“Can’t we celebrate here instead?” I pouted somewhat petulantly, folding my arms as he unlocked the double doors that lead to the street, errant snow already trying to gain entrance.
“Of course not, how would that be a celebration? No, we must return to Hendrik's, to the place where we met and where both our fortunes changed. It will be very fitting, don't you think?” he hummed, turning to grin at me, his teeth today white, appearing like a young child's teeth until seen up close, where it was revealed that each one was carved as the weeping face of a woman.
“I suppose it would be, but so would simply staying home. We could drink tea here…” I trailed off, knowing nothing I could say would dissuade him, so instead I helped him to push open the door, guiding the sleigh and hounds onto the street as the snow buffeted my bare face.
I couldn't explain to him my misgivings, how I was still haunted by the sight of the spectres despite his assurances that they were no more than my mind’s fractures. That to leave the safety of the house left me feeling exposed, to my memories and to further attack.
I waited in the sleigh while he closed the doors, his step buoyant as he hauled himself up beside me. I couldn't stop the tentative smile from spreading across my face then, catching his enthusiasm just as I had the first time we had rode together. Much like that first time, the roads were caked in snow, the night-time blizzards causing our cheeks to become sore and red as we thrust through the weather. The sleigh cut across the bridges, the hounds galloping and barking with delight. The tall houses to either side of us and the thin streams were lost to our eyes, merely hints of bright shapes amongst the prevailing white. I shuffled closer to him for warmth, our furs making us appear as one, my dark curls whipping around my face as the sleigh sped alongside the Cymone. Every shop we passed was shuttered tight, bright colours dimmed in the night, the streets empty and newly fallen snow untouched.
“Won’t Hendrik's be shut, Barnaby?” I called, having to raise my voice to be heard over the rush of the gale, my fingers gripping the furs tightly.
“Of course!” he laughed, turning to look at me as we sped over a bridge, his hair covered in spots of snow like confetti.
“Well, how we will get tea?” I asked, frowning as he continued to laugh.
He didn’t explain himself, even as we pulled up alongside the shop itself, the painted sirens on either wall looking rather forlorn in the night, their lusty expressions hooded. It was no different to the rest of the street, the painted shutters drawn and the sign above the door swinging madly in the wind, the opening times just about visible on it.
Barnaby paid this little attention however, leaving the sleigh and strolling towards the entrance, ignoring me as I sat huddled in my furs with a bemused expression on my face. He raised his fist, knocking on the door several times in quick succession, pausing for a moment before repeating his actions.
“Barnaby, what are you doing?” I hissed. “They will all be abed!”
The third time he did this, we heard movement from behind the door, the echo of locks being drawn back before it cracked open. From my position on the sleigh I couldn't see or hear anything, but Barnaby leaned closer, whispering to whoever was behind it. I couldn't quite believe it when the door opened fully, admitting Barnaby despite the ridiculous hour.
“Angora, come!” he called over his shoulder, disappearing into the darkness. He left me scrambling to alight so that I could pull the cover over the sleigh, my furs swaddling me as I hurried, fearful I might get left outside.
Hendrik's Tea Shop was a different beast at night, the bright lamps and flowers carefully packed away so that the chairs could be flipped and put up on the tables. All the different flavours of teas in jars lined up behind the counter and the menus stacked by the till. It appeared so much less than it was without the wares on display, without wealthy customers filling it with their expectations and laughter. As the shutters were drawn, shadows crept across the floor and the rich scent of tea leaves couldn’t dispel the gloomy atmosphere.
“This way, Master,” murmured the tired man that had answered the door, his shirt hurriedly done up, a button misplaced so that none of them sat correctly, and the laces of his boots undone. He kept his eyes to the ground as he took our furs from us, draping them over one arm and gesturing towards our table, before pulling the chairs down for us so that we could sit. If he was angry at being woken up in the middle of the night, he didn’t show any hint of it, before leaving us sat in the dark to fetch candles and menus.
