by Julia Byrd
“She was called away.” I pushed a hand through my hair, then pulled at the too-tight collar of my starched Sunday shirt. I could not fathom sitting down to eat and chat. “Excuse me, I find that I am not hungry after all.”
Everett began to stand. “Ben, where are you—”
“No, stay and finish your meal. Please.”
I turned away before anyone could object further. The library was still the feminine sleeping domain of Juno and Sarah, so instead, I headed for Joe’s study. My study.
The room I entered had been cleaned and straightened so that it scarcely resembled the dusty cave Everett and I had occupied only the night before. Our chairs were angled to face the walnut desk, which gleamed under a fresh coat of citrus oil. The mantel and the framed painting of St. George had been dusted. Even the bookshelves had been wiped and straightened, and Joe’s cluttered papers had been stacked into piles.
I groaned and sank into an armchair. I appreciated her efforts, but I didn’t need Juno reorganizing my entire, messy world. She was putting her stamp on everything around me—everything within me.
Chin in hand, staring blankly at the desk before me, it took a moment before I comprehended the small packet of letters resting in the center of the expansive surface. It wasn’t Juno’s stationery. Had someone delivered the post for me? I sat up straight, then stretched over and retrieved the stack of folded pages.
There were three sheets of paper. The top one was written in an unfamiliar, feminine hand.
My dearest Juno—
I hastily flipped it to the bottom of the stack. The next page was scrawled in a different, curling script, a different woman’s writing.
Juno, so glad to receive word that—
I yanked it aside and checked the last page. It was the same handwriting as the first and again addressed to Juno. Why were her letters on my desk? Had she forgotten them while cleaning? I permitted myself to check the final page again. It was dated nearly two weeks ago. Were these from the stack I had retrieved from Juno’s house as it burned around me?
It was unlike Juno to be careless with her things. I tapped the pages to align the edges and laid them back on the desk. Fortunately for her, I was not the sort of man to snoop in another person’s private correspondence. I would not read them.
Unless…What if she left them for me to find? Perhaps she intended for me to read them.
But no. What relevance could letters from two of Juno’s female friends have for me? None. Surely they were utterly mundane, the usual chatter between women. However…maybe there was some reference in the letters to the infants’ deaths, something that would illuminate Juno’s involvement. I leaned back into the chair and propped my elbow on the arm again, chin on my elbow. The surface of the desk shone in the sun. I could have seen my reflection in it if I weren’t slouched halfway to the floor.
Nothing Juno did was mundane, and nothing she did was careless. Being holy is only paying attention. I bolted upright and grabbed the letters. Faint noises from the hall reassured me that the others remained in the dining room.
“You’re a terrible person,” I mumbled to myself as I skimmed over the words. There were greetings, mentions of old news that made little sense out of context, and word of a cousin joining the Royal Navy. Apparently one of the correspondents was Juno’s sister. Nothing about infants or death, much less any sort of dark sacrifice. I began to feel that my suspicions were absurd. What kind of witch would record her foulest deeds in correspondence?
My eyes flew past a male pronoun. I returned to the line and began to read more carefully.
From what you have written, he sounds like just what you need, if you can live with him. Please be careful, dear heart. You don’t want another Rupert. He won’t understand your work. None of them do. My new woolen gown is late from the seamstress, and winter is creeping in swiftly. I’m glad that she has more business, but she’s going to require an assistant…
The letter continued with a half page more of personal news and was signed at the bottom all my love, Caroline. I returned to the paragraph about a man. You don’t want another Rupert. Juno was considering another husband? I turned to the next page. It was written by the other correspondent and was dated three days after the first. I skimmed through it. There, again, I found news of a man in Juno’s life, but the tone was different.
I confess I read and reread your description of him at least half a dozen times, half giggling and fully blushing. One cannot marry a man for his shoulders alone, but you make a convincing case for it. And you want to sink your naughty teeth into him, you bold minx! You should tell him as much, see if he flees in terror. I concur regarding the allure of dark blue eyes. I wonder if the poor man is equipped to deal with you! Send me a full report of your findings.
