He held up not one, but two large pruning shears in one of his hands. In the other, of course, he still held the much-jostled dough. He was smiling like a boy who’d just won a race.
“Shall we?”
We spent the rest of the afternoon yanking and slicing the weeds. Lord Grey started a small bonfire, to burn the green menace to ashes, and I placed the dough on a stone next to it, because, well, there was no point in wasting a good flame.
There was a muted quality to the roses while we worked. I had expected the almost physical attack of perfume, yet their scent was as pale as the snow. Many times throughout the strange afternoon, I glanced over at the young man beside me, down in the cold dirt, his clothes a sludgy mess. Despite the blood loss and the morning’s trials, his face was lit up with purpose and energy. The thorns that made me jerk back didn’t faze him one bit.
Once or twice, when I looked up to feed yet another vine to the fire, I found his eyes on my face, a quizzical look, like a dog hearing a strange noise, quickly disappearing underneath his usual expression. And, as always happened in those tense moments in which my heart took off without my permission, the invisible woman Dora had spoken of hovered before me.
We had almost finished when I began to hear dull clops nearing the house. Lord Grey and I both stood.
“Horses!” I cried.
He wiped his smudged hands over his equally dirty trousers and stepped up to the main path. In a matter of seconds, a small cart appeared, driven by a bloated man with the baldest head I’d ever seen. It was a ruddy chicken’s egg.
With a whistle, he brought the horse to a stop.
“My Lord,” he said as he huffed and lowered himself to the ground. He didn’t appear at all surprised to see the manor’s master covered in mud. He was probably used to his strangeness by now.
From where I stood, I could see large sacks resting lopsided against the cart’s walls—some brimming over with onions, others with dimpled potatoes. I hoped none of those were for us, since we had enough potatoes to see us through at least a year. Limp chicken bodies tied to one another by their necks peeked out from a crate, along with the hooves of what I thought was a wild pig.
“Hello, John,” said Lord Grey.
The man brought down two sacks lumpy with vegetables and another one, which he handed over to me, with a few duck bodies ready to roast.
“I’ve brought the usual order, my Lord, and also . . .” He rummaged through his pockets until his face cleared. He brought out two crumpled pieces of paper.
“This letter is from Ms. Simple. She asked me to bring it to you, sir.” He handed the note over. “And this one is for a Miss Anne Tinning.”
With surprise, I took it from him. From the scribble on the envelope, I could see that it was from Elsie. I smiled.
Lord Grey nodded. “Thank you, John. That will be all.”
John bowed, making me feel immensely prouder about my own curtsying, and sighed as he shuffled back up onto his cart. I wondered how such a flimsy looking structure could sustain the girth it transported.
Lord Grey’s eyes followed the cart until it disappeared. Then he gave me a sharp look and broke the letter’s seal. He began to read it out in a clear voice:
My Lord,
I regret to inform you that Peter Keery succumbed to his injuries on the 6th of December. He never regained consciousness, and the doctor had very little hope for his recovery. He will be buried on the 9th. I know you cannot leave the manor, sir, but I thought you should know. Dora and I will remain in Thistle House until we can find another position. I am very sorry, but we cannot return to Rosewood Manor after what has occurred. If you’d be so kind as to mail our references to Thistle House, we would be grateful.
I am sorry to desert my post, one I’ve had for many years, without proper leave-taking, but I will not of my own free will step foot inside the manor again. I hope his Lordship understands and will forgive a weak woman’s fears.
Your most humble servant,
Laura Simple
My hands had clasped together, crushing Elsie’s letter, as the first few words struck me. Mr. Keery was dead. That was two people the creature had erased from this earth; two men who hadn’t deserved such a cruel fate.
A laugh slithered out from the flames, low and harsh, making the day many degrees colder. Lord Grey was shaking in anger as the creature laughed.
“That’s the last person you’ve harmed,” he whispered to the flames.
“I hardly think so, August. Your pretty little companion is getting to be quite a nuisance.”
