by Kari Edgren
“How old are you?” I asked, inadvertently giving voice to my thoughts. The words hung in the air for a split second before I realized the mistake. “Pray forgive me. I didn’t mean to be rude.”
She only laughed. “Five and twenty if the family bible is to be believed. Though I confess no personal memory of the day.”
“Of course not. I should never have asked.”
“Quite the contrary. You should feel at liberty to ask any question as there’s much to learn after such an isolated upbringing.” She fell silent for a moment. “For starters, I’ll need to teach you how to deal with Cailleach’s hounds on your own, in case you’re ever caught without Brigid’s knife. A lower stance often works best as it keeps them from lunging and knocking you off balance.”
Or slamming my head into a wall. I would never forget the feel of Brigid’s knife and how easily it had slid into Mr. Chubais’s heart. Nor the searing anger that erupted out of nowhere. Tonight though, there had been no weapon, no blood, not even a fight. Just a single yelp and the creature lay dead. “How did you kill that hound?”
Her smile returned, a little more devious than usual. “I’ve learned that it’s as easy to stop a heart as it is to heal one. Easier in fact.” She held her hand up, palm toward me. Moving her fingers playfully, she swiped it quick as lightening into her lap. “But you’ve got to be fast or they’ll have your throat out in a thrice.”
I stared at her, aghast. “You...you used power from the Otherworld?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“But that’s forbidden. You could lose your birthright.”
Cate offered nothing in her own defense, just raised a brow and gave me a knowing look. Who is the pot to call the kettle black?
The truth came crashing down around me, knocking me right off the moral high ground. My sins were greater. She may have harmed one of Cailleach’s hounds, but I had harmed another person. Dropping my eyes, I continued to twist my ring. “Did your spies tell you what I did to Julian in the garden?” How I used my power against him.
The carriage had slowed to a more reasonable pace. From the sound of cobblestones beneath the wheels, we were back in the city, each minute bringing me closer to home and the sweet escape of sleep. The guilt was too much, and I kept my eyes down to avoid Cate’s gaze.
“Now that you mention it,” she said off-handedly. “I did hear something about an argument.”
My cheeks burned with embarrassment. I wanted to sink into the carriage seat, away from her penetrating gaze. “He grabbed my arm and I used my power to make him let go.”
“I see,” Cate said. “So you used your power in self-defense.”
“The reason doesn’t matter. My temper got the best of me and I misused my gift.” That was the truth, plain and simple. I sniffed and brushed away an errant tear.
Cate watched me, her head cocked slightly to one side. “My spy must have spoken in error,” she said after a moment. “From what I heard, Julian kissed you and then refused to release your arm after repeated requests. Did he also ask for help?”
“No, but—”
“But nothing,” Cate said, cutting me off. “He was holding you against your will, not asking to be healed. Do you understand the difference? Brigid would never punish you for protecting yourself.”
I opened my mouth to protest, then snapped it shut. My world felt oddly tilted, and I blinked several times trying to orient up from down, right from wrong. The very idea that my actions could be justified sent my moral compass spinning. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”
Cate reached over and patted my hand reassuringly. “Put your mind at ease, Selah. Your oath remains unblemished. Brigid shall have no complaint against your behavior tonight.”
My hand grew warm and tingly as an image of Brigid’s garden came into my head. I saw Brigid sitting beside the sacred spring, a long finger trailing along the water’s surface. She looked up and smiled at me, beckoning me forward to partake of her power. Enthralled by such pleasant musings, I nearly missed the subtle movement on the bench beside me. Releasing a startled cry, I jerked my head around to peer into the far corner. Darkness filled the space, with one shadow heavier than the others.
Cate held up the lantern, illuminating a young boy, his knees pulled up tightly against his chest. We were not alone, had not been alone since first getting into the carriage.
“Most adults overlook children,” Cate said, “but I’ve found them to be a tremendous asset, so small and quiet as mice when they want to be. Do you remember Johnny from the dressmaker’s shop?”
