A loud thump against the tiny window above the sink stopped my tears and I looked up. The dark shadow of a bird was silhouetted against the glass, frantically trying to claw its way into the kitchen. I stood up and climbed onto the counter, pushing the window open. The creature tumbled inside and fell onto the floor, its feathered chest heaving as its large black eyes rolled around the room. After I had closed the window, I saw another shadow swoop low past the glass.
“Was it an owl?” I asked the bird.
It lifted its head, surprised that it could understand me. “Ca-roo car-ee, car-oo car-ee. Nightflyer starves, this bird is free!”
I remembered then how awkward it was to talk with songbirds. They always spoke in rhyme, and most of them enjoyed the sound of their own voices too much. Unfortunately, their rhymes were often poor. I pitied the creature, though, and did not regret saving its life. It was a robin, shaking under its coat of ruffled feathers as it huddled against my ankle. I dropped to my knees beside it. “You should stay inside awhile. The owl might not be gone.”
“You should ask it to help you,” said Jessith, who could move so silently in the shadows that an eagle's eye would not catch sight of her. I started at her sudden appearance, and she lashed her tail. “A bird's beak would be perfect for pecking through the ashes and finding those lentils.” The robin flapped into my lap, fear glazing his bright eyes again. “Oh, tell the silly thing I won't eat it. If I wanted to, I would have already.”
“Turn and peep, turn and peep, hide until the cat's asleep!”
Jessith gave the bird a wicked hunter's smile. “Horrid creature...I won't eat you if you promise to help this girl. In fact, I'll extend the bargain to every bird at the manor.”
The bird looked interested. It hopped forward onto my knee, peering cautiously at Jessith's face. It knew a cat's eyes could cast a spell and freeze it until the death-bite was delivered. “A bargain, cat, you wish to make? No more bird-lives will you take?”
“No. I won't eat any more birds if you pick all of the lentils out of the fireplace whenever my friend calls you. But you have to stop rhyming.”
I understood the brilliance of Jessith's plan. A bird would be the perfect creature to help me complete my task. A whole flock of them could get it done in minutes. Luciana would never be able to torment me with the lentil trick again. Soon, Jessith had the robin pecking through the ashes, picking up the lentils with its tiny beak and dropping them into the pot. With its help, the task was done within the hour.
Enlisting the birds as my helpers worked better than I could have hoped. I even grew used to their singing after a few days. One of them invented the rhyme: “The good into the pot, the bad into the crop,” and the rest of them picked up on it. Their voices were actually pleasant to listen to if you ignored the bad rhymes and nonsense syllables. Whenever Luciana played one of her nasty tricks—spilling lentils, ordering me to undo long row of stitches in the dark, working dirt into a carpet—the birds helped me. Their tiny beaks and sharp eyes were perfect for all sorts of things. Luciana grew angry that my tasks no longer seemed as much of a burden, but there was nothing she could do. She could not spend the entire day watching to make sure I completed them without help.
I snuck Jessith some raw fish to thank her for her idea. She gloated over her meal and carried herself smugly for several days afterwards, basking in her own brilliance. Cats are haughty by nature, so I did not mind. True to her word, she refrained from eating any of the small songbirds that swarmed around Baxstresse. Birds are clannish creatures, and many of them came to help me with my work, knowing I would reward them with some grain or breadcrumbs. They had little to fear now, since Rucifee was too fat and dignified to chase sparrows and Trugel hardly ever ventured outside of the library. If they avoided the two tomcats that lived in the barn, they were quite safe.
The strange swell of birds that arrived at Baxstresse did not go unnoticed. “Must be the spring air,” Mam commented one morning after a chorus of loud birdcalls had awakened us before dawn. “Gets the birdies up and about, it does. Good for the harvest. They keep down the bugs.”
***
A servant at Baxstresse survived by always watching. Watching for Luciana, watching for Jamison. While Luciana tortured for pleasure, Jamison punished for pride. He was our better, and his bright-buttoned waistcoat proved it. If either of them caught us taking a moment's rest, we would be reprimanded.
