“Leave it, Miss!”
But as I spoke, the wrapping shredded from her hand, leaving her holding a spongy bundle.
“It’s a dead bird,” I said, and clutched my amber for protection. “Lay it down so its soul can go free.”
“But there aren’t any bones,” said Leah.
I tugged at her arm, but she held on. “Drop it!” I screamed.
Maybe my scream brought her to her senses, for at last she loosened her grip and the wet mass of dirty feathers slapped down onto the mud.
But she didn’t speak to me all the way back to the house.
Perhaps it was just as well that Leah was such an unpredictable, contrary creature, I thought. At least I wouldn’t regret leaving her.
All day I’d pushed away the thought of seeing Silas that afternoon when the servants’ wages were given out. Somehow I had to find the courage to give in my notice, and so far I hadn’t even planned what I was going to say.
As I went into my bedchamber, I looked with dread at the mechanical clock. In the time I’d spent at Murkmere I’d learned to read clocks like this, though I still preferred the old sand-timer at home. A little after four: I must hurry. I threw my cloak on the bed, smoothed my unruly hair, and rushed downstairs.
There were servants in an untidy line down the passageway outside the steward’s room. They stopped their coughing and snuffling to eye me up and down.
Dog was the last one there, and I went to stand behind her, sticking my chin up and avoiding their gaze. I knew by now that none of the servants came from the Eastern Edge; they’d all come from the Capital, like Dog. I could hear it in their clipped, nasal voices and see it in their offhand manner. Among them, only Scuff ever spoke to me.
The line shuffled on, each servant going in alone through the open door. Dog ignored me and made a great show of chattering to the girl in front of her. When at last she went in and I was left outside in the empty passage, I heard Silas’s voice.
“You let them go together?”
Dog murmured something, then she cried out, “No, Sir, please no!”
Then the voices went quiet. I was astonished when she came out at last, looking pleased with herself and clutching coins in both hands. She brushed by me and went off with her head in the air.
“Next,” called Silas.
He must have known I was the only one left. I moistened my dry lips and went in.
XI
Wet Feathers
Tilas was sitting at his desk beneath the carved eagle. Dusk was drawing in and there were more candles lit than there had been the other morning, yet still the room seemed shadowy. There was a closed iron box on the desk and what appeared to be an open ledger; and I saw, with a jump of my heart, his black-handled riding crop lying across the corner.
As I stood before him, Silas marked something with a tick in the ledger and then looked up at me through his spectacles. “I’m sorry to hear what Doggett says,” he said, chiding me like a father with a disobedient child.
I cleared my throat. “What does she say, Sir?”
“That you went with Miss Leah to the mere this afternoon.” I understood now the reason for Dog’s triumphant look. “You wanted me to stay with her, Sir.”
“But are you going to tell me what took place there?”
I bit my lip. “I can’t spy for you, Sir, I’m sorry.”
I thought he’d be angry. But he merely laid down his pen and put the tips of his fingers together. His voice was very gentle.
“I’ve told you her soul’s in danger. She’ll lead you into wicked ways if you let her influence you. Indeed, I believe that may be the explanation for your behavior in the tower yesterday” He took off his spectacles and his eyes were clouded with concern, his fine features softly gilded by the candlelight. He wanted me to repent, and if I did, I knew I’d be his marigold again and bask in the pleasure of his approval.
But I couldn’t forget the beast that lurked inside the quilted silk of his waistcoat. I saw him suddenly as I had yesterday, his smooth dark hair wild as a crow’s wing, his open mouth loose and wet. Had he so conveniently forgotten his own behavior? And Matt’s murder?
I stayed silent, hoping to appear cool and unmoved.
“Such sullen looks, Agnes?”
“You let me believe I’d seen the Almighty Himself,” I muttered.
He held up a hand, chiding me. “Hush, you mustn’t speak His name so lightly.” He turned and looked up at the carved Eagle behind him as if they were in secret collusion. “But He’s everywhere, Agnes. You know that, don’t you? Besides, the tower is forbidden to the servants. It was right you did penance.” He lowered his voice and gazed back at me steadily, his eyes fathomless. “But in trying to persuade you to repent, I frightened you. I regret that deeply. I’ve done penance myself for it, believe me.”
