Lies and Letters

by Ashtyn Newbold

  “I believe the master informed you to arrive at seven o’clock, and you are to enter through the servant doors. Never here.”

  I bit back a retort and grumbled to myself as I turned and walked down the steps. The servant’s entrance was around the back of the house. Trudging through the overgrown grass, I came to the door and pushed it open.

  The smell of ham and eggs filled my nostrils the moment I entered. I passed the kitchen, ignoring the whispers and frowns from all the servants. Without asking for direction, I found a series of stairs that led to the main floor. After wandering for several minutes, I ended up in a remote hallway at the back of the house, and had to find my way to the main rooms of the floor. I walked past a small room with an open door.

  Carefully, I leaned against the frame, out of sight, and peered around the edge. I jerked back immediately. Lord Trowbridge was sitting behind a desk, surrounded by papers and books. Calming myself, I arranged my curls and rapped my knuckles against the doorframe to get his attention. He glanced up, and I stood in plain sight.

  “Good morning, sir,” I said, maintaining a professional demeanor, as he seemed to prefer that. But I made sure my voice was still silky smooth.

  He blinked twice. “You’re early.”

  I remained in the doorway, unsure of the best way to respond. “Am I?” I sounded pathetically stupid.

  He stared at me a moment longer, then tore his gaze away and straightened a stack of papers in front of him. “Come in.”

  I tentatively walked toward his desk. I tried to give a demure smile, but it felt … strange. It felt forced and unnatural. Deciding on another tactic, I tilted my head to the side and played with one of my curls as he spoke.

  “I trust you know what will be required of you here. You will accompany Sophia everywhere she goes, you will instruct her in reading, writing, language, history, basic mathematics, and mythology. You will direct her on the pianoforte and in drawing and vocal talents.” His eyes were in a constant flicker between his desk and my outstretched neck and twirling hair. I smiled and batted my lashes.

  He cleared his throat and continued. “You will respect all other staff and teach Sophia proper manners. Specifically, you will teach her that outrageous flirting is never to be condoned. Especially toward an employer.”

  My smile fell and he looked down at his papers. I thought I saw a ghost of James’s smirk on his face. “At seven o’clock,” he emphasized the words, “my housekeeper, Mrs. Woodley, will direct you to your other tasks. You will be paid at the end of each week.”

  My face burned with embarrassment. I had never been accused of flirting before, at least by someone other than James. It seemed I was out of practice. When I remained standing there, he glanced up lazily. “You may wait in the sitting room where Mrs. Woodley will meet with you shortly.”

  Giving a polite nod, but grumbling inside, I whirled around and hurried out the door.

  So it would not be as simple as I had hoped. If he could not be won by calculation and coy smiles, then how? I had never considered any other way. I needed Mama’s help, but she happened to be hundreds of miles from here. I paused in the hall to take a shaky breath and calm my nerves. I remembered where the sitting room was from the day before, so I found it without much trouble.

  When Mrs. Woodley finally arrived, I practically jumped from my chair, eager to escape the isolation of my own troubled thoughts. She was an extremely tall woman, very thin, with eyes so large they seemed to examine every detail of my appearance before I had the chance to blink.

  She greeted me and introduced herself, then led me to the second floor. “This is Sophia’s bedchamber,” she said in a soft voice. “She will be ready soon, and you will wait here until she is presented by her maid. She has just outgrown the nursery, so you will take her to the library on the ground level where you will begin your studies. Breakfast is at ten, and you will meet in the servants’ quarters to dine there, at which point, I will give you further instruction. Do you understand?” Her eyes grew impossibly wider.

  “Yes.” It was a concise, plain answer, but that seemed to be the rule in this household.

  “Very well. I will return to my work.” Mrs. Woodley disappeared in a hustle of apron and cap, and I was alone.

