Chapter 10: Rite of Nesting

 

Fortunately, Greeley had not damaged the lock mechanism, although the black paint was marred. I shook my head over it and informed him to expect a bill. Greeley prowled the grounds, calling Sarah’s name, and even ventured to open the door to the groundskeeper’s cottage.

“Really, sir, this is an affront,” I complained. When Greeley turned his back to inspect the bed, I snatched the basin of bloodied water from the table and dumped it quickly.

“Ruh-ruh-ruh,” he said, mocking my speech. “You sound like an imbecile.”

I would not retreat into silence in the face of one unpleasant father. Sarah’s desire to escape him seemed more reasonable each time I was forced to interact with him. “I’m not the one searching a cemetery for my living daughter, you foul skunk. Are you nearly done with this farce?”

After poking into a few more corners and issuing a few more insults, Greeley finally slunk away. Everett and I watched him go.

“Will you go home,” I questioned, “or do you wish to return to the tunnel with me and venture to Maida House?”

“Both. I’ll go home now and be back here in less than an hour. Will you wait for me?”

I understood he would want to speak with Mrs. Toth before haring off for the night. But he didn’t exactly know with whom we would be associating.

“I will gladly wait. But, Everett, Juno Stephens is not an advantageous friend for you. You know she’s unusual.”

I could neither mention the information gleaned from Mrs. Pfeiffer since I did not understand if her mention of Juno’s presence had relevance, nor the blood ritual I had witnessed. It was too strange, and I hoped Juno would never revisit that ceremony.

“No one knows I’ll be anywhere near Juno Stephens.” He shrugged, turned his face away. “And you’ll need my help. I want to make sure Sarah Greeley is safe and comfortable.”

“Interesting,” I said.

“Don’t say that. It’s not interesting. She’s alone in a derelict manor with a very odd woman, and she had a terrible fright today. My concern is only natural.” He turned to me with his chin set at a stubborn angle.

“Of course.” I nodded sagely. “Natural, gallant, knightly concern. And the sooner you’re off, the sooner we can depart for the house.”

Everett made a rude gesture and left for home. I returned to my cottage and straightened up the place. We had left in a whirlwind, and Greeley had tracked muddy footprints on the floor. My cupboards were bare, but that problem would have to wait. What else would Juno need? I bundled up another stack of firewood. Would the smoke be visible from the chimneys? It’s my house. No one could tell me not to light a fire. But I did not want anyone to suspect I was entertaining visitors.

* * *

When Everett returned after dark, I carried with me only firewood, candles, and flint in a canvas sack over my shoulder. We trudged back to the Hood family plot, and I watched Maida House as we walked. It was as solemn as always. Nothing about the exterior indicated the new life inside. What if Juno and the girl were trapped in the tunnel?

“Hurry,” I urged, picking up my pace.

The vault door was closed but unlocked, just as we had left it. I had given my only lantern to Juno, but once inside the narrow crypt I lit two candles and passed one to Everett. I tried my best to ignore my family enjoying their eternal repose to either side.

I opened the tunnel hatch and gave Everett a questioning look. The candlelight reflected off the planes of his face and cast shadows over his eyes.

“You first,” he said.

“Yes, right.” I eyed the doorway with distaste. It wasn’t tall enough for me to pass through erect, and there was only a small ledge before stone steps descended. “Well.” If Juno and Sarah had done it, I could do it.

I stepped up to the entrance, and my candle was immediately extinguished by the cold draft rushing in and out of the tunnel as if the earth herself was breathing. “Damnation.”

“You’re going to want both hands anyway,” Everett said.

He was right. I pinched the glowing orange tip from the wick and stowed the candle in my bag. Then, hunching my neck, I squeezed through the doorway. It was narrower than I recalled. My shoulders brushed the marble facing.

I braced my hands on the walls and put a foot on the second step. It was too shallow to accommodate my boot, and my toes dangled off the edge. I pivoted around to face Everett and descended backward, taking the steep steps more like a ladder than a staircase.

“I had no idea you were such a nervous nanny-goat,” Everett observed.

“Oh, hush. I’ve no interest in cracking my skull.”

“On second thought, nanny-goats are nimble and quick. You’re more like a nanny-tortoise.”

“Did you forget that I am your employer? Come right along, since you’re so confident.”

Everett followed with considerably more dexterity than I had demonstrated, and we soon reached the base of the tunnel. I relit my candle and cupped the flickering flame with one hand. It illuminated earthen walls coated with a lime wash in the past. Thick beams braced the walls and ceiling at intervals. I kept my head ducked, although Everett was able to walk upright.