The hurt he caused was never physical. Too much of a gentleman for blows, Jamison disciplined us with work. He always found the most unbearable tasks to dole out, the worst of which was waiting on Luciana. Jamison chose a girl, usually Cate, to help Luciana with her clothes every morning and evening. If we did something to annoy him, or if he thought we were not working hard enough, one of us would come out of Luciana's room in tears the next day. I had started thinking of the servants and me as 'us'. I was one of them now, forced to complete the same work. I was never chosen to assist Luciana, though. I assumed that she considered me a temptation and did not want to lose her bet.
My opinion of Jamison, already low, dropped like a stone after the affair with the waistcoat. Mam had allowed me to take some carrots to Brahms after lunch. I had not ridden since my enslavement, and she knew I missed the horses. She was always doing kind things like that, trying her best to make my dreary days a little brighter.
Brahms was relieved to see me. “Where have you been, Ellie?” he asked, banging one of his hooves against the door of his stall. “We haven't been running in ages! Can we go now?”
My throat tightened as I held out my hand, offering my friend a carrot. “No, not today.” I forced a smile as his wet lips tickled my palm.
“You're sad,” Brahms said around a mouthful of carrot.
“Yes.” How could I explain to a horse that Luciana had cheated me out of my birthright and forced me to do a servant's work? Most animals were not familiar with the concept of nobility and rank, unless they were part of a pack. Brahms had not been raised in a herd, and had always been doted on. “I have to work in the kitchen now. I am not sure when we will be able to go riding again.” I stroked Brahms's soft pink nose, and he huffed appreciatively. I could see myself reflected in his eyes, and I knew he would miss our rides as much as I did.
“Can you work in the stables instead of the kitchen?”
“No. Luciana is trying to hurt me so she can take my father's money.” And because she enjoys it, I added silently. Luciana could never resist the temptation to harm whoever was closest. It was obvious now where Cate got the ugly bruises that colored her arms and throat, even though she had not admitted it to me yet. Jessith had been right. My search for Cate's tormentor had not been broad enough. Luciana had never even entered my mind as a suspect.
“Luciana hurts a lot of people. Corynne doesn't like her. She hits too hard when she rides.”
I gave the horse a thin smile. “Well, horses are excellent judges of character.”
“They were talking about her, you know,” Brahms said thoughtfully, tilting his head as he focused more closely on the memory that was obviously replaying itself in his mind. “There were two of them that came by here a few minutes ago. One was the girl that used to come with you before our rides. The other had a long brown mane and a round face.”
I removed my hand from Brahms' warm nose. “You mean Sarah? What did they say?”
“The girl with the brown mane…Sarah?…said that Jamison should be cooked alive for making the girl with the red mane go to Luciana twice. Then Sarah touched the other girl's face and she started crying.”
“Was something wrong with her face?”
“It wasn't shaped right and it was the wrong color.”
I exhaled and closed my eyes, knowing what I would find when I went after Cate, but hoping I was wrong. “Brahms, I should go after Cate. I think something happened to her.”
Brahms sniffled understandingly and tossed his mane, the bands of muscles across his sides rippling as he backed up a few
paces. “Will you come visit me again? I've missed you.”
“Of course. I've missed you, too. I'll bring you some carrots or maybe an apple if I can steal one.” Brahms flicked an ear, obviously pleased with that thought, and I hurried out of the stables, wondering where Cate had gone.
It did not take me long to find her. She was out in the open, sitting underneath the hazel tree I had planted for my mother, her beautiful red-gold hair caked with blood next to her cheek. Her lip was split and half of her face was swollen. There was an ugly gash next to one eye, and horrible yellow bruises fingered around her throat. Sarah was sitting beside her, trying to comfort her. “Oh, Cate,” I said, sinking to my knees in front of her and cupping her chin in my hands. “What happened this time?”
“Jamison,” Sarah said. I saw that both of them had been crying. Sarah's skin had patches of red across it, and her eyes were bloodshot. Still, she did not look nearly as frightful as Cate. “He made Cate go to Miss Luciana this morning, even though she already went last night. She was in a rage on account of something Miss Belladonna said.”