  I leaned against the wall by Sophia’s door, facing the opposite side of the wall. Portraits hung in an orderly line, and I noticed Lord Trowbridge in one, standing beside a woman. She had auburn hair and piercing eyes. There was something distant in her expression that did not match Lord Trowbridge. When they stood together, there seemed to be an insurmountable gap—a misunderstanding—that drew a look of sadness from Lord Trowbridge’s eyes and a look of pride from the woman’s. She was truly beautiful, and I could only assume she was his late wife.

  The door beside me shifted, and I darted my eyes toward it. Sophia stepped out, led by the hand of a severe-looking maid. “She insisted on wearing a piece of dirty twine on her head,” the maid huffed. “I simply could not talk her out of it.”

  Sophia gave me a little grin that I returned. A bloom of endearment opened inside me at the sight of the mangled, ugly twine pinned atop her head. “Certainly not,” I said. “A princess mustn’t go without her tiara! It is bad form.” I winked at Sophia and she giggled. It was a rewarding sound. Perhaps the best way to win over Lord Trowbridge would be to win over his daughter first.

  “Come with me, Sophia, and we will begin your morning studies.” I held my hand out for her to take and she held it with a firm grip. I smiled down at her as we walked toward the staircase. She held her head upright, with her shoulders back and chin high. I wouldn’t need to teach her how to walk with elegance—she seemed to have mastered it already. Or maybe it was the twine wrapped in her curls that gave her confidence. I grinned at the thought.

  As I began teaching her, I found that she was already very intelligent, and seemed excited about the prospect of learning. At her age, I dreaded my lessons, wishing to be taking tea with Mama and her friends instead. I found myself smiling at nearly every word Sophia said, and wishing I didn’t have to try to correct the adorable pronunciation errors in her delivery.

  Eating breakfast and later, lunch, with the servants was a new experience, and not one I particularly enjoyed. By the time I returned home that afternoon, I was exhausted.

  “Is Lord Trowbridge already smitten?” Clara asked me at dinner. I thought I caught a tone of sarcasm in her voice.

  “No.”

  She chewed and swallowed. Her eyebrows lifted. “Surely he is already planning the wedding.” She chuckled and I glared at her.

  “He seemed to hate me, actually.”

  “Oh, dear. Was a curl out of place?”

  I still felt like I was being mocked. “It will take time, but he will realize I am a perfect fit for him and his daughter. She adores me, you know.”

  Her eyes turned downward and then flashed with pity. “Is he the sort of man you could ever love?”

  My mouth dropped open in disbelief. “You are still obsessing over the idea of love, are you? Have you seen it? I declare I never have. Love in a marriage is a far off exception, never the rule. I suggest you stop dreaming of it, and stop advising me to care. I never have loved, and I never will.”

  She paused in thought for a long moment. “Mr. Wortham’s note. He must have been in love before.”

  “More likely it was a foolish adoration of some woman he hardly knew.”

  She sighed and stood from her chair, lifting her plate and carrying it to a small basin to clean. “I admire your strength of mind sometimes, Charlotte. I could never do what you are trying to accomplish.”

  I rolled my eyes, annoyed by her attempts to advise me discreetly against fulfilling Mama’s request. “You could never do it because he wouldn’t look twice at you.”

  She scowled and scrubbed her plate, splashing water over the edges of the basin.

  I drove my fork into my fish. I thought I would be through with eating fish by now, but it w
as the most affordable option, and without my wages coming for a week, my plate would be covered in soggy scales for a few more days at least. The fish reminded me of James and his words today about how I hadn’t proven him wrong. It seemed I had claimed the final word with Clara, but not with James.

  I explored my mind for an idea—anything to put that infuriating man below me once again. I looked out the window at the waning light above the distant coast. The fishermen were tiny dots as they lowered their traps into the water to remain overnight. An idea struck me, and a slow smile curled my lips.

  Energized by new excitement, I stood from the table and walked over to Clara. “Wash this.” I handed her my plate.

  She impaled me with a look. “No.”

  I had forgotten that Clara no longer bent to my requests. Kneeling down beside her at the basin, I painstakingly scrubbed my dishes, disgusted by the wrinkles the water put in my fingers. I debated whether or not to tell Clara of my plan, and decided against it. I was to do it alone.

