Page 22 of Blackwicket
“I’m sure Eleanora prefers not to wait,” William said, the hardness of his voice suggesting this wasn’t assistance but punishment.
“Very well,” Mr. Farvem replied stiffly, aware his authority in his own business had been revoked. “Give me a moment.”
With an air of being put out, he retreated to a door hidden by a wooden screen, disappearing through.
“Jack,” William said, the warmth of affection now absent. “Go ahead to Thea. I’ll meet you there.”
The boy, who’d taken off his cap and been twisting it in his hands, hesitated. “Mr. Nightglass…”
“This is not a discussion,” William interrupted.
With a last wary glance at me, Jack took his leave.
William and I were alone.
“Do you plan on staying at the house long, Eleanora?” he asked.
“No, I’ll be leaving as soon as I’ve done right by Fiona.”
“And do you happen to be the woman responsible for the recent chaos in Devin?”
He’d made the connection quickly--my sudden arrival, the curse he’d found skulking in my magic. I attempted to keep my response measured.
“It’s not my intention to bring trouble to your doorstep, William.”
He regarded me with the sharp attention of a man familiar with the shape of dishonesty.
“Trouble finds your family, whether you want it to or not. Does your father know you’re here?”
Silence was my answer.
“Ah.” William shook his head, disappointed. “I wish he’d been more forthcoming. I hate being ill-prepared.”
“It will come as no surprise to you that my father is a liar.”
William’s eyebrows lifted in amusement, and he averted his gaze, looking at the frosted glass of the front window as though he could see out into the day.
“Our fathers have that in common,” he said.
Physical discomfort bolted across his features, a small grunt of pain rising from his throat as he leaned slightly sideways.
“I’m afraid winter cold mistreats me,” he said at length when he’d gained composure, his eyes meeting mine again, like a hand hovering at my throat. “The result of an unfortunate injury.”
An unfortunate injury. Little Thomas, driven mad by curses, maiming his brother before being brought to Blackwicket House for healing. Dying instead.
My heart beat a ragged rhythm. Nothing was forgotten. Nothing forgiven.
“Well, Eleanora,” William said, approaching the entry, a new stiffness in his gait. “Welcome back to Nightglass. You’llfind things changed since you left, but as you know, old histories have a way of coming to call, no matter how much we hide from them.”
I tried to read between the lines, but our muddy past hindered me. Out of caution, I assumed the worst.
“I am not a woman moved by threats, William,” I warned.
“You misunderstand,” he said, opening the door and inclining his head in farewell. “It’s merely a caution. Only a stupid man would threaten a Blackwicket.”
Chapter Nine
Moments after William departed, Mr. Farvem reappeared, hunched, his years more evident.
