The Noble Servant

by Melanie Dickerson

  “How generous of Lady Magdalen.” Ironic to be praising Agnes for allowing someone to help her resew her own dresses to fit the person who had usurped her.

  Katrin picked up a dress, and Magdalen showed her how to rip out the seams in the middle of the dress in order to sew a higher waist, since Agnes was shorter and thicker in the middle than Magdalen.

  “Where was Lady Magdalen off to?” Katrin asked.

  “Oh, she went for a walk in the gardens with her husband.”

  “It is a pleasant day for a walk. Tell me about your home in Mallin. That is where you are from, isn’t it? How did you come to Wolfberg?”

  “You know I came here—” She had to swallow before saying the words. “With Lady Magdalen.” Perhaps she should just tell Katrin the truth. It would be easier for Magdalen, but the truth was a secret that would be a heavy burden for poor Katrin to have to carry around.

  Katrin kept sewing.

  “I left my mother and sisters in Mallin. They saw it as my opportunity for a better life.” That much was true.

  “But why were you sent to take care of the geese when you first arrived?”

  “My mistress was displeased with me. But she decided she wanted me back as her personal servant.”

  “Oh.”

  “Mallin is a beautiful place, with rocky hills and trees. My friends—I mean, Lady Magdalen’s friends, the Margrave of Thornbeck and his lady—sent us some sheep and goats so the people of Mallin would have a new way of earning money and feeding themselves, but many of the sheep contracted some kind of sickness and died. Our people used to work in the mines, but the copper ran out and the mines are standing empty now.”

  “I see.”

  “What about you, Katrin? Have you always lived in Wolfberg?”

  “No, I came here from Arnsbaden. Lord Hazen cannot do without my family.”

  “Lord Hazen?”

  “Oh, look at this. I’m not sure I’m sewing this right.”

  Magdalen examined the dress. “Oh yes, that is right. Your stitches are very even.”

  “Thank you. I am good at mending. My mother used to make me do all my little brothers’ mending, and they were always putting rips in their clothes. I mended them until their clothes were nothing but rags sewed together. I didn’t have a father, as he died before my last brother was born.”

  They sewed for quite some time, both talking about their childhoods and sharing memories. It was nearly time for the evening meal when Agnes rushed in the door and went straight to the wash basin to splash water on her face and wash her hands and neck.

  When she dried her face and hands, Agnes stared at Katrin as if she had never seen her before, which was strange since Katrin said she had sent her.

  “I am going down to the Great Hall for the evening meal with the duke and Lord Hazen.” Agnes pointed her nose in the air. “You may finish those dresses in the morning.”

  Agnes left and Magdalen and Katrin put away the dresses, with Katrin telling her a tale from when she had played a trick on her brothers. Then they went down to the servants’ dining hall. She wanted to say something to Katrin about how strange it was that the cooks and Frau Clara had allowed her to spend all afternoon with Magdalen, helping her mend Agnes’s dresses, but she didn’t want to interrupt Katrin’s story.

  The next morning Steffan sneaked up to Lord Hazen’s chamber. His uncle was at breakfast, so he needed to search fast.

  A thought had come to him last night when he was half asleep in his bed. His uncle once hid something on the back of a framed portrait on the wall. Steffan had seen him retrieve it when he didn’t know Steffan was looking. And now he remembered a few paintings and wall hangings in Hazen’s bedchamber.

  He once again made his way down the corridor on bare feet and slipped into the room—and found himself face-to-face with Magdalen.

  Their eyes met, but they did not speak. She turned away from him and opened a trunk on the floor and started looking through it. Steffan strode to the first painting—a portrait of Lord Hazen—and lifted it from the bottom. He felt along the back of it and all around the frame, looking for anything that might be attached or hidden inside. He found nothing unusual. Next he went to a large tapestry hanging on the wall next to his uncle’s bed. He lifted it, getting under it, feeling all around, but there did not seem to be anything there either.

  There was one last portrait on the wall, a portrait of Steffan’s grandfather. He lifted it, but it came off its hook into his hands. Steffan turned it over, feeling all around the inside of the frame. Still he found nothing.

  He bent to set the painting on the floor when he heard footsteps.

  Steffan froze. The steps were firm and steady, getting louder.

  His blood raced through his limbs. He lifted the painting, his hands shaking. He aimed to place the painting back onto the little hook as he plastered his cheek against the wall. The portrait slipped off. He tried again, willing his hands not to shake. On this second try it slipped back on and held.

  Magdalen stood on the other side of Lord Hazen’s large curtained bed frantically motioning at him. Then she sank down and disappeared.

  He dashed toward the bed, falling to his hands and knees, then onto his belly as his momentum sent him sliding underneath it.

  He suddenly felt as if he’d fallen into a tight hole. It was dark and cold, and he could barely breathe. Something closed in above him, with the hard stone beneath him. He was trapped. His heart beat painfully in his throat, cutting off his air.

  Calm down, calm down, calm down. He was not in a hole. He was under his uncle’s bed. He focused his eyes on the light to his right, where he had just slid under the bed. He could slide out just as easily, whenever his uncle left. Just breathe.

