by Julia Byrd
“Well? What do you think?”
“This…this must have taken you all day.”
“Nearly. But even more than a library, a proper home must have its kitchen in good working condition.”
“How on earth did you make a pie?”
Juno angled her head. “Ben, have you ever made a meat pie before?”
I frowned. I prepared food for myself every day, but I’d never attempted a pastry shell. “No.”
She laughed. “I had flour and water and butter to make the crust, and the filling is potato and bacon. It’s not magic.”
It seemed like magic to me. Everett hung back at my elbow, and we exchanged glances. If Juno was seeking to win him back to her side, a hot dinner was a good start.
“Everett, why don’t you and Sarah help yourselves here? Juno, I would like to speak with you alone for a moment.”
Juno’s smile faded a bit, but she followed me out to the hall. A little pile of dead leaves swirled in our draft.
“The library,” she murmured once we were alone. “It’s warmer there.”
The stone fireplace held only the glowing remnants of a few small logs. We stood side-by-side before it, and the silence between us was heavy. I shrugged out of my coat and dropped it over a chair.
“I’m sorry I haven’t offered you better hospitality,” I said finally. “This place is hardly better than living in a dungeon. Thank you for—”
“No, truly, it’s—”
“Juno, wait. Please listen.”
I’d been interrupted my whole life. Some well-meaning folks just wanted to help complete sentences I struggled to enunciate. Others, the impatient or the irritated, simply preferred me silent. Juno turned her dark eyes up to meet my gaze, and she waited. Her pale face in the light of the fire reminded me of our dalliance in the attic the night before, but I pushed the memory aside in favor of sternness.
“Thank you for your work in the kitchen today, but I didn’t bring you here to make you a…a housekeeper. I cannot afford, right now, to restore this house to life. I want you and Sarah to be safe, but you can’t stay here forever. In fact, you can’t stay here much longer.”
“Ah.” She dropped her chin and stared into the fire. “I see.”
“The house is not suited for habitation. Someday I will hire a crew of workmen, not impose upon the goodwill of two women with polishing cloths and scrub-brushes. If the work is done properly, the dining room ceiling will not be sagging with damp, and houseguests will not be required to sleep on couches in the library. If I had a butler, staff, a wi—a hostess…”
I nearly said wife before substituting that fraught idea with the more neutral hostess. It was not yet my moment to consider marrying. I needed more time before I could take up my life and property, and only then would I be free to find a suitable woman. One who I was absolutely certain was not a murderer.
“It’s the condition of the house you wish to blame for my eviction, is it? Very well, then. We’ll labor under that presumption. You seem to think restoring a decomposing ruin into a true home is only a matter of proper finances. There is much more to making a home than simply being wealthy enough to afford it.”
I knew what she meant. If I allowed her to continue, Juno would be giving little speeches and conducting rituals in every room of the house. I shook my head. “Maybe not proper finances alone. But it certainly cannot be done without funds.”
“And therefore, I have to leave because I dared to clean your kitchen. Of course.”
Anger flared in me at her acidic tone. “Don’t play the fool, Juno,” I snapped. “You know that’s not true. You are distracting me from my real work. I can see what’s happening between us, and I won’t allow myself to be led about and tricked by—”
“Tricked,” she exclaimed. “You accuse me of trickery? Tell me plainly, what have I done?”
“You—” I swallowed. I sounded ridiculous, but I was accustomed to that. I forced it out. “You have bewitched me. I have witnessed your dark arts, Juno. Yet I have done your bidding, against my usual nature, and I…I find my thoughts turning to you.”
“You do?” Her voice was small, her eyes locked on mine. I said nothing. She shook her head with a sudden snap. “That doesn’t make me a witch. That makes you human. No one has tricked you. You’re only fooling yourself, Ben. A woman shows you the tiniest sliver of her innermost emotions, and your reaction is fear and defense.”
I heaved in a breath. “Nevertheless.”
