‘Oh, shut them up, Asher Todd!’
In the library Leonora is sitting in Luther’s preferred chair by the fire, a book open on her lap. On the red velvet chaise longue is Albertine, who is holding Sarai, with Connell beside them, but not touching. All are crying, but Sarai is by far the worst. She weeps and hiccups, gives little howls, a small sad wolf, and clings to her sister like a limpet. I kneel in front of them, put my hands out to take Sarai and she screams.
It’s a terrible high-pitched shriek, and she kicks at me with angry little feet. I’m off-balance and I tumble backwards, hit my back on the coffee table, fall to one side and hit my left temple against the stones of the hearth. Black flickers at the edges of my vision, blood seeps from the tear in my skin.
The room is silent-still for long seconds while everyone stares. Slowly, I sit up, feel the throbbing ache begin as I blink and blink and blink. I look at Sarai, who is staring at me in horror now. Connell is first to move, pulling a white cambric handkerchief from his pocket and holding it to the welling crimson.
‘Sarai,’ I say and my voice is raw. ‘Sarai, what have I done?’
She peeks from under Albertine’s arm and says in a tiny voice, ‘You sent Mama away.’
Guilt; I can hear it, see it. She had begun to prefer me to her mother, she knew it hurt Jessamine, and here is the consequence, or so the little one thinks. Her mother is gone and it’s her fault, my fault.
‘Shush, Sarai, Miss Asher is not to blame! Mama is ill,’ Albertine says.
‘Sarai. Your mother is very unwell. She has gone to a place to heal – it is called St Dane’s. Your father is escorting her there, and Mrs Charlton will stay with her – so you know she will be well looked after. This is not my doing.’ A lie that only Leonora knows. ‘She will be absent but a little while. Sarai, I swear your mother will return to you. In the meantime, she has commended you to my care. I know you are sad, Sarai, but please trust me.’
She says nothing but buries her face in her sister’s side and continues to cry. Connell helps me up, steadies me when I sway. ‘Thank you, Connell.’
Leonora has not moved or spoken in this time; her mouth is still agape. I think of my mother’s temper and wonder where it came from. Heloise would have been out of the chair, hand raised before I’d even hit the ground; Leonora is frozen in place.
‘Mrs Morwood, I will take the children to their rooms. I think this day has been distressing enough for them, and there is no point holding classes. I will have Luned take them up some lunch soon.’
She nods. ‘When they are settled, come and see me.’
‘Of course.’
I hold out my hands. Connell takes one, Albertine the other; Sarai holds her sister’s hand, thumb stuck in her mouth, giving sideways glances to her grandmother and I. ‘Come along.’
Once the children are calmed – and Sarai has muttered an apology – I leave them in their rooms with nothing more than the instruction to remain there, to read, to sleep, to do whatever they will. I promise to check on them later.
In the small bathroom along from my bedroom I carefully wash the cut, a wet white cloth turning red from the blood that’s already begun to coagulate. It’s darkening, setting like jelly. The wound isn’t too deep, though it will scar, giving me a match for the one on my right temple, a souvenir of Heloise in the early days of her illness, when she still had strength to throw things, before I learned to remove items from the rickety upturned box beside the bed. I wipe lavender water over the red line for disinfectant, then dab an ointment of calendula. It stops bleeding. I carefully rearrange my hair as well as I can, loosening the thick bun at the base of my neck so shorter tendrils fall free and go a little way to hiding the injury. I drink a cordial of feverfew to prevent a headache. Later I’ll take the mortar and pestle from the chest of drawers and crush a mix of herbs for something stronger, something to take away the pain entirely and make me sleep like the dead.
I look in the mirror for long moments. I should be used to this reflection after all these weeks, it should not surprise me every time I catch sight of myself. Yet it does, this rounded face, these brown eyes, this dark hair, the ordinariness of this visage.
Unbidden, Zaria Taverell comes to mind again, so calm when she insisted nothing had been done for the other governess. No contact, no arrangements; I wonder if the girl even made it into the Tarn or was she too busy with the children and assorted tasks? Mater Hardgrace said she’d not requested a rest day and I’m sure Leonora took advantage of that. Zaria… Zaria struck me as truthful – her anger at Luther a sign of that – which makes me wonder how short a time my predecessor lasted? She was in the house, certainly – her few small treasures I found in the hiding space prove it – but perhaps she never made it to the Tarn at all. No one saw her, not simply Zaria. How long before she disappeared and Leonora wrote to Mater Hardgrace, complaining of the girl’s flightiness and demanding a replacement?
