by A. W. Exley
"Oh Ella," she sighed. She waved a pale hand in my direction. The other clutched the cream lace collar of her dark blue tea gown. She wasn't beautiful, there was nothing delicate about her features, but she was a striking woman. With jet-black hair rising from a widow's peak to her piercing blue eyes, she made you stop and look twice. Now her gaze drifted downward and mercifully stopped before it reached my blood stained boots. At least I was still hoping it was blood, time had not yet allowed a closer inspection.
"You are such a state, child. And why must you insist on gallivanting around the countryside in trousers? I do hope nobody of our acquaintance spotted you."
Technically the person I met was not of our acquaintance, no. She would never understand that it was easier to do a man's job dressed as a man. Long skirts hampered movement. But then Elizabeth was of a different time, when women could afford to act as delicate ornaments and had no need to dirty their hands.
I hid mine in the cotton of the apron. I thought they were clean, but what the apron hid was definitely not clean. "Sorry, step-mother." The words slipped out and couldn't be recalled.
The scowl dropped over her face. "Do not call me that. Ever."
"Yes ma'am. I'm sorry." I twisted my fingers in a fold of fabric, desperate to make my escape. I could face a vermin and remove its head, but I couldn't work up the courage to walk out of a parlour under her stare.
"Yes, well, can't be helped I suppose. You are farm-bred and ignorant. Not like my girls, such gentle hot-house flowers." She rolled her eyes and picked up the teapot.
I still hadn't been dismissed, and one topic gnawed at my insides like a loose vermin. "Why did you come here?"
Sometimes the words wouldn't stay in my head and they escaped before I could erase them. Given the amount of trouble I was already in, I figured I might as well pile a bit more on top of myself.
Her finely plucked eyebrows shot up, and she dropped the pot back to the tray with a clang. "Whatever do you mean?"
I scrambled for the right path to tread, the one that didn't end in a beating. Although just as all roads were said to lead to Rome, it seemed all of my questions led to the switch across my back. "You are so finely bred. I am sure you were the toast of London and could have had any man after the baron died. Why did you settle on my father?" Why the lowly knight, I really wanted to ask. The lowest step on the peerage ladder, with only a modest country house to his name. Why did you come here and ruin our quiet lives, when you could have stayed in the city, where lobbing sarcastic barbs was considered sport.
She picked up the delicate cup with the pure gold rim and took a sip, pinkie finger extended at the appropriate angle. "You father was such a handsome and dashing fellow. He quite swept me off my feet."
For a moment I almost believed her. Almost. I stared at my feet and hoped she didn't spot the blob of dried whatever it was stuck to my big toe. Another job to tackle before I could climb into bed, the boots would need to be scrubbed and then polished for the morning.
"And there are many advantages to a country life," she continued.
Given her aversion to livestock, villagers, and the outdoors in general, I couldn't see what. She went into an apoplexy shock if anyone suggested she hobnob with the lowbred locals. "I don't understand," I whispered.
A soft laugh tinkled forth from her pale throat. "Well of course you wouldn't. In London, I was a widow with two daughters to see properly wed, and there is a dearth of suitable nobles." She waved an elegant hand in the direction of the window overlooking the front lawn. "This tiny piece of dirt happens to command the enviable position of being right next door to England's most eligible bachelor. I thought ahead, so that I may benefit my girls. In London we were far beneath his social circle, but in the country, proximity breeds familiarity." She gave a conspiratorial wink. "The neighbouring heir needed a beautiful bride years ago when he came of age, but the silly war intervened. Now the prodigal son has returned, and is a duke in search of a duchess. Our time has finally arrived."
Over the rim of her teacup she smiled, like a cruel cat playing with a half dead mouse. Everything made sense now. She married father to throw her daughters in the path of the heir to the Duke of Leithfield. Poor sod. If he knew of the trap that awaited him in England, he may have thrown himself on a German grenade instead. His handsome face appeared before me, a smile crinkling his eyes as he took my hand, and asked me to call him Seth. I commanded my thoughts to remain silent, wouldn't do to blurt out that I had already met him and very nearly decapitated the duke. That would put an end to her plans for social advancement. So sorry step-mother, the dukedom is vacant once more, but I do have the previous incumbent's head in my bag, if you want to mount it above the mantle? No, best to keep my lips sealed tight on that little snippet.