“Barnaby—” I began, but halted at the sight of tired waiters coming towards us, laying the table with practised speed as they hid their yawns behind their hands. I guess it was lucky for us that this was a family business and all its staff were present. A vase of flowers was placed in the centre, candles in curled sticks with blazing pink flames giving us light and glass teacups and cutlery placed before each of us. The squall of activity was brief, all but one waiter melting into the shadows.
“Due to the hour, we have no cake to offer you. Please accept my greatest apologies, Master.” He bowed, his voice hushed. “We do have all our teas at your disposal. Please allow us to give you your first pot on the house to make up for any disappointment.”
“Very well, bring us a menu,” Barnaby replied and nodding, the waiter departed. The candles and flowers had done something to brighten the mood of the place, though the ease and flippancy with which he had made Hendrik's open its door for us had made me uncomfortable, a feeling that wouldn't be banished by mere candlelight. Shouldn't we be apologising for waking them up? I understood why they had relented to his demands, why he had thought he could even wake them in the first place, because he was a master and as a result, untouchable. It didn’t make it right however.
Perhaps, in reference to our previous conversation, he was doing this to show me what sort of future awaited me, but if this was meant to dazzle me, it was falling wide of its mark. The waiter returned with menus and we ordered tea, Delight for Barnaby and Hope for me, at his insistence, as it was the first tea I had tried. It was only when we had steaming tea pots before us and my clawed fingers were gripping my full teacup that he noticed my demeanour.
“You are not enjoying yourself,” he stated, leaning forward to catch my eye as my head was tilted forward.
“No, no, this is very lovely, I just…” I sighed, taking a sip of my tea, the feeling of hope unspooling within my stomach, filling my head and pushing my reservations to the side. “I really love my boots, by the way, I don’t think I thanked you for them, or for my clothes, so thank you.”
“No need, you must look presentable to clients after all,” he said though he smiled, pleased. He didn’t mention my change of subject, perhaps already able to sense my misgivings about being here. “You are no longer a Pariah, or poor for that matter. You must begin to expect more in life, Angora.”
The tea helped to buoy my mood but it was still not the celebration he had hoped for, the hope coursing through me only making me thoughtful and reflective, musing upon how despite the rapid and wonderful changes in my life recently, perhaps hope had still been the right tea choice. I wasn’t far from my worries, the ghosts of that night in the tunnels still chasing me, the shame and disappointment on my parents’ faces still burned into my mind’s eye. Instead of facing those problems, I felt as if I had run from them and was now pretending that they didn’t exist, hoping time and distance would take the sting from them and lessen the pain.
“I’m sorry Barnaby, I’m not much company, am I,” I whispered, draining my second cup of tea and meeting his eyes across the table. “I’m just thinking of my family, of how they must expect me to be dead…”
“It is for the best; your talents would have only been wasted in that life and masters are solitary creatures; they have no family but the teeth they create,” he hummed, pouring me a fresh cup of tea and adding cream and flower petals before gently pushing it towards me.
“Isn't that lonely?” I wondered, th
e memory of my family pushed aside by that of Gillis, his rough kisses and easy laughter. I found that thinking of him didn’t hurt as it had in the days following the attack. Work and exhaustion had done much to keep him from my mind, but now I was only full of regret. That I had not seen through his sweet lies, that he had thought he needed to harm me in such a way, to take what I would have gladly given if only he had been gentle, if only he had asked.
“Yes, but now I have you,” he spoke softly, his mouth curving into a smile, though his expression remained sad.
“Yes, you do.” I nodded, forcing a smile onto my face and raising my teacup to my mouth, the heavy scent of petals and tea filling my nostrils.