I read the short paragraph twice more. My eyes are a very ordinary blue color. Juno wanted to put her teeth into my shoulders. She was corresponding with her friends about me. I could scarcely untangle my thoughts. As usual, Juno was three steps ahead of me. Or three thousand. With a shaky hand, I turned to the last note. It was the shortest of the three, and it was written by the person I assumed to be Juno’s sister. It was dated only three days ago.
If what you’re feeling is real, my impetuous one, it will make your life more difficult, not easier. You don’t need your boring older sister’s opinion on men, or on anything, but I’m not sure he deserves you or your fortune. Invite me at once, or I shall withhold your Christmas gift.
With love, Caroline.
At least I knew for certain Juno had left the letters for me to find. She wanted me to know her thoughts without having to divulge them herself. And she’d asked for her sister’s assessment of me. I tossed the letters aside and blew out a slow breath. As in everything regarding Juno Stephens, I wasn’t as shocked as I should have been. I knew there was some complex emotion between us. Seeing evidence of it—of us—written before me in stark black and white could not surprise me.
If Joe had lived to fulfill his role in the family, things would have been very different. I could have lived my life as I pleased and then married whomever I fancied. But as it stood, I had obligations to my family and Everett and our former tenants, responsibilities to my name and my house. I was in no position to support a wife, especially one who danced outside the bounds of Christian behavior. Maybe in a year or two, when I had reestablished the Maida Estate finances and built up some of my own respectability, I could extend my protection to a suitable woman.
“She’s gone, isn’t she?” Mother asked from the study door.
I hadn’t heard her approach and twitched to sit upright. We both knew to whom she referred. “Yes. I told you as much.”
Mother sighed and entered the study unbidden. Her hand traced a gentle line across my back as she circled to sit in the other chair. “I’m sorry, darling.”
“It’s fine.”
“I do wish you had heeded my advice not to further your acquaintance with her, Benjamin. Naturally, she refused you.”
None of that made any sense. “Mother…I have no idea what you’re referring to.”
“The Widow Stephens is the former Jane Davies, you know. William Davies died back around the same time as your father. You went away to university, and then Joseph, of course…anyway. Mr. Davies died a very wealthy man, and his two daughters received his estate in equal portions.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“She’s a wealthy woman. I’m sure she rejected your suit because she doesn’t particularly need you or this expensive house. But I hope you aren’t too dejected over it, my love. What woman would want to pour her inheritance into this pile of bricks? I myself was not thrilled about it after I married your father, although my dowry was nothing in comparison. But Edward and I were in love, and that was reason enough.”
I shook my head. We were having two entirely separate conversations. “Juno didn’t reject a proposal of marriage from me.”
Mother twisted in her
chair so fast the spindles creaked in complaint. “She accepted you? Good Lord, did you blackmail her? I heard she’s involved in some questionable practices—”
“Blackmail? Mother, no.” I barked out a laugh at the grim turn of her thoughts. “Your imagination is damnably Shakespearean.”
“Language, Benjamin.”
I stood and paced around behind the desk, then leaned and planted my palms on it. “Juno didn’t accept or refuse me because I have not proposed marriage.”
Mother slanted her gaze away from me. “I see.”
“But if I did offer for her, I don’t believe she would refuse me,” I said, thinking of sharp teeth pressing into my shoulder, breath dragging in her throat.
“I didn’t mean to insult you, darling. Of course, any woman would be lucky to catch you.”
“You might be biased, Mother, but thank you,” I said dryly. “I’m not certain about the content of Juno’s character. Didn’t you warn me about a motley stream of inappropriate visitors?”
“Oh, that.” Mother waved my question away. “Well. Jane Davies’ visitors were all women, according to the gossip. But extremely varied sorts of women, you understand,” Mother continued. “All walks of life. That’s all I meant by the comment.”
