I wake so late that dawn is breaking a cold bright white. I hear the sound of hoofbeats and know I must hare back to the manor so as not to be caught. He tried to hold me there, keep me warm, but I shrugged him away, refused to kiss him goodbye lest he capture me again and this all start to feel like something that could become a habit.
I sneak in through the kitchen door but Tib Postlethwaite is already there, standing by the table, cheeks red from the cold. She’s tying one of Mrs Charlton’s white aprons over the top of a faded forest-green dress, but she’s still got her black bonnet on. She spots me and one greying eyebrow goes up. I throw my shoulders back, refuse to look guilty, and say, ‘What a lovely hat, Mrs Postlethwaite.’
Her hands fly upwards; she’d forgotten to take it off. Too busy looking around no doubt. I swallow a smile. ‘Did Mrs Charlton speak with you before she left?’
She nods. ‘She did.’
‘The pantry is well stocked. If there is anything you require, please ask Luned. If she is unhelpful then please tell me. Don’t let her put one over you.’
‘It’ll be a cold day below before the likes of her sends me astray.’ Her voice is deep, a little thick as if she’s speaking through treacle. I need to listen carefully if I’m to pick out all the words. I’ve not spoken to her at length before. She delivers the milk early each morning, is generally gone before I make my way downstairs.
‘If you need more hands in the kitchen, the Binion girls can be called upon. They will continue their weekly cleaning duties.’
‘Yes, Miss Todd.’ She doesn’t curtsey – nor does she need to – but I feel there’s at least a modicum of disrespect. Not simply that she thinks me a slip of a girl to be giving her orders, but that there’s something she doesn’t like.
‘Come along then, I’ll show you where everything is.’
‘If I can’t find my way around a kitchen by now…’ she grumbles. She’s probably right; she’s probably been in and out of this kitchen since before I was born – but if I let her get away with this tiny rebellion now, I’ll never gain control.
‘Then you should hang your head in shame. But Mrs Charlton is somewhat eccentric in her organisational habits, so hush and listen to me. There’s little time before I must go and make myself respectable.’
Her look says That will take hours.
‘Do you want my help or not? Because if Mrs Morwood doesn’t get her porridge at its perfect consistency and warmth, or her toast browned to just the right shade, there will be hell to pay… and I’ll not stand between you and her for anything in the world.’
She throws up her hands in surrender. Good. I take her on a tour of the kitchen, pantry, the storage rooms in the cellar below. As I give instructions I consider asking if she remembers Heloise. Yet there’s something about this woman that’s formidable in a way that Mrs Charlton isn’t. Or perhaps it’s that I sense she cannot be charmed – that I won’t be able to get away with anything in her sight. It seems I’ve rid myself of Luther’s oversight and replaced it with hers. I’ll need to watch her as she watches me.
* * *
While I’m bathing, my mind turns again to the poisoning of Heledd’s family. And I’m convinced it was indeed poisoning, not some animal dying in the well or something leached in from the stones and soil. Intentional and malicious. Yet the apothecary denied having sold any poisons to Luther and my gut tells me he was genuine. Someone contaminated that water supply. Luther sent Luned with “medicine” to the Lewises soon after they first began to sicken. Unable to examine it, I can only assume it was another dose, designed to make them worse or finish them off. Is it possible that Luther only wanted to warn them? Or frighten them? Surely, as lord of the manor, he could simply turn them off the estate? But then they might wander away with whatever knowledge he fears they possess.
So. Poisoning. Or here’s a thought: was he so incompetent with his doses that he didn’t put enough into the well to do the job? And repeated this with the “medicine”? It’s not beyond the realms of possibility. Ah, I wish I could ask around Whitebarrow University, talk to the oldest instructors who might recall Luther Morwood; dig out all his secrets and humiliations.