I felt unseen eyes turn to me from deep in the fire.
“Anne, dear, have you figured out that pesky name yet?” It cackled. “Would you like a hint? I’ll tell you what: I promise I’ll point you in the right direction when you are minutes from death.”
I gathered whatever courage had not been torn apart by the last few days and spoke:
“We’ll see about that, wraith.”
There was a moment of silence; even the fire appeared to stop crackling. I kept my eyes steady on its orange waves.
“Very good, Anne. August, she’s a feisty one. I can see why you fancy her. Nevertheless, she’ll be one more limp body when I’m through.”
There was a shriek, like ice cracking, and the fire blew out, leaving behind a black plume of smoke twisting in the breeze.
TWENTY-Two
I decided to wait to open Elsie’s letter. I didn’t want her words marred by Ms. Simple’s news. After I calmed down a bit from the shock, I’d be able to give them the attention they deserved.
But even while I prepared our supper, I couldn’t shake the feelings that smothered me. Not only was there the weight of grief, but also dread over the wraith’s threat. I had no doubt anymore that it would at least attempt to incapacitate me, if not kill me outright.
My hands moved with mindless jerks, taking complete control of the vegetables I was roasting and the rabbits I was slicing to accompany them.
Lord Grey had remained in the kitchen with me while I cooked, ignoring my assurances that I would be fine. As it was, I was more comfortable in the wraith’s presence than in the man’s. I hated the strange, internal bustling that began whenever I entered his vicinity; it was annoying and disconcerting to my already confused head. Lord Grey, however, seemed to be unaware of my discomfort as he sat at the scarred table, legs drawn up, knees cradling a book. I could barely see his eyes as he dipped in and out of the printed words.
He looked so young and untroubled, oblivious to everything but the story he held in his hands.
“Sir?”
He blinked. “Hmm?”
“I’m going to set the dining table while this finishes roasting.”
“No, no. Set the table here. We don’t need such a large space, do we?” He didn’t raise his eyes off the book.
“All right, sir.”
He did look up then. “What? No argument? No discussion about the proper management of the household? I think you’re losing your nerve, Anne.”
I could only stare.
“I’m teasing, Anne. Do you know what that is?”
“Yes, sir. But I’ve never been teased by a Lord.”
“Ah, well. I suppose I’m not any Lord.” His eyes glittered.
I gave him a tight smile. “No, sir. You are not.”
He held my gaze for a few seconds, then cleared his throat and returned to his book.
Opening a drawer, I brought out a blue tablecloth, white blooms woven into the fabric like cotton stars. I flung it onto the table with a soft thud and edged around to smooth it out, trying to disturb Lord Grey as little as possible.
Then I brought out silver cutlery for him and pewter for me.
As I was about to place the silver knife on the table, it slipped from my fingers with a light crash. Lord Grey and I both followed our instincts and bent to retrieve it from the floor, each unaware of the other’s movements. We thudded heads like two horned animals.
> “Damn!” he said, while I just gasped. Apart from the normal pain that followed a bump, we each got a jolt of energy flying through our veins.
I was the first one to start laughing—large gasps that shook my body until I had to kneel on the floor.
Lord Grey stared at me like I’d lost my mind, which, of course, just made me laugh harder. I collapsed against the stones, allowing myself the full release of tension, the full unwinding of tight muscles as bubbling laughter filled me. I shut my eyes and just laughed.
Soon, a crystalline voice added itself to mine and when I peeked, I saw Lord Grey laughing along with me, the knife still clutched in his hands.
Our meal was a merrier affair than the previous night’s. We seemed to have stepped through whatever boundary separated us and found ourselves on more comfortable ground.
Lord Grey helped me clear the table, which, really, with only two places settings, was not necessary. As I washed, he seemed reluctant to leave the kitchen, moving chairs around until I had to grit my teeth at the sound.
“I’m concerned about tonight,” he said.
“Well, sir, I can’t say I’m not.”
He kept pacing around the room as I dried my hands.