I stared at him in amazement, hearing the honesty in his voice.
“As for Leah,” he added gravely, “heed my warning. I know more than you about your mistress. I’ve observed her since she was a strange, willful little child.”
I held myself stiffly, my heartbeats thumping in my ears. “I’m afraid I must ask you to find another companion for her, Sir. Someone else must watch her for you, better than I can. I want to give in my notice. I must return to my aunt. I worry about her, all alone. I never should have accepted this position.”
His eyebrows rose. “But you did, Agnes. You signed your agreement to stay on unconditionally — with your own hand you did so.”
I was speechless. He turned to the rolls of parchment on the shelves behind him. His hand hovered; he picked one and, facing me again, smoothed it out on the desk. I recognized it as the contract I had signed so carelessly on my first afternoon.
“There it is, Agnes, your signature at the bottom, above my own for the Master. And there’s the clause, look, that binds you to stay until Leah’s coming of age this summer.” He sounded regretful. “You see, it’s always wise to read such things through first.”
He looked at me, a smile lurking in his lustrous eyes. He knew he’d won.
“But what about my time off?” I cried desperately. “May I at least go and visit my aunt?”
“You’ve plenty of free time here in the mornings. It wouldn’t be fair on the other staff if I were to give you extra. Besides, I can’t spare an ostler to ride with you on the Wasteland road. It would mean a wasted day for them.”
He sounded so reasonable, I knew I was defeated. I turned miserably toward the door, then remembered. In a small, choked voice I said, “May I have my wages, then, please, Sir?”
He opened the iron box and I saw it was full of money: brass coins, not the gold I had seen on his desk before. His fingers hovered, then he took a single coin and gave it to me. It was a half-revere. Surely not a fitting wage for a mistress’s companion?
“When you do your duty properly,” he said, “then you’ll receive proper wages, Agnes Cotter.”
I put the coin beneath my pillow and tried to blink back my tears. I’d never be able to go back to Aunt Jennet with my baggage chinking, and pour out gold coins with a flourish at her feet. I’d never receive more than a half-revere a week, for I’d never do my duty properly in Silas’s eyes. I knew what he wanted. Yet if I went straight to the Master himself and complained, he too would tell me that he wanted me to watch Leah. Worst of all was the thought that now I had to stay at Murkmere until Leah’s birthday. How was I to bear it?
I gazed at my tragic eyes in the mirror. I must bear it, I thought. My mother had been here for years, whereas I’d only months to face alone.
I wiped my eyes, put on one of my new wool dresses, and went along to Leah’s room to see if she needed anything before supper. She didn’t answer, so I turned the door handle and went in, expecting to find Dog in there, helping her dress. But she was alone.
She had her back to me, so absorbed in what she was doing she didn’t hear me cross the room. Though she was fully dressed and still in her mud-splatte
red serge, she was standing at her washstand, rubbing at something in the basin.
“Miss Leah …”
She jumped and turned, dripping water over the floor-boards. Her eyes glittered as if she had a fever. “Look!” She hauled a sopping, gray bundle from the basin.
“What is it, Miss?”
“It’s what we found this afternoon.”
I stared at her, horrified. “You shouldn’t have brought it into the house! Heaven knows what you’ve done!”
“Oh, superstition!” she snapped.
“You went back to the mere alone, in the dark?”
“It was still twilight,” she said irritably. She spoke very fast and each cheek had a bright spot of color. “I’m going to wear it at my ball. It will make an excellent wrap.”
She brought the disgusting thing closer still, so that it was almost under my nose and I could see the wet feathers all stuck together. There was one feather glued to the side of her mouth as if she’d brought the bundle to her lips.
“Don’t you see what it is?” she said. “It’s a swanskin.”
I recoiled. “You’d wear a dead swan on your own back? You know that’s sacrilege. You must be mad!”
