“Fetch Isabella something to eat and drink,” Ira ordered. “And bring me a mug of tea.”
“Yes, Senior,” Morag said.
She shot me another look, then turned and hurried away. I watched her go, wondering what bee had got into her bonnet, then sat back and forced myself to wait. It felt like hours crawled past before Morag returned, carrying a tray of sandwiches, a glass of milk and a steaming mug of tea. Ira took his tea, dismissed Morag with a wave of his hand and motioned for me to eat. Normally, I would have turned my nose up at plain ham and cheese sandwiches, but right now I was ravenous. I ate so quickly that Mother would probably have reprimanded me for forgetting my table manners. And when I was done, I looked up to see Ira watching me with open amusement.
I felt myself flush, again. “Senior?”
“No matter,” Ira said. His voice sobered as he held up the first letter. “Do you know what this says?”
“No, Senior,” I said. A couple of the documents looked like school reports, although I hadn’t been at Jude’s long enough for an official report. They were normally handed out the week before the end of term, giving the parents a couple of months to hire tutors to bring the children up to spec. “I wasn’t told.”
“I suppose not,” Ira said. “You appear to be an exile. Like me.”
I blinked. “Like you?”
“Indeed,” Ira said.
I could have kicked myself. Of course Ira was an exile too. No one would stay here, hundreds of miles from civilisation, if they had any choice. Ira was an exile and Morag was his sole servant. I hadn’t seen anything to suggest that there were any other servants in the hall - or anyone else at all. My mother would have thrown a fit if there was a speck of dust on the windowsill, let alone the layers of dust and grime I’d seen as we’d walked to the office. Ira had been sent away from Shallot to keep him out of sight and mind. I couldn’t help feeling a flicker of kinship for the older man.
“Basically, you are to stay here until your banishment is rescinded,” Ira said. He sounded annoyed, although it didn’t seem to be directed at me. “That may be quite some time.”
“I know, Senior,” I said.
Ira snorted. “Morag will be preparing a room for you now. We’ll have a proper discussion about your … role … here tomorrow, when we are both refreshed and you’ve had a chance to change your clothes.”
I glanced down at my damp dress. Mother would have been horrified if she’d seen me walking through the hall in such a state. She’d have sent me to my rooms and told me not to come out until I was washed, scrubbed, dressed and my hair carefully styled to match the latest fashion. Ira didn’t seem to be too concerned about my appearance. I supposed it didn’t matter much to him. He wasn’t in that good a state either.
He returned his attention to the letter. I took advantage of the silence to study him more closely. He was older than I thought, I guessed. There was something about his slow, deliberate movements that suggested his rejuvenation spells were finally starting to wear down, even though his eyes were sharp and it was clear he was a powerful magician. I wondered, suddenly, if he knew my parents - or even my grandparents. I’d never heard of Ira Rubén. He must have been exiled years before I was born or the Grande Dames would still be wittering about him.
They’ll be wittering about me now, I thought, with a flash of bitterness. I didn’t want to think about what the length of his exile meant for mine. I wonder if Mother will ever be able to hold her head up in polite society again.
I coughed. “Do you know my parents?”
“I haven’t met them,” Ira said, tonelessly. “I’ve been away for quite some time.”
Ouch, I thought. Father was in his late forties. If Ira had never met him, even as a little boy, he had to have been in exile for fifty years or more. How long has he been here?
Ira cleared his throat. “We’ll discuss basic rules tomorrow,” he added, “but there is one rule you need to know now. You are not, whatever happens, to go onto the sixth floor.”
“The sixth floor?” I couldn’t help asking the obvious question. “What’s on the sixth floor?”
“My private rooms,” Ira said, curtly. His voice hardened. It was suddenly very easy to believe he was related to Grandfather. “You are not to go onto the sixth floor. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Senior,” I said. I didn’t want to know, but I had to ask. “What will happen if I do?”
Ira gave me a humourless smile. “I’ll let the wards have you,” he said. “You won’t enjoy it.”
