The Rose Master

by Valentina Cano

  When he obeyed, I ran to the kitchen and pulled out the first tablecloth I came upon. Taking a knife to one frilled corner, I yanked down, ripping a long white strip of linen.

  What would I do if he needed medical attention? There were no horses left, and the nearest manor was a half day away, longer in the snow. I pushed the thoughts out of my head and ran back to kneel beside Lord Grey’s pale, drooping form.

  His trousers were drenched in blood, and his eyes fluttered as every heartbeat sent more and more of his life-force onto the floor. With irrational anger, I remembered he hadn’t had any sustenance since the previous night.

  “Sir! Sir! Wake up. I’m going to wrap this around your wrist.”

  “No . . . I’ll do it.”

  “No, you can’t bloody well do it!” I snarled and pulled his hand away from the wound. A shock of fire burned me, but I grit my teeth and grasped his slashed wrist. Ignoring the scorching that was overwhelming my hands and the painful moans I was drawing from him, I wrapped the linen as tight as I could around his wrist until the blood disappeared beneath the white cloth.

  I didn’t know if that would keep him from bleeding out. I had no knowledge of doctoring aside from the more common household injuries. He had winced when I’d first touched him, but now, Lord Grey was still. Unconscious, most likely. I looked down at my hands, which were stained with blood. My own or his? No way to tell. A sob ripped through me as nerves abandoned my system, leaving only a sense of despair so black it seemed to swallow me whole.

  What seemed like hours later, I took my emotion’s reins back and rose on legs that trembled.

  Lord Grey was slumped against the wall, fully owning up to his name. His breathing, however, was steadier, and the blood appeared to have stopped dripping out. Through the ripped clothing, his ribs peered out, the thin layer of skin stretching like a stocking every time he inhaled. The skin there was even paler, as powdery white as the dust that permeated most of the furniture.

  No wonder he’d collapsed after so much blood loss. It was a surprise he hadn’t died.

  Walking once again to the kitchen, I looked for anything that would give his body what it needed to recover. There were no smelling salts in the manor, I knew that, but vinegar would do the trick. I looked around for anything to strengthen his blood, perhaps something sweet, to force down the master’s throat. I considered wine, but decided against its dizzying abilities. It would most likely do more harm to his depleted system.

  I decided jam would have to do. Gripping a spoon, the vinegar bottle, and a jar of strawberry jam, I flung myself back into the corridor and headed to the main hall.

  He hadn’t moved at all. I uncorked the vinegar bottle, its scent reaching up, and placed it right beneath Lord Grey’s nose. His next inhale brought his eyelids back up. His strange eyes, a deep gold, like honey in shadows, steadied on mine, and his curling lip reassured me.

  “There’s no need to look at me like that. I’m not dying.” His voice was muted and harsh.

  “You almost did, sir.”

  He looked down at his swaddled wrist and the smile flew away. “Ah. Just a fainting spell.”

  “Here.” I brought a brimming spoonful of preserves close to his face. “Have some. It’s the only sugar I could find in the house, unless you’d like to chew sugar cubes like a horse.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You are not fine, and you will eat this, or I’m walking out that door, sir.” I gestured with the hand that still held the spoon, naturally splattering chunks of strawberry everywhere.

  Lord Grey closed his eyes and wheezed out a laugh. “All right, but I will not be fed like an infant.” He stretched out his uninjured hand and dipped the spoon back into the jar, bringing it up full, and into his mouth.

  He shook his head and shivered. “That’s a substantial amount of sugar.”

  “Yes, and your blood needs it. Have another, sir.”

  He obeyed.

  “How did you know to do this?” He raised his bandaged arm.

  “Seemed like the logical thing to do. Otherwise, the entire floor would have been soaked in your blood.”

  “And we can’t have that. Too much cleaning.” His voice sharpened with sarcasm.

  “Sir, that is not what I meant.”

  Grunting, he pressed his back against the wall for support and attempted to stand. He wobbled on his feet.

