She stood a few moments in the pitch blackness, but the only sound that now assailed her ears was the familiar swinging of the inn sign with its distinctive squeak. Mina shivered and was just debating returning to her bed when she heard it again. Something dragging over the cobbles and then a sort of scraping sound. Mina held her breath. What was it? For just a second, she thought she caught sight of a flickering flame, but just as her eyes darted to track it, it was extinguished. She had no matches or even a tinderbox in her room to light her candle and so left with little other choice, she made her way back to her bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. Tomorrow she would ask for matches. Tomorrow…
*
The previous day set the pattern for the rest of the week. Nye studiously ignored her while Mina set about making herself useful around the inn. After the kitchen and scullery, she set about the pantry and larder, which though well-stocked with grain, wheels of cheese and hanging meat were in dire need of cleaning and organization. While it was true Hannah had done this sort of work in her previous home, Mina was no stranger to lending a hand below stairs, especially in the days when they had all ten beds in their girl’s school filled and it was frankly too much for the one maid they had employed.
Mama had not been good for many tasks beyond fine needlework, but circumstances had not dictated that her own daughter should be such a stranger to the practical workings of a household. Which was just as well, Mina thought as she shook up a pungent mixture of eggshells and vinegar for deep cleaning and getting rid of unpleasant smells. As the wife of a tavern owner, she had more need of the skills their maid had taught her than anything she had learned from her parents.
The day after turning out and scouring the laundry and pantry rooms, she turned her attention to the private sitting rooms and disused parlor bar. First, she stripped them of all their rugs which she hung outside on the washing line. Then she turned her attention to the cobwebs and washing down the paintwork with diluted water and soap. While she was doing this, Edna appeared with a cup of tea for her and hovered in the doorway.
“Shall I help you in here, Mrs. Nye or will I continue stripping the bedrooms from last weekend?”
It was the first time Edna had come to her for any direction and Mina thought a moment before answering. “No, you carry on with the bedrooms, Edna. I’m sure you know what you’re about.”
Edna nodded and then withdrew something from her apron which turned out to be a tin of beeswax polish for the furniture. “Thought you might be wanting this for the furniture,” she said shortly and placed it on a table.
“Thank you,” said Mina, coming forward to take her cup and saucer. “Polish will be most useful.”
“Bought you this, too,” said Edna, withdrawing a bottle of gin. Mina opened her mouth to explain she did not care for it, but Edna forestalled her. “It’s for polishing the mirrors,” she explained.
“Gin?”
“Gives it a lovely sparkle, it do,” said Edna wistfully. “My auntie swears by it.”
This was a new one on Mina but looking at the profusion of etched mirrors on the wall, one she gratefully accepted. The room was so ingrained with dirt that she did not get around to polishing anything until the next day, after leaving the rugs out to air overnight.
She had just started polishing the wooden modesty screens, when a knock on the door startled her. Looking up, she found it was her half-brother, dressed impeccably in red-coated riding attire complete with a crop which he swished against his gleaming top boots. He gave her a quizzical look and sauntered into the room.
“Mina,” he said with a nod. “Dear me, we are industrious this morning.”
She straightened up, ignoring the twinge at her lower back. “Good morning, Lord Faris.”
He looked slightly pained at her formality, taking a seat and crossing his legs. Mina ignored him, reaching for the tin of polish and dabbing the corner of her cloth on it. “What is that on your head?” he asked conversationally when it was clear she was not going to volunteer any conversation.
“A headscarf,” she responded, applying her cloth to the scuffed boarding and buffing it ruthlessly.
“Well, it is singularly unbecoming,” he responded critically.
“It is not intended for embellishment. Besides,” she added dryly. “I would have thought my wearing a head-covering could only be a good thing. To hide my headful of snakes?” she suggested when he looked blank. After a moment she realized he probably did not even remember calling her a gorgon. He had definitely been drunk by that point.