There was a terrible silence. I’d gone too far. Then she darted toward me, the outstretched fingers of her free hand, pallid and wrinkled from the cold water, poking at my face, and her teeth bared in a hideous grimace. “Mad? Perhaps I am!”
I backed away, frightened, a hand to my open mouth, shaking my head at her feebly, until I reached the door.
And all the way to my room I was followed by the peals of her delighted laughter.
XII
Planning Escape
Ilay huddled on my bed, trying to get warm, filled with dread that through the crack in the door I’d hear Leah summoning me; but everything was silent, except for the tearing of the candle flame in the draft. I kept seeing her urgent hands raise the filthy bundle from the washing-bowl and plunge it back into the water, rinsing, rinsing.
Leah would risk the anger of the Gods if she wore the swanskin. She’d be punished. And what would happen to me, her companion? Would I too face punishment? What was I to do?
It was so simple, I realized at last. I wouldn’t stay at Murkmere. If Silas wouldn’t accept my notice, I’d leave anyway, escape. Escape! The word had such a brave and joyful ring. It was what my mother had done, and I’d do it too. I’d stay with our relatives inland until enough time had passed for them to forget me at Murkmere.
I’d lay my plans carefully. I didn’t know what they were yet, but I’d think of something. After all, I had plenty of time on my hands. Meanwhile, I’d act the demure companion, carry out my duties, attend Devotion. No one must suspect, least of all Silas.
I swung my legs off the bed, pulled on my wool dress, fastened my hair up, and by the time the gong sounded for supper I was ready, standing with folded hands by Leah’s door.
“So quiet and abashed, Aggie?” she greeted me teasingly “This isn’t like you. What can be the matter?”
I bit my lip, but said nothing. I’d decided not to mention the swanskin again.
Leah’s cheeks still burned feverishly, though her neck and thin chest in the low--cut gown were startlingly white. Without either my own or Doggett’s help, she hadn’t bothered to do up all the tiny silk-covered buttons at her back, and her shoulder blades jutted through the gaps.
“Stop fussing me!” she said, when I tried to do the buttons up myself. “It doesn’t matter what I look like. Who’s to see me in this dreary place?” She grabbed up her silk skirts with both hands so that the delicate lace was crushed, and darted down the stairs. “Come on. I’m starving!”
The doddering old footman who had served us at luncheon was not in the dining room. Instead, Scuff was there to wait on us, looking even more anxious than usual, though she had been given new slippers for the occasion. “The Master will be joining you tonight, Miss Leah,” she whispered.
Leah whirled toward me, her eyes shining. “Hear that, Aggie? He must be feeling better. Now, how shall we sit ourselves, I wonder?”
And she fretted around the long table, rearranging the heavy silver cutlery to her satisfaction: a solitary place at one end and two places laid close together at the other. I could see that I wasn’t going to be allowed to usurp any of the Master’s attention.
When the clanking of the iron chair was heard along the stone floor outside, she flew to the door and flung it wide. I saw her bend and hug the Master, and his great thick arms, the velvet sleeves falling back to show the strong wrists emerging from a froth of lace, came up and enveloped her scrawny back. I thought how those fingers could crack her spine like a string of nuts.
The two held each other for a long minute without saying anything, and then Leah straightened. Her feverish color had gone and she was suddenly calm.
“Take that chair away from the table, Aggie,” she said, and she pushed the Master toward the empty space, placing his wheelchair so that it would be easy for him to reach his food. “This is an occasion, indeed,” she murmured, stroking his thick hair. “Why, you’ve not eaten with me this fortnight past.”
He smiled at me. “I’m sorry I’ve not been able to watch your progress at Murkmere, Agnes. You’ve been finding my ward a tolerable mistress, I hope? And how has it been to have a companion your own age at last, Leah?”
“Tolerable,” muttered Leah. She shot me a glance.
His eyes sparked with amusement. “I’m glad you have the measure of each other. Now, where’s my supper?”