Barnaby had accepted me when no one else had, sheltered me despite the shame it could have brought him and for that he had earned my friendship and love, in a way that even my family had not. I attempted to brighten the mood, discussing Lady Bethany’s designs before beginning to muse on the desire for my own teeth. He played along, forgetting the sullen atmosphere, words hanging unspoken between us while we finished our pots of tea, petals stuck to my bare gums. Dawn was breaking when he decided it was time for us to return home, standing and stretching, his tail flicking absent-mindedly. I felt a pang of pity for the waiters, knowing it would not be long before the shop would be truly opening, but I could do nothing, Barnaby tasking them with fetching our furs and leading us out into the street.
The snow had begun to subside as it always did in the early hours, no longer violent and frightful but instead resembling something from a children's tale, capping the buildings like icing, icicles hanging like jewels from window ledges and banisters. The deep snow on the street was undisturbed and I took great pleasure in being the first to add my footsteps to it, a path of them leading to the sleigh. The hounds greeted us excitedly, licking Barnaby's hand as I pulled the covering back so that we could sit.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a figure stood down one of the alleys and I glanced up. I expected it to be imagined, or at worst, one of the spectres that had been haunting me, but it was only a man. Tall and hunched in his dark brown coat, his hands holding it closed tightly. His face was hidden by the shadows that still clung to the night, but as I watched, he stepped forward, the newly risen sun illuminating his profile.
Gillis.
He tilted his head, arching a brow and grinning at me, and it was as if nothing had happened. I was merely late to meet him and I would rush across the street and wrap my arms around him, his kiss the only warmth in the freezing morning. For a second, only a second, I felt as if I could go to him, and by doing so, I could return to that life, but reality soon came crashing around me, shattering the temptation.
“No!” I gasped, reeling backwards, knocking into the shutters of Hendrik's in horror, fearful that he would lunge for me, rip more of myself from me like a savage animal. That he could appear so normal, showing no sign of the monster that had marked me so, brought bile to the back of my throat and caused my hands to shake. I had thought I had been coping, that I had been able to let go of my anger and terror, but seeing him had brought it all rushing forth once more.
Barnaby moved before me, his questions lost to the ringing in my ears, his grip on my shoulders too tight, too much of a reminder of that night.
When I finally looked up, fear driving me as much as anger, Gillis was gone, melting into the new morning.
9
I spent the day in bed, harrowed and distraught, while Barnaby insisted it had just been my mind, summoning Gillis like smoke before me. It had seemed so real though, so perfectly real that I found it hard to listen to his explanations. Once again, he claimed that it was because my memories were creating visions, my subconscious trying to understand what had befallen me, but as time went by, I believed this less and less. The visions of mutilated people, hurt as I had been, could have been that perhaps, but Gillis had been there, I was sure of it. It filled me with dread, that he would come for me, slinking through the house and turning the knob on my door. Those pliers and his hard line of a mouth came to me in flashes, my whole body shaking under the covers.
Barnaby tried to coax me into the workroom with the prospect of working on my teeth finally, but I couldn’t bear to leave my room, feeling if not safe within it then at least secure with no windows and only the door to watch. He relented and spent the day away from me, returning with food and tea every so often like I was merely ill, not consumed by fright. I couldn’t eat however, the food remaining on the tray by my armchair, and what tea I could drink was tasteless in my mouth.
I had thought that my fear on the streets was bad but at least I could have run, hidden in any number of places, whereas here I was trapped. If Gillis didn't know who Barnaby was, it wouldn't be hard for him to find out from others, as every master’s movements and locations were known to all with an interest, and then by extension, he would discover where I was. Whether he would do so was not something I could be sure of, but the mere fact that he could was enough to make me sick, my stomach churning as I envisioned him dragging me back to that dank room beneath a Bethel.
I slipped in and out of sleep, exhausted by the previous day’s work and our night at Hendrik's, but my dreams gave me no rest. Visions of dried flowers swung before me, hot candle wax burning my fingers as I crawled over the blood saturated mattress. My jaw ached, blood pouring from my mouth, making my breathing into gasps and wheezes. All around me my teeth were scattered, roots bare, each one laying in a pool of red.
