Last night, I removed the final poultice from Leonora Morwood’s eyes, laved them clean, then dripped in a solution of eyebright. She complained once again, and bitterly too, that she still couldn’t see properly. And I, short on slumber and patience, told her to shut up her whining and sleep, for pity’s sake.
This morning, she appears at the breakfast table for the first time since I arrived at Morwood and, if everyone’s reaction was anything to go by, for the first time in some years. It occurs to me only then that I’ve seen neither her son nor grandchildren visit her rooms at any point since I’ve been here, nor Jessamine either. That’s not to say it hasn’t happened but I have spent a goodly while in her second-floor suite, and though occasionally I’ve run into Luned as she collects trays from outside the door, as for the members of her family? Not a one. Before I came, to whom did she speak? Did she simply stay in that space, reading, reading, reading until her sight grew dim, edging her lectern and books ever closer to the light of the windows? When did she take to her room for good? How long was she holed up there? Jessamine mentioned it in the garden that day but it did not seem so significant until now. Three years! Heledd said three years.
As Luned serves porridge, the door of the small dining room opens and there’s Leonora in a gown of purple shot silk. The sleeves reach halfway down her forearms, and there’s silver lace inside, silver bows around the elbows. The bodice is tight and cut low, again with silver lace around the neckline, more silver bows in rows down the bodice. The style’s antiquated, but fit for a ball. Her hair, which I’ve never seen any way but loose down her back, has been swept up into an elegant chignon and the necklace around her wrinkled throat is a blaze of emeralds and amethysts. Her fingers are weighted down with rings.
All to break her fast.
We’re underdressed by comparison, no one’s ready for an impromptu gala.
‘Mother,’ Luther says, dropping his spoon with a loud clatter against the bowl. The children stare, as does Jessamine, shaken by surprise from her funk. She has enough wit to order Luned to set another place, which the girl does with alacrity.
In grander homes, ones in the larger cities, I would not eat with the family that employs me. I’d dine in my bedroom or the kitchen if the other servants would tolerate me; but here I’ve been favoured. I suspect it’s because Luther wants to keep an eye on me, and also because I keep the children in check. He sits at the head, Jessamine at his right hand, Connell at the left, Sarai beside her mother, Albertine by her brother, and I beside Albertine. In any other household, I’d not be privy to this performance; but I’d also not be in any other household. The table is a small one; she chooses the free spot at the other end, opposite Luther, and that’s where Luned fumbles with cutlery.
I rise and approach the old woman. She turns her head left and right as directed by my fingers under her chin, using the light of the long window that looks out onto the gardens to examine her. The eyes are now clear, their blue restored, the pale webs gone. We smile at each other.
‘How do they feel?’ I ask.
‘Well enough,’ she says and I raise an eyebrow; she relents. ‘Much better. They do not sting and I can see everything.’ She blinks rapidly, her lashes a butterfly’s wings that might change the world. ‘So. That’s what you look like; not as pretty as I expected. Funny, when you were little more than a shadow, I thought you reminded me of someone, but now I see you properly…’
‘You might simply say thank you,’ I point out.
She grins. ‘Thank you, Asher Todd.’
Luther has gathered himself, risen and approached. ‘Mother. How is this possible? Your sight—’
Leonora nods at me and I feel much happier than I should. ‘My dear Asher has unsuspected talents. It’s refreshing to have a competent physician on hand. You could learn something from her.’
That lands like a blow on both of us. Luther, his face red, plants a cold kiss on his mother’s cheek, then steers her to the vacant chair, which he pulls out for her. Leonora sits to my left with all the intent and grandeur of a ruler setting up a rival court; although it’s the foot of the table, she makes it seem otherwise by her very presence. Luther returns to his place, clearing his throat as if something’s stuck there. Luned deftly slides a bowl of porridge in place, then the jug of cream, the plate with a pat of butter, a bottle of mixed berry preserve and the sugar bowl.
‘Mother, what an unexpected pleasure,’ says Jessamine wonderingly. ‘It’s been so long.’
‘Yes, Jessamine dear, far too long.’ She holds up her cup, waves it for Luned to fill even though the pot is on the table in front of her. She takes a sip, makes a face. ‘It’s too cold, girl, bring me a fresh pot.’
I can see steam rising from the coffee in her hand. Luned exits swiftly – the fastest I’ve ever seen her move in response to orders from anyone in this house. Luther stares at his mother until she meets his gaze in her own sweet time. He pauses, says, ‘But how?’