We were both quiet for a long moment. Juno folded in on herself, with her shoulders slumped and her proud neck bent.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I seem to have a talent for inserting myself where I’m not wanted.”
“Please don’t apologize.” She accused herself of the very thing I’d done to two grieving families, and which I intended to do again. “I’m the one who brought you into my decomposing ruin of a house.”
I reached for the poker and stirred up the little fire, and it gave up a fraction more light. The moment stretched in silence.
“Opere et Omissione,” Juno said into the quiet.
I followed her gaze to the Latin motto carved deep into the limestone face of the fireplace mantel. The Hood family maxim predated the house itself. I had traced the engraving with my fingers as a boy. My father had said we descended from the junior branch of a line of earls, but I had no evidence one way or the other.
“What I have done and what I have failed to do,” I translated. “Opere et Omissione. It’s meant to be a humbling confession of sorts. A reminder to know what you have earned and what you were merely given.”
“Mea máxima culpa,” she said on a long breath. “My most grievous fault. Sarah and I will leave in the morning.”
“Where will you go?”
“Sarah might be able to go home if Mr. Greeley will come to his senses.” Juno shrugged. “And I’ll go back to my house.”
I turned from the fire and sank into the nearest chair, a green-upholstered piece that carried memories of my brother, one knee slung over the armrest, foot swinging. Juno sat on the settee beside me and arranged her skirts. The chatelaine clinked in a metallic jingle. She perched like a guest, but I imagined her sitting sideways, knees up, bare toes peeking out from under her hem. Like she belonged there.
“About that,” I began, lacing my fingers together. “There’s something you should know. When I was inside your house today, I found a…deceased animal. A black cat. Its death was—” No need for disturbing details. I softened my phrasing. “Someone killed the poor thing.”
She furrowed her brow, blinking. “There was a dead cat in the house?”
“Do you mean to say you don’t have a cat? You don’t use cats’ blood in your…work?”
“I am quite looking forward to the day when you get past all of those suspicions,” she murmured dryly. “No, I don’t have a black cat or any other familiar. My work involves helping people and growing plants, not killing animals, Ben. Or babies. Perhaps it snuck inside, looking for food or warmth.”
I shook my head. “It was killed intentionally, and by a person, not another creature.”
“Odd,” Juno said, smoothing her hands over her knees. “But I’m sure it’s nothing. Boys playing cruel pranks, perhaps.”
I was troubled, but I said nothing further on the subject. Was I wrong to send her away if she was going back to the scene of that bloody death? How much responsibility could I assume for Juno’s life and well-being? Perhaps if I kept her close, I could ascertain the truth about her. I felt myself swinging from extreme to extreme, unable to find my previous, stable low point in the arc. Instead of pondering those troubles, I reached for my coat and the little wooden chest in its deep pocket. “I brought the box you requested.”
Juno huffed out a laugh. There was no humor in it. She reached over and accepted the box, and our fingers did not touch. “Thank you, although as it happens, the errand is not as vital as I’d once thought.”
Sh
e opened the box and peered in, running a finger from corner to corner. The lid obstructed my view of its contents. She extracted a sheaf of creamy notecards and set the rest of the chest aside.
“It is my writing kit,” she explained. She turned the box on the settee, and I saw paper, envelopes, two sharpened quill pens, and a stoppered bottle of ink nestled in felt. “I correspond regularly with a few friends and my sister, Caroline. I wanted to keep up with that during my time here at Maida House.” Then, uncharacteristically hesitant, her eyes dropped to the blank sheets in her hand. “I—I meant to give you these.”
Her pale skin almost matched the ivory of the pages as she extended the stack of cards to me. She wanted to give me stationery?
“Oh, no. I couldn’t. You need them.”
“There are plenty more in the box. You wrote to me using scraps and old shoe receipts, and I thought if…Well.” Her hand, still clutching the pages, retreated.
My stubborn confusion cleared somewhat. “You thought we would exchange notes again.”
Juno’s expression was rigid. “It was foolish, I see now.”