I cannot ask Luned what she carried for Luther either. She probably would not know, but there’s a good chance she’d report back to him that I’d asked. Would she have obeyed him without question purely in the interests of maintaining a life here? Does she truly dream of becoming the Mistress of Morwood? Possibly. She strikes me as sly but I can’t quite tell how clever…
Luther and Jessamine’s suite is empty. No great thing to search it tonight, see if anything can be found to either prove or disprove my thoughts. And Luther’s other room, unless Luned is in there, sleeping more comfortably than her small attic space allows. I’ll need to be wary; perhaps I’ll look tomorrow morning when she’s preparing the children for their day.
The bathwater has gone cold and I am now likely to be late down to breakfast. I heave myself out and begin speedy preparations so Leonora has no excuses to comment on my tardiness.
* * *
The children are listless in the morning, missing their mother, but none of them mentions Luther. Sarai warms to me a little; she keeps looking at the wound on my forehead, her brow creasing with guilt. We trudge through lessons – reading and mathematics – and after lunch I think it’s a relief to all of us when I hand them over to Eli for riding lessons. He touches my hand as I leave, but I avoid his gaze.
Back in the house I go upstairs, seeking Leonora to see if she has any tasks for me. Her suite is empty. I go in though, out of curiosity, and the first thing I notice is that the portrait of Heloise is gone, back into the dressing room, on the wall there, hidden from sight. I suspect she’ll not discuss her daughter again, not willingly, for it would remind her of a moment of weakness and that’ll displease Leonora Morwood. We’re both aware that I’ve gathered some of her secrets – though she doesn’t know how many others were gifted to me by my mother – but it would be unwise to remind her. Most people will share a confidence then regret it, and treat you as if you’ve already betrayed them. Those with the means to hurt you will do so to punish you for what they let slip.
One last look at the record of my mother’s living face, then I turn around to leave. On the desk I see the familiar colour of the parchment from Zaria Taverell, unsealed, unfolded. I pick up the two sheets, small writing on one, a legal opinion: Leonora’s original investment of Jessamine’s dowry has borne considerable fruit – because the amount settled on Jessamine was enormous. Even if she were to leave Luther, taking the original endowment with her, more than sufficient wealth has been created that the Morwoods would remain monied – yet I cannot imagine Leonora wanting to hand back any of that original capital in the event of a divorce; I think of Jessamine whispering how her mother-in-law had hidden all her “precious things” when the family was in penury. Should Jessamine, however, die, the inheritance would bypass Luther entirely and go into a trust fund for the children, to be administered by lawyers in Bellsholm – and Leonora Morwood would not get her hands on that.
Zaria also advises that Leonora would be entirely within her rights to make Albertine the heir, replacing son with granddaughter. She would be wise to set up a small stipend for Luther’s support to keep him contented (or as contented as he is ever likely to be), and then to ensure there is a separate trustee appointed to take care of the children’s financial needs until Albertine attains her majority. If she wishes to go ahead with this change to her will, then on the second page are the recommended terms and clauses. Leonora should make any amendments and notations thereon and return it to the office for a final document to be created.
I put the parchment back where I found it and return to the corridor.
I understand why Leonora would want to make this change.
I’m certain Zaria would be delighted to ruin Luther’s comfortable life.
Such a change would make Luther powerless.
Such a change would ruin my plan.
Such a change would put Albertine in a perilous position.
What can I do?
What can I do?
I stand at the top of the stairs, clench my shaking hands, slow my breathing. There’s nothing I can do just yet. I must be patient. I must do something. There’s nothing I can do. Not yet. I blink hard to stop the tears of frustration. All my plans, all my promises, will they be all for naught because of an old woman’s whim?
A voice calls up from the foyer. Burdon, yelling my name in a less than butlerish fashion.
I take the stairs at a sedate pace until I reach the ground floor. His expression is one of utter displeasure. ‘Some people here to see you, Miss Todd.’
My heart flips – the last time someone arrived for me it was not welcome. He flings open the front door. A group of perhaps ten folk, mostly women; I think I recognise some faces from my trips to the Tarn.
‘They apparently have health issues, Miss Todd, and seem to think you are the person to talk to.’ Burdon’s tone is neutral but he can’t control the set of his lips.