She clicks her tongue in annoyance. ‘I told you. Asher has learned some clever things in that university town.’ She doesn’t say Unlike you, but the implication hangs in the air.
He looks at me.
‘A simple poultice, Mr Morwood. I had seen it used with some effect on older people by doctors at Whitebarrow.’ A lie. I’d only ever seen it used by certain women, done quietly for those who knew better than to boast of it. Women clever enough to let any successes be attributed to miracles wrought by the Church, by worn and wearied wooden saints in alcoves and alleys around the city or looming above fountains, hands hovering in a constant state of blessing. ‘I’m pleased to have been of assistance.’
‘Luther, we have matters to discuss now that I am functional once again.’ She adds everything she can to the porridge, mixes it like a witch with a cauldron and takes small, well-bred bites.
‘Indeed? I was unaware you had any complaints about how I’ve been managing the estate.’
‘Easy to remain so if you never come to my rooms, never speak to me, stay away for the better part of three years. Let your children run wild.’
‘Mother, I—’
‘After breakfast we will discuss the tenancy agreements which I believe are up for renewal. Then the investments in Bellsholm, the properties there which came as part of Jessamine’s dowry.’ She nods towards her daughter-in-law. ‘And the practicalities of taking on more staff to replace those you dismissed – a properly qualified lady’s maid for myself at the very least. I can hardly be expected to do my own hair every day.’
‘Mother, I—’
‘And we shall begin entertaining again. I have so missed the company of gentlefolk.’ She nods to herself. ‘A ball, I think, to celebrate spring when it next arrives.’
‘Mother, I—’
‘And, Luther, we shall make some small changes to mealtimes. I can see standards have been allowed to drop.’ She eyes every member of her family and clearly finds them wanting. ‘From now on, we shall dress for dinner. Formal gowns and suits.’
‘Mother, I—’
‘We are not so isolated that we need to look like commoners.’ Leonora glares at her son and he looks far less secure at the head of the table. ‘And I shall be discussing menus with Mrs Charlton from now on. I know you won’t mind, dear Jessamine; it will relieve you of an onerous duty, give you time for more of whatever it is you do during the day when Asher looks after your children.’
Jessamine drops her head, not before giving me a searing glance. All my good work, gone so quickly.
‘Connell, sit up straight. Albertine, you’re using the wrong spoon. Sarai, don’t pick at your bread like an urchin.’ Leonora looks at me and smiles. ‘Your posture and table manners are perfect, Asher.’ I think of my mother poking and slapping me until I sat up straight. ‘I hope you will be able to turn these feral creatures into something more presentable. Now, where is that girl with my coffee?’
Leonora requires no reply. My stomach is twisting and turning. I helped the old woman because… because I could… because I wanted to show off… because I wanted to give her something, like a child seeking approval, yes, that. I did something I shouldn’t have bothered to. Yet I did not think how she might react to having her sight restored. I did not know what she was like before, beyond the tales I was told – I thought perhaps the pain of her infirmity had changed her for the better, that suffering had wrought a miracle in her heart. I did not think she would revert to who she had been – or at least not so quickly. I did not think that she’d have learnt nothing from these past years since her daughter was driven forth.
And now Luther is looking at me with undisguised hatred – so different from his usual vague annoyance at my presence.
I’m not sure what I’ve done.
Leonora is a horror.
She’s the horror my mother told me about and I chose not to listen.
I look down at my toast, rapidly cooling and hardening, blink, then glance up at the children’s pale tense faces. I smile reassuringly but feel less than reassured myself. Yet I have spent too many years coming to this point. I will not fail, not now. I will adapt as I must, for it’s the only way to survive and keep my promise.
* * *
Jessamine, pricked by Leonora’s comments, cancels classes and takes the children into town. They suddenly require new clothes and shoes; this will take all day. I am not required. In the kitchen, the news spread by Luned no doubt, there’s nothing else that can be talked about.
‘Wonderful what you’ve done for the mistress, the old mistress.’ Mrs Charlton is washing dishes and Luned is nowhere in evidence. I pick up a tea towel and begin drying. She repeats, ‘Wonderful.’
I say nothing.
‘Wonderful. No doctor’s been able to do anything to help, all those visits away in the beginning, when she started to lose her sight. All those who came later when she refused to travel.’ She sniggers. ‘And that priest, used to come up here, trying to get in to see her, convince her he could perform a miracle if only she’d have faith. She had Eli throw him off the front stoop.’
No wonder the god-hound looked at us with such dislike that day.