I swallowed. Father had told me that there were rooms and suites in Rubén Hall that I was never to enter for any reason whatsoever. Some were workshops, where my father’s apprentices studied potions; some were private rooms for secret conferences. I’d disobeyed him a few times when I was younger, only to discover that the wards were quite effective at keeping me out. Father had made it clear, more than once, that I’d only brushed against the outer layers. The inner layers were far nastier.
“Yes, Senior,” I said. This was Ira’s territory. He was entitled to guard his privacy however he wished. I didn’t think that even Father, if he was still the Patriarch, could demand an inspection without consequence. “I won’t go up there.”
“See that you don’t,” Ira told me. His eyes bored into mine for a long moment. “Have you eaten enough?”
I looked at the empty tray and nodded. It would do, for the moment. I wasn’t quite sure what time it was, but it felt late. I simply hadn’t slept very well. My body was reminding me that I’d spent most of five days in an uncomfortable carriage, in an uncomfortable ride to Kirkhaven. I needed a bath and sleep, perhaps not in that order.
At least I can sleep in a proper bed, I told myself. That will be something.
Ira rang his bell again. Morag reappeared, almost at once. She must have been waiting outside the door. Mother’s maids did that, standing outside until they were summoned to attend their mistress. They’d always been willing to play games with a little girl, but the moment Mother called them they had to drop everything and run to her side. I felt a pang of homesickness that hurt, more than I cared to admit. I might be allowed to go home one day, if I was lucky, but I’d never be that carefree girl again.
Morag nodded to Ira. “Yes, Senior?”
“Take Bella to bed,” Ira said. “And …”
“Isabella,” I corrected, hastily. “Bella is … Bella is someone else.”
Morag’s expression became more pinched. “As you wish, young mistress,” she said, sardonically. “Isabella, come with me.”
I glanced at Ira, surprised. Mother would not have tolerated such churlishness from her servants, not even for a second. The maids had to be on their best behaviour at all times or they’d get the sack. Or worse, they’d be sent to tend to my elderly relatives instead. Mother was strict, with firm ideas of how things should be, but she wasn’t obnoxious. The elders, on the other hand, could be thoroughly unpleasant at times. I didn’t know the details, but one particular great-uncle had driven away a dozen maids until Father had a long … discussion … with him.
“Go,” Ira said. He waved a hand at the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I rose, dropped a curtsey and followed Morag to the door. The air outside felt colder, somehow, as we made our way up a flight of stairs. They were meant to be carpeted, I thought, but someone had removed half the carpet to reveal the wood beneath. I kept a wary eye on the floor, just in case I stepped on a nail. I’d had the sense to wear my outdoor shoes, but I didn’t know if they’d protect me from something sharp. It grew harder to see as we reached the fifth floor and started down the corridor. The light crystals were brightening and dimming, seemingly at random.
“My room is at the end of the corridor,” Morag said. I jumped. She’d been so quiet that I’d believed she wasn’t going to say anything. Her voice was sharp, as sharp as Mother had sounded when she’d caught me digging up her roses. I wanted to snap back at her, but I was too tired.
“You are not to go inside without my permission.”
I nodded, wordlessly. Mother had made it clear that neither I nor Akin was to enter the servant quarters. I didn’t understand the reasoning, but she’d been blunt enough to convince me that some lines were best not crossed. Morag deserved what little privacy she could get, I assumed. She’d probably have more privacy at Kirkhaven Hall than I’d had at Rubén Hall, back in Shallot. There were far fewer prying eyes.
And no one bothered to say a word when she claimed a guest suite for herself, I thought, wryly. Servants normally stayed below stairs, on the ground floor. Ira probably didn’t care enough to object.
We stopped outside a blue door. Morag put her hand against the wood and muttered a charm, then pushed the door open. I followed her into the room, feeling cold. If I needed magic to open the door … I would be trapped, as long as I wore the cuff. Normally, I could go in and out of my rooms whenever I wanted. I’d set the wards to ensure I didn’t need passwords or charms to step through the door. But here … this wasn’t my room.
