by Anya Wylde
The moist cake on Lucy's plate made the cook's face perform acrobatics, Rose looked like a kettle about to whistle, and as for poor Susie, why, the dear girl seemed about to weep at the sight of the large slice of ham bobbing by her hungry nose.
Lucy halted near the door, turned back around and inspected the faces in the kitchen.
The servants appeared to be out of sorts.
Lucy beamed at the sullen faces, held the plate close to her chest and rocked back and forth on her feet. "I almost forgot the tea," she remarked just as the cook placed a freshly brewed pot on a tray meant for Lady Sedley.
Lucy placed her plate next to the teapot on the tray and lifted the whole thing up.
The cook almost spluttered, and Susie's vexed fingers twitched.
Lucy sent them all another sunny smile and with a merry tune on her lips strolled out of the kitchen.
No one stopped her, though they did seem to be rethinking their strategy as to how to handle the pesky governess in future.
Once alone, Lucy's shoulders slumped and the tray felt heavy in her grip. She gloomily made her way towards the breakfast room.
At the door she paused. The family was eating breakfast inside. She heard the ebb and flow of conversation, the clinking of glasses and cutlery and unhappily turned around and made her way towards the library instead.
She nudged the door open with her dejected hip.
No welcoming fire burned today.
She picked at her food sitting on the writing table placed near the window. She stared out at the leafless trees and dried grass that shimmered like a never ending golden carpet in the sunlight. She had never felt so alone before, not even at the orphanage. At least there she had a few friends and Miss Summer, but here—
A loud bang as someone slammed the door shut in the house made her jump. Her moping temporarily put on hold she gulped down her fourth and final cup of tea and stood up.
What she needed was to get away from the house, to gain a fresh perspective, to see the problem from all angles and to rethink what she had already thought of for the seventy-fifth time.
***
Lucy meandered towards the wooden bench that faced the animal house and perched her bottom upon it.
She gloomily inspected the dark, turbulent sky. The grey clouds seemed to be hurrying along as if late for an important engagement. The sun was taking an afternoon nap somewhere out of sight.
The wind suddenly sharpened and attacked her hair and the black pins holding up her bun slipped out in protest. She absently caught the pins in her hand and pocketed them.
The wind continued to whizz about racing in and out of her long hair. A strand of dark hair became so excited that it whipped her in the eye.
She wiped her watering eyes and sniffed dolefully. Her own dark locks wanted to beat her up.
After a few moments of splashing around in a pool of self-pity, she had that feeling—that strange feeling that one gets when one is being watched.
She rubbed the back of her prickling neck and ever so slightly moved her head around.
She found Spooner, the blasted Egyptian bird, eyeing her evilly.
She slowly turned her head back around. Surely things couldn’t get worse than this?
Snowflakes settled on her nose mockingly.
It was one of those days where fate decided that you were a baby bird that needed to be thrown out of the nest again and again to test how long it took for the wings to work right.
Lucy knew how to handle such situations having experienced plenty of them. She decided to chirp and move location. Accordingly, she carefully stood up, well aware of the evil bird and with slow, cautious steps walked towards the animal house.
She paused wondering where to go next. The snow had started falling in earnest, and the bird had begun to hop from one foot to the other in an increasingly spirited fashion.
She eyed the animal house debating what was worse—being eaten alive by a Bengal tiger which may be living inside or freezing in the snow and then being pecked to death by a large moody bird.
She decided to take her chances with the tiger. It somehow seemed a less painful way of departing the earthly realm.
Tigers were large with sharp teeth and big jaws. A tiger would take a moment to gulp her down. It wouldn't hurt for long before she was blissfully dead, whereas if she lingered outside any longer, her limbs would become numb with cold.
She would freeze like an icicle unable to move and the cruel Egyptian bird would gleefully approach her and slowly start pecking at her toes.
The bird would peck at her poor, tiny toes using its sharp beak, and inch by inch it would move upwards leaving behind a trail of burning, painful, bloody flesh …
With a quick shake of her head to dispel the image, Lucy stepped into the animal house.
Her senses were immediately overwhelmed. She felt as if she had left winter behind, skipped spring and walked straight into summer.
Coos, choos, chee chees and chirps filled the air.
It took her a few moments to adjust to the cacophony. Thereafter, she was pulled towards a few giant cages filled with greenery.
She curiously peered at the strange plants inside the cage and spotted a number of exotic birds with brilliantly coloured feathers darting to and fro among leaves and branches.
She grasped the bars and watched the birds for a while. One particular shiny blue bird with a sleepy looking head warmed her heart.
Delighted with her discovery, she quickly moved deeper into the old orangery wondering what else she would find.
She could hear a fountain tinkling somewhere in the room. She started making her way towards the source of the tinkling water stopping now and then to inspect her immediate surroundings.
She spied mysterious baskets placed on top of high shelves and gaped at carved statues of Roman and Greek gods that stood frozen amongst unfamiliar plants.
Further down some pigs snorted a greeting at her, and her nose wrinkled at the heavy animal scent lacing the air.
She soon found herself pulling at the edges of her collar. It was warm inside. It was also wonderful. She regretted not visiting it before.
