‘Children, go to your rooms.’
It seems irrelevant to Leonora that her grandchildren haven’t finished their breakfast. Wrapping several small pastries into one of the damask napkins, I shoot her a look.
‘I will be along later. Albertine, read to your brother and sister from the book of fables.’ She touches my shoulder lightly as she passes by, and I pass her the parcel; they’ll not starve and I’ll bring some other treats to the classroom. Connell looks at me and I nod. Sarai wanders out, holding Albertine’s skirt in one hand and a piece of jammy toast in the other. Leonora doesn’t seem to notice their reluctance to go without my confirmation.
‘Luned, you are no longer required,’ Leonora says and doesn’t even look at the girl, who seems confused, dishes in her hands. The older woman, with little patience for being questioned, shouts, ‘Go!’
As the door closes behind the maid, Luther rises from his place at the head of the table. He’s halfway up before his mother’s voice stops him.
‘Luther, you’re not going anywhere.’
He raises a brow at me, not in collegial query but to wonder why I remain. ‘I thought I’d visit Jessamine.’
He’s not shared their suite for some days now.
‘My wife is hysterical,’ he says dismissively. ‘It will pass.’
‘She needs better attention than she can receive in this house. Asher believes—’
‘Oh, Asher’s diagnosis? What a qualified governess you have hired, Mother.’ It’s quite the rebellious speech for Luther. But I suppose the loss of his preferred victim is making him feisty. ‘We will send to Bellsholm for a real doctor—’
‘Your wife needs time away from here. The atmosphere is not conducive to her… peace of mind. Asher tells me there is a convent four days from here. The nuns at St Dane’s run a sanatorium. Jessamine will go and stay for a month.’
‘Mother, you’re overreacting. Jessamine has always been dramatic. She will—’
‘Luther, Jessamine will leave as soon as possible. Mrs Charlton will accompany her.’
‘And who will run the household? Who will cook?’ Luther’s lips are white with anger.
‘Tib Postlethwaite will prepare meals, and your idiot twins will spend a little more time here if required. Burdon knows his job and Asher will keep Luned in line. The house will not fall apart for some few weeks, I would imagine.’
Luther begins to turn his gaze towards me; rage and astonishment that I had ignored his warning. Leonora’s voice stops him. ‘And you will escort your wife, Luther.’
‘Mother…’
She raises her voice and it’s like a storm about to break, all rage, no rain. ‘And when you return here there will be other matters to discuss.’
Luther blinks rapidly; his hands clench and unclench until he can manage to say, ‘Is there anything else, Mother?’
‘That will be enough for now.’ Leonora sits back in her chair. ‘You should go and prepare for your journey, Luther.’
He rises, gives me a searing look that says I warned you. It will be best to have him away for a while. When he returns I will have to deal with the situation I’ve created, but for now there’s breathing room. When he is gone, Leonora releases a long breath then turns her bright blue eyes to me.
‘Are you happy, Miss Todd?’ I note she does not call me Asher when she is displeased with me.
I nod. ‘It will be best for Jessamine, Mrs Morwood.’ I take a sip of coffee. ‘And I believe her continued good health is in everyone’s interests.’
She narrows her eyes, trying to divine if there’s a double meaning to my words.
I examine her face over the rim of my cup. The skin is plumping nicely, the wrinkles have reduced considerably. Her lips are pouting-smooth, the bags under her eyes are no longer puffy, indeed the very flesh seems to have drawn back up onto her cheekbones, her jaw firmed. It isn’t entirely noticeable – she looks refreshed. The effect will increase over the next month or so, not enough that anyone would remark on it in an uncomfortable fashion. Last night after I’d dealt with the poor fox, I woke Leonora and gave her two spoonfuls of the admixture to drink. She made a face and, in my weariness and guilt, I hissed at her to grow up, almost saw red with the temper threatening, that a creature had lost its life for her so the least she could do was show some stoicism. I then plastered the rest on her face, neck and décolletage; I know it stung, but she kept her mouth shut, did not even whimper – perhaps so no more would get in her mouth. I sat by her for two hours, trying not to smell the odour that rose from her as the mask did its work, trying not to hear the hissing as it ate at her in tender nips. She never said a word the whole time, not even to ask if I was sure this was what it was supposed to do. For the best really, or I might have had to truthfully answer that I’d never done it before, never seen it done, only read about it, and kept the recipe in my notebook. But this was the cost of getting her to do what I wanted: sending Jessamine and Luther away. Jessamine will be safer: he won’t touch her in Mrs Charlton’s presence, won’t do anything in public. And she’s terrified enough of my mother’s ghost to go, to trust me with her children.
‘Are you happy, Mrs Morwood?’
‘I am content for now.’ She turns to the mirror over the fireplace and touches her face, smiling. ‘How long will it last?’
Your contentment? Who knows? I shrug. ‘A year or more.’ I don’t know, but I will be gone by then.
‘Can it be repeated when required?’