I stared at the child, astounded that I had missed him earlier. “Yes, of course I do. Was he the spy in the garden tonight?”
“That particular spy is a boy of mine who recently got a position in the palace as a pageboy. He is one of many who keeps me well informed of the goings on at court.” She smiled. “Johnny came here tonight to tell me that Deri has been spotted loitering around my bakehouse. Chances are she’s gone by now, but I thought it best to have a look before returning home.” Her expression turned wistful. “My bath will have to wait for another hour or so.”
My mouth fell open in surprise as I looked back to Cate. “You own a bakehouse?”
Cate laughed, and I was instantly reminded of a hundred little silver bells. “We may heal them,” she said, “but unless they are fed and taught a trade, all of our work will be for naught.”
I stared at her in disbelief. Noblewomen did not own trade shops of any variety. Did they?
The carriage slowed to a stop. The door swung open, and Johnny scurried out before I had a chance to move. Cate got out next, assisted by the driver, who then turned to help me.
“Good evening, Miss Kilbrid,” he said. “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”
Glancing up, I recognized the smithy. “Mr. Faber!” I said, surprised by his presence. “What are you doing here? Where is the other driver?” Mr. Faber’s long hair fell unbound past his shoulders and appeared even more unruly than I remembered, leaving me to guess that he had come straight from bed.
“I rode over to the palace with Johnny to find Lady Dinley. The other driver brought my horse back into town.” He turned to speak with Cate and I noticed the sword at his side. “I’ll do a quick walk around to see if anyone is about.”
“Thank you, Tom.” Cate took my hand. “Come, Selah, let’s see who’s still awake inside.”
With the lantern in one hand, she led the way across the narrow lane. Our full silk skirts swished from side to side and our heels clicked nosily against the stone pathway. She stopped at a shallow recess about midway down the side of a brick building and knocked on a large wooden door.
“The children were surely put to bed hours ago as they have to be up before the sun.” The door opened, and our light grew two-fold from another lantern held up by an older man. “Good evening, Mr. Larken,” Cate said. “Johnny told me you had a visitor tonight.”
The man moved aside, opening the door wider. “Thank ye for coming, milady. We’ve had quite a fright this evening. One of the children claimed a sighting, though I never did lay eyes on the lass myself.”
Stepping into a hallway, I saw an old woman standing behind Mr. Larken. “’Tis a relief yer here, milady,” the old woman said to Cate. “All of the little ones are put to bed except for Molly Evans. She won’t stop crying for fear of dying from the pox like poor Hannah. I’ve tried warm milk and soothing words, but she won’t be having none of it.”
Cate sighed. “Bring me to her, Mrs. Larken. I’ll see what can be done.”
We followed after the old man and woman, passing first through what appeared to be an oversized kitchen with the remnants of a fire in an open hearth on one wall. I had time to take in the massive wooden table and stacks of mixing bowls and cooking pots before entering the adjoinin
g room.
The air was pleasantly warm and smelled of sweetness and bread. This second room was as large as the kitchen with two enormous bake ovens flanking the outer wall. Hot coals glowed red from beneath a pile of ash, banked for the night and waiting to be relit in the morning.
Mrs. Larken stopped near the first oven and pointed to a door on the far side of the room. “She’s hiding in the pantry, milady, under a pile of flour sacks.”
Cate looked at me. “Molly doesn’t take well to strangers. Why don’t you stay out here with Mr. Larken? I should only be a few minutes.”
I nodded and Cate began to weave her way across the floor with Mrs. Larken in tow. The light from her lantern illuminated numerous dark bundles as she passed by, lying helter-skelter across the stone floor on top of thin straw mattresses. I counted twenty-seven forms in all, their heads just visible from beneath gray wool blankets. The door opened and the faint sound of crying drifted across the room before the two women stepped into the pantry, closing the door behind them.