“Am I to take it that in my cups, I so far forgot my manners as to address you as Medusa?” he asked a little sheepishly when she turned her attentions back to her polishing.
“Take it however you like.” Mina shrugged, and he fell to silent contemplation of the handle of his whip. Mina dragged a couple of chairs out so she could get better access to the carved wooden divider which separated the seating areas. It probably needed re-staining, she thought, examining the scuffed panels along the bottom.
“I wish you would sit a while,” he said plaintively. “You’re hardly making things easy for me.”
“Oh, am I not?” Mina turned to look at him a moment impassively. “I expect you have a whole household of people whose job it is to make things easy for you, my lord. But you see, I am not one of them.” Deciding to give the abused wood the benefit of the doubt, she knelt down and slathered some polish onto its dull surfaces.
“I suppose I deserved that,” he mused. “So, Nye has turned you into his scullery maid, I see. Vengeful devil, isn’t he? By the by, what did he say when you told him of our connection?” He gave her a look of amused, idle curiosity. “I’m simply dying to know.”
“Why on earth would I tell him?” Mina retorted, not bothering to correct him on the duties of a scullery maid. “He has reason enough to resent me, without that added insult to injury.”
Now she had shocked him. He stared at her. “You didn’t tell him?” he said incredulously, setting down his whip and leaning forward in his seat.
“Why should I?” she asked in clipped tones, turning her back resolutely to him. “What difference does it make?”
“Tell me what?” rumbled a deep, ominous voice from the doorway, making them both jump.
Mina looked back over her shoulder and saw Nye looming in the entrance with a nasty gleam in his eye. He took a step into the room. “Tell me what?” he repeated with gathering menace.
Jeremy cleared his throat. “Why, the small matter of our shared parentage, that’s all,” he answered lightly.
Nye cast him a look of utter contempt. “And why would she know anything about that?” he said scornfully.
“Not our shared parentage,” Jeremy stressed, gesturing between himself and Nye. “Hers and mine.”
Mina’s startled glance flew to clash with Nye’s, and she was almost comforted to see him look as startled as she felt.
“What?” he barked, advancing farther into the room. “Explain.”
“Oh dear, what a tangled web I have woven,” Jeremy sighed. “And to think, I actually thought this would make matters simpler.”
“You and Nye share a parent?” Mina persisted. “But…” Her eyes wide, she stared from Jeremy to Nye. “But—”
“Not the same parent,” Jeremy interrupted succinctly.
“You m-mean...?” Mina stammered.
“Nye was my father’s bastard,” Jeremy explained making her flinch.
“And she?” Nye pointed at Mina with a complete lack of manners. “Who’s she to you?” he asked bluntly.
“Oh, my half-sister,” Jeremy answered with a bland smile. “On the maternal side. Do you not see the resemblance?”
“None,” Nye answered grimly.
“Hmm,” Jeremy mused. “I wonder what you thought she was to me, Nye?” he commented with a soft laugh. Nye stiffened, but Mina was far too absorbed trying to unravel their various bonds to notice.
“So, you Jeremy, a
re brother then to both of us?” She looked from Lord Faris to Nye before returning quickly to the former. She could see no likeness between the two of half-brothers either. “But surely… surely there would then exist some bar to our marrying?”
“Why? There is no blood connection between the both of you,” Jeremy said with a shrug. “And you have never lived under the same roof, so I fail to see why there should be any impediment whatsoever.”
Mina opened her mouth and closed it again. After all, if William Nye was illegitimate, then his relationship to Lord Faris would not be legally acknowledged. They did not even share a name. She cast an uncertain glance at Nye, only to find him staring back at her. This time, he was the one to glance hurriedly away. “I see,” she said weakly. “And why did you imagine this would make things neater for you?”
Jeremy shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. Having all my siblings under one roof,” he said airily.
Mina’s jaw dropped at this.
Nye uttered a sound of disgust and turned abruptly on his heel and left the room.
