"A girl from the village has disappeared."
Estelle blinked. "Oh, that's awful. It is so cold, too. I hope nothing has happened to her."
Thomas shrugged. "Everyone is searching for her. I can look faster on Giji." He was referring to his pony. "Balog is helping too, and the cook."
"Of course. Is your father with them?"
"He is not here."
Estelle hadn't realized he'd left. He did so without any commotion, and he certainly wasn't in the habit of letting her know—which was as expected. "I see."
Mounting his pony, he set off at speed. It was kind of him to help. Perhaps she should, too. The idea of a girl, perhaps injured, lying somewhere in this weather was awful. Too long and the poor girl would freeze to death. The fear of wolves re-exerted itself, with bloody images she refused to entertain. Hopefully nothing so awful had happened. She wasn't sure if she could bear it if that turned out to be true. She was fearful enough without ever having seen or heard of a wolf.
Estelle couldn't very well sit and watch. She had to join them and started walking toward the bridge and the road beyond. She didn't actually like walking across this bridge now. It was solid enough, but it was so very far down, and it was stained with tragedy in her mind. Forcing herself, she leaned over the barrier and looked down to see if there was an unfortunate girl down the ravine, but she saw nothing. At one point, there had been a woman's battered body down there. The thought was too awful.
Pale sunlight shone through the trees and her breath misted as she exhaled. She heard the shouting of people in the valley below. The forest up the mountain was thick and dark, and her eyes scanned as far as she could see into it in case she spotted something—unlikely as it was. Why would a girl from the village be all the way up here?
It took a while to join the group walking in a scattered line across the entire valley. Balog was there, as was the professor. Thomas wasn't in sight and she scanned as far as she could see for him.
"Have you seen Thomas?" she asked when she reached the professor.
"He was here, but he has headed into the woods with some of the others."
"I've heard what's happened. It is awful. It isn't a misunderstanding and she has left, say on the train?"
"The train hasn't been through this week, and no, it is unlikely to be a misunderstanding. The girls in the village don't leave the valley. Even the men here have only left the valley once or twice at most. It is unlikely she would have left."
Estelle walked along the tall grass of the field. Cows were confused and trying to stay clear of the people invading their territory.
"It couldn't be that perhaps she has eloped?" It was one of the few reasons girls disappeared in England, swayed by their lovers to elope against their family's wishes.
"Unlikely."
"Then perhaps she is injured somewhere," Estelle said, concern tightening her voice. She was worried for Thomas too, even as the boy was, by his own account, very familiar with these woods.
Frost crunched under her feet as she walked. She couldn't shake the encroaching feeling that something unfortunate had happened to the girl.
"The count is not joining the search?" the professor asked.
"He is away at the moment. I am sure he would otherwise."
"No one knows where he is?"
That was an odd question. "I am sure his manservant knows where he is," Estelle said. "He has affairs away from here that he needs to see to." Why was she defending the count? Why was she in a position to need to? Surely he hadn't stolen away the girl, taken her for some tryst somewhere and caused this commotion. Countess Vaczy seemed to imply he behaved inappropriately with women, although she had never received any such attention herself from him. He had always been utmost professional in his dealings with her. But perhaps the professor suspected the girl had run off with him.
They continued in silence, walking across the field. Malika seemed to be the girl's name and the people present yelled it repeatedly.
"Do you know what she looks like?"
"Uhm," he started. "If I recall correctly, she has brown hair and brown eyes." He smiled tightly and didn't elaborate any further.
"I do hope nothing has happened to her." A biting unease sat in her gut. Hopefully the girl had run off with a lover, some boy from a neighboring village—a match not approved by the parents. Girls tended to do extreme things when in love—or so she'd heard. It had never happened to her, falling in love. Perhaps it never would.
It bothered her that the count seemed to have such a bad reputation with girls, that he ruined girls at his whim and without a second thought. It could be the professor was right in suspecting him. Men were capable of being very careless with girls and their reputations, particularly those they saw as below them.
*
The castle was empty when Estelle returned. It had grown dark and she'd searched most of the day. A man from the village had taken her back on a cart, sitting silently and broodingly holding the reins. She had the feeling he wasn't doing this service by choice, although she was grateful, fearing walking back in the dark.
Their searching had been fruitless and now she worried for Thomas, who hadn't returned yet. The sun was setting and darkness would fall quickly.
None of the fires had been lit and she built one in her parlor while she waited. Thirst and hunger created their own discomfort, but she could do little but wait.
It was dark by the time voices were heard in the castle. Rising from her chair, she sought the source, finding both Balog and Thomas in the entrance hall, their faces barely lit by the lamp the butler carried. Relief washed through her at the sight of the boy.
"She has not been found?" Estelle asked.
"No," Thomas said as Balog went to light candles. "She wasn't anywhere."
Balog muttered something and walked off into the darkness.
"The villagers are superstitious and there is talk of the girl being taken by a fene," Thomas said, almost with inappropriate levity that children sometimes had in grave situations.