‘Thank you, Burdon.’ I remain calm, look at the group. ‘If you’d all be good enough to go around to the kitchen entrance? I’ll chat with you there.’
* * *
No good deed goes unpunished. I’d seen to twelve individuals by the end of the afternoon, under Tib’s curious and vaguely disapproving gaze. I saw everything from haemorrhoids to infected scratches, bruises inflicted by husbands, painful monthly courses, indigestion, bad breath, headaches, colds and several things in between. I sent each and every one away either with a mix if I had it to hand and instructions on how to take it, or a note for the apothecary so the right thing might be dispensed. At one point Leonora wandered in, stared, eyebrows lifted, as the Tarn folk bowed and murmured greetings and well wishes. She said not a word, but nodded, sharpish, then departed. Heledd Jones arrived just as I was seeing off the last patient.
‘And here she is, the source of my current misfortune,’ I said.
‘Now, don’t be like that.’ She grinned and hoisted the plump baby into my lap. ‘Many’s the woman who’d kill to be so popular without having to open her legs.’
We both burst into gales of raucous laughter, and I heard Tib Postlethwaite snorting in the laundry room.
‘What’s with this one?’ I ask, dangling the infant as if she might have forgotten it’s hers.
‘A rash.’
‘Arrowroot powder,’ I say. ‘It’s not as if you wouldn’t have known what to do yourself – it’s common enough knowledge, don’t need a doctor for that. So, why are you really here?’
‘Zaria—’
‘Oh!’ I’d forgotten my promise. I lay the child on the table, careful to keep him on the shawl he’s wrapped in – no bare baby bum on Tib Postlethwaite’s cutting surface! – and gently peel away the swaddling. Bright red skin and I can feel the heat coming off it. The lad grizzles. ‘Hush.’ For all the lawyer has been in my thoughts, it’s because of my obsessing over the contents of her letter to Leonora. ‘The tincture for her wife. Hold him here.’
Once she’s got a hand on his fat little leg to stop him from rolling off the table, I go to the pantry, to the shelves where I’ve started storing more and more herbs so I’m not constantly up and down the stairs for such things. I collect what I need and return. I take a little hot water from the kettle over the hob and mix in some feverfew, then add cold water and honey for sweetness. I coax it into the little one’s mouth to prevent any illness from the fiery rash. Then I lave the area with lavender wash and pat it dry before sprinkling arrowroot powder onto his skin. Delighted at the relief he begins to gurgle and kick his feet in the air.
‘How are your family?’ I finally think to ask.
‘Entirely well and they can’t stop singing your praises.’
‘Runs in the family apparently,’ I grumble as I begin mixing a tincture of pellitory of the wall. ‘Your father works a lot with Luther Morwood?’
‘Of course. Da manages the woodland. He’s answered directly to him these past few years since the old lady’s been poorly.’
Poorly.
‘Ah. Kind of him to send them medicine when they were ill.’
She just makes a Hmmmm sound and I wonder if the coincidence of her family’s worsening illness with Luther’s kindness has been a matter of discussion. I say no more about it. I decant the liquid into the last of my small bottles, and seal it with a cork. Handing it over, I say, ‘For Zaria. I’ve no doubt she’ll remember my instructions.’
‘Thank you. What’s she owe you?’ Heledd dips a hand into her pocket, but I shake my head.
‘Nothing today. But let her know I might beg a favour in return.’
Heledd nods. ‘Come for afternoon tea tomorrow if you can get away?’
The idea seems delightfully shocking: social interaction just for the sake of it. I hesitate then accept. ‘Thank you.’
* * *
When I finally dragged myself to the table – having remembered to dress for dinner and ensure my charges were also suitably attired – the children were filled with their riding adventures and seemed to have forgotten for a while at least that Jessamine was away. I’d wondered if Leonora might decide to banish me from the dining room as part of her quest to “raise standards”, but then she would have to manage her grandchildren on her own. She did, however, listen to them with greater patience than I’d ever witnessed, and asked more questions of Albertine than she was wont to do, about her studies, her reading. The girl noticed her grandmother’s attention and, after an initial period of nervousness, began to glow. When the meal was done, Leonora instructed Luned to take them for their baths and bedtime as she wished to speak with me for a moment. I promised I would look in on them before they slept and read a story.