When my nerves are calm once again, I smooth the front of my skirt. I think of the thick parchment in the satchel now in my room; will I give it to Leonora? Will I tell her it wasn’t ready, that her solicitor was less reliable than expected, that I will go back for it in a few days? Too great a risk: she might send someone else; she might go herself. Best to hand it over and find some other way to discover its contents.
I take the document out, slide it into the deep pocket of my dress. At this very moment I feel as if I have pushed too many things to the brink, that at any moment something might overbalance and shatter. I take the staircase down and find Burdon waiting for me in the entry hall. ‘Miss Todd, there is a gentleman to see you. I have taken the liberty of putting him in the western parlour.’
‘Thank you, Burdon.’
I’m so distracted I do not even think Who might be here? My fingers shake on the doorknob, however, and I make a concerted effort to steady it, then open the door. The room is decorated in primrose and even on the most overcast days it seems light and airy. There is a fire in the grate, two golden velvet chaises facing each other over a marble coffee table. There are paintings on the walls of bucolic scenes, but there are no books here; that is not the purpose of the space. This is a room for polite discussion; should Margery Marston ever darken the doorstep and manage to breach the house’s defences, I imagine Leonora will speak with her in here.
A man of medium height stands by the tall window, looking out. He’s a silhouette against the daylight. There’s something…
‘Sir, may I help you?’ It is only then that I recall on this day of disturbances that I neglected to ask Burdon who the visitor is. The gentleman turns at the sound of my voice, hesitant, then comes towards me. As he gets closer, his face begins to make sense and my heartbeat slows as if ice is running through my veins. Dressed in his usual finery, the embroidered red silk waistcoat is one I know well, the crisp linen shirt beneath it, the beige trews, polished brown boots and black frock coat with all the pretty touches and pleats and gold buttons of which he is so fond.
Closer now, he squints, uncertain. ‘I am sorry, I asked for Asher Todd.’
I cannot get any words to pass from my lips.
He steps even closer, is almost on top of me now. He reaches out and grasps the wrist of my right hand. ‘Wait… Is it you?’
I still do not speak. If I say nothing perhaps he will go away. Perhaps he will assume he’s made an error, taken a wrong turn.
‘Is it you?’ He pushes his face into mine, his grip tightens. ‘It is you. But not you. Almost…’
I consider, for the breath of a moment, lying. Saying, You are mistaken, sir, be gone! But that would solve nothing. There is no running from this house, it is where I need to be. He touches my cheek, then. ‘How? How are you her and you? How are you—’
His brown eyes drop to my hands, his gaze widens; he has seen the ring. He grabs at it, he pulls hard, not caring if he hurts me. For a moment or two it will not come loose; a cry escapes me though I don’t struggle, then the ring slips away into the palm of his hand. I feel no change but I can see from his expression that I am different. In the mirror over the hearth there is the face of another woman, my true face: the red hair, the milky skin, the green eyes. A face very like the portrait of Heloise that my grandmother keeps in her dressing room, and the one this man can identify, for he knows me, knew my mother too although not in her better days.
‘Hello, Archie,’ I say.
‘You took her ring.’ He holds it up like an accusation, his voice shaking; her ring because it contains her hair. ‘Why would you steal her ring?’
I gesture to my face. ‘You can see why. I cannot be recognised in this place.’
‘But how?’ His disbelief is laughable.
‘Archie, you know how. All the things you’ve hired me to do, how can you be shocked at this smallest of feats?’ I pluck the piece of jewellery from him and examine it. ‘I borrowed it is all, Dr O’Sullivan.’
The mouse-brown hair braided beneath the glass dome belonged to his wife Meliora. I spoke a spell over it, made a small sacrifice for all magic requires the red price, turned it into a charm to transform. I slip it back on my finger: in the mirror, the changed features reappear, not entirely mine, not entirely Meliora’s but enough of both to make a different woman, a woman who would not be recognised by her own grandmother because she is an imprint of Leonora’s daughter. A face as dull as a sparrow so as not to excite interest in anyone but Archie, for he adored his drab little wife. ‘And I need it a while longer, Archie, but I will return it, I swear.’
