‘You didn’t ask me anything about him,’ I say.
Eli, sitting on the edge of the bed, is buttoning me into yesterday’s dress. ‘No.’
‘Why?’ I shouldn’t pick at it. He did what I wanted, didn’t he? If I turn around, what will I see on his face? Instead I stare out the window at the bare tree branches, the frost that’s silvered the ground. The mansion seems so far away, even though I can see it from here; so far away from the comfort of this warm small cottage.
‘Because you told me it wasn’t what it looked like. And I know you well enough by now that you wouldn’t tell me what it was if you didn’t want to. So, no point asking.’
I grin ruefully while he can’t see me. Less trust than I’d thought. Dressed, I spin around, stoop to kiss him. When I straighten, his arms wrap around my waist and I hold his head against my heart for a while longer. He’ll be able to hear how it beats, this broken thing in my chest, that keeps going no matter what I do. For a second, in the space between breaths, I believe I’m free: that what I’ve done is the finish of everything. That I can stay here with him in the cocoon of this place. We’ll never go out again, no one can come in. We’ll be safe, might even be contented. Eli and I will marry, have children (tiny pups, little wolves).
But outside I hear the wind begin to rise and howl, those bare branches scrape against the glass and I know I won’t be able to remain inside with those sounds like a summons.
I pull away, cross the room, and am out the door.
Only to run smack bang into Burdon, who couldn’t have looked more surprised if I’d appeared out of thin air. I don’t colour up; this is the least of my secrets.
‘Morning, Burdon.’
‘Miss Todd, you’re up early,’ he manages politely. But he looks disapproving. He appears to be the only person who hadn’t realised where I’ve been spending many of my nights. I know what he thinks of Luned and her habits – this old dusty bachelor with his brandy and his solitary room. I don’t wish to think unkind things about him, he’s never shown me unkindness. He begins to cough.
‘Are you quite well?’ I ask. He gives me a look that says if he were he’d not be barking. ‘Come along.’
I grab his arm and help him into the kitchen. He tries to shake me off, but I manoeuvre him into a seat, hold a finger up to his face. ‘Behave yourself, old man.’
The coughing means he can’t quite show the affront I suspect he’d like to. There’s a jar of honey in the pantry and I bring it out, twist up a spoonful. Burdon tries to tighten his lips like a wilful child, but when there’s a pause in his hacking I stuff it into his mouth. His displeasure is clear, but he stops choking. I make him a hot lemon drink, loaded with more honey and a dash of whiskey. When he’s halfway through, I ask, ‘Better?’
He nods, gathers his dignity. ‘Yes. Thank you. May I go now, Miss Todd?’
‘Yes, but make sure you have another one of those before bed tonight. It will help you sleep, sweat the fever out, and it’s better for you than a bottle of brandy.’
Burdon gives a harrumph and rises, leaving the kitchen with his fingers still wrapped around the warm mug.
I turn back to tidy up the small mess I’ve made and see Tib Postlethwaite watching me with a considered gaze. She’s leaning against the doorframe of the laundry room, and I can only assume she’s been there all along. I dip my head at her.
‘Good morning, Tib.’
‘You’re kind, I’ll give you that.’ It seems a strange thing to say.
‘Thank you?’ I put the honey back in the pantry along with the bottle of lemon juice and the whiskey, and wipe down the table with a cloth. I turn and find she’s standing very close, her face not far from mine, grey eyes like an ice floe.
‘But if you hurt my nephew, Asher Todd – or whatever your name is – I will tear you apart.’ It’s hard to believe, for a moment, that she doesn’t have anything of the wolf in her, the way her lips pull back from her teeth, the way the snarl lifts up the corners of her mouth. But she’s nowhere near the most terrifying person I’ve ever encountered, so there’s not even the slightest increase in my heartbeat, no trace of adrenaline. I think how near the knives are, how I cut the heart from my own mother, took the soul from my uncle. I think how her precious Eli killed the god-hound, my father; what if she knew that? There’s laughter in my mind, high-pitched and a little unhinged as if everything I’ve done is beginning to unpick me from the inside. I pull myself back, tell whatever’s in there to hush.
‘My name’s the only thing I have a claim to in the world, Mrs Postlethwaite.’ True. I step back from her, unhurried, reclaiming my space without any fear. ‘Eli is an adult. I’ve made him no promises, so I’ll break none. He will make his own choices.’
Her bluff called, her shoulders slump. Then the little thought: Would Eli come with me if I asked? When I go? With my true face? I shoo the idea away, then turn to leave; I have only a little time to prepare for the day.
* * *
That night after dinner I put the children to bed. I send Burdon off with another hot lemon drink; he grudgingly admits to feeling better. I check on Luned, who says she does not need to be spoon-fed anymore, thank you very much. I tell her she can be in the kitchen first thing in the morning then, Tib will be expecting her. She makes a face. Back downstairs, in the library I assure Leonora that I’ve matters in hand for granting her greatest wish. Later still, I’m in my own room uncertain whether to go to Eli again tonight or not. A knock sounds on the door, which opens before I answer. Luther stands there. My earlier efforts to talk with my mother-uncle were stymied by other duties.