She strolled from cage to cage, at times stopping to mimic the animal sounds. She chirruped back at the birds, croaked at the toads and chittered along with the squirrels.
The animals pranced, sang and whooped as if greeting an esteemed guest. She felt special, like a jungle queen being welcomed home by her relatives. Every furry face that she passed seemed to be smiling and nodding at her. Even the birds seemed to be watching her with a happy twinkle in their eyes.
She sighed with contentment and a feeling of tranquil peace invaded her agitated soul.
The worries of the last few days melted away and a few primitive emotions started awakening within her. It was as if her soul remembered that she was no different from the animals.
In fact, her soul insisted that she was a wild creature.
Animals drank and slept and played and sang. They dined on leaves, fruits and other creatures smaller than themselves … and so did she. Had she not enjoyed chewing on a juicy chicken, the head of an artichoke or a sprig of mint?
And it wasn't long before she could no longer recall what separated her from the birds, squirrels and toads.
She had become one with the animals.
Her oneness was so complete that when a large yellow snake hissed at her through a hole in a wooden box, she hissed back.
It was truly a spiritual moment. She felt almost enlightened at that point in her young life.
Soon she arrived at a cage where a beautiful peacock stood with his wings spread. She dared to inch closer and closer to the cage, her eyes locked on the brilliant colours in his wings that sparkled like a thousand colourful jewels. Her nose inched through the bars.
The peacock charged.
She reeled back swiftly and hopped a good few feet away from the cage, her hand grasping her brave little nose.
After tha
t, her love for nature dimmed a little. She decided to appreciate it from afar and not become a part of it.
With such philosophical thoughts plodding along in her mind, she walked towards the pond and found tiny colourful fish whizzing about.
Further down, she found white mice, and still further balls of pearly wool and old cloth stuffed in brown paper bags. She had almost walked away from it when a soft mewing alerted her. The wool turned out to be adorable little kittens, the sort she had only ever seen in watercolours before.
As her senses adjusted to the chaos she started noticing signs of repair. The glass in the windows had been replaced in a few places with planks of wood—perhaps to save tax— a beam was broken, statues chipped and faded, and the shelves and the green leaves were covered with a layer of dirt and dust.
She discovered a chicken coup right at the back. She smiled at the sight of a few fat hens sitting in a neat little row.
The hens eyed her warily.
She wondered if they had laid any eggs. She made clucking sounds hoping one of the birds would stand up and let her inspect.
The hens continued to sit tight and their wariness increased.
She clucked at a higher pitch. The stubborn birds, she thought annoyed, might as well be guarding precious stones the way they were attached to the ground refusing to budge.
A cluck froze in her throat as her mind leaped from dot to dot.
What if the thief had kept the jewels under the hens? The hens were right at the back and concealed from view. No one came to the animal house, and Peter was so absent minded that if he saw the jewels he would forget about them the next moment.
She eyed the hens speculatively. Were the jewels under their bellies? Were they warming their eggs along with gold nuggets and diamond necklaces?
There was only one way to find out.
"Up, up, up," she coaxed them.
They cocked their heads to the left.
"Hurr-hurr, gack-gack, BOO!" she tried to scare them.
They cocked their heads to the right.
"Phooey- phooey, cluck-cluck, chick- chick," she said, trying to speak what she hoped was chicken language.
They squawked threateningly.
She scurried back a foot and scratched her head. She was afraid of getting too close to the birds, let alone lift them off the eggs … How did Peter teach his pets to behave?
At his one command she had seen the animals behave in the most amazing ways. The pups knew how to roll over and sit quietly. Palmer ate with a spoon and was almost human in his understanding whenever Peter spoke to him. Even Spinoza left her bonnet alone if ordered by him.
She recalled Palmer mimicking Peter in the morning room once. Peter would open a book and close it and the baboon would do the same. Peter had clapped his hands and Palmer had copied him, though a touch more enthusiastically.
What if she, too, showed the hens what she wanted them to do? Would they understand?
Might as well take a stab at it, she thought, and fetched a few smooth stones and placed them on the ground. She lifted her dress, squatted over the stones and peered at the hens wondering if they were watching.
They were.
Lucy suddenly sprang up and leaped to the side triumphantly revealing the stones.
The hens kept sitting, and if anything they now looked sulky.
Lucy frowned and squatted over the stones again. "Now look here, hens. I am sitting on my eggs. Cluck, cluck, cluck, and I am warming them now. Mmm, nice and warm. Now I pull up my skirts, jump to the side and voila! Here are the eggs … Come, now, your turn. Down we go, cluck cluck cluck … Now, we are warming the eggs, warming the eggs," Here she whistled an encouraging tune, "and then you spring aside and the eggs are revealed!"
A gasp behind her made her freeze mid squat. She slowly turned around to find Elizabeth, Peer, Lady Sedley, Ian and Lord Adair gaping at her.
She let her skirts drop.
"We came to see the kittens," Peter mumbled. "Did we … err … disturb you in your … err …." He closed his mouth uncertain as to how to complete that sentence.