“What’s on your mind, sir?”
“Perhaps it is improper to a ghastly degree, but I think you should spend the night in my chambers.”
My eyes widened and I felt all the blood drain from my face. A smile curled his lips.
“Not in that fashion, Anne, for goodness’ sake! I mean, you’d be safer, we’d be safer, if we stayed in the same place.”
“That would be quite improper, sir.”
“I think, in this case, if we follow propriety, one of us will end up dead.”
I considered a moment, then shrugged. Little point in holding my honor, whatever that meant, above my life.
“Fair enough.”
“You take the bed, Anne, of course, and I’ll sleep in the antechamber. I’m sure you’re better acquainted than I as to where you might find clean sheets. I’ll leave that to you.”
“Sir, I couldn’t possibly. You’re injured and—”
He lifted his arm. “What, this thing? Nonsense. Besides, what kind of brute do you take me for, allowing a woman to sleep in an armchair while I cozy up in my bed? I promise, if I feel myself perishing from lack of comfort, I’ll wake you.”
The sarcasm was ripe around me. I bit my bottom lip and remained quiet.
With a click, Lord Grey opened the door that led to his actual bedchamber, a room I was curious to see.
It was surprisingly bare, considering how packed with books and objects the antechamber was. His bed was a large, thick creature, solid trunks of wood sustaining a full mattress under a heavy-looking, gold bedcover.
The bed was made, which astounded me. It looked as crisp and tight as if my own experienced hands had tucked it. Lord Grey smiled.
“Yes, the spoiled child knows how to arrange his bedclothes.”
I ignored him and continued my conspicuous inspection of the room. A bookcase that brushed the ceiling rested against the back wall, while a matching dresser stood nearby. A desk the color of honey was poised under the only window. There were no paintings or mirrors hanging from the walls, nothing that gave the least bit of personality to the room.
“It’s peaceful, sir,” I said.
“Yes, I think so. I can’t sleep in a cluttered space, I feel like I’m suffocating.”
I rounded on his words. “And yet, you’re insisting on sleeping in that bedlam out there.” I pointed to the antechamber door.
“I really must learn to keep my mouth shut. I’ll be fine. I’m tired enough to sleep anywhere.”
He opened the dresser’s doors like a pair of wings, and brought out a cream film of cloth, plain, and yet, as beautiful a gown as I’d ever seen.
“It would be better if you didn’t return to your room tonight. No point in coaxing the creature out. You can use this gown. No one’s ever worn it. I bought it as a gift for a . . . an acquaintance, but I never had a chance to give it to her.”
My heart froze. Of course, it had to have been meant for Miss Bellingham.
He held the fabric as if he feared it would disintegrate. He placed it on the bed and smoothed out the sleeves.
“You’d be doing me a favor. I feel as if the gown reproaches my neglect. Such beauty should not languish inside a dresser.”
Lord Grey raised his eyes to me, deep pools of dark water, regret looking out from the very bottom.
“It’s beautiful, sir,” I said, my voice catching in my throat.
“It is, isn’t it? Well,” he said, turning to the door, “if you need anything . . .”
“I know, sir.”
He nodded. “I changed my mind about you bolting the doors. I realized last night how foolish that idea was. I give you my word I will not disturb you, and, although I may not be the most trustworthy person, I mean to keep it.”
“I trust you, sir.”
He lifted one eyebrow at me and shook his head. “Poor Anne, so naive.”
I smiled at him despite the sudden darkness that had invaded my mind, and he turned, closing the door behind him without a sound.
I undid the laces on my dress and shoes, feeling my body sigh in relief. I folded my clothes, placing them on the chair by the desk, and turned to the gown on the bed.
It was exquisite. No ruffles weighed it down, no intricate lace strained the eyes, simply a cascade of wheat-colored fabric. I didn’t want to put it on, despite its beauty. Not with the knowledge that it had been meant for someone else. Someone loved.