Yes, it is, my thoughts mocked. It is your room as long as you are living here.
The Blue Room was blue. Everything was blue, save for an oaken double-poster bed in the exact centre of the room. The blue walls looked cracked and faded, the blue bookshelf was empty, the blue wardrobe door was hanging open, the blue window shutters were firmly closed and locked … I rolled my eyes as I saw the blue door, leading into what I guessed was the bathroom. My trunks rested neatly against the far wall, waiting for me to open them. I realised, with a flicker of horror, that I couldn’t open them. The locking charms needed magic to open them.
Morag strode across the blue carpet and opened the far door. “There’s a bathtub in here,” she said, as I followed her. “You can use it in the morning, if you wish.”
I peered into the chamber. The bathroom was larger than I’d expected, but strikingly empty. A tub … and not much else. No toilet, no shower … not even soap and freshener. There weren’t even any taps on the bathtub. The sink looked as if it had been designed for a child of five, not a girl of twelve. It was tiny. The mirror was placed so low that I’d have to bend over to see my face. Someone Morag’s height would have to kneel down to use it.
Morag turned back into the bedroom. “You can put your clothes in the wardrobe, if you wish,” she said. She opened the broken door to reveal a handful of shelves and a clothing rail, tiny compared to the walk-in closet I’d had back home. “Or you can leave them in your trunk …”
I caught her arm. “Morag … where do I go to the toilet?”
Morag yanked her arm free. “There’s a chamberpot under the bed,” she said, briskly. “This place was built before indoor plumbing really became a thing. A few pipes were run through the house, but not enough to support anything larger than a sink. Make sure you empty the chamberpot every morning or you’ll regret it.”
“… Oh,” I said. No showers? I shuddered at the thought. My skin felt thoroughly unclean after five days in the carriage. I probably smelt terrible. The armsman hadn’t allowed me to do more than wash my face and hands. “I …”
Morag ignored me as she plucked the lantern off the wall and put it on the bedside table. “I assume you’ve used one of these before,” she said. “Tap once to turn off the light, tap twice to turn it back on again. Is there anything else you need before you go to bed?”
I glanced at the trunks. “Can you unlock the trunks?”
Morag lifted her eyebrows. I held up my arm to show her the cuff. Her lips smiled, just for a second, then she opened the first trunk. I dug through the clothes to find my nightgown - I tried to ignore her snort when she saw it - and put it on the bed. I’d have to unpack everything else tomorrow, if I wanted to wear something new. The trunk closed and locked again as Morag turned away, heading for the door. I was too tired to care.
“Sleep well,” Morag said. She didn’t bother to look back. “And good night.”
I undressed hastily, dropping my sodden dress and underclothes on the floor, then pulled the nightgown on and climbed into bed before it got too cold. The mattress felt hard, so hard that I had to roll over and over before I felt remotely comfortable. My duvet was thin, too thin. I had the feeling that whoever normally occupied the room, if anyone normally occupied the room, used magic to keep themselves warm. I knew a dozen spells that would turn the room into a furnace, none of which I could cast as long as I wore the cuff. Shaking my head, I reached for the lantern and tapped it once. The room plunged into darkness. No light filtered through the shutters. I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep …
… And then I felt a presence in the room, a sense of something - or someone - peering down at me. Absolute terror gripped me, just for a second; I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t move, I couldn’t even breathe. I hadn’t been so scared since the very first time someone had cast a freeze spell on me, back when I’d been learning magic. The presence moved closer and closer, as if it was right on top of me … I thought I could feel someone touching the back of my neck, icy cold hands brushing against my skin. I wanted to scream, but nothing came out as the presence faded back into the night …
… And, when I awoke the following morning, I was half-convinced I’d had a nightmare.
Chapter Three
When I awoke, I didn’t know where I was.
The room was dark and bitterly cold. The only light came from the shuttered windows, faint hints of sunlight peeping through the wood and telling me it was daylight. I pushed the duvet aside and reached for the lantern, tapping it twice. The room filled with an eerie radiance, revealing that I was alone. If there had been something in the room with me, last night, it had left no trace of its presence.
