Page 22 of Court of Shadows
“This wedding is enough of a farce without that brainlessninny inviting strangers to gawk at our lives!” Barrow Breen shoved a finger in his son’s face, which was immediately batted away.
Mason was as tall as his father and now puffed himself up to be even larger. “How... How dare you, sir? How dare you?” He whirled and motioned to a dumbfounded Amelia. “Come, Amelia, we do not have to endure this.”
She gave a soft little pout and rounded the table on tippy-toes, taking Mason’s elbow and following him out of the room.
In the aftermath there was only silence. Mr. Breen breathed so erratically I could see his shoulders jumping up and down as he struggled to contain himself. Samuel Potts continued to work fruitlessly at his shirt and then scoffed, throwing the napkin down on the table.
“Just a short dessert, then,” Mrs. Haylam said brightly, as if nothing at all had happened.
Lee and I stared at her in disbelief, then scurried to change out the plates and remove the soup and pork from the table. There was trifle and pudding, but the men only picked at their portions in the ominous residuum of the argument. Tea was brought and ignored, and finally the men filed out, the atmosphere clearing as if a storm had passed.
“A delightful bunch,” Lee muttered as we cleared the table and helped Mrs. Haylam return everything to the kitchens.
I had always liked the dining hall, as it felt cozier and more human than some of the other rooms in Coldthistle, but now itfelt stained, as if the family had left behind an imprint of sorrow. Mrs. Haylam stayed behind in the kitchens on our last trip to direct Poppy on what could be saved and salvaged for the pantry. Lee and I remained in the dining room, washing and sweeping.
“I would not want to marry into that miserable family,” I replied, peeling off the tablecloth. I sighed at the massive wine stain on one side, dreading the time it would take me to clean it. “I don’t care how rich they are.”
“Amelia obviously does,” Lee said. He swept under the board and chairs, making a little pile of crumbs near the open door. The dining hall was at the back of the house, around behind the staircase and looking out onto the north end of the lawn and the spring. The house was mostly quiet, but above us I could hear pacing, and I wondered if Amelia was having trouble sleeping after the fight.
“She was poor once,” I told him. “It makes you ruthless.”
“Does it?” He said it softly, but I heard the implicit accusation.
“Yes,” I replied, undaunted. “It can grind you into dust, having nothing, it isn’t noble or romantic, and it’s humiliating to know villains likeMr.Barrow Breen get to wallow in luxury and still turn out to be unbearable heels.”
Lee swept silently for a moment, then paused and turned to look at me as I rolled up the tablecloth for the wash. “And if you came into money? Would you be different?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I should probably learn to hate myself.”
“You would do something good with it,” he assured me, and swept the pile of crumbs out into the foyer. “I like to think you would do something good.”
I’m trying, I thought, silently considering my bargain with the Devil. I will.
I was exhausted by the time Mrs. Haylam excused us. Lee disappeared at once, dodging out of the kitchens and into the darkness outside the house. He narrowly missed Poppy and Bartholomew, who slumped inside to rest while Mrs. Haylam did the final locking up.
With so much dessert left behind, she allowed us to each take a bit of trifle with us up to bed. It was the best thing I had eaten in a long time, but I could hardly taste it. While I battled the fatigue muddling my mind, I thought about what Lee had said. Would I really do something good with a fortune of my own? I didn’t quite know.... Of course it was tempting to imagine oneself as a gracious benefactor, foregoing decadence and living modestly as a philanthropist, giving money to orphanages and turning patron to some needy ward. But I could not say if that was my secret truth. Perhaps my secret truth was that I wanted to finally have something of my own, to spend money however I saw fit, to own a great house and fill it with ridiculous gowns and trinkets.
I would not know until that secret truth could be my reality. Croydon Frost and the money he owed me was reality, one that crept ever closer as Mr. Morningside read over the first translation.