As I picked it up, I wondered what kind of woman it had been meant for. Who could have deserved such delicate beauty? She must have been someone unusual. Most of the fashionable ladies would have considered the gown’s simplicity far below their standard. A twinge of that particular darkness twisted in my stomach. It had been meant for a woman special enough to capture Lord Grey’s affections.
I frowned at my thoughts. I had no choice in the matter; I’d already agreed. Undoing the line of pearl buttons that reached halfway down the bodice, I lifted it over my head. The fabric seemed to drip down my skin, a touch so light, it felt weightless. With a swoosh of air, it brushed the floor.
There was no mirror in the room, so I moved to the window and pulled back the curtain. Against the black night, I saw my transparent reflection.
My dark hair was stark against the gown, my eyes large. The light gold suited me much more than my old, white dress, which made me look more like a famine victim than a young woman. I attempted to smile at myself without too much success and turned back to the bed, that frightening creature that took up most of the room’s space. I brushed the soft bedcover and pulled it back to reveal the crisp sheets underneath.
I pulled the cover from the bed, and removed the used sheets with care. They didn’t look like they’d been slept in, which made me wonder how much Lord Grey actually used them, but since I’d already begun, I could change them and be done with it. In the armoire, under a pile of blankets, lay a fresh set that appeared not to have been used in a while. There was a faded lavender satchel tucked into the folds, scenting the linen. Had Lord Grey even known they were in here?
As I brought the sheets out, I felt a square of something solid inside their folds. My hand reached in and pulled the object out. It was a painting, the small image of a woman. Even in the uneven stroke of the artist’s brush, I could see the beauty reflecting off her face, a clarity to her dark eyes that drew me in. Her head was cocked slightly to the right, a cascade of auburn hair falling over one shoulder and down the sleeve of her dark wine gown.
“She’s lovely, isn’t she?”
I gasped as a draft of freezing breath stroked my ear.
“I bet she was even lovelier in person. I never had the chance to see her, unfortunately, but dear August must have gotten quite close to her, don’t you think? Enough to keep her portrait in such a private plac
e.”
I flinched and backed away from the armoire, away from the voice, even though I knew it could follow me anywhere. Was it the wraith who’d spoken, or my own heart?
“Leave me alone,” I murmured.
There was a chuckle. “As you wish, for now. Sweet dreams, little girl.” The cold dissipated, until the room was as it had been moments before. Unclenching my fingers from around the picture frame, I placed it back in the armoire, under a heavy blanket, hoping to lock my own thoughts in with it.
I moved to the chair where my everyday gown lay, took the envelope from one of its pockets, and opened it.
The letter was brief—Elsie had never been one for writing—but the paper’s scent alone brought me comfort. It smelled like herbs and the soap Elsie preferred.
With a small smile, I started to read:
Dearest Anne,
It’s been horrid here without you. I miss you something awful, and Mary does too. She pretends otherwise, but I can see her sniffling when she thinks I’m not looking. I’ve been busy plotting how to get Lady Caldwell to send me over there too. Does your employer need another maid?
It’s the strangest thing, sleeping in our room alone. I’m sure you’re better off, since my snores are not waking you up at all hours now, but I’m beginning to see that I’m a bit of a coward. Any little noise at night and I hide under the sheets. I never felt like that when you were here. I was always safe with you.
I’m sure you’ve already made friends with the entire household, but please, if you get a chance, write and tell me how everything is with you. Things must be so much calmer in the countryside.
I’m going to stop now, because the letter is already soggy, but I hope you are well and that they are treating you kindly.
Oh, by the way, have you found that handsome stranger you were looking for? And if so, pray tell me his name.
All my love,
Elsie
Her words made me smile for an instant, but then my own thoughts twisted that smile into a muffled sob. The ache of missing her mingled with the confusion I felt about everything around me. The manor, the darkness inside it, Lord Grey, the image locked in the armoire . . . nothing was clear or safe. I was lost. Even in my own head. Like my mother, I was paralyzed with fear.
The Rose Master Page 15
