I urged my horse to a gallop toward the Winslow estate. Upon reaching it, I guided my horse down the carriage lane. A few yards in, I came to a fallen tree obstructing the road and turned my horse up the bank into the woods before circling back to the lane. I rode until the canopy of trees sheltering the road gave way to the house. Tall weeds clogged the circular drive, and moss and vines had engulfed the begrimed stone walls. The unkempt gardens and hedges in front of the mansion had probably at one time been strikingly beautiful. An uncanny quiet hung over the place.
When no one came to greet me, I escorted my mount around to the stable yard. There I was welcomed with the same disturbing lifelessness. Not a critter stirred. I lowered the torch to examine the ground for wagon tracks or footsteps in the snow and found none.
I dismounted and secured my mount to a hitching post. Watering troughs were filled with debris, snow, and ice. In the carriage house, an old buggy sat propped up on wood planks. My puzzlement grew when the servants’ living quarters appeared not to have been slept in for some time. Out in the yard, I gazed up at the broken windowpanes of the home and found no flickering of lanterns or shadows from people moving within. The hour was late, and the family and servants would be asleep. But why were there no indications of life?
I cupped my hands and called, “Hello.”
The mountains echoed my voice.
I walked around to the front of the house, to the doors that hung crooked and partially open. I knocked, and the door moved under my hand. “Hello,” I said.
No answer.
I pushed on the door, and it swung on the hinge keeping it mounted. Inside, heavy velvet curtains embellished the eyes of the home, which scattered silvery moonlight over the rubble littering the flagstone floors. Holding the torch aloft, I strode through the hallways and rooms. Cobwebs draped sleeping walls and stretched across doorways like traps in a witch’s lair. I swiped a hand to remove the silky threads from my face. Around me, the house shuddered and shivered, and cinders coated in layers of dust lay on the hearthstones.
I searched each room for confirmation that the family had returned and ended back in the foyer. My bafflement amplified. Hadn’t Flicker said he’d run into a man claiming to work at the estate? I climbed the stairs to the upper floor—the first shifted under my boot, and I gripped the railing to keep from falling into whatever lay below. I scoured each wing of the home until my torch had burned low, and the urge to leave whatever hex bound the house overcame me.
Then, like a floating whisper, I heard her voice, and my feet rooted in place as though ropes now bound my ankles. I looked back down the corridor.
“How does one keep from drowning?” Valentina said.
“It won’t be filled. You add just enough water to get you cleaned up,” a woman said.
I broke from the trance imprisoning my feet and moved toward the voices. Stopping at a room the voices drifted from, I pushed open the door to find a bedchamber. No life stirred within, and once-white sheets still covered the room’s furniture. I strained to listen, but no voices came. Had I imagined things? I was sure I’d heard her voice.
In the stable yard, I mounted my horse and nudged him forward. Voices rose again.
“What are you still doing out here?” a woman said. “The children need tending.” This female sounded older than the last.
“I’ve not finished the task.” Exhaustion echoed in Valentina’s voice. I shifted in my saddle to search the shadowy silhouettes in the yard and jerked as the woman spoke again.
“Come now, lass, up you go. Don’t let him see you cry or give him the satisfaction of your defeat,” she said.
But then the voices dwindled.
Valentina. My lips moved, but no sound came out. I lifted a hand and swept it through my hair. Had I lost my mind?
In front of the home, I studied the exterior and the surrounding property. The estate stood in the condition I’d expect of a place neglected for years. If Valentina didn’t work at the estate, where had she gone? And why would she lie about taking a position at Chateau Winslow? Valentina had said she’d taken the Winslow children to the dressmaker’s shop the day I’d seen her. I’d start there and then inquire with the livery master and at the general store. Surely the earl’s staff or he had purchased supplies for the estate.