“Taciturn chap, isn’t he?” Jeremy commented.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Mina said, turning her back to him and picking up her cloth again. “I’m very busy this morning.”
“Birds of a feather,” Jeremy sighed. “But why am I always the odd one out?”
When she did not respond, instead applying herself wholeheartedly to her task, he finally took the unspoken hint and left.
Mina’s shoulders slumped the minute he exited the room and she stared down at her work-roughened hands a minute lost in thought. Then just as swiftly, she sat up, squaring her shoulders again. It was no good dwelling on spilled milk, she scolded herself. What’s done was done. All afternoon she threw herself into her work and by the time she dragged her tired body up to bed, the wood in the parlor bar was gleaming, including the floorboards.
6
The next morning Mina woke and remembered the rugs had been on the line for two whole nights now. Hopefully, that should have dispelled any lingering fusty smells. She would have to bring them in today, but first, they would need a good stiff brush in the yard. She had entreated Edna to save their tea leaves for the purpose and should have quite a collection now after three days. As she dressed and coiled her hair into a bun, she reflected she had heard no noises the night and made her way thoughtfully downstairs.
As had become the routine, she and Edna shared the hot water in the scullery to wash and Mina made the tea this time in a brown earthenware pot as Edna toasted tea cakes for their breakfast. Mina refilled the copper with water from the pump, ate her breakfast and then carried her bowl of dried tea leaves and a bristle brush out to the yard where the rugs were swaying to and fro on the washing line.
She had been lucky it had not rained for two days, she thought glancing up at the blue sky. It was a crisp day in early March. The sun was nowhere to be seen, but at least there were no rainclouds. Unpegging the six rugs, she laid them out side by side and sprinkled them liberally with the tea leaves. She was just picking up her brush when a voice at her elbow startled her.
“Putting the place to rights, aren’t you, missus?” Turning, Mina saw it was the old man who had winked at her in the bar and given her the bunch of flowers at the church.
“Good morning,” she said politely. “Just giving the place a spruce up.”
“Arrr,” he commented, clamping his pipe between his teeth, and rocking back on his heels.
Mina cleared her throat. “I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name the other night.”
“That’s alright, don’t you fret none,” he said comfortably. “Reckon you had enough to occupy you that night. The name’s Gus. Gus Hopkirk.”
“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Hopkirk. I’m Minerva Nye.”
“Minerva?” he repeated with a frown, taking his pipe out of his mouth. “That’s not a name from ‘round these parts.”
“No indeed,” she agreed. “I believe it’s Latin in origin.”
“A Roman name?” he gave her an appraising look.
“Yes.”
“Bit of a mouthful for me,” he said frankly. “Reckon I’ll just call you Minnie.” Mina was so taken aback by this piece of familiarity that she couldn’t think how to respond. “Saw one of your birds last night, out at Gull Point,” he continued.
“One of my birds?”
“Aye,” he agreed and touched a finger to his nose. “An owl.” His eyes twinkled and he turned away, ambling across the yard.
Mina’s mouth fell open. There was certainly more to Gus Hopkins than his rough outward appearance let on. Otherwise, how would he know that owls were sacred to the Roman goddess Minerva? She stared after him a moment, wondering if Gull’s Point would be on the cliffs and remembering she had not yet caught even a glimpse of the sea.
Why should she not take the afternoon off and go for a walk until she found the beach? The idea appealed to her. Even as a schoolteacher at her father’s school she had taken every Wednesday afternoon as a half-day holiday. It was nice to have something to look forward to. Her mind made up, she sat back on her haunches and started briskly to brush down the rugs.
A good deal of dirt came away with the tea leaves and floral patterns and borders emerged as she worked. By the time she had finished, her own cuffs, hands, and apron were decidedly worse for wear. There was no point changing her apron now, for she had decided to tackle the grimy windows that afternoon, so after hauling the rugs indoors, she simply went and washed her hands and face in the scullery and then went in search of newspapers to clean the windows with. Edna’s tip regarding the gin had worked wonders on the etched mirrors, but when it came to windows, Mina knew that nothing was as good as newspapers and vinegar.
