by Lisa Cach
“Are you asking me to have Mr. Sommer drive the wagon up to the castle in the future?” Woding asked.
“No, sir,” Mrs. Hutchins said.
“Ah,” Woding said, and wisely closed his mouth.
Serena had known an old man at Clerenbold Keep much like this Daisy Hutchins. He often had a point to make, but there was no way on God’s good earth that he could be rushed to it. His mind had not functioned without sidetracks, and one could only sit and wait and try to look patient while he rambled toward his conclusion.
“My eldest sister married a man who owns a livery stable, and who does farrier work as well. They have seven children, the oldest of whom is Nancy. She’s just turned eighteen. They’ve tried to raise her good and proper, but Nancy was never one to be kept away from what she wanted.”
“Oh?” Woding said.
“It’s the horses, sir. Nancy loves the horses. They gave up trying to turn her away from them long ago, and so she’s worked side by side with her father since she was old enough to stand.”
Serena rested her jaw in her hand, watching Mrs. Hutchins talk. She was guessing that some of the woman’s volubility was because she didn’t expect Woding to like her point, once she got to it. Woding seemed to be getting the same idea: Serena thought she saw his eyes widening.
The cook abruptly stood. “Nancy!” she called toward the open door. “Come in here, girl.”
Nancy did as bidden. She bore a strong resemblance to her aunt, with the same wide-spaced, downturning eyes and dark brown locks. Her hair, however, was pulled back in a long braid, and the dress she wore was several inches too short, revealing heavy boots on her feet. She wore a thick cotton smock over the dress, like a workman. She was of average height, but broad-shouldered, and Serena guessed her hands would be rough.
“My idea, Mr. Woding, is that Nancy might be allowed to work in the stables with Mr. Sommer. She has a way with horses, and could take them through the tunnel when the carriage needed to be brought round, or the wagon. The horses would not spook with her, sir.”
Serena thought the cook might be right. Nancy exuded the solid calm of warm porridge. Even looking at her was somehow comforting. Serena doubted the girl had ever made a sudden move or a shrill sound in her life, and it was quite possible she might be able to keep the horses in line even if Serena was there trying to spook them.
“You want your niece to be a stableboy?” Woding asked, his incredulity barely concealed.
“I intend one day to be a coachman, sir,” Nancy said on her own behalf. Her voice was low and calm, and she apparently saw nothing strange in her statement.
Serena laughed, delighted. She could not have foreseen that her torturing of Sommer would have given a young woman the chance of a paid position in a stable.
“Hush, child,” her aunt admonished. “Don’t be putting the carriage before the horse.”
“I’d never,” Nancy said, affronted.
“She wouldn’t need much,” Mrs. Hutchins said to Woding. “Room, board. She’s a good worker, sir. You would not regret taking her on.”
Woding held up his hand, stopping her. His eyes went from her to Nancy, studying the girl. Serena felt her heartbeat quicken. Was he actually considering it?
“The stables have always been the domain of men,” Woding said. “I have never heard of a female coachman, footman, postilion, stableboy, or groom.” He paused, still looking at Nancy, who for her part was doing an admirable job of displaying calm composure.
“However,” Woding said, and with that one word a warm light flared to life in Nancy’s eyes, “it is also true that women work beside the men in my mills, and women have always labored in the fields at harvest. If you can show me that you can indeed bring the horses through the tunnel without their shying, then you have the job. Room, board, and the going wage for stableboys.”
Nancy nodded her head in a male gesture of thanks. “Shall I bring them through now, sir?”
“In a bit. I have some letters to attend to; then I’ll join both you and your aunt in the courtyard.”
Nancy nodded again, and let her aunt guide her from the room.
Serena followed the women to the door, then a few steps down the hall. The reaction she’d been waiting for came as, once out of sight of Woding, Nancy turned and enveloped her aunt in a rib-cracking hug, lifting the stout woman almost off her feet. “Thank you, Aunt Daisy,” Nancy said, and kissed the woman on the cheek. “I shall never forget this.”
