Page 10 of House of Furies
“Don’t dawdle,” Poppy said, pulling me down the corridor. “And don’t speak above a whisper in the halls.”
“There are a lot of rules here,” I replied, trying to ignore the cold unease of being watched.
Poppy stopped suddenly outside a gray painted door and nodded, letting go of my hand. “Yes, there are, Louisa, and you should follow them.”
Chapter Seven
There was thunder at my door. The floor and bed rattled, shaking me out of a deep, dark slumber.
No, not thunder. A fist.
“I’m awake! One moment!” I called, scrambling to make sure I was decent, and to rub the sleep out of my eyes. It had been a long time—too long—since I had slept that well. At first, I’d worried that being alone would be intimidating, but the solitude proved blissful. Nobody fidgeted in a creaky bed next to me, nobody snored all through the night, and no teachers stalked the room, checking for naughtiness or truancy.
Now, the pounding at the door ceased, and I managed to pull my stained woolen dress over my head and rake both hands through snarled hair before the door opened on a tall figure, a young man of African descent with dazzling olive-green eyes and a furrowed brow.
Either he or someone else had hauled up a steaming basin of water and a bar of soap. Both sat next to the door, and my relief was palpable. After so much waterlogged travel, I smelled like the bottom of a foot.
“Ah!” he rumbled. “A new lamb for the slaughter!”
“I beg your pardon?” He wasn’t much older than I was, hale and strong. A soft paper package was tucked under one of his massive arms.
“Only jesting. You are the new scullery girl, aye?” he clarified. “Mrs. Haylam wanted me to fetch you. Ach, and to give you this.”
The package was warm, and it gave under my hands. Cloth. Probably freshly laundered, given its subtle heat. That made sense. I couldn’t begin my employment dressed in traveling clothes. “Thank you,” I said. “I’m certain she told you, but my name is Louisa.”
“Chijioke,” he said. His voice was deep and pleasant, with what sounded like a faint Scottish brogue. It reminded me of one of the students at Pitney. “I work the grounds.”
I nodded, emerging at last from the bleariness of a sudden jolt awake. “Poppy told me as much.”
“Ah, yes. She mentioned you. Several times, actually. I believe she’s quite enamored.” He chuckled and then pointed to the room behind me. “Why don’t you prepare for the day? Afterward I can show you to the kitchens.”
“You’re very kind, thank you.” I retreated to my quarters and unwrapped the package. Chijioke shoved the basin and soap in behind me and shut the door.
The package was not finery, obviously, and I had expected nothing but clean, simple garments. That’s precisely what they were: a long, charcoal-colored skirt; a homespun blouse the color of bone; a cap; an apron; and the sturdy, corseted undergarment to be worn underneath it all.
It was rude to speak through the door, but I wanted adistraction while I scrubbed myself and wrestled my bony frame into the corset. And I wanted to make a good impression, for once, and perhaps even stay in good standing with my fellow workers at the house. This was a new start, after all, and while I had no idea what the crone—Granny—truly thought of me, I could at least remain civil with this young man and Poppy.
“The Orkney Islands,” I said, loudly enough for him to hear in the hall.
“What was that?”
“Your accent. At my old school there was a girl from there, the Orkney Islands.” Of course, the teachers had made the girl suppress her natural brogue, encouraging instead a general English dialect that would be more pleasing to potential employers. The gentry had no interest in governesses who would impart a “low” voice to their children. “It’s quite distinct.”
I heard him laugh again. “It’s where my father settled after retiring from the navy.”
“What are you doing here, then?” My person decidedly sweeter smelling after the wash, I reached for the corset and laced it. Then I pulled on the skirts and then the blouse.
“You’re brimming with questions.”
“I didn’t mean to be rude,” I called back. “Might we discuss the house instead? Do you like being employed here?”
It was hard to gauge his responses without seeing his face, but he paused and then said, “I didn’t like the navy. No sea legs. The whole thing made me ill. I prefer fresh air whenmy feet are on solid ground.”
NowthatI definitely understood. Sea travel always unbalanced me, too, and I had spent most of the voyage from Ireland bent over the railing, hurling my guts into the waves.
My hair, thin and black, never took to plaits very well, but I braided and pinned it the best I could and covered it with the simple white cap. A small, round looking glass sat on the table in the corner, and I checked my appearance in it—not a look that would win me accolades during the London season, but it more than sufficed for scullery work. I had never grown to be a great beauty like my mother, though I had inherited her large, dark eyes and black hair. In such garb, she would have looked voluptuous and even tempting, but not even the most artful corset could make a shape out of my spoon-handle figure.
Upon opening the door, I found Chijioke beaming down at me. He smiled as if I had just made some tremendously clever joke. “Dublin!”