‘Yes.’ But I would sooner take off one of my own limbs than do it again. I feel exhausted after last night (and the night before); the darker the magic, the more it demands from you. And I need to gather my reserves for what’s coming.
She says, ‘So. In return, I’ve done what you asked. I trust you are content?’
I nod.
‘Good, then you can go into the Tarn this morning.’
‘The children—’
‘The children will survive without you I am sure. I have something else for you to attend to while you’re there.’ She shakes her head, tsks. ‘I’m sure I’m capable of supervising my own grandchildren, Asher.’ Then adds as if in surprise, ‘And I suppose it’s time I got to know them better.’
* * *
I find the solicitor’s office and push open the door beneath the green and gold shingle that says Taverell & Daughter.
There is a parlour of sorts, green velvet chaises, a table with cups and a silver engraved urn perched atop the flame of a small candle to keep the contents warm. The air smells of coffee and vanilla. The walls are dark-panelled and instead of paintings there are small tapestries, scenes picked out in silk thread: shepherdesses and their flocks, wolves and pups, rusalky and rivers and lakes. There are three doors, all closed, and a set of stairs leading upwards, presumably to the living quarters. The wall-lamps are frosted glass encased in silver frames shaped like mermaids. Only a sliver of daylight comes in through the gap in the thick velvet curtains – perhaps a nod to privacy for clients, although how it would help when the office is on the main street and anyone might see you entering is beyond me.
‘Hello? Do you have an appointment?’ A female voice, soft but firm. I turn and find one of the doors has opened. The woman is thin and wan-looking, white streaking the temples of her otherwise dark hair. She has a sweet face and large, intelligent dark eyes. Her dress is yellow, red roses embroidered around the hem and cuffs.
‘I’m Asher Todd. Mrs Leonora Morwood sent me to collect a parcel from either Taverell or Daughter.’
She smiles. ‘My mother no longer practises, and I am “or daughter”. Mrs Morwood mentioned you would come.’
Did she? Of course, Leonora would plan ahead to have someone else do the boring parts of a task for her. Plotting and scheming. Perhaps it is something that travels in the blood.
‘I’m Zaria Taverell. Everything is ready, if you will follow me.’
She leads me into a tidy office, the walls covered with bookshelves filled with leather-bound books. A quick glance at the titles says they are all some kind of legal tome – no reading for delight here, or at least not for me, but perhaps for Zaria. There is a small neat desk with a small neat chair on either side, precisely the same in egalitarian fashion. Directly behind the desk a set of pigeonholes waits, each with a rolled parchment inside. Zaria unerringly plucks a scroll from one of the slots, not even having to search for it. Her eyes scan the document for last-minute mistakes, but I suspect there are none, that this precise woman does not commit errors.
She sits and gestures for me to do the same. She smooths the sheet, then folds it until it is like an envelope. On one corner of the desk, a silver tray holds a red candle and a metal stamp. Carefully Zaria lights the candle and lets the wax drip onto the parchment, then presses the seal into the scarlet mess. She holds it there for a few moments, then removes it to leave the shape of a wolf in the warm wax. That will take some skill to open without leaving a trace. Perhaps something of that curiosity shows in my face, and she smiles as she hands it over.
‘Thank you, Mistress Taverell,’ I say and carefully push the thing into the side pocket of my satchel.
‘Please tell Mrs Morwood that we are delighted to be of service as always. When she has checked the contents and made any amendments, we will be happy to witness it for her. We can either come to the Grange or she can visit again. We shall retain the final document for safekeeping if she so desires.’ Ah, so this is merely a draft.
I nod, hesitate. ‘She did ask me to enquire about another matter…’ I pause delicately. Zaria leans forward a little. ‘You have dealt, I believe, with arrangements for… a previous governess?’
She seems to freeze, disapproving. ‘I made no such arrangements.’ I sense I’m on thin ice, that beginning this conversation was, perhaps, more of a risk than it seemed when I first thought to take it. I keep my tone level, the pace of my words steady. I do not rush on like a liar or someone trying to gain information I neither have nor have a right to. ‘Oh.’ I frown, confused. ‘I was told you had dealt with such things before?’
‘Not for a governess.’ Still stiff and distrusting. But there’s a gap in what she’s said, a lacuna: not a governess but other women, perhaps. ‘I’m unsure I ever saw your predecessor here.’
‘You will realise that Mrs Morwood has put her faith in me – sending me here on her behalf. Me. Not another member of the household.’ I’m at pains to point this out but trying not to sound too importuning.
She nods yet again, a little more freely.
‘I am not,’ I say proudly, ‘of the same cloth as others in her employ. I am a little older and wiser, my head is not so easily turned, my guard not so lightly surmounted.’ I pause again, lower my voice. ‘We – the household – might once again find ourselves in need of your services in this regard. Another local girl. Would the arrangements made for the others suit her… problem?’
Zaria Taverell takes a deep breath and glances away, to the corner where there’s nothing but a bookshelf and some cobwebs up towards the ceiling, out of reach. The lawyer looks irritated.
