‘Sarai, don’t stray too far ahead.’
Leonora has taken Albertine riding around the boundaries of the estate. I’ve brought the younger two with me as I walk to the Tarn – Tib Postlethwaite’s expression was forbidding and I wasn’t game to ask her to mind them again. I’m sure she’s added “shirker” to her list of my sins. Oh, Tib, if only you knew.
Sarai still havers between standoffish and sulky. Today she seems to have settled somewhere between the two. Along our way she’s been picking blossoms and leaves that have already turned brown. Every so often she swings around, holds up her trophy and tells me the common name, then waits for me to give the botanical term. I can’t quite tell if it’s a sort of truce or if she’s waiting for me to fail; to find a gap in my knowledge. It won’t be long now before the snow comes and everything’s white – will she have forgiven me then? Then I remember I’ll be long gone.
‘Is Luned feeling better?’ asks Connell. ‘Sarai has been wondering—’
‘But she still won’t ask me.’ I smile.
‘Well…’
‘Luned’s getting better, Connell, but she will need a few more days. Sarai may go up and visit her if she likes. I think it would cheer Luned no end.’
‘You’re very kind, Miss Asher.’
‘Why thank you, Connell. Anyone would want Sarai to be happier.’ I smile. ‘It’s nothing any governess wouldn’t do for her charges.’
‘I think you’re wrong, Miss Asher,’ he says. ‘The other governess said our happiness was irrelevant.’
‘How so, Connell?’ I raise my brows. I’ve avoided asking the children about my predecessor for fear it’ll be reported back to Luther somehow – because even the most casual of queries might alert a guilty conscience. But he’s away and I did not ask.
‘You’re friendlier. And you’re not afraid of Grandmother or Father.’
I smile. ‘Was she afraid?’
He nods, biting his lip.
‘What’s wrong, Connell?’
‘Father said we weren’t supposed to talk about her.’
‘Who would I tell?’ I ask and smile. His expression clears.
‘Miss Beckwith was nice enough, but she wasn’t here long. Then she was gone.’
‘Did you see her leave, Connell? Watch her walk to the Tarn or up the drive to where the carriage sometimes stops?’
He shakes his head. ‘She was there one evening, then gone in the morning. Father said we mustn’t ask about her or talk about her. He said she wasn’t “fit”.’
‘Thank you, Connell, for trusting me.’ I take his hand, give it a squeeze. He doesn’t let me go. ‘Now where’s your sister?’
We’re passing the church and I shudder. I look around for the little girl and her red, red hair – a quick nervous glance at the tarn itself, but there’s no sign, no ripples on the surface to say I’ve been so lax in my job that the child is gone.
Connell tugs my arm and points: Sarai has scampered over the low stone wall and into the churchyard. She’s skipping amongst the gravestones heading towards the crimson blood-bells that grow over the oldest graves.
‘Sarai, come back here,’ I call. She ignores me. Connell’s grip tightens and I realise he must be concerned about the priest. ‘Don’t worry, Connell. There’s nothing to fear here. The old god-hound can’t hurt you.’ But he hangs back, so I gently untangle my fingers from his. ‘Wait here, I shan’t be long.’
I pick my way to where Sarai sits, turning crimson flowers into a chain. She doesn’t look at me, not even when I crouch in front of her. Things seemed to be getting better but now she’s moody, sullen; I don’t react to it. She’s a child controlling the world the only way she knows how – withholding affection. It hurts a little, I must admit. ‘Sarai, time to go. Come along.’
‘Since you came, everything’s changed. Mama’s gone away, so has Papa, Grandmother is mean, Albertine never plays with me anymore, Luned is unwell, and it’s getting cold.’
I suppress a smile. I’m responsible for many things, but not the weather. ‘None of those things are my fault. I understand you’re upset. Change is very unsettling. But shall I tell you a secret, Sarai?’
She looks at me reluctantly, but who can resist a secret?
‘You mustn’t tell anyone, but I will be gone soon too.’
That seems to cheer her up; she smiles and a weaker woman might take offence. But I just put a finger to my lips, then offer my hand, which she takes. ‘Would you like to give those flowers to Luned? I think they might cheer her.’
She shakes her head. ‘Luned said I mustn’t touch them. Blood-bells are poison.’
‘Indeed? Yet here you are. Let’s leave them here. We’ll find something else for her. Perhaps a treat from the bakery? Or the coffeehouse? Perhaps a treat for you and Connell too?’ I take the pretty weeds from her and pocket them while she’s looking at her palms.
‘And for Albertine? So she plays with me again?’
‘And something for Albertine, of course.’ If Leonora has her way Albertine’s childhood is over, but Sarai doesn’t know it yet.