We walked swiftly along the straight tunnel. It sloped upward to meet Maida House on its hill. In my childhood, I had not known of the passageway. My mother said later she didn’t want me tumbling down the steps or escaping into the fields. When I first made the trek from house to burial ground, Joseph and I had accompanied Mother at her request so she could ascertain if the family vault was suitable for my father. She and I made the same walk a few years later to choose a place for Joseph.

Another flight of steps led to Maida House. The stairs into the house were more refined, with plaster on the walls and brackets intended for torches. We extinguished our candles and climbed up.

I pushed on a latticed wooden screen at the top of the stairs, then tossed my sack of firewood ahead of me onto the floor. The screen separated the tunnel from the hot house, a wide glass enclosure running along the west side of the house, from dining room to rear courtyard. It was a recent addition of the last few decades, although before my birth. Before the hot house, the tunnel had ended in a narrow door in the dining room itself, or so my mother told me. I found it hard to imagine the Hood widows of old rising directly from dinner to make the walk out to visit their dearly departed.

“Aiii!”

The fierce scream startled me as I stepped out of the hole in the wall. Someone jumped towards me, weapon raised. I dove to the ground—but it was more of a stumble than a planned maneuver. My heart leapt, and blood thundered in my ears.

“Hold!” I yelled. I twisted and raised my hands to ward off a blow. “Hold.”

“Oh.” Something metallic rang out on the floor just beyond my feet. “It’s only you. My apologies.”

I lowered my hands and peered up at Juno, backlit by the night sky filtering through the glass ceiling, holding a fireplace poker like a lowered weapon. My head fell back to rest on the cool clay tiles. The ceiling panes above were streaked with dirt and bird droppings. “It’s me,” I said needlessly.

“Welcome home.”

“Thank you.” I took a deep breath.

Juno nudged my foot with hers, and her pale face appeared above mine, one hand outstretched. The swelling around her eye had receded in the few hours since I’d last seen her. I grasped her proffered hand and rolled to my feet.

“I thought we were being invaded,” she explained as I swatted dead leaves and dust from my coat. The room was furnished only with vegetal detritus and empty planter beds.

Everett stepped neatly from the latticed hatch. “I suppose you are. Where is Miss Greeley?”

“Mounting the defense of the kitchen, surely,” I said.

“Don’t be ill-tempered, Ben, just because you screamed. She’s in the library.”

“I did not scream.”

“Of course not.”

Juno turned and led us through a connecting door into the house proper. Catching sight of the dining room wallpaper and chandelier swamped me with memories for a moment, and I stopped. I had eaten almost every dinner there with my family until my father’s death, and even afterward. Mother, Joseph and I had continued together, with Joe fidgeting at the head of the table, during the short span until I went away to university.

But since Joe’s death, the house had been unoccupied for eight years; even before that, it had been in decline for the two years he was master of the house. Perhaps I should have visited regularly to knock down cobwebs and ensure the roof hadn’t leaked, but at the time I only wanted to put the loss—of my brother, the farm, the manor—behind me.

The dining room was forlorn. The furniture suffered under a layer of grime, as did the paintings on the walls, and the tasseled rug I remembered was gone. A yellowing cloth draped over the table and hung almost to the carpet. It gave the room an air of ghostly expectancy. My mother at first had spoken incessantly about returning home as if our departure was nothing but a short break in occupancy. She’d eventually ceased that line of talk, but exactly when I could not remember. Juno would say I hadn’t been paying attention. As I looked closer, I saw the fuzz of mold along the seams of the wallpaper, and the ceiling bulged with damp in one corner.

My eyes filled with sudden tears, and I leaned heavily against the sideboard. “I’m sorry, I—I haven’t been here in some time.” Things had not turned out the way I’d wanted. Joe should have been here, with a wife and children and two muddy dogs, and my mother warm in the parlor, not me. I wanted to reestablish the estate, but I’d always thought of it as his. My brother’s farm, my brother’s house. I had planned to write scholarly tracts about native English plants and return for cozy visits at Christmastime.

“Ben.” Juno slipped her fingers into mine. I dashed my free hand under my eyes. “Come to the library.”

I nodded and straightened. No use worrying over what was done. Everett was quiet as we filed into the hall. Had I lowered in his estimation, now he knew how far I’d fallen?