“She’s not Jane Davies.” Although I could not squash my interest in Juno’s history, I knew she had reinvented herself along the way. She wouldn’t want to be associated with a memory of meek little Jane Davies any more than I wanted to be remembered for my years of near-silent withdrawal.
“One summer when Joseph was about thirteen, so you would have been six, I suppose, Jane Davies trailed around after you boys like a kitten. I don’t think you particularly noticed her, but I’m not sure Joe took kindly to a little girl interrupting his fun. That was my thought at the time based on glimpses from the lawn. No one was bleeding, so I wasn’t paying much attention. She was always a quiet girl, and then she married Rupert Stephens.”
“Now that he’s dead and she’s rich, all is forgiven? Careful, Mother, your snobbery is showing. What else do people say about Juno? Anything…alarming?”
She paused and gave me a significant glance, fingers drumming on the arm of her chair. I realized I was looming over the desk, then forced myself to relax into Joe’s oversized leather chair. My chair.
“Nothing else of relevance to you,” she said. “If you didn’t alarm her with a proposal of marriage, why did she leave so suddenly?”
“She was called away to assist…an acquaintance.”
“That’s a shame. I’m surprised you didn’t choose to accompany her if someone is in need of assistance. You might be able to help.”
I’d thought the same thing. It’s nothing to do with you, she had said. I was starting to feel like everything about Juno meant something to me. “I can’t quite tell if you approve or disapprove of her.”
“Who cares what I think?” Mother exclaimed, echoing my earlier comment to Juno. “That doesn’t matter. If I sound ambivalent, it’s only because I cannot comprehend whether you approve or disapprove of her.”
I tilted my head back to stare up at the ceiling. The plaster had a carved floral medallion in the center of the room, but it was chipped and begrimed in all the intricate details. Like everything else in the house, it needed cleaning and repair. I had the sudden sense Juno was dusting me off the same way that she was methodically restoring the house. If only I understood what purpose she had in mind for me.
I rolled to my feet as Mother watched with raised eyebrows, and I did not answer her question. “Do you know where the Colney residence is located? Mr. John Colney and his wife…” I struggled to recall the woman’s name. “Martina?”
“I know them. The Colneys were our tenants for a long time. Their cottage is less than a mile to the east, along the Elgin road.”
I could envision the road, although not the cottage. No wonder Colney recognized me—we were of a similar age, and his father would have worked Hood land. I should have known him.
“Thank you.” I crossed to the doorway but turned back. “Keep an eye on Everett and Miss Greeley, will you? I don’t expect any trouble, but—”
“Yes, fine. Go on. Over lunch, Sarah started helping me with a list of things Mrs. Stephens needs to replace after the fire, so we’ll work together on that.”
“I doubt that she’ll allow you two to simply choose her—Never mind.” I was suddenly too impatient to catch up with Juno to worry about dresses. “Enjoy yourselves.”
Chapter 20: Rite of Blood and Potato Soup
I cut across the land that had once been my family’s. In a fine point of law, I could have been considered a trespasser striding through another man’s fields, but I was coming to understand that no one was going to stop me. It was ripe for retaking if I could just grasp it. First, I needed to rejoin Juno.
Would she be displeased to see me? She had told me to stay away. All the times she’d pushed her way into my life—stealing my plants, “curing” my stammer, showing up with Sarah in tow and asking for help—had started as an inconvenience and ended as a blessing. It was my turn to show up uninvited.
The Colneys’ cottage was perched on a low hill about fifty yards back from the road. It was guarded on either side by two stately Alnus glutinosa trees, common black alders that made good use of the quality soil. The reins of Colney’s horse were looped over a fence post, and the beast was still lathered with sweat. I turned off the road and approached the house.
The wails were audible from twenty yards away. It was a frantic, high-pitched keening, a woman’s pained cry. Juno? Then something shattered, like the sound of a plate or pitcher dropped on stone. I broke into a run and flung the door open without knocking.