Just a nightmare, I told myself, although it had felt too real to be a nightmare. My family was supposed to have a talent for True Dreams, but there hadn’t been a genuine Dreamer born to us for centuries. Longer, perhaps. It was just a dream.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood as the remainder of the memories flooded back. I’d been sent into exile. I was at Kirkhaven Hall … home, for the next few years. I shivered, helplessly, as I made my way over to the shutters. The carpet felt cold and harsh under my feet, as if it hadn’t been cleaned for years. I rather suspected it hadn’t been cleaned at all. The shutters were closed and locked. I thought, for a moment, that they’d been sealed with magic before I figured out how to work the catch. It was a tiny achievement, but it left me feeling inordinately pleased for a long moment. I’d done something for myself.
The shutters creaked unhappily as I pushed them open and peered through the glass, looking out onto a scene of desolation. The grounds were odd, a mixture of overgrown grass and large patches of trees that seemed to be growing randomly; I could see a handful of cottages and other buildings in the distance and, beyond them, a stone wall. I guessed that was the edge of the grounds. The hills in the distance were covered in grass, I thought; there were patches of darker colours that might be something else. We seemed to be near the top of a valley: peering down, I saw a plume of smoke in the distance. Oddly, the sight made me feel better. We weren’t completely isolated out here.
I felt my tummy rumble and frowned. It was hard to be sure, but I guessed - from the position of the sun - that it was around ten o’clock. I didn’t know exactly when I’d arrived at the hall, or when I’d eaten, but it felt as though I hadn’t eaten for days. I walked into the bathroom, splashed some water on my face and inspected the bathtub. It was an odd design: no taps, no pipes … just a plughole at the bottom. I puzzled over it for a long moment, unsure quite what to do with it. Was I meant to take water from the sink and pour it into the bathtub? I didn’t even have a bucket!
My stomach rumbled, again. I’d need to find Morag and get her to find me something to eat, before I collapsed completely. And then I could worry about a wash. I started to cast a locater spell, then stopped myself when I remembered the cuff. I’d have to find her the old-fashioned
way. Drawing my nightgown tightly around myself, I headed to the door and stepped out into the corridor. It was so bitterly cold that, just for a second, I was sure I’d fallen into a pool of icy water. The air felt as if it was turning to ice. I nearly retreated back inside my room before forcing myself to walk down the corridor. It grew colder, somehow, as I walked. My teeth were chattering helplessly by the time I reached Morag’s door and knocked, hard.
There was no answer for a long moment, long enough to make me wonder where she might be. Servants got up early, always. Morag might be downstairs, making breakfast, or … what else did servants do? They cleaned, but there was no evidence that anyone cleaned Kirkhaven Hall. Maybe Morag was slacking off. Or …
The door opened. Morag looked out, wearing a dressing gown that had been unfashionable when my parents had been children. Her blonde hair was hanging down around her shoulders, a grim reminder that mine didn’t look much better. It wasn’t as if there were any outsiders here - Ira and Morag were both family - but I still felt weirdly undressed when my hair wasn’t in braids. Morag glared at me, her expression so sharp that I couldn’t help recoiling. How dare she look at me like that?
Her voice wasn’t any better. “What do you want?”
I forced myself to stand upright. “I want breakfast,” I said. I sounded like Mother when she was in a vile mood. My voice rose sharply, growing loud and shrill. “I want food and a bath and …”
Morag slapped me, hard.
I stumbled back, more shocked than hurt. I would have fallen if I hadn’t bumped into the far wall. My parents had never laid a finger on me. My nursemaids and governesses and tutors would never have dared to touch me. No one had slapped me before … Cat had punched me, I supposed, but that was different. Cat wasn’t one of the family.
Morag stepped forward, her hard blue eyes boring into mine. I couldn’t look away. “If you talk to me like that again, you little brat, I will thrash you so hard you will not be sitting comfortably for a week! Do you understand me?”
The Family Shame Page 3