"I'm sure he will be delighted to make the acquaintance of Charlotte and Louise, ma'am." I dropped a curtsey and she finally waved me away, before my mind exploded in its efforts to contain everything.
I slipped back out the door and ran down the stairs to the kitchen. I burst through the door to find Alice drying dishes as Magda washed. The words couldn't be contained anymore.
"She plans to marry one of them off to the new duke, now that he's returned." The deep sigh blew out of my chest as I relieved some internal pressure.
Alice finished one plate and picked up another wet piece of crockery. "How do you know he's back?" Her hand made brisk circular motions, and then the dry plate was stacked with its mates. One eyebrow arched in her oval face. Magda swallowed a laugh, although the jovial cook always had a ready smile for us.
Oops. I may have just walked into a trap. "I may have encountered him on my ride this morning." I stared hard at my boot. The blob was, thankfully, just blood and a scrap of tissue and nothing more substantial.
"Encountered?" Magda repeated and chuckled. She shook her head as she pulled the plug in the sink and wiped her hands on a nearby towel. Dratted woman always could read me easier than the newssheet. Although she had eighteen years of practice, and it helped that I was a terrible liar.
"Oh? Anything you care to share with us, your bosom friends?" Alice asked as she finished up drying.
"Isn't it time we woke Charlotte and Louise? Can't have them missing luncheon." I tried for a distraction as I gestured to the door.
Alice wiped her hands and hung the tea towel to dry in front of the range. "Oh, Ella. We demand at least one little snippet, or I shall dally here and make us both late."
"You wouldn't dare," I whispered.
Both brows arched now. Confounded girl, why was she my best friend? "I met him after dispatching a vermin, he crept up on me and I nearly took his head off."
Laughter burst around the room and I ducked as it swamped me.
"Oh, Ella. You and that blasted sword." Alice laughed so hard she had to wipe her eyes dry on her apron.
"Perhaps you should have decapitated him dear, would've been far kinder than seeing him saddled with one of them," Magda said between bouts of chuckles.
I rolled my eyes and resisted the urge to stamp my foot. The pair of them would dine out on this for days. "Happy? Can we go now?"
Alice swallowed her remaining laughter, but it shone as a sparkling amber light in her eyes. "Yes. But you will have to fill us in on all the little details over dinner. Especially what he looks like."
The rest of the day passed in a blur of chores; cleaning, mending, running up and down stairs. Not to mention waking Charlotte and Louise, and the time it took to pull their corset laces tight while they berated me for my slovenly behaviour. I'd like to see either of them emerge before noon and cart coal up and down the narrow servant's stairs.
Several hours later, as dusk softened the light outside, I finally grabbed an hour to myself, although I was not truly alone.
Father sat by the window in his wicker wheelchair. His gaze focused on the lawn and trees beyond. We liked to think he watched the comings and goings, but we had no idea how much he knew of his surroundin
gs. From down below, we could glance up and wave at his countenance, and each night we prayed he might wave back.
Over the months since the army truck delivered him home, we searched for any tiny sign of improvements. We celebrated the day he stopped drooling and appeared to find it easier to swallow. There had been nothing since, yet hope lived in my heart. I took a deep breath and stepped further into his bedroom, a dinner tray in my hands and the paper tucked under my arm. An armchair sat next to his position with a convenient table for the dinner. I placed the tray down and kissed his cheek.
"Lot's happened today," I took my seat and began the slow ritual of spoon-feeding him the beef broth. Like a hungry chick being fed by a mother bird, he would open his mouth for more. Magda was slowly making the broth chunkier, so he took his time to chew, and hopefully gain more sustenance from his meals.