"A fiend?"
"A fene," Thomas stressed. "A demon. They steal people away."
"Surely that is nonsense."
"These people believe such things, that demons steal people away, or in witches' curses."
Estelle dismissed it as nonsense. Nothing practical could be achieved if one devoted thought to outlandish notions. "So the girl is still lost and alone in the dark."
"Unless a fene really took her and is now feasting on her bones."
"Don't say such things, Thomas" she chided. Even if superstition, it still sounded awful. Clearly, by his tone, Thomas didn't believe such notions either.
For the first time, she did hope the count had taken the girl away, tempting her with a tryst. Obviously, that would be terrible, and a gross misuse of all the people here, not least the girl. But it was a preferable alternative to the possibilities that were skirting her mind, or some nightmare tale of a demon feasting on girls. Either way, it could only spell ill for this girl.
Chapter 16:
* * *
There was no news of the girl. Eventually, the searching stopped and all returned to their everyday chores. Nothing more was heard. If she had been injured somewhere, she would have been found by now, even if the chances of her still being living were low. She must have run off, Estelle concluded.
That afternoon, Thomas set out on his usual adventures, particularly excited as snow had started to fall that morning. White flakes lingered and slowly sank to the ground. It was not enough yet to provide coverage, but it kept snowing. Icy winds crept in along every windowsill and doorway, and the fires warmed little beyond their immediate vicinity. Most of the castle was barely warmer than outside.
Estelle had trouble keeping the chill from her that day. She had dressed as warmly as she could, but it still didn't relent. She also felt too restless to read. Instead, she paced and wandered. The library held little solitude for once and she wandered further away. There were ma
ny parts of the castle she had yet to explore and her restless spirit carried her to one of them, opening the doors to what seemed to be a ballroom. A large, cavernous room with parqueted flooring laid in herringbone style. The room had several large windows and was relatively bright compared to the rest of the castle.
Perhaps there had been a time when bright and joyous balls had been held in this room, although a few of the mirrors along the walls had deteriorated, showing stains and cracks. If so, it seemed to have been quite some time ago. Still, there was little dust on the floor so the staff at the castle did maintain the room.
Her footsteps echoed across the space as she walked to the windows, seeing out over the valley. Down below, she could see the snow now forming on the ground, building up its base to create a white blanket across the entire valley. It was cold enough that it wouldn't melt.
A sound behind her caught her attention and she turned, to her surprise seeing the count there. She curtsied in recognition of him. As per usual, he wore black, his hair a little on the wild side for what was fashionable. Another thing he seemed to not care if it grew wild and unruly.
"I thought I heard someone," he said, walking into the room, surveying it as if looking for fault. Perhaps as the master of this castle, he was used to looking for faults that needed addressing. Ancient structures did need a great deal of maintenance.
"I was exploring," she admitted.
"And you found the ballroom." He walked over to the window, looking down over the valley with his hands clasped behind him. "Do you close your eyes and wonder what it would be like being at a ball?"
"Yes. As I mentioned, my father was the vicar and therefore a required attendee at most balls in the district. I have been to my fair share."
"Ah," he said as if surprised. "I forget that the English draw their clergy from the higher classes. I apologize. This room has not been used in years."
"You are perhaps then not fond of balls?" she asked.
He turned to her, his eyebrow arched. "I find them insipid. Pretty dresses and jewelry, and cloistered manners."
Certainly not one for mincing words. Manners, at no point, had seemed to be of interest to him. He didn't seem to hide behind them as some gentlemen did.
"Do you enjoy balls?" he asked.
"They have their charms, I suppose." There had been a time when balls had featured prominently in her life. The excitement leading up to a ball, the decisions on what to wear and then who to dance with. They had been the delight of her youth.
"Yet you never secured a husband."
"I was young and it didn't seem important. Then my circumstances changed." Her father's death had lowered her prospects considerably and there had been no more balls.
"You perhaps wish yourself back to that life, when there were endless balls?"
There was an accusation in his statement, but she couldn't quite figure out what it was. "Do I wish back to the time when my father was alive?" she asked. "Of course. Family is important, and I came from a small but wonderful one. The balls and the dresses, they were fun, but never important."
"Poverty has tempered your expectations?" he suggested.
"I don't think so," she said, looking him straight in his dark eyes, addressing whatever accusation he was laying at her feet.
"You covet both my wife's rose garden, then my ballroom." There it was.
"Do you think I have designs on you?" It was ludicrous and she tried to think through any of her dealings with him to see what she could have done to give him that impression.
"I find most women have designs."
For a moment, she didn't know what to say. "Perhaps you should be more discerning with the women you spend time with. Is it perhaps not you who has designs?"
This surprised him and he considered her again. "Someone has been gossiping."
"It would be more accurate to say I have been warned off."
"Countess Vaczy," he said with an amused snort.
Estelle saw no reason to deny it.