  When I saw his face lose whatever hints of color it had gained, I leapt up, just in time to catch him as he slumped forward. Fire burned against every point where our skins met.

  “Damn it, sir, you’re not ready to be standing.”

  He shook his head, clinging to consciousness, the pain we both felt helping him hold on. The smell of roses mingled with the silver scent of blood, making my head spin as he rested against me. I had to bite my lip to keep from screaming at the electric current that kept jolting me. We needed to move to somewhere I could lay him down, and quickly.

  “Sir, grab on to my shoulder, put your weight on me.”

  “But the burns . . .”

  “Yes, it’s quite awful, so the sooner we get to a chair or something, the better.”

  “The dining room.”

  “All right, sir.”

  I whimpered as I lifted his arm around my shoulders, allowing me to slip into the crook, and bracing his weight. His scant body was easy to maneuver into the dining room. I eased him onto a chair, my skin separating from his, and pulled another chair in front of him to hold his legs.

  “One moment, sir.” I left the room and entered the parlor, where I gathered some of the softer sofa pillows. I returned to Lord Grey and placed them behind his back to grant him as much comfort as the situation allowed. He would have been better off in bed, but until he regained his strength, the dining room chairs would have to be enough. Last thing I wanted was another near tumble down the stairs.

  A bit of color seemed to have returned to his cheeks as I hovered by the table, my hands finding no rest in their nervousness.

  “Will you sit, Anne? You’re making my skin crawl.”

  I obeyed, although, I had no idea how I would sit still.

  “Quick thinking there, Anne. I imagine I would be dead, or very near it, if it weren’t for you.”

  “It was nothing, sir.”

  “Just your duty, I suppose.”

  My cheeks warmed. “That’s right, sir.”

  He laughed. “I’m sure you curse the day you stepped foot in this manor.”

  The dampened tone to his voice alarmed me. I peered into his face. It was as closed as always.

  I opened my mouth, but he raised a trembling hand, the skin dry as plaster.

  “Don’t lie.”

  I swallowed. “Well, sir, it’s been a difficult few weeks. It was not what I expected.”

  “I can imagine not.” He looked at me, then down at his raw hands.

  “You said you worked as a scullery maid?”

  “When I was very young, sir. I entered Lady Caldwell’s service when I was almost seven.”

  “My goodness!” The shock enlivened his face.

  “It’s not unusual, sir, to enter service that young, especially when your mother works in the same household.”

  “As yours did?”

  “Yes, sir. She was Lady Caldwell’s personal maid.”

  “Tell me about your mother.”

  “There’s not much to tell, sir. I hardly remember her—she died almost immediately after I entered Caldwell House. Of consumption.”

  “Ah.”

  “She was a wonderful servant.”

  “I’m sure there was more to her than that.”

  I lowered my gaze as I tried to bring the imprint of the woman who bore me up to my eyes. It was not as difficult as it had always been. She felt closer to me now, a real person, not a phantom memory.

  “She had the most wonderful smell, the crisp white of starch, and a sweet undertone from the creams she wore for her dry skin. Too many years of washin
g dishes. Mary always told me I was a lot like her. She had so much energy. She was willing to feel every emotion. But . . .” I paused. The memories that had been making themselves known through the last few weeks joined together with Mary’s words. I was suddenly aware of knowledge I’d pushed aside, but which now rang through me like a bell’s chime.

  “What, Anne?”

  I took a shaky breath. “She wasn’t brave. She disliked her life, even her marriage, yet she did nothing to change them. For herself, or for me. She could have, if she’d truly wanted to.” I shook my head. “She wasn’t brave enough.” Tears crowded my eyes.

  Lord Grey watched me, the expression on his pale face indecipherable in the late afternoon light. “Then you are nothing like her, Anne.”

  I brushed my eyes and tried to smile, but my lips quivered. I wasn’t so sure.

  Lord Grey cleared his throat. “What of your father, is he still alive?”

  “Yes, thankfully. He’s Lord Exter’s manservant. I don’t see him much, but it is still a comfort to know he is somewhere in the world.”