Hands suddenly grabbed me, pulling me back onto the mattress by my calves, nails digging into my skin, my tail thrashing wildly at my assailant while I attempted to crawl away, my screams wet with spilling blood.
I woke silently, grasping at my chest with both hands and alert to my surroundings. The underground room was gone, as was the danger, but my heart continued to beat rapidly and my eyes darted around my room. The fire had died, only small flashes of embers left amongst the ash, and my room was now cast into complete darkness. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I began to see the furniture along with my tray of uneaten food. Some of the terror that had been coursing through me was abating in the face of these familiar things. I attempted to relax in the pillows, tugging the cover up under my chin and rolling onto my side to get comfortable. As I did so, I heard a noise, so faint that it was barely recognisable, and had it not been for the complete silence, I would likely not have heard it. I focused, straining my hearing to try and pick it out.
Voices.
Two people talking on the floor below, their voices only audible because they were arguing. I sat up slowly, my breathing fast as I fought to keep fresh fear down. There were a number of reasons why there could be people talking downstairs. Perhaps it wasn't as late as it appeared? Maybe Barnaby was having a heated discussion with an associate? He had mentioned other Floris Masters in passing and I had seen envelopes containing letters from them often when we breakfasted.
I held these explanations in my mind as I slipped from under the covers, tiptoeing over to the door in only my undergarments and easing it open. The voices were slightly more audible in the hallway, carrying up the spiral stairs, but still I couldn't make out the words. Barnaby's bedroom door was across from mine and I decided to check that he wasn't sleeping before going downstairs. Entering his room also meant that I could see what time of day it was as it was one of the few with windows, so I hurried along to it, tapping on the wooden door but receiving no answer. I turned the handle, opening it just enough so that I could slip through before shutting it again.
His room was much like my own, but instead of being red it was coloured with shades of dark purple, the curtains hanging open and bed clothes kicked to the bottom of the four poster. Clothing littered the floor, books piled beside the armchair and a tea tray resting on a low table. At another time, I might have been surprised at how messy he was, but I was too concerned with the solitary moon in the night sky, its glow shining upon the empty bed.
I f
ought to find a reason for the voices, even as the sound of something being knocked over crashed through the silence. Perhaps it was an acquaintance that had woken Barnaby at such a late hour and that was why they fought?
But what if it wasn't; what if Barnaby had been dragged downstairs by an intruder? What if at this moment, he was being threatened, terrified, hurt? How could I just return to my room and lock the door, ignoring his plight? How long would it be before those voices came upstairs, intent on sniffing me out like a blood-thirsty hound?
My feet led me to the top of the stairs, as silent as they could be, my hands cupped over my mouth lest any sudden sound startle a shout from me. The curved stairway gave me no way of seeing down it from the hallway, only descending would offer a glimpse, so gathering my courage, I began to slowly go down, one step at a time. The voices were louder now and it sounded as if they were coming from the living room, harsh and demanding, things being moved around or knocked to the floor. I felt incredibly exposed standing in the hallway of the second floor, my frame quaking with fear as I inched closer and closer to the door. My fingers covering my mouth dug into my skin, as my tail swayed wildly from side to side in distress.
I could still run, leap up the stairs to my room, or better still, dash downstairs, grab the furs and rush out onto the street to freedom. I could still flee from whatever horror awaited me in the living room. Only the thought that Barnaby could be hurt kept me rooted, the more rational thought that this was merely a misunderstanding too smothered by fear to be heard.
The door was ajar, as if waiting for my eye against it, ready to divulge its secret, and I gently pressed myself against the wall, leaning to the side so that I could peer through. At first, I could see nothing, only the armchairs and fire burning in the hearth, but then Barnaby moved past the door. His head was down, finger curling round his chin in thought as he strode back and forth. Though he had clearly been sleeping, his dressing gown hastily tied around his middle and his long, black hair and ruff tangled from sleep, he didn't seem in any real distress. Neither did he seem harmed, his white face fixed in annoyance rather than terror.
Beneath a Bethel Page 8