"I met our neighbour, the duke." I had to drop my voice to a whisper just in case she heard. "Nearly took his damned head off, but he really shouldn't creep up on sword wielding women." Yes, it would have been entirely his fault if his head became separated from his body and rolled across the clearing.
"Only one vermin to clean out from the fence this morning. I am so glad Henry suggested the bottom wire." This was our routine; I narrated my entire day while father took his dinner. Sometimes his eyes followed me, and I lived for those moments, anything that showed he still dwelt inside the body and might break free. One day.
After he finished the broth, I wiped his chin and picked up the paper. "There's an article saying it has been over a week with no vermin sightings in London. Perhaps the pandemic is almost over?"
In Somerset, once we dealt to the first wave, the occurrences were sporadic. Usually one a day and sometimes there were days with none. Hope crept back into our minds. Perhaps life might return to normal? We survived the Great War in Europe, and now the battle at home turned a corner. Still, I thought on the vermin I found that morning. I didn't recognise him, where had he come from? Another village, or farther afield? Had London rid itself of vermin entirely, or had they simply retreated to the countryside?
I recorded them all, and we did our best to track them. We knew who had died locally in the first round. Then, in the aftermath, we needed to identify who had succumbed to the second wave and been bitten by their returned loved ones. With isolated cottages, it was a mission trying to find out who had simply moved, failed to return from war, or had transformed into a vermin. Stewart helped me keep the journal, and together we crossed out names of the dispatched and wrote in new names of those we suspected of being turned. Today had a new entry, unidentified male.
Magda and Stewart would be along once full dark fell to put father to bed. I couldn't bear it, the sight of his helplessness pierced my heart. Perhaps I was a coward, deserting him over a simple routine, but I preferred to think of it as maintaining his dignity so only his old valet and the housekeeper saw his vulnerability. This way, I could maintain the fiction in my mind of him silent and thoughtful.
I tucked away the paper, leaving it by his side in case he wanted to read the business section for himself. Then I cleaned away the tray, kissed his cheek, and closed the door with a soft click behind me.
Chapter Four
Another day dawned and the routine stayed the same, locked in an endless cycle of work. Alice and I donned our grey dresses and white aprons, and then proceeded to get them dirty sweeping out the fire grates. Except as I worked, something about today felt different. Perhaps the summer breeze seemed a little warmer as I stood outside and watched the sun climb over the horizon. A glorious water colour of reds, pink, and oranges splashed across the sky and brought a moment of peace into my soul. The very air seemed sweeter this morning, or perhaps it was knowing a handsome soldier rode the countryside in search of his duchess?
Upstairs, I crept across the room on the balls of my feet as soft snoring came from the lump under the pink satin coverlet. Grabbing the heavy damask curtain, I snapped it across to flood the bedroom with sunlight. Once this had been my room, but when father went off to the war Elizabeth relocated me to Alice's room tucked up under the roof. The final push in my fall from daughter to servant.
Better this way, Elizabeth had said as we packed up my meagre belongings. Louise moved out of the room she shared with Charlotte and complained that my room wasn't quite good enough, but would do in a pinch. In our cramped room, Alice and I boiled in summer and froze in winter, but at least we had company in our misery. Pangs of jealousy ate at me in stray moments, like the weight of the patterned fabric in my hand and remembering a time when it was my curtain, not hers.
A groan came from the four-poster bed, and through the open door I saw Alice perform a similar ritual in Charlotte's room. The second floor contained four bedrooms, in two sets of connecting suites. One suite belonged to Elizabeth and father, with their connecting door permanently locked. The other two rooms were shared by my step-sisters.
I folded back the coverlet as Louise stretched her hands over her head, pulling off her night mask. I plucked the waved item from her fingers and laid it by the bed. She had been blessed with her mother's colouring of dark hair and blue eyes, although a somewhat diluted version. Her hair was not quite as black, with brown highlights showing through. Her gaze was not quite as piercing, the blue watered toward grey.