I entered a bloody, nightmarish scene. Near the hearth, Juno struggled with a sobbing woman. Her arms were wrapped around the woman’s torso, and the woman flailed against her. She wore only a thin shift that was more blood than cotton below her waist. Her head was arched back, and the tendons in her white neck stood out in stark relief.
“No,” she said, “no, no, no.”
The cottage had one main room with a wide bed in an alcove at the back. Colney was leaning against the foot of the bed, slumped on the dusty wood floor. His forehead was on his knees, and his arms covered his head. Around him lay shards of broken crockery.
“Wh-what is—” What is happening?
“Ben,” Juno gasped. “Leave here.” Her expression was harsh and terrible.
“Wh-what are you doing to—”
“Out. Now.”
The other woman seemed oblivious to my presence. She wailed again and pushed at Juno. Colney lifted his head and turned reddened eyes on me. Why wasn’t he doing anything?
“Juno, stop,” I said finally. I took two steps into the room and threw my hat onto the table. “You’re hurting her!”
Her eyes blazed as her lips pulled back into a grimace. The other woman was taller than Juno and still thrashing. “I am not hurting her.”
Something in the stark, exposed lines of her face convinced me of her sincerity. Juno was too distracted to dissemble. And Colney had fetched her specifically. Surely she knew what she was doing? That didn’t make the struggle any easier to watch. “She’s bleeding!”
“Leave us. Martina, peace, please!”
Mrs. Colney writhed. “Adele Toth was here. I should have never have let her near me.”
“Martina, no, you must rest.”
The woman shook her head. “I heard she was hexed, and it’s true, oh God, it’s her fault, it can’t be mine, it must be—”
“Stop,” I said harshly. The woman was in pain, but I couldn’t stand to hear another nonsense accusation leveled at Mrs. Toth.
“Ben, I told you this has nothing to do with—ahh—” Juno’s breath whooshed out in a sudden rush as Mrs. Colney’s elbow connected with her stomach.
I hurried to close the last few steps between us, then pulled the struggling woman away from Juno. Her ruined sh
ift was unpleasantly sticky and smelled of salty-metallic blood. Juno let go without protest, her strength fading. I caught the woman under her knees and hoisted her up. Her hair hid her face, and her piercing sobs stung my ears.
“Where do you want her?” I asked.
“On the bed,” Juno whispered.
I carried the woman to the sleeping alcove. The bedsheets were bloody as well. Colney scrambled out of my path. I deposited his wife on the mattress and backed away. The woman immediately rolled towards the wall, her knees bending as she curled in on herself in misery.
“I can find someone to fetch a doctor,” I said.
“That won’t be necessary. The worst is over now. She’ll be fine,” Juno said softly. “Martina’s distress is more emotional anguish than physical, at this point.”
Thankfully, the terrible sobbing lessened. Colney perched on the edge of the bed and ran a hand along his wife’s arm. Juno sighed and pushed a few loose strands away from her face.
“All right,” I said, then glanced around the cottage. There was a streak of blood on the floor near the hearth and broken crockery by the bed. The only other room was the kitchen, separated from the living space by a wide doorway. Through it, I saw another, smaller cooking fire and a pine table with chairs. I decided to do the only useful thing I could think of, a skill I’d picked up after years of living alone. “I’m making soup.”
Juno narrowed her eyes, and for a moment I thought she was about to order me to leave again. Instead, she dipped her chin in assent.
In the kitchen, I scrubbed my hands clean of blood, then found a half-bushel of potatoes. A few of those, along with carrots, leeks, and a splash of fresh cream from a pitcher kept cool under a thick stoneware lid would be good enough for an impromptu meal. It would have been better if the big pot had been allowed to simmer over the fire all day, but as a consolation, I tore off half of a loaf of dark rye-flour bread and found sweet butter to go with it.
While I rattled around in the kitchen, Juno swept out the main room and wiped the floor. She stoked the fire with fresh logs. No sounds emanated from the sleeping alcove, which was around the corner and hidden from my view.