‘Nothing miraculous about it, Mrs Charlton, just a treatment. Nothing more than medicine I picked up in my travels.’ Knowledge I stole. ‘Sometimes it helps, sometimes it does not.’
‘Well, you’ve put a cat amongst the pigeons, no doubt about it,’ says Burdon as he dumps a tray of dishes on the table. He leans over to me and says, ‘Had it been me, I’d have left well enough alone.’
And I think he might be right, but I’ll interfere with more than this before I’m done. Perhaps it will not last long, perhaps it’s just the newness of her restored freedom. But whatever else I have done, I’ve given her the power to take on Luther.
Later still, when I check on Leonora before bed that night, to apply more eyebright, I find her sitting in front of her dressing-table mirror, a barrage of lit candles around her. She’s not reading, or attending to her hair, but staring at her reflection so she might see every detail of the face before her. Sight restored and this is what she wants to do. I don’t sigh. She was beautiful once and, like my mother, when a woman thinks it’s her only currency, it’s hard to lose. Her expression is a mix of sadness and rage; I recognise it easily for Heloise wore it long enough.
‘Perhaps it was better that I couldn’t see this…’ She touches delicately the crow’s feet by her eyes, the deep lines around the mouth, the furrows across the forehead as if she might cut her fingers on them.
‘My, your gratitude is a short-lived thing,’ I say, and take up the silver-backed brush and begin brushing her long hair. ‘We will see what can be done about everything else next.’
There’s only so much I can do, only so far the rigours of time can be reversed. I can make her unguents to smooth out wrinkles, plump the skin, but she will never have the bloom of youth again and that is what she’s grieving. And I should resist, I know I should, this urge to help her… but the urge to please, to seek approval as if it’s love is too strongly ingrained.
She gives me a smile. ‘Sharpish child, you remind me of – someone else. But you are right. I am thankful, and now I can read once again. That is something, isn’t it?’
‘That is a very big thing.’ I pause in my task, think how a lady’s maid will take my place here soon, feel strangely bereft. ‘Forgive me if I am bold—’
She gives a sharp laugh. ‘When are you not?’
‘—I did not realise you are at odds with your son?’
‘Is that how it seemed?’ she asks, sounding both surprised and amused. ‘Let me tell you a tale, Asher, I know how you like them.
‘Once upon a time, there was a she-wolf, who birthed two cubs. She loved them more than anything in the world; she was fierce, protected them against every threat. But one day there came a change upon the world. The forests were ravaged by fires, droughts dried up rivers and lakes until there were only puddles. Food became scarce and though the she-wolf hunted herself to exhaustion she could not find enough to keep both her babies – and herself – fed. The day when she realised only one of them might survive, a crow sat in the bare branches of a tree, and observed the she-wolf watch her cubs play and complain how hungry they were.
‘“You’ll have to choose between them,” said the crow. “Better times are coming – I can see them, when I fly above – but not soon enough for them.”
‘“I will not choose,” said the wolf.
‘“You might survive if you ate them both,” suggested the crow.
‘“Would you do that? Would you choose such a thing?”
‘“I do not know,” said the crow. “But your options are limited. One or the other, you or them.”
‘The she-wolf was silent for a long moment, until at last she spoke: “No. I have one final choice.” And she bit down on her own paw and chewed it until the blood flowed. Then she called her cubs to her and urged them to eat and drink of her body and her blood. And this scene was repeated day after day until nothing remained of the she-wolf, no voice to call or sing as her offspring devoured her, no body to eat nor blood to drink. She was gone. And her children survived. And they ran off into the world and spared their mother not one more thought after she was gone.’
‘I—’
‘When I first began to lose my sight… I did not realise he would seize the opportunity to try to take everything I’d built from me. After a time he refused to bring any more doctors to see me. Told me to accept my fate, what God had decided for me. To conduct myself with grace.’ She says the word as if it’s the greatest insult ever given. I think about what Heloise told me, how her mother and brother colluded to send her forth from her home in shame; how it benefited Luther to remove the heiress. I think about the portrait Leonora keeps in the dressing room. Has she been staring at it today, now that she can? ‘I stopped going down to meals, he stopped coming up here to visit. He dismissed my lady’s maid, left me without allies. I’ve not seen him in literal years, though we live in the same house, on the same floor, separated by a hundred yards and too many resentments. How could I have known, Asher, that he would prove so worthless?’
I think about what Luther did to his own sister, my mother. I think How could you not have known? But what I say is, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. I earned it,’ she says very quietly, almost under her breath so I barely hear it. But then she adds, ‘Yet I’ll be no self-sacrificing wolf.’