"I shall go riding today, after breakfast," Louise announced as I manoeuvred the plush pink slippers so her toes would dip into the velvet and not touch the cool floor.
"Yes, miss," I muttered on reflex. At least that meant she would be out of my hair for the afternoon, no doubt she would insist upon poor Henry accompanying her. That would add to the haunted look in his eyes.
"Did you hear? No, of course you wouldn't." She laughed at some joke only she understood, but it was clear I was the punch line. "Mother received word last night — he is back. The Duke of Leithfield has returned, and they say he is ever so dashing. He was a captain in the army and saw action, can you imagine? A peer out on the front lines, how extraordinary." She held out her arms for her morning robe, although the clock down the hall had struck twelve several minutes ago.
Charlotte appeared in the doorway, clad in a pale green robe. Her colouring was similar to her sister, but watered down again. Her hair was a dark, chocolate brown, and her eyes were a pale grey blue. Both girls were older than me, Louise practically on the shelf at twenty-three, Charlotte closer to my seventeen, at twenty-one. Both were long overdue to marry.
"Do you know if he was wounded?" Charlotte asked, "You wouldn't want a duke with a hideous injury."
Louise shuddered. "Imagine the horror of being married to a vegetable."
She cast a sly look in my direction to see if I would bite. I hated her for the comment. When life animated his limbs, father was dashing. She admitted he swept her off her feet. Love endured injury, it did not shrivel and wilt before it.
Louise's eyes narrowed. Her bait caught no bite. "I have a letter from a friend in London who tells me deMage is quite delicious."
The two women giggled while my tongue stuck to the back of my teeth, holding in my thoughts. Although I wasn't sure if he qualified as delicious without biting into him, he was certainly handsome. But I couldn't blurt that out without confessing how I knew. Or that his touch heated my arm as though I had leaned over the range, or that he smelt of lemon soap and fresh cologne as he took my knee in his hands and legged me up. No, better I bite the tip off my own flesh than let those words escape.
They decided to dine in their robes, so at least that saved Alice and I from an extra wardrobe change. Both were in a hurry to scour the countryside for a ducal sighting. We served a hot lunch, while they gossiped about who would be the bride and which the bridesmaid. Louise would obviously be the bride, since she was the oldest sister and by far the prettiest. At least by her estimation. Besides, the duke was the highest peer around, second only to royalty. Far too good to squander on Charlotte, for whom an earl or viscount would be more than
adequate. I wondered if I should offer an honourable death to the duke, rather than be caught in Louise's snare.
Riding habits were donned, stocks tied, and Louise fidgeted while I tried to ensure her veil was tight. It would never do to be seen out with a baggy veil. Heaven forbid. Charlotte giggled behind her hand, and for the millionth time I wished Alice and I could swap on occasion. Like her mother, Louise liked to have me close at hand to hear her witty put-downs. Charlotte exhibited moments of normality, and I was sure if separated from the other two, we could have been friends.
In the yard, Henry stood in his silent manner with three horses. In one hand he held two dainty chestnut mares fitted with their side-saddles, and in the other the more solid cob with his feathered feet.
"I'll help," I said, and took two of the mounts from Henry so he could assist Louise first.
The older sister always took precedence. She stood on the top step of the mounting block, unbuttoned the safety apron and tossed it over her arm. Henry manoeuvred the mare to the right spot. With one hand on the bridle, his other hand went to the balance strap to steady the saddle, as Louise put her foot in the stirrup. The mare rolled her eyes as Louise levered herself into the saddle and then fussed with her apron. First she found her seat, and then she swung her leg over the top pommel.
Charlotte appeared at my elbow and took the reins to her mare. "You had better help, or we'll be here all day," she huffed under her breath.
I shot her a quick smile and chewed my lip, while I ensured Louise's apron hung level with the ground. You would think she was going off to hunt at the duke's right hand, leading the pack of hungry peers eager for entertainment, not going for a sedate hack down a secluded lane. Although I suppose she did have a certain prey in her sights, she just hoped to catch scent of him.