“Poor lamb,” Mr. Larken said, his voice thick with kindness. “Little Molly is our newest girl. Come a few weeks back when her mam died of the bloody flux. We do all we can for her, but some take more time to adjust than others.”
I looked again at all the sleeping bodies, not sure what to make of the scene. “Where did they all come from?”
Mr. Larken laughed softly. “Lady Dinley collects them like other ladies collect hairpins. From all over London, I warrant, though she finds most of them in the rookeries. Orphans, the lot of them, and destined for beggary or worse if not for her ladyship’s charity.”
“Like Liza at the dressmakers,” I said, recalling the girl from earlier.
“Aye, but Liza Boote weren’t one of ours. If my memory serves, she was brought up in one of the sewing shops.”
“Sewing shops?” I said, surprised by the revelation. “She owns sewing shops too?”
Mr. Larken scratched at a patch of dry skin beneath his thinning gray hair. “Bakeshops and sewing shops is just the beginning. Lady Dinley has children placed from one end of London to the other in all sorts of occupations. I’ve heard it said that there ain’t a trade in London that don’t have her finger in it.”
The child nearest my feet rolled over and then nestled back into the mattress.
“When it’s cold out, we put their beds in the bake room to keep warm. The king himself don’t sleep so snugly as these little ones do here. Lady Dinley sees to it that all the children are properly taken care of. Not one in her care will spend a night on the street or with an empty stomach. And even those who still got their parents always find a hot meal at her door.”
My impression of Cate exploded into new proportions. Goddess Born...Good Samaritan...”How long has she been doing this?”
“Her mam first started taking in orphans some thirty years back. When she died of consumption, her ladyship took over their care.”
My brow creased. If Cate had the gift of healing, why did her mother die from a slow, painful disease? “Did you know Lady Dinley’s mother?”
“Aye,” Mr. Larken said. “She hired me and the missus to oversee the bakehouse when it was first built in 1705.”
“And when did you meet Lady Dinley?”
“Nigh on ten years ago when her mam died. Oh, la,” he chuckled, “I still remember the day she first showed at the front door, no more than a year out of short dresses and ready to take over where her mam left off. I had my doubts, but her ladyship took to the challenge like a duck to water.”
“And she never came around before that?”
He shook his head. “No, miss. Her ladyship lived on the Continent with an aunt and only came to London after her mam were laid to rest.” His eyes flickered to the pantry door. “Don’t think I’m speaking out of turn, Miss Kilbrid, but from what I heard there weren’t no love lost between the two them, despite their being kin.”
“How awful.”
“Aye, ’tis a tragedy, to be sure. I knew them both and except for the difference in years, there weren’t no mam and daughter more alike. Two peas from the same pod, the missus would say.”
Another child stirred near my feet, mumbling a few dream-induced words before falling silent again. I stared at the fair head peeking out from beneath the blanket, momentarily struck by the sad circumstances that had led each child to this room. “It’s unfortunate Lady Dinley didn’t know of the illness. I wonder if she regrets not having the chance to reconcile with her mother in the end.” Or to keep her from dying.
Mr. Larken shifted his weight from foot to foot. “The illness weren’t no secret, but even so, neither one made any attempt to contact the other.” He shook his head. “From my experience, Miss Kilbrid, indifference don’t breed regret, and that’s about as much as I think they ever felt for the other.”
I nodded, but said nothing in return.
“Ahh, here they come,” Mr. Larken said. “And it looks like her ladyship has calmed our little Molly.”
Cate walked toward us with a small form curled up in her arms. Reaching an empty pallet, I watched as she knelt down and tucked Molly beneath the blanket, placing a kiss on the little girl’s forehead before standing.
Goddess Born...good Samaritan...indifferent to her own mother.
The woman was a living, breathing enigma. And the more I learned about her, the less I seemed to know.