A cold chill ran through me, and I kicked my heels into my mount’s flanks. I felt the breath of the property raise the hair on my neck as I rode off. Was the place cursed, or was someone bent on destroying the Fürst family? I grasped but one thing: I wouldn’t rest until I found out.
Valentina
After I told the children a bedtime story and tucked them in, I picked up the lantern and strode to the door.
“Do you believe in fairy godmothers,” Farrah said as I grasped the door handle. Zuna slept with an arm slung over her sister, and soft snores rose and fell.
“As a little girl, I did.”
“And now?” she asked.
“I like to believe there’s someone that watches over us all.” I thought of the earthmen who scurried in the shadows.
“Do you think my mum watches over Zuna and me?” She propped herself up on an elbow, her expression perplexed.
I smiled. “Yes.”
Her expression softened. “Why do think Charles Perrault gave Cendrillon glass slippers instead of golden?”
I laughed. “So many questions. And I’ll answer all of them in the morning.”
“Very well, but I shan’t forget.” She lay back against the pillows with her auburn ringlets fanned around her.
“No, I don’t expect you will. Good night, Lady Farrah,” I said.
“Good night, Miss Wolf.”
As I closed the door to the children’s chamber, I considered how Farrah had forgotten she’d declared me her enemy and became engrossed in the story. When I was a child, and my headaches would come, Mutter would sit by my bed and tell me tales. I’d imagine I was the stories’ characters setting out on grand adventures of my own making. Goblins and giants would storm the castle gates to kidnap the princess, and the prince would fly in with his sword raised. The worlds inside the pages of Mutter’s stories took me far away from the pain to a make-believe life where vaters were kind and princesses had only sisters. A world where Mutter laughed and planted endless kisses on a vater whose eyes were brown and tender like those of a foal. A vater that loved me as she did. Inside a fairy tale, all the cares of the outside world faded, and it became the place I’d liked best. A place where I had powers to defend myself against the creatures that scurried in the dark and against evil kings who looked to acquire my magical skills. I had lived inside my head so much, I’d gotten lost between what was reality and fantasy.
However, I’d outgrown such tales and cast them aside after my parents’ disappearance, and life proved it wasn’t a fairy tale where I could overpower bad men and control my destiny. No. Such tales were best left as bedtime stories that gave children their farewells to the lands where dreams come true.
I descended the back stairs to the main floor. As I walked by the library, I noticed his lordship sitting in an armchair facing the fire and I quietened my steps.
“Mrs. Potts, please bring me some of my best brandy,” he said without turning.
I searched for Mrs. Potts but found the kitchen dark, except for the fire in the fireplace that cast a glow over the cinder maid who lay asleep near the hearthstone. After I checked the other rooms and saw no sight of her, I returned to the corridor. Footsteps echoed behind me, and I held the lantern high to observe who approached.
“You looking to blind me?” Yara grabbed my wrist and lowered the lantern.
“I’m looking for Mrs. Potts. Lord Winslow has requested that she bring him his best brandy.”
“You’re out of luck. Mrs. Potts retired early with complaints of an upset stomach. You had better serve his lordship yourself. Best not to keep him waiting. You don’t want to get on his bad side. Trust me, no one wants that.”
&nb
sp; “I don’t know the first thing about brandy. Or where I would look for it,” I said.
“Well…” A cheeky smile captured her mouth. “You got just the girl for that.” She spun on her heel and marched deeper into the house.
At a narrow door she pulled on the handle, and it fell off in her hand. “Blimey, the blacksmith still ain’t fixed it.” She stuck a chubby finger into the hole to maneuver the latch. The tip of her tongue curled over her lip as she worked the lock. Click. “There we go. There ain’t a lock Yara Appleton can’t pick.” She grinned. “Hand me that lantern.”
I followed her down a cramped staircase. Dampness and mildew hung in the air. At the bottom she turned a corner, and we came into a small room with floor to ceiling shelves that held various bottles of liquor.