I kissed Cate's forehead and held her as she cried, shedding a few tears of my own into her hair. Sarah held on to her arm, offering more support. “I wish he would send me instead. Luciana won't touch me because of the bet.”
“She might anyway,” Cate whispered, her voice so soft that I could hardly make it out. It was the first time she had spoken. “She...there's something in her face right before she...She's not in her right mind. Someday, she'll forget her bargain, and you'll end up worse than me. She might even kill you.”
“I should get back to the kitchen.” Sarah excused herself quietly, getting to her feet and brushing her hair into place as she smoothed out her dress. “You'll look after Cate, won't you, Ellie?” I nodded, and Sarah left for the manor. We both knew that Cate needed some time. I had grown very close with her through the weeks, closer than anyone else had managed to get.
I knew that the real blame for Cate's hurts lay with Luciana, but I knew there was nothing we could do about her. And so, desperate for an outlet, I focused the force of my rage on Jamison once Sarah was out of sight. “What did you do to make Jamison so angry?”
Cate bit the unbroken side of her mouth, stroking her bruised cheek with feather-light fingertips. “His coat,” she mouthed, barely breathing out the words. “I dirtied it.”
“He had Luciana beat you for that?”
“Luciana would beat me without any reason. Jamison just gave her an excuse.”
Cate's eyes were dim, hopeless, but mine were bright and fresh with rage. “He knew how badly she would hurt you. He helped cause this.” I looked at her face, not daring to touch it. “He is as guilty as she is.”
We studied each other, reading each other's faces. “It's sweet of you, but I don't want you to defend me,” Cate whispered.
I frowned deeply. “Cate, I am your friend. Let me.” Cate's eyes fluttered shut, her face tight and strained. Her skin, stretched thin and white across her cheeks, lost what little color it had.
“You'll be hurt, Ellie...” Her voice nearly broke, and tears welled in her eyes. I kissed her hair, holding her steady as she shook. After a few long moments, I took her hand and helped her to her feet, steering her toward the kitchen so I could wash the blood from her face. She went without protest.
“I promise not to try anything with Luciana, but will you let me take Jamison's pride down a few pegs?” I asked, a plan already forming in my mind. I was eager for revenge.
For just a moment, Cate’s gaze flared. The corner of her mouth twitched. “Only if we do it together. I want to get some of my own back.”
CHAPTER 8
AS MY SERVANT education continued, I learned to walk Baxstresse's halls unnoticed, clinging to the walls like a strand of creeper. I kept a close eye on Cate, afraid that Jamison would turn her over to Luciana again. Through the long weeks of my humiliation, Cate's friendship had been my salvation. Although the other servants had been suspicious of me at first, Cate's support and friendship had swayed their opinions. Mam and Sarah had also stood beside me.
I memorized the schedules that everyone in the house kept, and knew when to make myself scarce. This information would be valuable for plotting against Jamison. I also learned everything I could from the servants. I was one of them now, and they included me in all of the manor gossip, most of which revolved around the activities of the Kingsclere sisters. I discovered more about my adoptive “family” after a week with the servants than in all the months I had spent in their company.
I learned that my stepmother was far worse off than I had believed. Luciana and Belladonna attended to most of the manor business themselves. The rivalry between them ran deeper than I could have possibly imagined. Both seemed determined to make the other fall into disfavor with their ill mother, and they quarreled fiercely behind her back. My earlier assumption, that I was the only one who could see the hatred between them, was proven false. It seemed that only Lady Kingsclere and my father, while he had been alive, had been deceived.
Not surprisingly, Belladonna was the general favorite. Most of the servants wanted her to inherit Baxstresse. She was considered to be less cruel than Luciana, and she treated everyone except her sister with the same degree of cold politeness. I could not blame them for preferring a frosty mistress to a wrathful one.
However, Baxstresse had one secret I was purposely excluded from. The others refused to speak of it with me until I discovered it for myself. Later, I found out Mam had asked them not to, attempting to keep me shielded from the ugly truth as long as possible. Mam acted as mother, teacher, and friend to me as I adjusted to my new life, like a protective hen hovering over her chick.