  “Yes, I imagine it is.”

  I bit my lip at his subdued tone. I hadn’t meant to remind him of his own solitude.

  “And siblings, Anne?”

  “Well, sir, I was raised alongside Elsie, another maid at Caldwell House. She is my sister in everything but blood. We’d never been apart before I took this position.”

  His face darkened. “I shouldn’t have separated you from her, then.”

  “You didn’t know, sir.”

  Sighing, he leant back against the pillows.

  “It’s been a horrid few weeks, I know,” he said. “Anne, I’m not holding you prisoner. I was pondering this today, and maybe you misunderstood me. We still can’t attempt to cast the wraith out, and I don’t know when we will be ready. It could be weeks of this nightmare. You are free to leave if all of this becomes too much of a weight. You must realize by now, that your life is roaming in a dangerous domain by staying here.”

  “Sir, I could not leave you on your own.”

  He stiffened. “I can manage.”

  “Like you ‘managed’ today?” The words slid out before I could trim them with propriety.

  He chuckled and shook his head. I lowered my eyes to my hands to keep the embarrassment I felt as hidden as possible, but when I raised them once more, I found Lord Grey’s face poised on a very different expression than I’d ever seen. A look of warmth, of almost tenderness, softened his stone-like features.

  My heart sped up without my permission, a precognitive contraction that I would forever recall.

  “I don’t know if you realize just what you’re capable of,” he said. “Not only do you have a rare ability that could help me end all of this, but you have the rarer skill of making me laugh. I know that doesn’t mean anything to you,” he said as I opened my mouth, “but to me, it is a breath of the freshest air.”

  The memory of Dora’s words froze the smile I was about to give Lord Grey. And Miss Bellingham, what of her?

  The pounding in my chest increased, sending my skin tingling in a strange way that had nothing to do with my abilities, and everything to do with the confusion the man before me created.

  Twenty-One

  I managed, God knows how, to keep Lord Grey resting the entire following day. It was hard going, with his seeming inability to keep still for more than a few minutes, but I stood guard by his door. I practiced, through the long hours, with the candle, lighting it in a very non-magical way, and snuffing it out with my coil of power. It was becoming easier.

  Around midday, I climbed down the stairs to the kitchen to prepare whatever I could find for lunch. If there was nothing more substantial than jam, then that’s what we’d eat. Thankfully, I did not have to resort to such barbaric measures, since I found a tin of digestive biscuits which looked pretty much intact. No wonder, really, since they were about as tasteful as paper. To make up for that, I prepared Lord Grey’s ginger tea, mixing it as strong as I could without it tasting like liquid fire.

  Armed with the tin, the jam and the tea, I traipsed yet again up to Lord Grey’s door. The manor’s air felt lighter this morning, even calm, making it seem like the previous afternoon’s violence had not occurred. I knew better, of course, but still, it was nice to feel a bit of tranquility.

  Lord Grey was sitting up in his sofa. He’d refused to lie in bed. His hair was tousled, and he looked rather charming in his robe, the blanket I’d thrown over him a twisted mess. My heart seemed to hitch a bit, making my hands shakier than was wise when holding a tray of china.

  “How are you feeling, sir?”

  “I’m fine, Anne. Really. It’s ludicrous for me to be lying like an invalid because of a cut.”

  I’d found that the best way of dealing with his logic when it came to health was to ignore him, which is what I did, busying myself with the biscuits and the plates.

  “What in God’s name is that?” He peered at the disk crowned with jam I passed him.

  “The only thing I could find, sir.” I bit into mine and almost chipped a tooth. Hmm. I’d better wait for the jam to soften it up a tad.

  When I glanced up, Lord Grey was staring at me, a slight smile on his face. I felt my cheeks redden under his eyes. I took another bite.

  “Anne, I’m surprised,” he said.

  “Why, sir?”

  “You’re actually sitting.”

  I looked down to find myself comfortable in one of his chairs. I smiled, my heart speeding up once again.