“This should be to his liking.” She moved to a shelf in the center. I presumed it wasn’t her first trip to the cellar, but then I recalled the story of her sneaking drinks with her lover.
She pushed the bottle at me, and I clasped it with both hands. Jules Robin 1789 Cognac, the label read.
Yara lifted the skirt of her blue frock and made her ascent, and I trailed behind her.
“You don’t appear as though you’re going to bed,” I said.
“’Cause I ain’t. I’m meeting my man in the stables.”
“In the stables? Can’t you find a place more suitable for your lovemaking?”
She stopped mid-stride and twisted to face me. I held up a hand to shield my eyes from the lantern. “A woman has needs as much as a man,” she said with a hand on her hip. “Besides, he says his wife is becoming suspicious.” She continued up the stairs. “He says she would never go to the stables because she’s terrified of horses. One almost trampled her to death, so she stays clear of them.” She closed the door after us and replaced the door handle. “You know where the glasses and tray are, right?”
“Yes,” I said.
“I’ll leave you to it then,” she said in a clipped tone.
“Yara.” I grabbed her arm, regardless of her displeasure with me. “Be careful.”
The tightness of moments ago faded, and her expression eased. “Don’t you worry none about me, love.”
“It’s just I don’t want to see you heartbroken when—”
“He breaks my heart and returns to his wife,” she said.
I nodded.
Her shoulders slumped. “I suppose I’ve always known this would end with heartache.”
“But why do you still go?”
She shrugged. “Because a woman gets lonely.” And with that, she turned and walked down the corridor and disappeared.
I stood staring after her, my heart heavy because I’d offended her.
“Mrs. Potts.” Lord Winslow’s voice was sharp with the curtness of impatience.
I retrieved a silver tray and placed the brandy and a glass on it and hurried to the library.
“It’s about time. What took you so long?” He directed his gaze to where I stood. “Miss Wolf, what are you doing here, and where is Mrs. Potts?”
“She wasn’t feeling well and has retired for the night. I’ve brought you the brandy you requested.” I walked to the small table that sat between the two armchairs and set down the tray. I removed the brandy cap and looked up to find him studying me with unmasked interest. “May I?” I asked.
“Please.” He gestured at the glass.
I filled the bottom.
“Won’t you join me?” He tilted his head at the other chair.
“It isn’t fitting,” I said. “Others will talk.” I’d overheard the whispering between servants at the special treatment I’d received from his lordship. A chamber fit for a lady and four outfits worth a year or two’s wages.
“Let them talk. I insist. Sit.”
I did as he requested. He took a sip of the amber liquid and released a sigh. I glanced at him as he sat with his gaze captured by the flames, my fingers knotted in the folds of my skirt. He had a way about him that sent my belly into knots. In my time at the estate, he’d managed his home with firmness. His servants and children alike marched like soldiers in an army. He’d never been unkind to me but he was reserved, never engaging on a level one would consider social or friendly. Dark lashes touched his cheeks, and laugh lines creased the corners of his eyes. I wondered when he ever laughed. A long scar curved from the side of his temple and disappeared behind his ear. Long legs clothed in dark blue trousers stretched out in front of him on the woven rug. He’d removed his cravat and undone the first few buttons of his white shirt. I realized it was the first time I’d seen him in a relaxed state. He seemed almost approachable. His beauty, luminous in the firelight, started a fluttering in my stomach.
“Do you like what you see,” he said.
I blinked and found him looking at me. Amusement flashed in his eyes at catching me staring.
“My apologies, my lord.” Heat licked my cheeks, and I lowered my gaze.
“Do you like it here?”
“Yes, it suits fine,” I said.
“Perhaps in time, you will come to find it better than fine.”
“I’m grateful for your generosity—”
“Please look at me when you speak,” he said.
I raised my gaze.
“The eyes are a glimpse of all the emotions one holds. And your eyes tell me you may not fear me as you once did,” he said.