‘You ran away.’
‘I had matters to attend to and I knew you would not want to let me go.’ I touch his arm. ‘I was always going to come back, Archie. I promise you.’ A lie. But I did not cover my trail well enough despite all my efforts, all those detours and feints, all those coaches and carriages to places I did not need to go, all to throw him off the scent. All to no avail.
‘You said you would—’
‘I know what I said, Archie, but there are things I need here, things I need to do here before I can help you.’ I frown. ‘How did you find me?’
‘Mater Hardgrace—’
Can I trust no one in this world?
‘—I’d seen you had been speaking with her – and the neighbours mentioned she’d been a visitor – so I asked if she knew where you’d gone.’ He stands tall, shoulders pushed back. ‘I told her it was imperative I find you.’
And I, like a fool, had not thought to tell her to keep it a secret because I had not thought anyone in Whitebarrow knew of my connection to Mater Hardgrace, and she knew nothing of my true reason for coming here. She thought only that I did her a good turn. We had always met at night. But Archie, damn him, and the neighbours, damn them, had paid more attention than expected; I’d underestimated him.
‘You said—’ His bottom lip trembles, all rage gone, and Archie O’Sullivan of Whitebarrow University is reduced to a child. I sit on one of the golden chaises, draw him down beside me. His smooth-shaven chin wobbles; mourning often takes the appetite, but not for Archie. His clothing, while well-made, is tight with the feeding of his grief; he’s paunchier. My disappearance probably made matters worse. I wrap his right hand in both of mine, caressing the delicate skin that does nothing much at all except point to notes on chalkboards already written for him by underlings, indicate ingredients for another underling to mix, to open his books, to light his pipe, to pour his orange-blossom whiskey with dinner and raspberry gin nightcap into cut crystal tumblers. He’s soft, is Archie; in truth I’m amazed he made it this far in finding me. I’d have put money on him giving up easily. But perhaps I underestimated his love for his wife, his need to have her back, his belief in what I could do. And how much he watched me.
‘Archie.’ I wipe away the tears that have spilled over. ‘Archie, I will return, and I will undertake all that I have faithfully promised.’
I kiss him on the cheek, feel his hand slip from mine and go to my waist so he can hold me firm. He turns his head, seeks my lips, and is soon making those noises I’ve come to recognise. Archie misses his wife terribly, this I know, but it’s never stopped him from spending himself in me the eighteen months when other needs overwhelm the sadness. I’ve never complained for the contact is kind and warm, and I have had so little of that; yet I’ve been careful to make sure nothing more comes of it, drinking down black brews to ensure no child takes in my womb. Today, though, I rebuff him. It would be easy enough to straddle him here, exhaust him, make him malleable, but I’ll not have anyone hear us. I’ll not attach myself to him any further; I’ll not make it harder to do what I must do, to inflict the hurt I must on him and myself. I might have been able to love him had it not been for his shade and mine, Meliora and Heloise – perhaps I do, in my own way.
But perhaps not. He’s a weak man and that makes the scorn rise in me. It makes it easier to deceive him when I need to. I push him away very gently. ‘Not now, Archie. Not here.’
He breathes heavily, but says, ‘Of course. Of course not.’
I take his hand again, move myself a little further along on the chaise. ‘Archie, you must return to Whitebarrow. I will follow in a month at the most. My business here will be concluded and I will return to you. I will return and you will have your Meliora back.’
I will run and hide myself far better now I know you have this determination. I will do what I must do here and then my oath will be fulfilled, and I will flee once again, I will find a deeper darker place to hide and never see any of my sorrows again.
‘But—’
‘Archie, I beg of you. Leave. Do not return to this house. Sleep tonight at the inn – I assume you’ve already taken a room there from your tidiness, which is not such as a traveller bears – and then go directly to Whitebarrow. I’d prefer you tell no one you came looking for me, but I fear that is a vain hope.’
‘Only the servant at your door.’
‘No one at the inn?’
He shakes his head. ‘Mater Hardgrace—’
‘Had already told you where I was.’ I nod stiffly. ‘Then keep our secrets, Archie. It will do no good to share them. Now, please leave. I will see you soon enough. Trust me.’
After he rides off I stand at the door for a long time, wringing my hands.