  Sweat beaded at his temple and between his shoulder blades.

  Magdalen. He had to think about Magdalen. She was in danger too. His uncle already suspected that the servant girl pretending to be Lady Magdalen was an imposter. If he found them in his room, hiding under his bed, he would kill them both.

  Her shoulder was pressed against his. She must have been there the whole time, but he’d been too panicked to notice. He reached out and took her hand. She held on tight.

  His uncle went to one side of the room, then the other. Was he looking for something? Was he looking for them? Under the bed was a rather obvious place for a person to hide. He’d surely find them if he was searching for them.

  His footsteps moved toward the bed and stopped.

  Steffan kept his eyes wide open, straining to see as he concentrated on remaining motionless. Suddenly his uncle’s feet moved again, this time toward the door and then down the hall, growing fainter.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Magdalen whispered.

  Steffan crawled toward the light and to freedom. But as he freed himself from the bed, his back scraped against the bottom of the wooden bed frame. He stood and a metallic ping sounded behind him, something hitting the stone floor.

  Steffan squatted and picked up a small key. He felt above it, along the underside of the bed, and felt something sticky. The key was also sticky. Lord Hazen had been hiding the key under the bed.

  He hurried to the stacks of locked coffers on his uncle’s trunk. Magdalen had already found her father’s mining books in these coffers. What else might Hazen be hiding?

  He moved the unlocked boxes out of the way, Magdalen helping him. He grabbed a locked coffer and inserted the key. It didn’t fit. He tried another box and another. He tried almost all of them.

  “Make haste!” she whispered. “He could come back at any moment.”

  Steffan wanted to tell her he was hurrying, but he didn’t take the time. He just kept trying the key in all the little wooden boxes. He had only two left. He tried the key in the first lock. It slipped in, but it wouldn’t turn. Then he tried it in the very last box. It slipped in. And turned. And opened.

  He lifted the lid, and there was a piece of rolled-up parchment lying on the bottom. If
it was locked with the key hidden, it must be important, so Steffan grabbed the parchment and stuffed it in his pocket. Then he closed the box and locked it.

  Magdalen was already busy stacking the boxes back up exactly the way they had found them. Only it was impossible to know exactly how they had been arranged. There were so many of them. He hoped Lord Hazen had not memorized how they looked either.

  When all the boxes were neatly stacked up again, he took Magdalen’s hand and ran for the door.

  Voices could be heard somewhere ahead, probably on the staircase. He ran the other way, pulling Magdalen with him, toward the corridor that led to the east wing.

  His heart was still beating hard, but it was also soaring high. He had not been able to locate his portrait, but he had found something that might be valuable. At least some of the pounding of his heart was from the hand holding on to his and the pretty, daring girl to whom it belonged.

  They went up three short stone steps to the east wing. He kept an eye out for guards. Not seeing anyone or hearing a sound, he opened the first door he came to and pulled Magdalen inside with him, then closed the door behind them.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Where are we?” she whispered.

  “In my sister Gertrudt’s room. We’re safe for now.” Her hand was soft and warm inside his. They stood very close. Her bright eyes stared up at him. The two of them were like comrades on a crusade. He wanted to tell her he thought she was clever and brave, that he felt fortunate to know her.

  Instead, he said, “Come, you can see a beautiful view from here.” He let her hand go and walked to the other side of the room, to the window that faced the sea. He unfastened the shutters and let in the late-day sunshine.

  Magdalen drew closer, her mouth forming a circle. They stared out at the dark-blue sea meeting the pale-blue sky. “It is very beautiful.” She drew even closer, her nose touching the glass that had been installed only a few years earlier, and looked straight down. “Even the trees are beautiful. Green, then blue, then more blue.”

  His heart tightened as he stared at her lovely profile, but he was not a silly boy mesmerized by a girl’s comely face. He should be thinking how to help his people, how to help the servants whom his uncle had cast out.

  “What are you thinking about?” She did not take her eyes off the view out the window.

  He sighed. “I was thinking how, because of my uncle, I killed two men.”

  Compassion suffused her expression as she turned her gaze on him.

  “That was not your fault,” she said softly. “You had no choice.”

  “Perhaps. But as long as my uncle is free to send men to murder me . . .”

  She turned her whole body toward him and placed a gentle hand on his arm. “We shall pray he is captured before anyone else is hurt.”

  Just as he was allowing himself to enjoy her touch, she took her hand away.

  “When I was the Duke of Wolfberg, I had so much power, but I did not appreciate the power I had to do good. And then I let my uncle come in and take over while I went to Prague. But when I have my place back, I’ll not waste my power again.”

  “I believe you.”

  She had such a sweet smile, and it reminded him of the time they’d spent together in Thornbeck talking and dancing. He’d thought her a pleasant dance partner and enjoyed talking to her, but he’d been very aware that she was only a baron’s daughter.

  Her eyes widening, she reached out and tapped him on the arm. “We should be looking at what you found in the box.”

  How had he forgotten? No more foolishness, Steffan.

  He took the parchment out of his pocket.

  He unrolled the paper, then held it up facing the window so they could both see by the light streaming in.