‘I understand this is… inconvenient,’ I say, and her eyes slice towards me; it’s not annoyance, it’s anger.
‘That man thinks he can do as he wishes and others will clean up his mess! That these poor girls – foolish though they might be – are disposable!’ Her voice breaks like glass, and the last note is one of despair. Oh, I think, you don’t know the half of it.
‘I’m sorry. I cannot say I disagree with you. But Mrs Morwood asked me…’
She shakes her head, releases a ragged breath. I wonder what happened to make her feel like this – is it personal or merely a dislike of men who push their way through lives not their own as if they are scythes? Cutting down and taking what they want, then discarding it blithely. How old is she? Old enough to have known my mother? She looks mid-forties, a little older than Heloise when she died, but that might simply be the passage of time; gods know Heloise looked older than her years. But I can’t risk asking, not so soon after this stirring her suspicions.
‘Do they all stay here?’ I ask instead.
She sighs. ‘Most. If they’re stupid enough to sleep with Luther Morwood, they’re hardly likely to survive out in the world. Perhaps this latest might like to travel, get away from here so no one knows her shame?’
I weigh things up and decide not to push my luck. ‘Things are not certain with this one as yet. There is still time for nature to take its course and solve the problem. I will return when we know better how the land lies.’ I hesitate. ‘I imagine things would have been very different if Mrs Morwood’s daughter had survived.’
‘I imagine so,’ she says but gives nothing away. Neither disapproval or otherwise. I resist the urge to probe, to dig out more information. This one is a lawyer, not given to gossip. I’ll need to find another source. I feel less concerned now, asking about Heloise, now that I’ve seen Leonora with the portrait, heard her speak of her daughter. No one will ask now How did you hear about her?
I rise, as does she. ‘Thank you for your assistance.’
She holds her hand out, grasps mine, grips it tightly so I cannot break away. ‘I hear you have some talent for healing.’
I smile, the coldest way I can. ‘Who told you that?’
‘Heledd Jones mentioned it. She’s a friend – forgive her, I know you asked her to keep it a secret. But with Mrs Morwood so much better it’s hard to keep your ability hidden.’ She points at her own eyes to illustrate.
I relax. But no point in admitting too much. ‘Sometimes I can help. I have some knowledge of medicine.’
‘My wife is unwell. An issue with her breathing.’
‘Are the aspirations wet or dry?’
‘Wet.’
‘Does she cough or wheeze?’
‘Both.’
‘Is there blood in the mucus?’
She shakes her head.
‘Is she here? May I examine her?’
‘She’s travelling – a fabric merchant – and I do not believe she’ll see a doctor while she’s away. Alize is an especially stubborn woman, much though I love her.’
‘I will send a tincture tomorrow’ – thinking the Binions might be bribed into running errands for me – ‘if you or your cook can slip it into meals? One tablespoon – it shouldn’t change the flavour of what she eats and alert her. How long will she be gone?’
‘Another two days, I believe.’
‘Then when she returns give her the mix for three days in a row and send a note to me at the Grange if she is better or worse. If the latter, I will examine her whether she likes it or not.’
She laughs loudly and it makes her beautiful. ‘Thank you, Miss Todd.’
I nod. ‘You are welcome, Mistress Taverell.’
* * *
As I walk back towards Morwood, the carriage passes me, the one with the Morwood crest on the side. One of the big matching black pairs draws the shining ebony conveyance along. Inside, I see briefly Jessamine and Mrs Charlton on one bench seat, and Luther on the other. Owen Reiver, the coachman, notices me, tips his head. The thin boy beside him stares straight ahead; that will be his son Tew.
Jessamine’s face is pale, her expression distraught; Mrs Charlton and Luther both have taut lips, tight cheeks, narrowed nostrils. Better if I could have sent Jessamine in the company of Mrs Charlton alone – better for her to be away from Luther as long as possible – but getting her out of Heloise’s reach is paramount. And some days without Luther Morwood around the place won’t hurt me. When he does return, I will be ready. None of them see me.
I’m a little surprised they are gone so soon – I thought it would be at least another day to allow for preparations. But Leonora. It was Leonora, getting rid of them quickly. She agreed with my plan to remove Jessamine, but she cannot help herself: she must put her mark on it. It has left the children alone without their mother, unknowing that this might happen, unprepared. I should have been there.
I did not think, when I set this in motion, that I would grow so fond of them. In all truth, they were simply a means to an end, the job a key to this place, this family. I hardly thought of them at all, if I am honest. Yet here I am, with three little ones at heel, caring for their bodies, minds and hearts and hoping to not hurt them more than I must. Had they been happy, perhaps I’d have cared less, but they are afraid of their father, afeared for their mother, and wary of their grandmother. And we are related, after all, though it’s a tie they’ll never know. How could I not sympathise with such children, given the shadows I grew in?
I pick up my pace until I am running towards the manor.