Remembering she had seen a pile tied up with string in a cupboard, she retrieved a stash of them and carried them through to the parlor room along with a pail to make up the cleaning solution of half vinegar and half water. Mina untied the bundle and started separating the pages out. It wasn’t long before she started noticing that the headlines were a lot more sensational than the ones that had graced her father’s favored broadsheet.
Half-naked Somnambulist Finds Herself in Deadly Peril she noticed had a rather salacious drawing of a scantily clad female dangling from a rooftop, her underwear having fortuitously caught on a chimney pot and spared her from plummeting to her death below. She scrunched that page up for use with her lips pursed. She was of course glad that Miss Fanny Jones had been spared a nasty fall but failed to see why she needed to be depicted in a state of undress for all to see.
The next page contained the highlights of a case against a wicked poisoner who preyed on rich widows, a scandalous divorce case with accusations of infidelity on both sides and an improbable haunting. Mina’s eye had just fallen on an article about a twenty-four-year-old female thief who had masqueraded as a fifteen-year-old errand boy for four years when a footfall startled her and she looked up to find Will Nye frowning down at her.
“What are you doing with those?” he growled accusingly, snatching the pages out of her hand.
Mina bridled, both affronted by his rudeness and uncomfortably aware that she had been caught out reading scandal rags. “I was about to clean the windows with them,” she answered, flushing hotly.
This seemed to take the wind out of his sails. “Oh,” he said, swallowing back whatever he had been about to say next. “With newspaper?” He gave her a hard stare and Mina wished she weren’t so smudgy with dirt. “Won’t the print smear the glass?”
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you,” she admitted, touching her headscarf to make sure it was still firmly in place. “But no, it actually has the opposite effect.” What was he staring at? She glanced down to check she wasn’t disarrayed in some way, but everything seemed to be in place, if a little worse for wear.
He breathed out heavily. “These are set aside,” he said shortly. “For clippings.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize—”
“Why should you?” he interrupted her rudely.
Mina’s eyes stung. To distract herself, she reached for the pages she had detached. “I’ll just parcel these back up,” she said stiffly, but again, he rejected her help.
“Don’t touch them” he said, reaching past her and scooping them up. Mina drew back her hand as if he had slapped it. She stood mutely by as he gathered all the newspapers up into a bundle and walked them to the door. He halted in the doorway and turned back. “It’s not me putting you to skivvy,” he said ungraciously. “I neither asked for a wife nor needed one.”
Mina felt her color drain away. She stood entirely still as he exited the room and continued to stand there for a good few minutes after. Reaching for her apron strings, she untied them with trembling fingers, cast the apron down on a chair and then reached for the headscarf which she also tore off her head. Then she was out of the parlor bar, striding down the passageway and out in the yard. She was halfway across it before she broke into a run. When she reached the road, she did not turn right, down toward the village, but instead swung to the left, her legs flying despite her long skirts and the uphill climb.
Her arms worked, her legs pumped, and she flew just like the carrion crow, Jeremy Vance had said she resembled. She felt good, she felt free. Her blood which had felt so sluggish since Papa died, coursed through her body in a wild, fizzing rush. The brisk air whipped against her cheeks, but she did not feel cold despite the fact she lacked both cloak and hat. Her hair streamed out behind her as she burst through a hole in the hedge and made for sound of the sea like an arrow from a bow.
She could see it, she realized. The ocean. She had never seen it before, except in books. She felt a sort of frenzied joy fill her at the sight and her face was suddenly wet. It was tears, she realized with surprise. Then she heard shouting behind her. They would not stop her, she vowed. She was going to feel the sea spray on her face, the sensation of sand between her toes. Suddenly she was desperate to stand on that beach. If she could only get on that beach, everything would be alright. Nothing else would matter.
A Bride for the Prizefighter: A Victorian Romance Page 6
