Page 26 of The Beast of Ashwood Manor

“What kind of animal?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Cale stood up and nodded at the tub. “You should clean yourself. Not just the wound.”

“When I left the other day, you were angry with me.” I glared down at him, my blood turning hot again. “Now you’re acting like you care? Well, I won’t be fooled. I’m used to people pretending around me. I can sniff out a fool as if he were the shit on my boot. Now get out.” I nodded at the door.

His face fell, and it was obvious my harsh words had hurt him. Without a word, Cale turned, opened the door, and left quietly.

I locked the door behind him. Placing my hand against the cold frame, I leaned against it and winced. My hands furled into tight fists, and once again, I was angry at myself for the monster I was.

Theweekspassedlikea blur. I went from helping Royce in the kitchen in the mornings to helping Edgar outside from noon to dusk. There was always something to do, and I admit, helping out with the food and animals helped pass the time quickly.

With autumn deepening, we prepared the garden grounds for frost by laying down leaves and grass. Edgar kept the pigs and goats in a small shed when it was too cold. The chicken coop did need repairing, but I didn’t want to touch another piece of wood after Gil had gotten angry with me. Still, it didn’t hurt to ask him about it, as no one else ever wanted to approach him.

Then there was the slaughter shed, or so everyone called it, which I’d attempted to try with Royce and Eugenia before getting sick to my stomach. They’d had a good laugh, and I left such things to them.

Working in the kitchen with Royce was much better than working with Julia and Bella in Tolburg. I never got teased, and he was patient with me, never once scolding as Greta always had.

“We need to limit our spices,” he told me, as I grabbed the pepper shaker. “In the winter months, they’re used up quick with having to use the food stores. We don’t have vegetables constantly coming in.”

I put the shaker back. “Oh, okay.”

He smiled at me. “This time is fine, just use it sparingly.”

Taking it back, I sprinkled a bit of pepper over the eggs, which we had every morning. I glanced over at Royce, wondering what his story was, and asked, “Were you here very long before it happened? The curse, that is.”

Royce popped his back and stepped away from the stove for a moment. “Gil needed a cook, and it just so happened I was looking for work. He was a kind man, unlike all the other nobles who just put you to work and order you around. He understood when things came up.” He cleared his throat. “At the time, I had a wife, and she became sick. Gil allowed me some time away and paid me anyway. After she died, I just stayed here for a few years. I met Annie and grew to love her. Then the curse happened.”

I looked down at the bowl of eggs, pondering how hard it must have been for all of them to suddenly be gone from the real world they knew and breathed. “I’m sorry about your wife,” I said, smiling faintly.

“It’s all right.” Royce patted my shoulder. “It was better for her to pass on than be miserable. And if she’d lived only a few more years, she’d have woken up one day to find me gone, and I don’t think I could have lived with that.”

“Thanks for telling me,” I whispered, letting out a low sigh as I wondered if my mother was out looking for me. Odds are nobody from Tolburg was looking for me; I wasn’t close enough to any of them. But my shoulders still drooped with heavy despair.

When he nodded, I looked out the window as I prepared the plates. I noticed the table I made sitting there and frowned. No one had sat at it, and I wondered if I should just break it apart.

As the week wore on, I continued to see less and less of Gil, which bothered me. We hadn’t spoken since the table incident. Thinking back on it put a bad taste in my mouth—the way he’d overreacted, the way he’d told me to leave the bathroom.

And by the end of my fifth week there, after seeing that no one used it, I finally went out and broke it with my bare hands, all four legs snapped off, the wood splitting.

Edgar rushed over to me. “Cale!” he called. “Cale, what are you doing?”

“No one’s using it, so I’m breaking it,” I replied.

“We’ll use it! It’s just cold out right now.”

As I stared at the scattered pieces, I thought of my father. He might have been proud of it, but it didn’t matter now. Nobody would use it, even in the spring. Perhaps it was a tantrum, but I suppose I couldn’t understand why it had made Gil so angry, and in my own anger of being ignored and scolded by the man, I took it out on the table.

“I’m sorry,” I said, panting as I looked over at Edgar. “It wasn’t all that good anyway. Besides, wouldn’t you rather have a new chicken coop?”

Edgar made a face and crossed his arms. “I’d love a new coop, but I ain’t gonna let you build anything else after what happened.” When I said no more, he shook his head and looked at the broken pieces of the table before going back to his work.

Bringing up my hands, they shook from the cold air and splinters. It was painful, but I welcomed it, and as I picked up the pieces to put back into the wood pile, a nail jabbed my wrist.

I grunted in pain and dropped the leg of the chair. Blood ran down my arm, but I wiped it away and picked the piece back up.

“What are you doing, Cale?” came a deep voice.

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