Mrs. Hutchins shook out her skirts and rearranged her apron when Nancy released her. “Make me proud, dumpling. ’Tis all I ask.”
Smiling, Serena returned to the office.
Woding was reading a letter, a grimace on his face. When he reached the end of the second page he tossed it to the desk, then for a moment looked right at her, accusation in his eyes.
Her lips parted in surprise. What? What had she done?
Alex looked away from the presence that he now called Serena in his mind, remembering his determination not to acknowledge her in any way. It was hard, though, when her little game of touching Beth’s hair had led to the letter now sitting on his desk.
Little sister Sophie was coming to visit, and God only knew who or what she would bring with her. He would count himself lucky if it was only a crackpot priest to do an exorcism of the castle. Sophie’s fascination with the supernatural was a great annoyance to both himself and his other sisters.
He pushed the thought from his mind. He had a bit of time left before his peace was disturbed, and he wouldn’t have it ruined by borrowing trouble from the future.
He went to go join Mrs. Hutchins and her niece in the courtyard, wondering as he went down the stairs what had overcome him in regard to that situation. A stablelass? Sommer would not be pleased.
On the other hand, he himself was not pleased to hear that Sommer’s nervousness had made it necessary for supplies to be hauled by hand up through the tunnel. He’d known the man wouldn’t bring the horses through, but hadn’t realized it was causing inconvenience to others besides himself.
If Sommer didn’t like having a stablelass on hand, then he had better start doing his job properly.
Alex came out into the sunlight of the courtyard, his eyes wincing at the brightness. He was getting too used to the half-light of indoors, and the soothing darkness of night. Daylight glared, as painful as lemon juice to his eye.
“Why, hello, puss,” he heard Nancy say. She was squatting down, the hem of her smock pooling on the paving stones, looking at something he could not see. “Where did you come from? I didn’t see you there.”
Alex stared at the girl.
Otto, who had been sleeping in a patch of sunlight in the courtyard, lifted his head, and then came completely awake, scrambling to his feet with a “Woof!”
Nancy’s head turned, as if watching something streak away, and for a moment from the corner of his eye Alex thought he saw a blur of orange down near the ground. Otto, barking madly, went galloping in the same direction.
“Oh, now that’s funny,” Nancy said, standing up, her placid brow showing only the slightest sign of consternation.
“What’s that?” Alex asked, at the same time sensing Serena’s presence by his side.
“That orange cat. I don’t know where it went.” She walked several feet in the direction Otto had gone, looking about her feet, tapping the paving stones with her boots as if seeking a hollow spot. Otto could be heard somewhere along the curtain wall, still barking.
“Cat?” Mrs. Hutchins asked. “I didn’t see a cat.”
“Sure you did. A big orange one, with tattered ears.”
“I didn’t see any cat,” Mrs. Hutchins repeated.
Both the women turned to Alex, as their master and therefore the authority on the disagreement. “I wasn’t really paying attention,” he said. “It sounds as if Otto saw a cat, though, doesn’t it? Hmm?” He smiled at them and changed the subject. “Shall we get on with it, then?” he said, and set o
ff toward the tunnel, his mind clanking along on gears suddenly thrust out of sync.
A ghost cat? Serena and a cat? This was the time for him to start giggling like a lunatic. Maybe there were ghost horses, ghost dogs, ghost chickens, even. The whole mountaintop could be infested with ghosts. It was no wonder Otto went wild when it looked like nothing was there.
He blinked, shaking his head. Somehow he was beginning to both believe and disbelieve in ghosts at the same time. How could his brain hold such opposites within its bounds, allowing them to coexist?
The cool darkness of the tunnel was a relief after the bright sunlight, and the muscles around his eyes relaxed. The two women followed behind, their footsteps echoing his. As they wound down and around, for the first time in several days he felt Serena fading away, and by the time the sunlight of the lower entrance was visible, he had lost the sense of her entirely.
Interesting.