The library was directly across from the dining room. Double doors slid into pockets in the walls, and Juno released my hand to tug open one door just wide enough for us to enter.

The library at Maida House was larger than my entire cottage in Maida Green. Every inch of wall space not taken by windows or fireplace was given over to tall bookshelves. The room was essentially rectangular, but each corner folded inward as if the books pushed themselves forwards. The shelves reached within two feet of the high ceiling. The top corners of each case were decorated with a carved wooden spike. The pointed spindles lent an ecclesiastical air, which was enhanced by the glow of at least a dozen candles placed around the room. Musty velvet drapes held in the light and swayed slightly in the draft.

“No invaders,” Juno chirped. “Just Ben and Everett.”

Only then did Sarah Greeley sunk into a huge chair before the fireplace. The small, banked glow provided meager heat and light. Her legs were crossed, her hands hidden in her cloak.

“Wonderful,” she said without turning her head.

“Miss Greeley, your father—”

“He’s harmless. There was a disagreement between us.”

“Juno had been struck, Miss Greeley. I’m assuming not by you.”

“That was a misunderstanding,” Juno said. “Mr. Greeley startled me, and I stumbled.”

I gave Juno a questioning look. She moved her shoulders slightly. Then she crossed to the hexagonal table in the center of the room. My last memory of the surface had it littered with books and folios, but someone—Juno—had dusted it off and placed a lit candelabra in the center.

“The chimney seems to be pulling a strong draft,” Juno said, noting the direction of my gaze. “Not everything here is hopeless. Are you two hungry?” she asked. “I’m afraid we cannot accommodate a formal dinner this evening, but we shan’t starve.”

From the rucksack, she extracted half a loaf of brown bread, cheese, a sausage, and two apples. These simple things she positioned around the candelabra with such grace that the tabletop could have been a Renaissance oil painting.

My hands itched with idleness while she worked. “I can fetch plates from the kitchen,” I said.

“Would you? Oh, wonderful, thank you.” Juno beamed at me as if I’d volunteered to rescue her favorite kitten. “And water, too, please.”

“Will you assist me, Everett?”

“As always.”

We took a branch of candles and wandered like wraiths to the rear of the house. A mouse preceded us down the long hall, which narrowed as we moved past the family areas and toward the staff’s domain. How many generations of mice had lived on the flour and grain abandoned in the pantry? The kitchen, when I pushed through the dual-hinged green baize door, was as desolate as the dining room had been. I forced my focus to the task at hand to avoid another wave of memories.

“Place settings should be in the butler’s pantry on the left,” I said. I selected two pitchers from a shelf over the sink and blew out the dust. “You find them while I try to get the pump moving. Oh, but don’t bring out the rose china. Much too formal for the library.”

“This is all very strange.”

I turned. “The kitchen? It’s old-fashioned, and it needs a scrub, but—”

“No, all of this.” He flung an arm in the direction of the library. “Are we playing domestic games? How long will Juno and Sarah remain in hiding here? You cannot keep them concealed forever. Greeley does have some legal right to know his daughter’s whereabouts.”

“You’re not suggesting we return her to him?”

“No. I don’t know what I’m suggesting. But there must be a plan, Ben.”

“You worry too much for twenty.”

He folded his arms. “Or maybe you worry too little since Juno Stephens started clasping your hand like she owned it.”

I blew out an exasperated breath, but Everett had a point. Juno had talked me into things I never would have done otherwise. Had I forgotten her sins so easily? “I’ll speak to Juno about the intended duration of their stay. In the meantime, find those plates. And maybe a lighthearted fellow such as yourself can rouse Miss Greeley from her gloom.”

He pivoted abruptly for the butler’s pantry. In the rear courtyard, I operated the hand pump with perhaps unnecessary vigor. It groaned in protest. The first trickle of water was cloudy, and I continued pumping until it ran clear and icy cold.

When we returned to the library, Juno had dusted off four mismatched chairs and set them around the table. Everett laid out his plates. The dishes were painted with twisting, thorny roses. He had chosen the set expressly because I’d said not to. The service was probably fifty years old, and of china so fine it was translucent when held up to the light. It was a miracle it hadn’t been sold off to cover debts. Juno hummed as she carved the cheese into wedges, and I poured water into short glasses. Tomorrow I would have to return with wine.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow I would have to resume my stalled investigation into the infants’ deaths. Another family would have to bear my intrusion. Tomorrow I would have to ask Juno about a more permanent plan for her and Sarah. My mind veered away from the pulsing worries. I only wanted to sit in my library and eat bread and cheese from the family china.