"She would too like to tend my rose garden."
Estelle hated the euphemism, but his harsh reaction when she'd asked made sense now, as he equated it to marriage. She in no way had seen that. It had just been a skill she had, and the house seemed to have been lacking. The symbolism he attached to that garden had been something she'd been entirely ignorant of.
"Perhaps if you didn’t assign symbolism to random things, we could all avoid a certain level of misunderstanding and the inferred trespasses conducted by the unknowing. I can assure you, I have more empathy for your roses than I do for you."
He smiled now, almost as if he was pleasantly surprised. "You think what I offer is paltry?"
"Beyond a degree of interest in actual botanics, I think what you offer in the apparent guise of plants is definitely none of my affair—or interest, Count Drezasse," she replied.
"As opposed to what you might have heard, I never offer anything I am not prepared to carry through—in word, or implication. Nor will I be manipulated."
That was not what she'd heard. The countess had been quite clear that he ruined girls, for his own amusement.
"Not even with the young and comely girls from the village?" Her voice almost shook asking the question, but she felt she had to know, and maybe communicate that there had been some suspicion laid at his door.
His eyes seemed to darken a bit. "What a suspicious mind you have, Miss Winstone. No, I can assure you, not with any of the girls from the village."
"I am, no doubt, out of bounds asking, but I would rather address it than have to wander these halls here with suggestions filling my mind."
There was a barely perceptible softening in his stance. "I can assure you, paramours are not acceptable at the royal commission for agriculture, which sat all last week."
A sense of relief washed through her. Partially because she didn't want to live in the house of a man who ruined women, and also, she didn't want him to be so tainted. Why she should care about him and his character beyond her own safety, she wasn't entirely sure.
"Thank you," she said, not knowing what else to say.
"You are prone to an overactive imagination."
"I am a lone woman in the world. I am prone to analyze my own security."
"You are perfectly safe here."
"Thank you." She felt genuine gratitude and she did believe him.
This had been an odd conversation, but it had been one that had laid some of her concerns to rest, hopefully his, too.
"If you suffer from any other such suggestions, I would urge you to seek me out and address them. I do not wish for lingering misunderstandings. They are most often utterly unnecessary."
"I am sorry I doubted you," she said.
"You do not really know me."
"No, I do not."
The conversation seemed to stall. It had in some way included an intimacy that shouldn't be there and now there was an awkwardness. He had accused her and she had accused him, and hopefully all concerns had been lain to rest.
With a quick bow, he walked to the door, but stopped and turned in the doorway. "To end your suffering at the plight of my roses, I will perhaps let you tend them. For their sake—and yours."
"And I will refrain from imagining it is my place to do so beyond providing a simple favor," she said with a sharpness intended to prick him a little of his assumption that she wanted to better her situation and become the mistress of the house—and the roses.
He wasn't offended by her needling, instead seemed amused by it. "As you wish," he said, then disappeared from view. His footsteps echoed along the corridor outside until they also disappeared.
That had been an odd conversation, but perhaps they had reached a peaceful co-existence. It seemed the countess had been whispering in his ear, as well, informing him of the uncouth governess' ambitions. That woman was truly awful, and she wanted to think better of the count than to actually consider taking her as a wife—but again, him and his decisions, were none of
her affair.
Chapter 17:
* * *
The next afternoon, Estelle tackled the roses with a pair of secateurs. Snow covered the ground and this really should have been done in the autumn, but better now than in the spring. Now that she was actually addressing it, the task seemed to grow in proportion. There were years of growth and she didn't want to be too brutal.
It was a sunny day and the air was crisp after the snow had cleared the air. It sparkled, making everything look bright after the dark days of autumn. Winter days like this were a reprieve from the gloom.
Thorns bit into her leather gloves, which were soon soaked. The work made her hot and she had to take off her coat and jacket after a while.
She had to temper herself, she told herself firmly. There was no need to address the garden all in one day, but everywhere she looked there was growth that needed to be pruned. In fact, the remaining stems looked bare and almost naked when she was done. Roses weren't always the most beautiful plants when pruned down to thorny and bare stems. They were either exquisite beauty or rather ugly. But a beauty that had to be worked and waited for.
Again she considered the meaning this garden had taken on for the count, and in a sense, she now felt like she was intruding on a private domain. Still, it would be worth it when the garden bloomed come spring. There were both plants she suspected would bloom in spring and autumn, and others that would bloom in summer. Her work now would ensure a year's worth of pleasure for the count, particularly as Thomas left and he would be here alone.
Estelle sighed and cut another runaway vine, laying the stalk down on the walkway in the large pile she had amassed. Looking down, she saw that one of the thorns had ripped a hole in her cotton blouse and she cursed. The garden was fighting back, it seemed. She would have to sew that later.
Not sure what drew her attention, but she looked up, seeing the count standing by the wall of the castle, seemingly surveying her work.
"Are you sure this is a task you wish to take on?" he asked when he approached.
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