Sommer, predictably, did not like the idea of a stablelass, and liked even less that Nancy was to be allowed to try to bring the horses through the tunnel. He turned a frightening shade of red when Nancy had the temerity to suggest that he stay behind, as his nervousness might infect the horses.
Logic forced Alex to agree, although he was already regretting giving Nancy this chance. Sommer spewed some particularly rude comments about women and then stomped off to sulk in his quarters, leaving Alex with the distinct sense that if Nancy passed her test, he might soon be short a coachman.
Ten minutes later, he had a new stablelass. The horses had shown not the least hint of shying anywhere in the tunnel, nodding their heads and blowing, ears forward, completely at their ease all the way up to the courtyard.
As soon as Nancy disappeared back into the tunnel with the horses in tow, Alex felt Serena return to his side. It took all his willpower not to look toward her, not to acknowledge in some way what that return told him. If not for her deliberately staying out of the tunnel just now, Nancy would likely be on her way home, jobless.
What they said was true: Serena hated only men. Furthermore, there was some form of intelligent awareness to her.
Movement from behind the gate to the walled garden caught his eye, and he tried to shrug off thoughts of Serena. If that was Ben Flury at work, he wanted to talk to him.
He found the elderly man kneeling beside a flower bed, his hands gently massaging the dirt, pulling out weeds without disturbing the plants that grew there. His grandson did the same on the opposite side of the bed, albeit with a little less grace.
“Mr. Flury, hello,” Alex said.
“Mr. Woding.” Flury sat back on his heels, then pushed himself to his feet. The process was slow and painful-looking.
“The gardens look wonderful, all of them,” Alex said. “I am glad that you’ve stayed on to work them.”
The older man gave a gentle smile. “I couldn’t leave you to a houseful of women, now, could I?”
“I would certainly hope not,” Alex said, although he thought Serena would enjoy having Maiden Castle live up to its name by having a female gardener as well. “You wouldn’t have happened to have seen an orange cat about anywhere, would you?” he asked.
“With chewed ears? Aye, I’ve seen him once or twice.”
“You have?”
“Never lets me get close enough to touch him, but aye, he’s been around.”
John spoke up from behind his bush again. “I’ve never seen him.”
“Since when do cats like noisy young boys?” Flury asked his grandson.
Alex chewed his upper lip a moment, thinking how to phrase his next question. “Do you know to whom it belongs?”
“No, sir,” he said. “But I should think the only owner possible is Serena.”
Alex blinked at him.
“You do know it’s a ghost cat, don’t you?” Flury asked, as matter-of-fact as you please.
“Er, I had rather suspected, yes.”
“Well, there you are then. It won’t hurt you none, if that’s what concerns you. Harmless little beast. Seems to enjoy tormenting that hound of yours, though.”
“Yes.” Alex stood silent, staring at the unruffled man, the machinery of his mind again clanking off-kilter. “Yes, well, thank you for clearing that up. What I truly wanted to ask you, though, was a question about the cherry tree.”
He and Flury followed the path over to the gnarled tree. Flury reached up and touched a dead branch, bits of bark crumbling into his hand. “It doesn’t look good,” he said.
“I was thinking it was unlikely it would last more than another year or two,” Alex said. “But I don’t know much about trees. What do you think?”
“This branch was alive a few weeks ago. See the leaves? It looks as if it may have caught some disease. Do you want me to take it down?”
Some small movement from the corner of his eye caught Alex’s attention. He turned his head, but saw nothing amiss. He turned slowly back to the tree, and as he did so a tall figure became vaguely visible, at the very corner of his vision. He stood stock-still.
“No, I was wondering if there was some way to save it,” Alex said, absurdly trying not to move his mouth while he spoke. The figure started coming closer to him, still out of focus, but from the shape of her silhouette, a woman. A very tall woman.
“I don’t know if that’s possible,” Flury was saying. “It’s quite old.”
“It has the most unusual blossoms I have ever seen,” Alex said, trying to sound normal. “I had hoped that there might be a way, if not to save it, then at least to reproduce it.” The figure stopped right beside him, and he caught his breath, feeling that heavy sense of presence that Serena gave him, stronger than ever.