I wash her hands in the tarn, careful to scrub them free of the sticky sap; she complains about how cold it is and I sense her adding this to her list of resentments. She pats her little fingers dry on my skirts and I think ever so briefly of dropping her into the pond. Instead I hold them to my mouth and blow on the skin as I rub warmth back into them. It won’t be long before the surface will ice over and no one will be able to drown in it for months.
* * *
In the Tarn, we gradually make our way towards Zaria’s offices. I know she’s away because a note came yesterday afternoon, thanking me for my help: Alize is doing better and they are taking a week’s respite with friends. I could have told Leonora that but walking into the village was a preferable task. When we get home I shall make my excuse and tell her I will return in two days (when the lawyer will once again not be home). So I have no qualms in marching up to the door and knocking very loudly. There’s no answer, of course. I was prepared for a maid or a housekeeper, but clearly whoever keeps their house has taken the opportunity to absent themselves. Wise. The paper in my pocket remains safe and I can safely fail to deliver it for a while.
The coffeehouse is packed, so we do not go in, but the bakery which supplies it with its delicacies isn’t so busy. Connell and Sarai select treats for themselves, Luned and Albertine. I choose something for myself, the Binions who have been picking up the slack whilst Luned is abed, Eli and Aunt Tib, though I’m sure she won’t thank me for it. Leonora doesn’t have a sweet tooth, and Burdon will be happier with another bottle of brandy.
We sit in the market square in the sun and eat our morning tea. One of the stall vendors makes a hot chocolate that the children ooh and aah over. People approach and ask me if the surgery will be open this afternoon – offering gentle reproof for the day it wasn’t. I hide a grin, thinking how quickly they’ve become used to the convenience of having me around. I tell them that yes, they may drop in any time after two and before six.
Groups of children run around the playground of the small school and my two watch them with envy. Poor mites, growing up in that house with only themselves and adults. Even Heloise made sure I played with other children as I grew. Never the offspring of the doctor-professors for their mothers would allow no such thing, but those of other kept women in Whitebarrow, of servants. At least I knew what it was to talk to others my own age. I think about sending Connell and Sarai over to make friends, but it would get back to Leonora and I’ve no doubt she would be displeased. Associating with guttersnipes! I could mount a convincing argument, I’m sure, but I don’t believe I have the energy to do anything more than I absolutely must.
When we’ve eaten I tug them along to the inn; Connell carries the box of pastries despite Sarai’s protests that she can do so. The children have never been there before and are wide-eyed as I herd them inside. Only one of Luned’s sisters is around, the oldest I think. I smile, she does not.
‘More brandy?’ she asks with a sneer in her tone.
‘Why, yes. Thank you for being so perceptive. Sarai, this is one of Luned’s sisters.’ Sarai smiles shyly and the girl’s face softens, but not much. And not because of the mention of her sibling. I point the children towards the hearth. ‘Go, warm yourselves.’
‘Luned is well,’ I lie. The girl shrugs, her sister’s fate apparently of little concern. Luned’s desire not to live her life here is entirely understandable – but she needs to set her sights beyond Morwood. The girl behind the bar thumps a new bottle of brandy on the counter; this time I politely hand her the coin.
‘That it?’ she asks.
‘One last thing.’ I make sure my charges are far enough away to not hear. ‘Mrs Morwood has received a letter from Miss Beckwith’s aunt.’
‘And who’s Miss Beckwith when she’s at home?’
‘The former governess at the manor. Her aunt asks whether the trunk was sent on as requested? It seems it has not arrived in Whitebarrow.’
Her face goes astonishingly still, her lips move as if she’s underwater and trying for air. Finally, she shakes her head. ‘That’s because they weren’t sent to Whitebarrow. Her note said Bellsholm. They should go to Bellsholm. The Shark and Lantern, I think it was.’
‘Ah. Well that explains it. Thank you—’ I wait until she supplies her name, Mira ‘—thank you, Mira.’ I smile at her a little longer, wait until the tension made her white around the lips. ‘Come along, children. Say goodbye to Mira.’
They do so obediently. ‘Thank you, Mira, I will let Luned know you sent kind wishes.’ I lead the children outside before she has a chance to respond.
We head back along the road to the manor. I have a clear sense of having committed mischief this day and it makes me smile. No one I like was hurt. I’ll have to watch my back, however, and I’m wary as we walk home, listening for the sounds of anyone trying to follow stealthily. I’m certain of one thing, though, and that’s Miss Hilarie Beckwith’s trunk is somewhere in that inn. Or it was for a while, and now all her things have been divided up between Luned’s sisters.