Page 40 of Court of Shadows
“Oh... it is,” I said, forcing a smile. “It, um, happens sometimes when we have a bad dream. I have been meaning to ask Mr. Morningside about it; he does know a lot about Unworlder things.”
“That is a grand idea,” Poppy replied with a laugh. She bounced her way across the bed and the dog followed, though much more slowly. My lap was blazingly hot from where Bartholomew had spent the night guarding me. I looked to the door, shuddering, convinced I could still smell that awful stench, as if it lingered from the dream at the back of my mouth.
“Oh!” Poppy twirled at the door, leaning on the frame and sticking a knuckle between her teeth. Her eyes darted nervously about the room. “About why I came to wake you. Yes, well, you should really hurry and clean up your face. You have a visitor, Louisa.”
“A visitor?” I pulled the blanket up, hiding the soiled shawl underneath. “Who would come to see me?”
“Your father, silly. He’s waiting downstairs!”
I had asked for this, and yet it was the last thing I needed.
Pink foam. Foam. Just like in the journal, the two girls... Oh God, and now my father, myrealfather. My real father who abandoned my mother and left us to suffer poverty and degradation, who left me for a drunken half-wit to berate and abuse. Oh God. OhGod.
It took longer than usual to get dressed, as I not only wanted to buy myself time but also make certain I looked presentable. There was little I could do to gussy up a servant’s simple bodice, skirts, and tucker, but at least I could make sure my apron was straight and my hair nicely plaited. While my nerves gathered like a storm at the edge of the horizon, I tried to take a modicum of satisfaction in making him wait. Croydon Frost. What did I expect? What didheexpect?
Not a long-faced, lank-haired plain girl with black eyes, I wagered. Most fathers must imagine their daughters to be great beauties. Lord, did he have a surprise in store.
I walked calmly down the hall when I was ready, or ready enough, reminding myself not to seem too eager. I confess, there was a part of me consumed with a giddy curiosity. Even if he was a vile, abandoning cur, I couldn’t help but feel a tad excited. It was a solved mystery, a gift opened at last on Christmasmorning, or maybe not; maybe it would be the shock of a snake waiting in the grass to bite.
Mary’s door was shut as I passed by, and I paused outside, then tapped on the door. I heard nothing inside, but tapped again and said softly, “I promise to visit later. There’s so much I need to tell you. Rest well, Mary.”
I was stalling and I knew it. But I also had an advantage while I lingered upstairs. The first floor looked out onto the foyer; they shared the same vaulted walls and ceiling, the same horrendous bird art. So I moved back a few steps and then slowly toward the banister, peering ever so gradually over the edge, trying to spot the man before he spotted me. I felt owed a look at him, a long look, one that lasted for whatever duration felt necessary. Maybe it would dispel the fear. Maybe it would give me courage.
And there he was. My first impression was that he was extraordinarily tall. He had removed a glossy top hat, revealing black curly hair speckled with silver. A long dark coat embroidered with green trim with an attached cape hung from his lean frame. Three modestly sized fabric bags were lined up beside him, and he had a small birdcage tucked under one arm, though I could see no bird in it. His face was... Well, not like mine exactly, but I could certainly note the resemblance. His eyes were also dark, even blacker than mine, and he, too, had a narrow face. It was dominated by a hawkish nose, too big, some would say, but it balanced a square, cleft chin. All in all he wasnot necessarily handsome, but striking, and stood with a casually authoritative tilt to his hips, as if, after mere moments, he belonged in this place.
He shifted the birdcage to his other arm and let his eyes roam around the room, and that was when he saw me.
It was time to go downstairs and come out of hiding. I pretended like I had not been spying on him, but of course my pale cheeks flamed with embarrassment. That would not do. I pulled my shoulders back and marched down the stairs like a queen about to address her subjects. He had sent a letter groveling for my acceptance, after all, and that meant I had the upper hand. I had begun to wonder if he was suffering from some terrible illness and wanted to make amends before he passed. Men always became frightfully concerned about their reputations when death hovered near.
“There you are,” he said as I reached the bottom step. The severity of his face changed, and he gave a full-bodied sigh, brows tenting with relief.
“Does Mrs. Haylam know you’re here?” I asked, keeping a safe distance. I crossed my wrists primly in front of my waist. There would be no leaping into arms or embracing today.
“She does,” he replied. He put down the birdcage carefully on the floor and took a few steps toward me, gesturing with his top hat. “I... told her to wait on accommodations. It is your decision whether I stay or go.”
I had expected him to have an accent like mine, but travelor time had worn it down, altered it, until it was not Irish or anything else, but uniquely his own.
“Then Mr. Morningside extended an invitation,” I said. “I had no idea it would reach you so soon; this is all very... hasty.”
“Oh! Oh.” He bit down hard on his lower lip and worried the edge of his hat with both hands. “There was no invitation, Louisa. I came on my own.” He must have seen the rising fury in my face because he held up a hand as if to keep me from lunging. “Please don’t be angry. Please. I just needed to see you with my own eyes. If you want me to depart at once then I will.”
I closed my eyes, feeling my hands turn into fists, the nails biting hard into my palms. The nerve of this man. The enduring nerve. I took in a deep breath, promising myself it was not worth throttling him then and there. Still. I was hurt, beyond hurt, aching in a place in my heart I didn’t know existed. Breathe.Breathe. “How did you even find me?”
“I hired a few men,” he said with a shrug. “They started in Waterford, spiraled out from there. They found your old school, but the headmistress had not seen you in months. There were only so many towns near enough to walk to, so they started again there.”
“You hunted me down like a thief,” I murmured, icy. “How flattering.”
“How this would all look when I found you was not my most pressing priority,” he said, gaining a little sternness ofhis own. But he backed it down, hanging his head, playing the beleaguered father. “I suppose I should have given that more thought. I’ll go.”
“No!” I hated myself for how fast it came out, how little control I had over the word. “No... Not yet. There are things I want to know, things I want to hear from you, and then you can be on your way.”
“I had hoped to leave with you,” he admitted. “Foolish, I know, but one does dream. What father does not want to spoil a child who deserved spoiling all along?”
“You don’t know me,” I shot back. “You don’t know what I deserve.”
“Well then, I should like to change that.” My father, for he was that—the resemblance could not be denied, especially now that I saw him more closely—came toward me. He stopped a polite span away and bowed at the waist. “Croydon Frost; our meeting and these introductions are long overdue. Longer than you can possibly imagine.”
“I can imagine. I was alive for all of it.” But I gave a short curtsy and sighed, sweeping by him and inspecting his luggage. The scent of pine perfume drifted from his possessions. “Don’t expect me to, I don’t know, love you or something. Or act like your daughter.”