  So when everything was clean, I went to my bedchamber and closed the door. The sooner I slept, the sooner I could prove James wrong. The fishermen, usually including James, always met at the docks early in the morning to empty their traps. If I made it sooner, I could empty them all without assistance, and leave the bags of fish on the shore, with a note from me. I giggled against my pillow. James was in for a surprise, to be sure.

  Chapter 10

  “We know what we are, but we know not what we may be.”

  I didn’t sleep. I had been exhausted from my first day of work, but every time my eyes closed, they opened again with undying excitement. I knew it was absurd to be so anxious, but it was as if there were a wild thing inside of me, thirsting for an adventure full of daring and victory. Stealing the love letter from James had not been enough. He needed to see that I was capable of more than just quiet deceit in a moment luck brought to me. I could formulate my own plans and carry them out without any qualms.

  At four, I rolled out of bed, careful not to rustle the blankets or creak the floorboards. Clara would surely object to my outing, and I didn’t want to awaken her. The house was black, and I didn’t dare light a candle, so I reached out my hands to feel for my writing desk. I found a sheet of parchment and my quill and wrote a quick note to James. I was sure my penmanship was appalling, but I doubted he would notice. He would be focused on the words, not their appearance. I giggled again, but slapped my hand over my mouth to mask the sound. When I finished, I stood and held the note up to my small window, letting the pearly moonlight bounce off the small, misshapen words.

  To Mr. James Wortham,

  I grew tired of ‘pulling a needle through fabric’ and decided to assist you. Have I proven you incorrect? If not, please let me know what I must do, because surely I am capable.

  Always at your service,

  C.L.

  I folded the paper and set it on my desk while I dressed. I wore my darkest dress, an emerald green that would hopefully help me blend in with the darkness outside. I didn’t worry much over my hair, letting it fall over my shoulders with just two pins to keep it from falling in my eyes. I retrieved my note and tucked it in the top of my sleeve. I didn’t trust my boot to keep it dry once I was near the water.

  With all the arrangements in place, I grabbed my cloak and sneaked down the stairs and out the front door. I was pierced by the coldness of the morning; chill, damp air threaded around my arms and legs as I walked. Tendrils of light threaded through the sky in the distance, indicating that the sun was trying to rise. I had roughly one hour to empty the traps, leave my note, and return home unnoticed.

  On mornings when I couldn’t sleep, I often watched out my window as the men arrived by the coast. It was always half past five, and they always pulled the traps out one at a time, lifted them to the sand, opened the latches, and dumped the contents into crates. It seemed simple enough.

  But now that I was fully awake and shivering in the cold, I was beginning to doubt the wisdom of my plan. I banished the worry from my mind. If I arrived at the docks and realized it was too difficult, I could return home and James would never know that I had failed. But the prospect of success bore me forward with a devious smile pulling on my lips.

  I could see the outline of the coast in the distance, a jagged line between water and land, garnished with rocky cliffs and deep green plants, dulled by the lack of light. My heart pounded hard in my chest, and I walked faster. Fear was catching up to me now, stepping on my heels as I hurried down the incline of stone and dirt to reach the boats. It was vastly improper to be out—especially at this hour—alone. I was beginning to wish I had invited Clara to accompany me. The task would be easier with an extra set of hands.

  I surveyed the area with a fast sweep of my gaze, half-expecting to see a pair of menacing eyes glowing in the dark. Relieved, I determined that I was alone. Calling on the excitement I felt before, I rushed forward and stepped onto the thin wooden docks.

  There was enough light now to see six heavy ropes bobbing in the water with gentle waves. I reached forward and tested one of the ropes with my strength, and it moved slightly. I pulled harder. The worn rope scratched against my hands, and I felt it lift only to drop again with the weight of dozens of threatened fish. After taking a step back, I took a breath, rubbing my palms against my skirts. It would be difficult, but not impossible.

  Stepping off of the docks, I moved quickly toward the boats. They were anchored to shore, where several empty wooden crates were stacked. I lifted them out and positioned them along the edge of the water where I could easily reach them once I pulled the traps out of the water.