“I-I,” I stammered.
“You need not explain. It was hard for me to come here.”
“Because of your wife?” I asked.
He didn’t answer right away, and I worried I’d offended him.
“That, and my daughters. It isn’t easy being a vater, and without a woman to help it becomes a challenge. Farrah is a difficult child, and you have handled her with more kindness than I would have thought possible.” He lifted the bottle and refilled his glass.
“Thank you, my lord.”
He crossed his legs and adjusted himself in the chair to face me. “So, tell me, what is your true story?”
“What? I told you—”
“I know what you told me, but I believe there is more to it than that. What or whom were you running from when you came here?”
“I-I…” I couldn’t tell him the truth. What if he set out in search of my brother or Helias and told them of my whereabouts?
“A husband?”
“No.” I squirmed.
He swirled the liquid in his glass. “The authorities?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“It’s not as you presume,” I said. “I’ve done nothing wrong. I wanted a change of life, and with my vater’s passing I set out to find something more. One can seek blame for their situation or take matters into their own hands, and that is what I did and nothing more.”
“And have you found that something more?” He lifted the glass to his lips and swallowed, his eyes observing me over the rim.
“More than I’ve had in a long time.”
“But you don’t have all you seek?”
The silhouette of my mutter, her face long faded, flashed before me. Then the memory of Nisse, the day in the forest when he’d lowered his face to kiss my cheek and how I’d wished it had been something more.
“Is there a lover?” he asked, as though reading my thoughts.
“No.”
“Then why do I sense hesitation in your voice.”
Nerves twisted my stomach. “I do not seek to offend, but I don’t wish to discuss such matters.”
“I offer my apologies for intruding.” He stood. “Perhaps it’s best if we retire for the evening.” He held out a hand, and I slipped mine in his as he helped me to my feet. His hand lingered on mine, and I glanced up at him. “It’s been a pleasure, Valentina.” He pressed his lips to my hand, kissing it. The gentleness in his demeanor sent a rush of warmth over me.
“The pleasure is all mine, my lord.” I allowed him to guide me from the room with his hand on the small of my b
ack.
At the doorway, he paused, and his gaze held mine. I saw longing in his eyes. “Good night,” he said and released me.
I curtsied and departed.
Upstairs, dressed in my nightclothes, I pulled back the linens on the bed and slipped beneath the covers. I stared up at the pleated fabric enclosing the bed and thought on the mysterious man I considered cold and aloof. Tonight he had lowered his barriers a smidgen and let me glimpse a man who wasn’t as frightening. I drifted off to sleep with his lordship’s face whirling about in my mind, and my dreams that night became complex and tangled.
Nisse
In the days that followed, I paid a visit to the dressmaker. When I questioned her about Valentina and the Winslow children’s visit to her shop, her brow had puckered. “The Winslows haven’t visited my shop in years. They returned to England years ago. No one has heard or seen from them since. Never could understand why the earl would just up and leave with no groundskeeper to maintain the place.”
At the general store and the livery, I asked if they’d conducted business with anyone from the estate, and they answered no, not in some years. Perplexed, my suspicion rising, I escaped the blockades and returned to the estate during the day. I found the place in the same condition as I had that night. Afterward I went to the Fürst homestead to check if Orell had returned and found the cottage empty and dust-laden. No one had been there in months. I kept an eye out for Flicker in town, but he never came.
Over the next months I joined the patrols in hunting down the beast, and we returned empty-handed. Others never returned at all. The council had sent word to King Jörg of the mountain dwarves, seeking his help, and he obliged, sending earthmen to strengthen our numbers. Nonetheless, the valley became the feeding ground for the beast, and the dwarf magic failed to conjure the monster from concealment.
At night I paced the floors, mulling over what to do next. My turmoil was exacerbated by the increasing suspicion that something superior was at work, and that the earthmen understood more than they let on.
The Maid of Chateau Winslow Page 13