There were several clues. None of the servants dared to enter either sister's room at night unless Jamison forced them. Certain parts of the house were avoided at specific times. When one of the younger members of the staff went missing for a few hours, no one bothered to ask where they were. There were Cate's fresh bruises, too. But I failed to piece everything together until one afternoon in early summer.
A week had passed since Jamison's latest act of cruelty. Cate and I were washing dishes and stacking them while Mam chopped vegetables on the other side of the kitchen. I pulled my hands out of the stinging soap water and dried them on a rag. “We're almost done,” I called over my shoulder to Mam, blowing my hair out of my eyes.
Mam did not bother to turn away from her vegetables. “Then you can be about collecting the trays from the serving room to wash, too.” Cate and I both groaned, looking at the neat stacks of dishes we had already cleaned. The task had taken all morning, and the thought of washing one more plate almost had me in tears. Baxstresse was starting to grow warm, and the heat from the stove made the kitchen unbearably hot. Summers at Baxstresse were as parched as the springs were damp. It was not a pleasant change.
“Ah, stop your carrying on. If one of you goes to get the dishes and brings them down to me, I'll be finishing the washing myself,” Mam offered, pretending to sound irritated as she turned around to face the sink.
“Are you sure?” I asked, looking down at Mam's hands. They were leathery and cracked, swollen at the knuckles from years of cutting and washing and mending. Mam's hands looked at least ten years older than she was.
“I wash faster than you. You might as well be going to help with the cleaning after you bring down the trays. Don't handle the stairs s' well anymore.”
“Cate and I will…” I turned and realized that Cate had slipped away from the kitchen while I had been distracted. “Well, I'll go and get them myself. Where has she gotten to?”
“Never mind yourself about Cate,” Mam said sharply, but her face softened as she caught the hurt expression on my face. “Off with you, Ellie, and use the back halls.”
“Yes, Mam.” I scurried out of the room, relieved to be free of the kitchen's heat for a few minutes.
The back halls were the quickest way to get to the s
econd-floor serving room, but I was in no rush. I decided to take the longer route, up the grand staircase in the front entrance hall and past the library. The cold of the stone steps crept through the thin soles of my shoes as I made my way up to the second floor. The drafty halls were a welcome relief from the boiling heat of the kitchen. I felt my skin tingle as the thin layer of sweat along the back of my neck dried in the cool air.
At the top of the stairs, I listened for the severe click of Luciana's heels or the soft tapping of Jamison's fine boots, not wanting to become a target. When I was sure it was safe, I slipped down the wide hallway that led to the upper dining hall. Pale sunlight filtered through the stained glass windows, casting red and blue patterns across the floorstones. I stopped to admire one window in particular. Saint Eugiers of Maveria was fighting with a great black dragon, his golden sword glinting as he swung it toward the beast's writhing coils. Inaccurate as the sword was, since gold is a soft metal and completely unsuitable for a weapon, the picture was still striking.
I was about to continue on when a soft sound came from across the hall. I started, fearing that Jamison had caught me, but only the great double doors of the library stood before me as I turned. The sound had come from inside. It came again, a sort of gasp or whimper of pain, and I inched the library door open and peered inside.
At first I only made out the shadows of the high backed wooden chairs, but a slight movement drew my eyes to one corner of the room. An arching, smooth, muscled back shifted against a wooden shelf. Naked except for the delicate silver chain about her neck, her soft white skin had been rubbed red by the discarded tight corset. The thick brown hair was unmistakably Luciana's, but she was not alone. Pressed between her lean body and the stacks of books was Cate, shuddering and trembling.
At first, the scene was strikingly raw and intimate, until I saw the glassy tears tumbling over Cate's cheeks. Suddenly, the flash of beauty was gone. I saw the tightness of Cate's throat as she choked back sobs. This was not a happy coupling. I stared for an eternity until nausea struck, tugging at my stomach and pounding across my forehead. It was dizzying, numbing, and I bolted away from the library, staggering and zig-zagging through the cramped servant's hallways.
The Second Sister (The Amendyr Series) Page 6