As the door closes, Leonora Morwood fixes me with a look. ‘You’re popular, turning my kitchen into a regular market square.’
Too tired to dissemble, I reply, ‘Shouldn’t have told everyone it was me who restored your sight. You could have said it was a miracle, then they’d all be beating a path to the priest’s door instead of ours.’ Ours. Of course, there’s no point anyone going to the priest – Father – anymore, is there?
‘That priest,’ she fair spits. ‘His only miracle is turning perfectly good wine into piss.’
I laugh.
There’s a great flame of temper in her eyes and so much hatred – and I suddenly understand why she didn’t send him packing back to Lodellan, tail between his legs after my mother was sent forth. She kept him here to know how he suffered, deprived of any chance of advancement. Kept him here to watch his suffering – and then her sight left her. But then the fire goes out, she’s back in control.
‘You really are the most facetious creature, Asher Todd.’ She sighs, sits back in her seat – she’s taken over Luther’s head of the table position and I think he’ll be hard-pressed to wrest it back when he returns – points a long finger at me. ‘And here I was going to say that you should use the surgery for your physician’s duties. Don’t want the great unwashed traipsing through my lovely home. And if you think Mrs Charlton will put up with it when she returns, you should think again. Now close your mouth, you look like a simpleton.’
‘But the surgery is—’
‘Luther hasn’t set foot in there since the day after he returned from Whitebarrow trailing his shame behind him.’ She shakes her head.
‘What did he do there, Mrs Morwood?’ I ask quietly, not really hoping for an answer.
She makes a strangled noise. ‘There was a girl… always a girl where Luther’s concerned, but this one wasn’t the sort who could be paid off. The Chancellor’s daughter… I was given to believe she’d have married Luther, but her father did not consider my son a good enough mate.’ Leonora wipes a hand over her face, then says so low I almost don’t hear it, ‘I heard later that he’d subjected the girl to the medical attentions of a colleague to remove the object of her shame.’
‘It did not go well,’ I say, for I had heard rumours of a former chancellor who’d lost his only child and his reason. He was found wandering in the labyrinth of the library many nights in a row, until it was too late and he’d discovered a place to hang himself from the rafters. It was the smell that led the librarians to his body at last. Oh, your messes are far-reaching, Uncle Luther!
‘I believe if Luther had not already left the university he’d have been arrested.’ She smiles grimly. ‘That will teach the Chancellor to act precipitously.’
I open my mouth, about to pursue the thread, but she clears her throat and gives me a hard stare.
‘Asher Todd, the Tarn needs a doctor or at least someone who knows what they’re doing. There’s been an ancient hedge-witch or two, but I think you’re more able than they. This is something I can do for the good of the people who rely on me. Something that’s been denied them by Luther, and I can do this because I can unseat Luther. And I can unseat Luther all because of you. So, I suppose it’s a reward of sorts, although there’s plenty of work to be had. Eventually the children will be grown, but you can stay here, continuing to help.’
I don’t know what else to say except, ‘Thank you, Mrs Morwood.’
Something sits in my throat and I don’t know if it’s rage or grief or gratitude, or perhaps all three. An offer of a place. An offer of a continuing home. No doubt it’s powered by some self-interest – why would she want to let me and my skills go? – but a kindness of sorts. And a blow to Luther.
Morwood is changing. Morwood is changing because I came. Morwood will change further still.
‘Mrs Morwood,’ I say, knowing I should stop myself from speaking. ‘Teaching Albertine to run the estate… the document from Zaria Taverell… are you thinking of changing your will?’
She quirks one eyebrow at me, amused, not irritated. As if to say Can’t put anything over you, Asher Todd. Then my grandmother grins, wickedly, and says, ‘Shall I tell you a story, Asher?’