apart from what’s written inside. Her father reading to her, studying them back at their home before the war. Sneaking away to get a copy in the middle of the night so she could ask him questions about it when the morning came.
Lord Byron’s poetry didn’t matter to her until her governess read it with such devotion and tenderness toward the author that Ada can’t help feeling it herself. These books are old friends.
“I’ll teach you, if you like.”
Thomas’s brows rise. “Would you now? I would like that. Although—”
He hesitates, helping stack the final book into her arms. They’re heavy, weighing her
down, but she manages to keep them to her chest and head for the door behind him.
Thomas opens it out into the graying sky, closing it behind them, and they walk together, back toward the carriage visible on the hilltop.
“I can understand why you’d want to leave a place like this, Miss Havens,” Thomas says. “And if Mr. Garrett knew I was speaking against him I’d lose my tongue, but are you sure? You sure you want to leave a life of freedom in exchange for servitude to him?”
Ada glances at the tumble-down shacks surrounding her, the thin planks of wood splayed across shambling structures, the mud caking on her shoes, the wretched lines strung between shacks where ragged clothing hangs, the children gathered in groups with too-short pants and holey coats, coughing into their hands.
She could make far more working for Mr. Garrett than she did as a seamstress. The factory kept half of her earnings as it was. With this new position she could help some of these people.
“He’s not a good man, Miss Havens. You might be better off staying where you are.”
Memories knock along the door of her mind. Cold seeping into her bones. Hunger worrying at her stomach. The same conviction she felt while gathering books returns. She can’t willingly return to this life.
“I will take what comes,” she says, her hands full of books, making herself a promise to return the goodness that has been bestowed upon her, to help another as she has been helped. “Besides, if I stayed here, I wouldn’t get to know you, now would I?”
Thomas smirks at this. “Aye, but are you sure that’s worth it to you? I could come visit, you know.”
Warmth climbs her cheeks at his soft but intent gaze. He winks and together they crest the hill toward the waiting carriage, leaving her old life behind.
six
Mrs. Tidmouth awakens her before the sun the next morning, diving hastily and impatiently into a discourse of Ada’s duties. Ada wonders at how many of the chores are shared between the two of them, but a man like Augustus Garrett would hardly keep a full staff. Day after day, the routine becomes easier to her until soon Ada falls into the swing of things, rising early to empty chamber pots and start fires, to gather laundry, to dust open shutters.
The Forbidden Doors Box Set Page 56