Scuff scurried from the room, and I sat down in my lonely state at the end of the table. Leah kept her voice deliberately low as she talked to the Master, so that I should hear nothing.
I rose to my feet and took the claret jug from the sideboard, intending to catch their conversation while I poured the Master some wine. At once Leah snatched the glass away, so quickly I couldn’t prevent some crimson drops spilling onto the mahogany. “Mr. Tunstall never drinks wine or spirits; they upset him,” she hissed at me.
I stammered my apologies to him and found a napkin, with which I dried and repolished the wood. “You weren’t to know,” he said gently.
I’d retreated, defeated, to my place, when Scuff came back with a kitchen boy even smaller than herself. Between them they lugged a steaming tureen.
“Is there no one else to help?” asked the Master. “That looks too heavy for two children.”
“No, Sir,” gulped Scuff, looking frightened.
“Very well. So what is this soup we’re to feast on?”
“Eel and onion, Sir,” said Scuff, and she lifted the lid of the tureen with an effort.
The recipes of Gossop the cook were his own and always good, in spite of the state of the kitchens. But tonight, when Scuff ladled out the soup, it looked as if our bowls had been filled with muddy puddles. I wasn’t hungry, anyway, but Leah stared at her soup as if it were a personal affront.
“What’s this foul mess?”
“Eel and —,” began poor Scuff again.
“Take it away before I throw it at you! Where’s Gossop? Go and fetch him. The Master can’t eat this!”
The Master shook his head mildly and raised a spoonful to his lips. “I daresay it’s not as bad as it looks.”
Leah knocked the spoon from his hand so that soup spilled on the table. “Don’t drink, Sir! You’ll poison yourself! Perhaps that’s what they’re trying to do — poison us!”
She looked wild-eyed at Scuff, who cowered back and gasped out, “Please, Miss, Mr. Gossop is took to his bed. No one else can cook like him.”
“But if the Master doesn’t eat, he will die!” Leah hissed at her, then suddenly turned to the Master aghast, as if in her mind’s eye this event had already happened.
He laid a hand on hers. “Hush, my dear. Let Agnes go and sort this out. There’s sickness among the servants, I know. I’ve sent my own doctor to do what he can. Now stay and keep me company.”
&nb
sp; Leah subsided back into her chair, glowering at me as I stood up and took one of the candlesticks from the side-board. I was flattered by the Master’s confidence in me, but apprehensive: I’d avoided the kitchens since my first day at Murkmere, for I knew Mistress Crumplin disliked me.
But there were no servants in the main kitchen. An elderly mastiff, too gentle-natured for the night’s running and now too stiff, was stretched out on the hearth, while Mistress Crumplin herself was snoring gently in front of the smoking fire, her chin in folds and an empty tankard in her hand. There weren’t any candles lit and the firelight was weak.
It wasn’t until I came closer with my own candle that I saw the grate was thickly furred with soot. There was a shriveled joint of beef sitting in charred grease on a plate on the table, and a dish of gritty cabbage.
I went over to the housekeeper and bellowed loud enough to make a cat spit, “Mistress Crumplin! Wake up!”
The dog opened an eye, looked at me in reproach, then shut it again. The old woman smiled foolishly in her sleep and held out her tankard as if I’d just offered her more ale. I put my hand on the stained shoulder frill of her apron and shook her, so that she dropped the tankard and opened her eyes with a start.
“Mistress Crumplin,” I said loudly. “Our food’s black! The Master’s sent me. We can’t eat it.”
She tried to straighten herself, smoothing down her rumpled clothes and raising herself with an effort; but she no longer had the power to disconcert me, for all that her eyes had their old sly gleam.
“Black food?” she said slurrily, all mock-offended, her bosom swelling like a pouter pigeon’s. “Why, Gossop’s sick. We’re miserable short-handed, ‘deed we are.”
I hesitated, but stood my ground. If she’d not been in her cups, I’d never have dared do so. “It might help if the chimney was swept, Mistress.”
She stood there swaying for a moment, trying to stare me down, but I returned her look, and suddenly she started wringing her hands and wailing.
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