Lucy looked around wide eyed and then decided to scoot. Nothing could explain what she had been trying to do.
She quickly walked past the group and overheard Elizabeth mummer to Lord Adair, "I told you the girl was loony. She has to be the murderer."
Chapter 23
A nomad in a desert would not have moped around and wasted tears in a land that is parched. No, a true nomad would have continued to wander in blazing heat with hot sand under blistering feet searching and occasionally ripping apart cacti for a drink, hopping over poisonous lizards, snakes and other gruesome stuff.
Lucy was once again that hardened nomad. She wouldn’t give up. No, sir, she was going to shuffle through the sand, bake in the blazing sun and continue onward to safety.
Hence, twenty minutes after the chicken fiasco she bounced back up and snuck into the upstairs study, the same room where the jewels had been hidden in the priest hole.
She entered the room and swiftly cast a look around. It looked the same as usual. The large desk sat looking bored in one corner, the leather covered books lining the tall shelves were busy gathering dust, and the long green sofa contemplatively peered out of the window.
She wilted. All she could see for miles was never ending sand and not a drop of water.
The trouble was that she didn't know where to begin. All her efforts until now had been not just hopeless but also disastrous.
A magazine partially jutting out of the bookshelf caught her eye.
She walked over and read the black scrawl on the binding. It was titled The Anti-Jacobin Review. She pulled it out and immediately spotted the priest hole hidden behind it.
She took out a few more books in order to see the priest hole better. It was a hollowed out space carved inside the stone wall and concealed behind a number of dull tomes. It would have comfortably hid a three foot, four inch priest and no more.
The metal safe which should have been in the priest hole was missing.
She wasn't surprised. Lord Adair must have advised the family to move the safe to a more secret location.
She stuck her hand inside the priest hole and ran her sensitive fingers along the sides looking for a missed clue or a hidden catch.
She wondered as she searched if anyone had ever needed to squish themselves into such a small space, and if they had, then how long had it taken them to straighten out their limbs after coming back out into the world.
It wasn't long before she realised that the blasted hole was empty with nary a clue nor a catch.
Her bottom lip started trembling, and she bit it hard to make it behave.
She carefully replaced the books making sure that The Anti-Jacobin Review was jutting out in the exact same way as it had done before. Thereafter, she squared her shoulders like a sergeant major and went and sat at Lord Sedley's large desk—not the live Lord Sedley but the dead one—who was probably dining somewhere in hell at the moment.
She frowned as a vision of the late Lord Sedley sitting on red velvet chair rose up unbidden in her mind's eye. She imagined him bouncing in his seat, clapping his hands together as he tried to kill mosquitoes and flies. Surely hell had plenty of insects considering how warm it was ….
She leaned back in her seat and rolled a quill between her palms. A vague idea was forming at the back of her head. An idea not related to Lord Sedley chasing after lady demons—if there were such things—but the idea that she should glue herself to Elizabeth for a while.
If Peter and Lady Sedley were innocent, then her biggest suspect immediately became Elizabeth.
Ian could have done it, but to finish off the deed with such finesse was beyond his abilities. Not that she was in any hurry to cross the blasted man off the list, but for the moment, she wanted to focus on his sister.
The door creaked as someone pushed it open, and Lucy immediately slipped under the desk.
It was as if Lucy had u
sed the power of her mind to yank the person she needed to shadow closer to herself, for right then Elizabeth sashayed into the room.
Lucy nervously clutched her skirts and peeked from the side of the solid rosewood desk. The legs of the desk, she noted, were beautifully carved but dusty. Stifling a sneeze, her pupils tracked Elizabeth around the room.
Elizabeth's swayed over to the books.
Lucy, who could only see Elizabeth's narrow back draped in black satin, decided that the hard shoulders were drooping thoughtfully, the fingertips were tracing the titles too quickly, and her head was tilting at an angle as if carrying some heavy burden hidden inside the tightly wound up bun.
Elizabeth suddenly slapped the wooden case making Lucy jump and turned away with a mew of frustration. She looked around distractedly and froze when she caught sight of the large Venetian mirror hanging over the fireplace. It seemed as if her reflection had arrested her and she moved closer to the mirror.
Lucy watched Elizabeth's reflection as it squinted its dark eyes and tilted its head. She thought Elizabeth looked beautiful, like a perfectly carved ice sculpture clad in black silk and with a head full of thick, dark golden hair.
But Elizabeth, it seemed, did not like what she saw reflected in the mirror, for she further narrowed her eyes and the corner of her mouth turned down. A finger went up to rub an obnoxious freckle that had dared to appear on her cheek. The freckle stayed put and after a moment she gave up and let her hand fall. Next, she straightened her shoulders, smoothed back her hair and smiled at herself.
Lucy's lips quirked along with the reflection.
Elizabeth's nose was now the point of interest. It seemed she thought it was too large, for she sucked in a deep breath forcing her nose to pinch in response. Keeping her nostrils squeezed together, she moved her head from side to side inspecting her profile. Finally, she thrust her lips out and pouted.
Apparently satisfied with what she saw she relaxed her face and departed with quick, efficient steps.