Chapter Eleven
Upon My Honor
I followed Cate upstairs to bed, so tired I had to drag each foot over the marble steps. In truth, after napping much of the afternoon on Mr. Faber’s sofa, I expected to feel sprightlier. But since leaving the bakehouse, a heavy weariness had settled inside me, infecting body and mind alike. My limbs felt weighted with rocks, and my brain turned to a knotted lump from the tangle of thoughts sitting inside it. The various events and faces from the evening blended together into an incoherent mess, all of which I was desperately trying to forget.
Arriving inside my room, I slid the iron bolt into place, more as a symbolic gesture than any real means of protection from the outside world. A small fire crackled in the hearth, drawing me like a sleepwalker to the armchair where I sank down into the welcoming softness. Firelight leapt across the hearthrug to warm the front of my skirts, but could do nothing against the raw despair that had settled inside me.
Why does everything have to be so complicated?
Life at Brighmor seemed relatively carefree, even boring at times when compared to my first week in London. So maybe Edgar Sweeney and Nathan Crowley had both tried to kill me last summer, not to mention Mr. Chubais. At least I had the benefit of home and community to see me through. Across the Atlantic, I had one distracted friend, a resentful fiancé, and more trouble than I knew what to do with. Slumping farther into the chair, I groaned inwardly from the single, invariable factor from the past six months.
What is wrong with me?
No matter where I went, trouble followed, nipping at my heels like a starving dog. It beggared the mind that I had almost died twice since arriving in London, once by murder and the other by accident. Yet, even these two occurrences had only added to the ever-expanding net of danger and deceit being drawn around me. Unwitting cohorts, the Tuatha Dé and the English peerage seemed determined to make my life a living hell. Or end it altogether, depending on who or what happened to get to me first. It certainly didn’t help that I had managed to gain about ten enemies for every friend thus far. And with every passing day, these two groups were becoming increasingly difficult to distinguish between.
A sudden swell of homesickness drenched my already dampened spirits. Why did I ever leave Brighmor? I hated London, and wanted nothing more than to get married and go home. Not that anyone gave a flying fig what I wanted. With a heavy sigh, I wished them all to the devil, both human and god, along with their various des
cendants. Cate. Julian. The king. Amelia. Callieach. The little wretch. Henry. One-by-one, each face rose up for a split second, only to sink back into the graying numbness of fatigue.
Except for Henry. He remained at the forefront of my thoughts, and I yearned to see him despite his previous behavior. But did he wish to see me? That wicked thought cut close to my heart. To be sure, he had come looking for me in the palace courtyard, but did that mean he was ready to make peace from our argument at All Hallows? Or did he still think me unnatural? Is that why he had waited so long to defend me against Amelia?
He is not leath’dhia. You were never meant to be together. I winced involuntarily. Those were Julian’s words, not mine. So why had I heard them in my own voice? The knot pulled even tighter in my brain as the fire blurred through a veil of tears. Closing my eyes, I leaned my head against the chair.
“Blast it, Henry!” I cried. “Why must you be such a twit?”
I sensed the presence a split second before a shadow fell across my face. My eyes flew open to reveal a pair of men’s breeches. “Oh!” I cried in alarm. Jerking my gaze up the powerfully built body, Henry’s striking features came into focus. “Oh!” I said again, this time jumping to my feet and bringing us within a foot of the other. “When did you get here?”
“An hour ago. I came directly from the palace.” He lifted his hand and cupped my chin. “Selah, you must know that I had no inclination of Amelia’s intentions tonight. If I had...” He shook his head, leaving the remaining words unspoken.
Conflicting emotions tugged at my heart. I wanted to kiss him and beat him to a bloody pulp all in the same minute. Silently, I studied his eyes, searching their green depths for the missing words. What would you have done differently? Intervened before I had been publicly humiliated? Stayed by my side instead of abandoning me to the wolves? Try as I might, I couldn’t consider these other possibilities without first recalling what had actually occurred. In a blink, the room grew overly warm, almost stifling, as a rush of angry blood flooded my cheeks.