I hurry over, pull him in, shutting the door behind him. ‘Mother! You could speak to me during the day, and best you do.’
‘But I wanted to see you, my Asher. It’s so hard when others are around, to find the moments when you are alone!’ He leans down and hugs me. I wish my mother didn’t feel so strange, didn’t smell wrong – once it was the scent of roses, now it’s brandy and the cigars Luther’s partial to. The stubble of her beard scratches my cheek.
‘You’ve done a poor job of shaving, Mother.’
‘Hardly my forte. Not really something I’ve been used to doing, but I shall improve.’ She smiles and sits in the chair by the fire, while I take the end of my bed. ‘It is strange, Asher, how much of the memory of life lives in the muscle of this body. The things my brother did out of habit, I find myself doing them too, without so much as a thought. I do not do them so well, admittedly, but I do them.’
‘Mother, do you have his memories? The ones of his past?’ I sit forward eagerly, and watch her eyes become hooded. It’s Heloise to a tee when she’s not going to share everything, when she’s picking through what she might give you. What worthless pebbles from her mountain of gold. My tone has an edge when next I speak: ‘Mother.’
‘Oh, quiet. I’m thinking.’ She tilts her head. ‘Some thoughts are so clear, easy to find, they rise to the surface like the lightest of things. Others… resist. No matter how much I dig. He hated you! So much, I can almost taste it. And me – he hated me even more.’ She laughs at that, her brother’s shout of amusement. ‘But, he hates Mother most of all. Hates her even more than I do and that surprises me.’
‘I think he still hated you for being favoured. For being the heir.’ Even though you had no aptitude for managing an estate, I do not say.
She nods. ‘I can feel what he felt the night he betrayed me. It makes me quite nauseous, in fact. Luther, Luther,’ she says almost to herself, ‘so many hatreds, brother!’
Which I must say seems a little rich given how long hatred was the engine of her own life. I wonder how long before this novelty fades? Before her anger and hatred return in full measure?
‘Mother, I must ask and I beg you to be truthful: is there a memory in Luther’s mind of a girl—’
‘—the governess before me. A Miss Hilarie Beckwith. Did he kill her?’
‘What concern is it of yours, my Asher?’ Heloise-Luther’s eyes narrow.
‘The means of me getting here, becoming part of the life of Morwood – so I could do this for you – was bought at the cost of another promise. I must find out what happened to Miss Beckwith and set her aunt’s mind at ease.’
‘Ah.’ Again, that tilt as if it makes the trip through her brother’s recollections easier. She shakes her head. ‘No. He didn’t kill her, lucky girl.’
My shoulders slump much as Tib’s did earlier today. I was so sure!
‘I fear I’ve disappointed you, Asher. But as I said, the remembrances are different, some stronger than others. Perhaps I will uncover more with time, as I get used to this persona.’
‘Mother. Your brother’s wife will return at some point – you need her, she is the source of the money’ – it seems important to tell her this, something she must know before I am gone – ‘and, Mother, Leonora is making moves to change her will. To remove Luther from the equation. So I suggest you continue to be charming and conciliatory.’
Her gaze goes flat, then shifts swift as a serpent. Another smile, a nod. I understand. ‘My good girl, you do look after me.’
‘And, Mother, in this vein, I would advise not bothering Luned. Whatever your brother had with her, do not continue it. Send her away – I believe Luther had promised her money so she might leave, travel beyond Morwood.’ I say delicately, ‘Her feelings for your brother have shifted to something akin to fear, Mother, so let us help her—’
But she’s shaking her head before I even finish.
‘I think not, my Asher. Or at least, not quite yet. It’s so hard to resist those memories of her! And this body – this body is different. The flesh remembers…’
The shock must show on my face because a shadow passes over hers.
‘Asher. My Asher. I’ve disappointed you.’ His voice is so soft, only a little mocking. ‘My darling girl, after all I’ve been through, would you deny me this little thing?’ He rises, grasps my hands in his, squeezes gently. ‘Asher, say you’ll indulge me in this one little thing.’
And I want to scream that I have indulged her all her life, that my existence has been one long process of attempting to keep her happy. That I am exhausted, worn thin with efforts that never satisfied her, alive or dead. Then the voice in my head says, Let them all take care of themselves. You have done enough.
Whatever mess my mother makes for herself I will not be here to clear it up.
Soon, I will be gone. I will be free.
Another voice whispers, But the children…
I sit back, close my eyes, feel a fall of… something cascade over me. Invisible but actual, a physical weight, a pain, a pang. But soon I will be gone.
‘Mother, be cautious, I beg of you. Whatever you do here affects us both.’
Until I am gone.