“No! No, to disrespect your feelings was the furthest thing from my mind.” I felt the worst kind of cad, careless and thoughtless. I had believed myself so injured that I could not possibly do injury in return to others. Apparently, I hadn’t been paying attention. “Juno, maybe I was too hasty when—”
I stopped short at the sound of a loud banging. It was the unmistakable clash of the Maida brass knocker against the strike plate on the front door. For a moment I froze in surprise. When the knock sounded again, I surged to my feet. “Wait here.” Who could have known we were inside the house? Had someone seen the smoke from the chimney and come to investigate? I grasped the fireplace poker and carried it with me.
Juno rose and followed, despite my instruction. She carried a three-armed candlestick and wore a stern expression. “It might be a caller looking for me.”
“A caller?” We strode out of the library and into the hall. I glanced back towards the kitchen. Silently I begged Everett to stay with Sarah, in case the visitor was Greeley. “Why on earth would you have a caller? How would anyone know to find you here?”
“I don’t know. Women talk.”
I had no rebuttal for that. The knocker dropped again. In the foyer, a wave of noise echoed along the cold marble tiles. A tall, silent clock showed the time of its last tick. Juno met my eyes, and I jerked my chin towards the wall. Stay back. She nodded and fell back a pace as I crossed the entryway to the door. I gripped the poker with one hand, using my free hand to slide back the bolt. Then I turned the knob and eased the panel open slowly. The hinges hadn’t moved in years, and they groaned in protest.
Wide, familiar eyes stared back as I edged up to the crack in the door. Farmer Miller’s young son. I let the poker droop, then stood my improvised weapon against the wall. Juno’s light footsteps approached.
“Ben. Mr. Hood.” His thin chest was heaving, and the light from Juno’s candlestick caught the sweat on his brow.
“What in God’s name are you doing here, Michael? Where is your father?” Had I ever told them my surname?
“He sent me to fetch you if you’ll come. There’s a fire.”
“I’ll come. Let me get my coat. Where is it?”
The boy glanced over his shoulder, then pointed. “There. Hurry, please.”
On the horizon, I noticed a faint orange glow and a smudge of smoke. It wasn’t coming from the village, and it was well south of the cemetery…“Is it your house?” I asked Michael. “Or your barn?”
Juno shouldered me aside and gazed out into the distance. The farmer’s boy looked unsurprised to see her with me.
“No,” she said. “It’s not the Miller house that’s burning. It’s mine.”
Chapter 14: Rite of Purification
I raced back to the kitchen and found Everett sitting with Sarah Greeley, their plates pushed aside, and their heads close together. He sat up with a startled jerk, looking vaguely guilty when I burst in.
“Everett. Stay with Sarah. Juno and I will be back soon.”
He unhooked his boot heels from the stool’s rungs and stood. “Where are you going? I’ll come with you.”
“No,” I said, then cut my eyes to the girl. Her complexion was ghostly. I stepped close to Everett and spoke in his ear. “Stay here with Sarah and don’t open the door to anyone. Conceal yourselves in the tunnel if needed.”
“What is it?”
“There’s a fire burning near Juno’s house.”
Everett pulled his head back and stared at me. “Be careful, please.”
I gripped his upper arm, and the wiry muscle there bunched under my hand. “Thank you.” He would have been more useful to have with me than Juno, but she had a right to know what was happening at her property. Someone needed to stay with Sarah. “I hope we won’t be long.”
Juno waited by the front door, swathed in her cloak and carrying my oil lantern. Michael bounced impatiently on his toes. He swung the big door open. The orange glow was brighter than it had been. I would have paid gold for a horse and trap at that moment, but the Maida stables had been empty for longer than the house. We would have to go on foot, and it was over a mile even if we cut across the fields.
“You don’t need to go,” I said to Juno.
“Yes, I do.” Her jaw was set in determination, so I didn’t argue further.