  Satisfied with the arrangement, I stepped back to the docks and onto the slimy, moss-riddled boards. The water level seemed to become drastically deeper just a few feet away from where the traps were placed, so I pulled on the ropes to drag the cages farther into the sea, where I could rely on the water to make the load lighter for as long as possible, before they showed their true weight once in air. After rolling up my sleeves, I grasped the first rope and tugged. I had to lean back for added weight.

  The trap rose higher in the water, and I moved my hands down the rope for a better grip and pulled again. The top of the trap had come into my view now, angry, rusted metal. Inside, the brown shiny shells of some sea creature came into view. I couldn’t tell what it was in the light, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. Grunting, I heaved the trap onto the docks, but only halfway. I stopped to catch my breath and gasped when I noticed the rope sliding out of its knot around the handle of the trap.

  I dropped the rope and lunged forward. The trap was slipping, rattling over the edge, inches from dropping back into the water, with nothing tethering it to my reach. Without thinking, I fell forward and thrust my fingers between the bars to stop it from falling. The weight of the cage was too much, and it pulled me forward by my hands, wedged inside the trap. I cried out in pain. Jerking one hand from between the bars, I used it to grasp desperately at the edge of the docks.

  My other hand was holding all the weight now, and the trap crashed against the underside of the docks. I screamed, trying to twist my hand free, but the trap only clamped harder on my fingers. Pain shot through my hand like millions of jagged knives and the edges of my vision sparked in black and white. I pulled against the trap, hard, but that brought on a series of popping noises that only intensified the pain and flashed stars in front of my eyes. The sound of sobbing reached my ears, but I was unsure if it was coming from my own voice. My arm was on fire, and my head was clouded by tears and heat. I didn’t know if I could still feel my fingers.

  Crying out, I shook my hand roughly, with all my strength, and felt the trap sliding away. The change was abrupt, and the new onslaught of pain intense. I was held only by the fingers now, and I bit my lip to focus on something other than the pain. With one last hoarse scream, I shook my arm at the elbow and released my hand from the trap’s unrelenting teeth.

  The water seem
ed to shift as the trap sunk, glowing with the dull morning sun. My head pounded, flashing between dark and light. Sharp, searing pain was my only anchor to consciousness and I gripped it tightly as I struggled to lift my hand from the water. Afraid of what I would see, I moved backward on the docks, still lying on my belly, dragging my arm in the lapping waves. I blinked hard against the urge to faint. Something wasn’t right.

  I looked down at the water. Streamers of red followed my arm as it moved, and clouds of pink rose to the surface where I was before. Terror flooded in my chest and I staggered to my knees, raising my hand out of the water in one swift motion. My vision blurred one last time, and I saw a faint outline of my hand, dripping with water at first, then blood, and more blood. Something was missing. Something isn’t right.

  Then I tipped into the water, joining the waves of pink and landing hard on my back where the water was only a few inches deep. A sheet of parchment floated behind me, reminding me of a dead leaf falling, falling, falling.

  Loud voices echoed in my head like a gong—deep tones I recognized but couldn’t quite place. Strong arms pulled me from the water. And a haunting lullaby put me to sleep.

  z

  “That should do for now.” A grainy voice swam in my head, scraping the surface but never quite reaching. “When she awakens I will administer more laudanum. I had hoped an amputation wouldn’t be necessary, but she slept through it, thank the heavens. The pain will be intense, but she should sleep again under the medication.”

  “Will she be all right?” The new voice belonged to Clara.

  “It appears so. It will be a long healing process, and she will need plenty of rest to recover from the blood loss. It is most fortunate that you were there at such an opportune time, Mr. Wortham. Otherwise she might have bled to death or drowned.”

  A whimper from Clara followed the words.

  “That will be enough for now, Mr. Watkins.” James’s rich, low voice caught my attention.

  My eyelids fluttered, and I was aware of the tiny movement as if I hadn’t moved at all for a long period of time.