Lee was right, I told myself. I would take Frost’s money and help my friends. If they did not want to live with me then I could buy them all houses of their own. How amazing it would be, I thought, to give them the gift of freedom.
In the morning I would bother him about bringing my father to the house, but in that moment I craved only sleep. I finished the trifle, spooning up the last of the cream and shuffling into my chambers. Closing the door, I rested against it gratefully for a moment. In the corridor I heard the familiar scraping gait of the Residents as they began their nightly patrols of the house. I crossed to the bed and left my little empty cup on the table, then changed into my bedclothes with leaden limbs. Crawling into bed, I shifted the curtain to my right aside and gazed up at the stars for a moment, letting the bright moonlight bathe my face.
I must have fallen asleep immediately, but woke soon after, roused by what sounded like crying. Sitting up in bed, I moved the curtain on my window aside again and peered out into the darkness. From there, I saw only the eastern side of the lawn, part of the barn, and the newly built pavilion. Nothing obvious stirred in the yard, and I waited for a moment, listening, thinking that the horses had been startled or a hawk had found a mouse in the fields. But the cry came again, this timeclearer and certainly human.
Kneeling, I pressed my face to the cool glass and squinted. There was movement at the very edge of the strip of woods behind the pavilion. I swore it was so. I waited still longer, and this time it was a long, pained wail. A girl’s voice. Had Poppy gotten out of the house and into some kind of trouble? It didn’t sound like her, but I couldn’t imagine who else would be out in the forest crying. Mrs. Haylam had warned us to be careful, to stay in the house, but I ignored her advice, putting bare feet to cold wooden slats and searching for a coat. I had been given an old, quilted housecoat that was tattered and worn, but as it was nearly summer, it would suffice.
I shrugged on the coat and padded to the door, then opened it slowly and checked for any wandering Residents. Down the hall, one drifted up the stairs, just the bedraggled tips of its feet hanging there before it glided up to the floor above. After a moment, I darted down toward where it had been and raced toward the foyer, hoping it would be too late in sensing me. Though I had not often navigated the house in the dark, I trusted that the kitchen door would be the most expedient route. It was also likely to be empty, since Mrs. Haylam and Poppy had their rooms elsewhere. Coldthistle remained silent, filled with the kind of uneasy tension that came in the dead of night.
The kitchens were empty but the door leading out had been locked. Of course. Mrs. Haylam was feeling particularlytouchy about security with the Upworlders around. I fished the spoon necklace out from under my chemise and closed my eyes, steadying my breathing. I didn’t think of my father but of the person in need outside. My thoughts raced. What if Poppy had been lured to the woods? Would the Upworlders really try to harm her? Or perhaps Amelia and Mason had sneaked off for some mischief in the spring and twisted an ankle.... Whoever or whatever it was, I knew I would never get back to sleep with them wailing outside my window.
The spoon grew hot in my hand and changed as I squeezed it, re-forming into a key. I unlocked the kitchen door and crept out into the moonlit yard. It was far brighter than normal, lending me plenty of light to see by as I tiptoed through the grass. No commotion came from the barn as I passed, but that high, scared cry came from the forest again. This time, I could make out words....
Heeeelp me! Please, help!
The girl was crying. She sounded so pitiful, so lonely.... Tendrils of familiarity tugged at my heart. I knew the voice, I couldswearI knew the voice. So I approached the forest edge, carefully, the pavilion to my right and back, Coldthistle looming over my left shoulder. There was no path into the woods here, for the only trail cut through farther to my left and led only to the natural spring. As I neared the forest I heard the spring bubbling distantly, and the chorus of frogs and crickets that took up near its moister grounds filled the air with theirsong. A twig cracked under my foot and I froze, clutching the spoon necklace with both hands. Without my meaning it to, the spoon that had become a key had now, in my fear, become a knife.
That was all right, I decided, swallowing back the little voice in my head that told me to turn back and go immediately to bed. Another voice joined that one, the same that had risen in me when I first met Finch and Sparrow.