“Sarah?” Juno asked. “Come and join us.”

Everett and I hovered awkwardly behind our chairs, unsure of the formality of a secretive library meal. Juno seated herself, and I decided I could sit. Sarah rose with a sigh and took the last chair.

“I find I am glad to be here,” I said, surprising myself. “Even under odd circumstances. I should not have left this place alone for so long.”

Juno nodded. She had her hands folded in her lap and her spine as straight as any aristocratic hostess. “I am grateful the house has been so patient. We are fortunate to have a place to tuck ourselves away. The chimney flue was clear. An enterprising mother mouse had made good use of an upholstered footstool,” she said with a smile, “but I explained our situation and removed the stool to the parlor.”

“Ah,” I said. I cut the sausage into portions and offered the plate to Sarah. She took the smallest piece and kept her eyes lowered.

“Thank you, again, Ben. Oh! And I found an absolute abundance of beeswax candles in the little cupboard by the back stairs.”

“You’re welcome.” I smiled wryly. My place fell somewhere between the mother mouse and the beeswax candles on Juno’s list of important thoughts. The curve of her throat rippled as she sipped from her water glass. “Have you been all through the whole building already?”

“No, not nearly. I haven’t ventured upstairs.”

“Miss Greeley,” Everett blurted suddenly. “Do you enjoy books?”

We all stopped and looked at him, and he gazed at Sarah with earnest eyes.

“Did it take you this long to compose that conversational gambit, Everett?” I mock-whispered. “You had best start now on formulating your next query, so it’s ready for tomorrow.” Something hard connected with my shin under the table. “Ow.”

Juno widened her eyes and glared, communicating silently that I should stow my impertinence. I popped a corner of cheese into my mouth and winked at her. She pursed her lips.

“Yes,” said Sarah.

“There are,” he began and then gave a little cough. “There are many books in this room.”

I planted my elbows on the table. “That’s why we call it the library.”

“Benjamin,” Juno chastised. “Honestly.”

Everett was deaf to us, all his attention on the girl. “Perhaps after dinner, we could look at some of them. There might be one or two you care to read.”

“All right.” Sarah did not sound enthused, despite her ready assent.

“After dinner I need to go upstairs and check the roof for leaks,” I announced.

“Then I will go up with you,” said Juno. “I’d like to see the rest of the house if you’re willing.”

When our plates were all down to crumbs, I stood and offered her my arm. She picked up candlesticks for each of us before we made our way to the door. Everett and Sarah crossed to stand before a bookshelf.

The hallway was cooler than the library had been. The main staircase, which had its foot in the foyer, was covered in a floral carpet runner that needed replacing. The walnut bannister, however, looked nearly perfect. Juno and I paused before ascending.

“A rubbing with citrus oil and you’d never know this railing had been sorely neglected,” I said, swiping a fingertip through the fine layer of dust.

“Just like you.” Her fingers tensed on my arm.

I looked down at the top of her head. The candlelight made her skin glow and turned her hair as black as midnight. “You think I need shining up?”

The stairs creaked under our slow footsteps, although the treads felt solid enough.

“No. I meant that you’ve been sorely neglected, but you’ll come through all right in the end. I’ve seen more of your smile tonight than our other evenings put together.”

At the second story landing, I pulled my arm away, putting a few extra inches between us. I didn’t want her pity. “I beg your pardon, but I was never neglected. You needn’t feel sorry on my behalf. And our other evenings amount to a few hours.”

“I apologize,” Juno said easily. “Consider my comment retracted. Perhaps those evenings took on a certain outsize shape in my memory.”

My breath hitched a little at her humble confession. “In mine, too.” Just like that, we were comfortable again. She’d mollified my pride and issued a hint of a compliment at the same time. “Two more flights,” I said. “The next level is the ballroom, so it’s all just empty space. Then the stairs to the top floor are considerably narrower. Do you prefer to go first or last?”

“Can we stay a moment and look around this level? I would expect to find all the family bedchambers here.”

“No.” My response came quickly. Juno turned her face up to me, blinking. She saw too much. I inhaled and clenched my hands to hide their quiver. “I’m sorry, I’d rather not.”

Several of the rooms contained good memories, and for several of the guest chambers, I had no memory at all. But the master bedroom was a place I was not ready to revisit.

“All right. I’ll go up first. Just pull me out if the stairs collapse.”

I gave her a grateful smile. “I promise to extract you from the wreckage.”