Flury rubbed his chin. “We might try grafting a branch onto another tree,” he said. “Or we might be able to start one by seed.” He looked down at the ground, clear of any cherry debris. “If we can find a seed, that is.”
The figure still hovered at the edge of his vision, only barely holding the form of a woman. He thought he might be able to see the garden through her, but could not be certain.
“Try whatever you can,” he said. And then, tentatively, “Do you ever see anything besides the cat?”
“What, you mean like Serena herself?”
Alex raised his eyebrows in confirmation.
“Just the cat.”
“Ah. Well, thank you. Try whatever you can with the tree.”
“Is Serena giving you trouble, Mr. Woding?” Flury asked, concern on his brow.
“No, no, not at all.”
“They do say as that Briggs had a bad time of it while he was living here. I shouldn’t be surprised to see her play her games with you, as well.”
“You seem remarkably unconcerned about it all,” Alex said, his throat dry as the figure hovered in the corner of his vision.
“Aye, well. I’ve seen a ghost or two in my time, and never known them to do any real harm. As far as Serena is concerned, my guess is she likes her flowers, same as any other woman. I figure that’s why she leaves me alone.”
Alex nodded his thanks to the man and started back to the castle. The figure vanished from his periphery when he turned his head away, and he felt the presence following behind him as he walked back to the castle. At the door he paused and turned, as if taking a last glance outside. He held still when the faint shape came into view, again from the corner of his eye. She was definitely there, not two feet from him.
Either he was having hallucinations now, to go with the imaginary sense of a presence, or he was seeing the ghost that followed him day and night.
Neither explanation gave him comfort.
Chapter Eleven
Woding seemed more tense than usual, Serena thought. His eyes had the wide watchfulness of a wary horse, as if he was expecting something to jump out at him from behind every corner. It was what she wanted, but she wished she knew what had brought it on so suddenly. Maybe it was that whole incident with Beezely.
The cat even now brushed up a
gainst her leg, and she bent down to pet him. “Naughty kitty,” she said, scratching him under his chin, feeling his purr rumble against her fingers. “Do you appear to them on purpose?”
She followed Woding to his bedroom, where he shucked off his shoes and lay down on the bed. She knew his habits well enough by now to know that he must be intending to watch stars tonight, and sought to prepare himself with a nap. The clear sky boded well for stargazing.
He didn’t look in the proper state of mind for napping, though. He lay flat on his back, his hands clasped together on his belly, his ankles crossed. She sat down cross-legged on the empty half of the bed, pulling at her skirts so they were loose over her knees. She put her chin in her palm, her elbow on one knee, and settled in to wait.
This was her least favorite part of haunting Woding. Observing him sleep was entertaining for only the first few minutes, and then she began to get both jealous and bored. Jealous because she no longer knew the joys of sleep: she could fade into oblivion easily enough, but it was a black and empty oblivion, devoid of dreams or the luxurious sensations of slumber. The boredom came because he did nothing but lie there. The thrashings of his nightmares held a certain interest, but even that was a frustration, as she had no way of knowing what images tormented his mind.
Woding was staring at the fabric lining the underside of the tester, a vein throbbing in his temple. She leaned over to look directly into his face. It was not a bad face, she had to admit. She wondered what he’d do if she touched it, maybe brushed her fingertips across those tightly closed lips.
Her fingers tingled with the desire to do it, but she held back. She had to remember she did not like the man. She should not be having thoughts like this about him.
Eventually he closed his eyes, and bit by bit his breathing deepened. She stretched out beside him on the covers, her fingers playing with the ends of his hair on the pillow, passing through without disturbing them.
He wasn’t an entirely bad man, she reluctantly admitted to herself, watching him sleep. She could imagine no other hiring a stablelass. She still couldn’t quite believe that he had done it. Maybe all those times she thought he was being manipulative of servants, he was instead being kind.