We set off with Michael in the lead. He bounded down the gravel drive and veered off across the overgrown lawn. We had once held picnics there, and my father had related childhood memories of a beribboned maypole on Whitsundays. In its neglected state, the lawn had reverted to weeds and molehills.
The current, limited boundaries of Maida grounds soon gave way to fields sold off by my brother. We traversed the remainder of the distance on former estate land. The crops had all been brought in. To my eye, even in the dark, I saw signs of neglect in the stiles and hedgerows, in the stubs of wheat stalks left to rot. The fields should have been planted with a fall cover crop of Raphanus sativus or even simple oats. I made a silent promise to visit the farmers and position myself as a better landowner than whomever the current absentee proprietor might be.
The smell of smoke overwhelmed me as we drew close to the source of the fire.
“Come on,” Michael urged. “My father was by the lane when I last saw him.”
The boy ran ahead, and the silhouette of Juno’s house appeared against the backdrop of orange flames. I saw at once that the fire was centered in the stand of aspen trees just north of her property. The grove was surrounded on three sides by plowed fields and the dirt road, but the fourth side was Juno’s property line. The fire was creeping close to the house. One outbuilding, a little peaked roof shed, was already engulfed, and it would continue spreading. Fire was a force of nature I respected. But there was one other whose powers I dared not underestimate.
I glanced at Juno. “I don’t suppose you have any…” I made an imprecise gesture towards the flames as I searched for my meaning. Spells? Occult ceremonies? “Influence.”
Her dark eyebrows shot up. “Over a wildfire? No,” she said on a short laugh, “I cannot control flames. But how kind of you to think so. Imagine the time one might save on stoking the kitchen fire.”
I peered into the blaze as we emerged around the corner of her house. Much like Michael, Joseph and I had once helped our father and a group of neighbors battle a barn fire. It had jumped to a few other outbuildings, but the house had been saved, and I’d thought my father the bravest of men.
A raspy voice called out. Farmer Miller ran up and swept his son into a fierce embrace. The man was sweating and soot-blackened, and he carried a pickaxe. “Good work, boy.” He gave the child another squeeze and turned to me. “Ben, thank you for coming so quickly. And Mrs. Stephens! Am I ever glad to set eyes on you. We worried you were in your house.”
“No,” Juno said. She did not explain further.
“
The village has a fire captain and some sort of organized procedure, but I’m not sure what we can do out here,” Miller said. “We’re far from much of the help. I did round up a few neighbors.”
“How many men do you have?” I asked. “We need a firebreak and a line of buckets. Otherwise, the fire could jump the lane and threaten your house, too.”
He grimaced and swiped a filthy hand across his forehead. “Only three other men, plus Michael and my wife. That’s why I wanted you.”
“All right.” I made the mistake of inhaling a deep breath as I tried to piece together a plan. The smoke set me coughing. Did Londoners truly breathe in a soup of hazy air every day? “Juno, if there’s anything you must save from the house, fetch it now. You have no more than five minutes. When you come out, bring with you a half-dozen wide, wetted strips of fabric. We’ll tie them over our faces.” She nodded. I turned to the boy. “Michael, you’re going to operate Mrs. Stephens’ pump. It’s just outside the kitchen door. Can you do that? It’s very important.”
The boy, wide-eyed, nodded instantly.
“Good.” I shifted my eyes to the farmer. “As for the men, we’ll need to set a line—”
“Wait,” he said. “Come and tell them directly. We’re just over in the road.”
“I only meant to—” I protested.
But Miller was already striding away. Michael and Juno headed for her house. She cast a glance back. “Go on, Ben. Organize them, help them, lead them. They need you.”
My stomach clenched. “Right.”
I coughed again when an errant gust sent smoke swirling. Miller led me past Juno’s house to the lane. A knot of men and one woman, apparently Mrs. Miller, waited just upwind of the burning stand of aspens. They all turned and watched me approach. I stopped a few feet short and met five pairs of eyes in soot-streaked faces. Their expressions were eerie and difficult to interpret in the uncertain light from the fire. I said nothing.