  When, hours later, Lord Grey stood and declared he wanted a quick walk around the grounds, I didn’t stop him. I needed to get away from him, to clear my head and bail out my suddenly flooded emotions.

  I returned to the kitchen without paying attention, the corridors already second nature to me, and looked about for something to do. That was the best way to get myself reined in—to keep busy. I’d scrubbed the house until it shone, so that was out. With a flash, I realized we would need bread. Yes, that was it; I would bake bread.

  The depleted pantry still contained half a sack-full of flour to work with, and I tipped the covered jars with one finger until I found what I was looking for: the bubbling sourdough. Surprised it was still alive in the manor’s murderous temperatures, I separated a small piece and smelled it. Rich, like dirt after rain.

  My thoughts stilled as I kneaded, my sleeves folded almost to my elbows and my hands covered in flour. As I had not remembered to pin my hair back up, its waves surged in and out—a chocolate tide—with every pound of my fists.

  I covered the dough with a towel and began the impossible task of finding a warm spot in which to let it rise. The few places I found that weren’t freezing were still not nearly close to warm enough.

  I traveled through the manor, limp dough tucked into a large cloth, and decided, since I’d run out of options, to try outside. Perhaps a puddle of sunshine could be squirmed out of the day.

  I stepped out and was almost around the corner before I realized the dark figure kneeling on the trampled snow was Lord Grey. At first, I thought his wrist was bleeding again, but as I looked closer, I recognized the ruby petals. I walked up to him.

  “Look.”

  I flinched. There were weeds everywhere. Their vein-like protrusions tangled up among the rose bushes, suffocating the flowers, oblivious to the threading thorns.

  “How did this happen?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. They were healthy yesterday. This has to be the creature’s doing.”

  Lord Grey’s face darkened to match his voice—a lightning storm of hate. He lunged forward and flung his hands into the bush before him, bringing out a deep root. He tore it to pieces, clawing at it until it was green confetti on the snow. He reached for another one, completely ignoring the thorns.

  “Sir, stop. Don’t you think you’ve lost enough blood?”

  He didn’t look at me. I doubt he even heard me.

  I tucked the dough against my hi
p and knelt beside him. “Please, sir.” My hand hovered near him, hoping the tug of energies would distract him. It did.

  He brought his hands back to his sides. “They were my mother’s. She loved them.”

  “They’re not dead, sir. We can still salvage them.”

  That made him turn to me. “How?”

  “We’ll cut the weeds. Are there shears anywhere?”

  “Yes, I think there are some in the stables.”

  “Wonderful. Here, sir, hold this.” I passed him the soft mound, which he took with all the surprise of a first-time father.

  “What—?”

  “Just bread, sir, or at least, it will be once I find it a warm spot. For now, our bodies will have to do.”

  “Wait, it’s best if you don’t go alone.” He rose with a wince and a slight stagger, sending fear through me again, but he merely brushed off his misused trousers.

  We walked in silence, Lord Grey still holding the dough, and entered the stable’s empty darkness.

  Inside, I moved to one side, where there was more light with which to search, while Lord Grey took to the darker edges. I shivered as I remembered how I’d encountered Mr. Keery mumbling in one of those dark stalls. With a jolt, I realized only a few days had passed since that afternoon. It felt like ages ago.

  I began moving some items—a bridle, the saddles that looked old and unused—hoping to spy the gleam of shears.

  “God Almighty!” Lord Grey exclaimed, making me leap up, my heart already in my throat.

  “Sir?”

  “The size of some of these rats! For a moment, I thought we’d acquired another horse.”

  I rolled my eyes, releasing the breath I’d been holding. He seemed to enjoy making me nervous.

  I continued with my search, turning up whole masterpieces of cobwebs, but not what we needed. Lord Grey mumbled and cursed as he knocked things about in the gloom, making me grin despite myself. That’s precisely why I’d chosen the opposite spot to search.

  “Try not to decapitate yourself, sir,” I called out after a rather loud thump.

  Steps drew near me. “Very amusing, Anne. But look, it appears I am the victorious one.”