Page 8 of House of Furies
There was an air about the man I did not like, and an urge to turn out his pockets and steal from him at the first available opportunity rose sharply, like a hunger pang. Even if I were alone, I would think better of it. Under his seat, behind his shins, I saw a number of sabers sheathed in fine leather scabbards. The men were prepared for robbers.
“Have I offended?” Rawleigh suddenly asked. “It would be too like me to do so. And this soon! I really should learn to shut my mouth sometimes. I have the greatest respect for servants. It’s a thankless position, truly; I wouldn’t last half a second!”
Stop talking.
“Please say I haven’t offended you,” he added with a sheepish half smile.
“You have, but you’re forgiven.” There was no point in coddling him. It was obvious to me someone else had done plenty of that already. “I never expect consideration. It’s the easiest way to avoid disappointment.”
“What a very sad way of looking at things...”
A soft, fluttering noise at the window drew my attention. “And yet it keeps me alive.” The glass was ice cold when I pressed my nose to it, watching, rapt, as a barn owl flew lower over the carriage, so low that it grazed the roof. “There! Did you see that?”
Lee scrambled to get closer, ducking his head to follow my pointed finger. “Astonishing! One of your fabled owls!”
It flew on ahead, but what was more, it glided toward a rising hill. Dawn broke apart the horizon, wide painter’s strokes of inky blue turning lighter by the moment. A tall, two-towered manor rose as if from the hill itself, a stark, black silhouette that grew only taller and more improbable as we neared it. No woods surrounded the manse; the birch and rowan stayed well back, as if reluctant to grow on the house’s grounds.
I had lost feeling in my nose, and the cold of the window spread through to my fingertips and toes. Coldthistle House. Aptly named. It looked thorny with warning, tall and spindly and precarious, and, with the sun at its back, not a building of stone and mortar but a place of pure shadow.
“Turn the carriage around,” I whispered. But my voice was lost and it was too late. We had started up the hill, and feeling returned to my fingers for an instant. I looked down and shivered; Lee had gone pale and perfectly still, and he clutched my hand in his as if in dread.
Chapter Six
Exhausted, I stumbled out of the carriage and onto the desolate grounds surrounding the manse. Even with Foster helping me down, I was unsteady, clumsy, unsure if perhaps the lack of sleep was responsible for the hard pit forming in my stomach.
“How cozy.” Lee had landed on much sturdier footing behind me, surveying the drive with a wobbly smile. “Or, hmm...”
I was struggling for words, too. Coldthistle reminded me, horribly enough, of Pitney House. My old school had been more like a dungeon than a place of learning. The pit in my gut widened, and I winced, feeling at once relieved to be away from there but also guilty for leaving behind one tolerable peer. Very well,friend. It was easier not to think of her as a person I liked, because now I was free of Pitney’s grasp and she remained.
Jenny. Poor, sweet, trusting Jenny. Well, she was far away from me now and there was nothing I could do to help her.
And she might be better off, I mused, taking in the tall, narrow towers that perched like stony fraternal twins on the top of the mansion. It was one of the old, great houses of England, stoic and angular, with a number of yawning windows that looked dark and hollow in the dawn light. A few neglected topiaries lined the path up to the door, their shapes more like gargoyles than circles or squares. A barn peered outfrom behind Coldthistle House. It looked to be newer and less cruelly appointed, and one’s eye went immediately back to the mansion.
My new home.
No, I corrected myself with a grimace, moving slowly toward the wagon to see what the crone wanted of me—not a home but a place of employment. Simple employment. It would be a waypoint, just a place to stop over while I worked out what to do with my life. If I could save up a little money, then I might be able to make it north and take a ship to Ireland. Or to the Americas. Both options felt equally distant and dreamlike, especially with Coldthistle House looming before me. Without a family to return to or a real home to recall, the future never felt important. After Pitney, most girls were either absorbed by the school to teach the next generation or they were picked out for governess positions by families in need.
Even scullery work sounded preferable to teaching some rich lord’s brat.
The gravel drive crunched under my shoes, and the crone climbed down from the driver’s box just as I approached. I glanced back at Lee and his uncle, who waited on their driver to collect a modest amount of luggage. Lee gave me a little wave and then started toward the house, his uncle clearly in no mood to dawdle.
They would have warm rooms waiting for them, even baths. Looking at the crone’s sour expression, I doubted there wasanything but toil in my very near future.
“Don’t go falling for that boy,” she muttered, skewering me with her one good eye.
The suddenness of it caught me off guard.
“Of course not,” I replied. “He’s a guest and I’m the help. I’m not stupid, you know.”
She considered that for a moment, her jaw working back and forth in concentration. “Hmm. That remains to be seen. Not like his uncle would let you have anything to do with each other. That one cares for coin and only coin.”
“How do you know that?” But I had suspected the same.
Hobbling toward the back of the wagon, she rubbed at her hip. “You’ve met one miser, you’ve met them all. Now what are you doing following me about?”
“I thought you might need assistance with, um, with the cargo.”
“You’re no use to me hungry and tired,” the crone said with a snort. “And besides, Chijioke will be along once the house stirs. Go along inside. Take the stairs up to the second floor and go right. Your quarters are at the very end of the hall.”