  “It’s some kind of map,” Magdalen said.

  “I’m not sure of what or where, though.” They both leaned closer. “These are hills.” He pointed.

  “And forests here, and a stream,” Magdalen indicated. “But how can we tell where this is if there are no names anywhere?”

  “Something is here.” Steffan traced a line of dots with an X at either end.

  “This looks strangely familiar.” Magdalen suddenly gasped. “This looks like the map my father had in his library. And look at these small circles here, here, and here.” She placed her finger on the map. “This is a map of Mallin’s copper mines. These circles are the openings to the other mines, and the one with the Xs is another mine that has two entrances.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “I used to wander all over those hills as a child, and I often went with my father to visit the mines.” She looked up at him with a wide-eyed smile. “I am certain.”

  He couldn’t help smiling back at her.

  Her smile faded, and she returned her attention to the map, holding one corner. “But why go to the trouble of stealing this map and my father’s books? All of the copper was mined out a few years ago. What is Lord Hazen looking for here?”

  They both studied the map.

  “I just remembered.” She pulled something out of her pocket and held it out. “It’s my necklace. I found it in Agnes’s room. My father gave it to me before he died. But I think it’s only jasper. He didn’t tell me it was valuable. He only said it was a pretty rock he found in one of the mines.”

  Steffan reached out and held the pendant against his palm. “It looks like a fairly ordinary stone, but I suppose it could have some kind of significance.”

  “I’ve been thinking about something else,” she said, a crease between her brows. “There must have been some reason for your uncle to send my mother a letter proposing marriage, planning for me to wed his son in your place. Why did he do it? What is he after?”

  “Since you have no brother to inherit your father’s title and land, he must want his son to inherit whatever he thinks is valuable in that mine.”

  She nodded, then pulled the necklace over her head and absently dropped the stone inside the neckline of her dress. “What do you think we should do now?”

  “I would love to examine these mines for what my uncle thinks is so valuable. But first we need to be able to prove our identities, and we need someone powerful to prove them to, which would be easy enough if your mother and the Margrave of Thornbeck came to the wedding celebration my uncle is planning.”

  “But Agnes told me her father will make sure the invitations are lost. And without an invitation, my mother and the margrave might never visit me.”

  The truth of it made his heart sink, for the obvious reason, but also because her mother did not seem to care about her.

  “Then we must make sure they come here. We must get word to them.”

  “That is exactly why I wrote those letters and asked you to send them.” Her eyes were narrowed as she stared at his face.

  “I did not want to send for help until I was sure I could prove who I was.” And he still could not, which was why he should be searching for his portrait.

  She looked as if she might say something, then took a step away from him. “We should go. Someone might find us in here.”

  The room probably had not been touched since his sister left to marry nearly a year before, so it was unlikely anyone would find them. But she was angry with him for not sending the letters.

  “Yes, we should go. And I shall hide the map in a safe place.”

  “In the same safe place you’ve hidden the letters?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “You should tell me where you’re hiding them.”

  “So that when Lord Hazen kills me you can still send the letters?” He hoped she would at least smile at his bad jest.

  She huffed out a breath, then pressed a finger to her chin, glancing up at the ceiling. “Ja.”

  He sighed. “I will go now to place this in the same box as the letters, which I buried under the large rock under the tree we sat beneath. Do you remember that day?”

  “That was the day you told me about ge
tting trapped in the old well when you were five. You were thinking about that when we were hiding under the bed, weren’t you?”

  “What makes you think that?” How did she know?

  “It was the look on your face. And if I had fallen in a well I would have been terrified to be in a tight, dark space.”

  Her voice was always so soft and compassionate, and something about her green eyes made him want to draw closer. But he could not let himself get close to her, either physically or in any other way. He could not marry her, and he would not do anything to hurt such a kind, noble maiden. “I hope I did not embarrass myself too much.”

  “Not at all. You were very brave, and we escaped safely, so all is well.”

  He cleared his throat. “Perhaps it is time. I will go out tonight and find a courier for the letters. Come.”

  He led her to the door, opened it, and cautiously looked out. The corridor was clear, so they went back to the west wing of the castle. As they parted to go to their separate duties, he impulsively touched a finger to her cheek, just grazing her skin. It was as soft as he thought it would be.

  “Be careful,” he said.

  She stared back at him, probably thinking he should keep his hands to himself. He turned away and hurried down to the kitchen and his work.

  Magdalen’s insides trembled as she brought her hand up to her cheek. Why had he done that? It was just a little brush of his finger on her face. So why did it make her heart flutter? She’d felt the same way when they were in his sister’s room, when he held her hand longer than necessary, his long slender fingers wrapped around hers. And when they’d stood looking out at the sea together, she had felt so close to him, as if their thoughts were melding and he was as drawn to her as she was to him.

  Foolish. As foolish as her belief that he had wanted to marry her based on their meeting at Thornbeck.

  Magdalen went to her stool and sat down to work on resewing her dresses to fit Agnes. Katrin had not joined her today. No doubt she was needed in the kitchen. The cooks would already be preparing for the great company of guests coming to Wolfberg Castle in the next two weeks.