Chapter One
“No, no, no! Not the books, please, not the books!”
The bailiff glanced up at her, bewildered.
He obviously hadn’t expected her to speak, only to stand mildly by and watch.
A slow smile spread over his face, revealing a gap in his front tooth.
Snatching up the nearest book, an ornate leatherbound cover with gilt detailing at the corners, he opened it to reveal smooth, creamy white paper.
Edith knew what was coming before it happened.
Still grinning, the bailiff placed a dirty hand over the clean pages, curled his fingers, and pulled.
The dry sound of tearing paper filled the air. Tossing aside the handful of crumpled pages, he tore again and again, on and on until the air was full of dust and the book was nothing more than a leather cover, an emptied skin, a…
“Oi. Oi, lass, wake up. We’re here.”
Edith jolted awake. She’d fallen asleep with her cheek pressed against the cold carriage glass. When she straightened up, her skin peeled away from the glass, cold and numb.
The coachman stood beyond that glass, arms folded.
She had tried and failed to converse with him earlier, but the man did not seem to be in the mood for chat.
At any rate, his thick Yorkshire brogue proved difficult to understand.
She had better learn quickly, of course, because they were, after all, in Yorkshire.
“I’m not asleep,” she managed thickly, blinking hard and trying to force herself into wakefulness.
The coachman eyed her impassively. “Anyhow, we’re here,” he muttered. “I’ll get your cases down.”
Not waiting for a response, he trudged away, leaving the carriage door swinging and a cold draft blowing inside.
Edith didn’t mind the cold wind; she actually needed it because the inside of the carriage stunk.
It reeked of spilled liquor and unwashed bodies.
She’d been struggling with it since they left, but a vile-smelling carriage was certainly better than walking and arriving in an even more disheveled state.
A thick, greenish mist curled along with the breeze.
It wasn’t at all like a London mist, which would be foul-smelling.
No, there was something cleaner about this mist.
Deeper, too. She couldn’t recall ever seeing mist so thick in London, and how the coachman had navigated the narrow roads was anybody’s guess.
Clearing her throat and purposefully putting the memories of Papa’s ruined books out of her mind, Edith scrambled down from the carriage.
Her dress, which had been badly darned along the hem, caught on the heel of her boot, which needed resoling, causing her to hop along in an undignified manner.
It was her own fault. Ladies didn’t need to sew, only to provide a little feminine embroidery as a sampler.
Darning, patching, and sewing on buttons was much harder than she had anticipated, now that she had no lady’s maid to care for such matters on her behalf.
Six months, she thought grimly, stretching out cramped limbs. Papa has been dead for six months, and I still cannot darn to save my life.
This was not a useful thought. Over the past months, Edith had grown most adept at putting aside useless thoughts. So, she turned away from the smelly carriage and faced her new home.
Perhaps new home was not quite the correct expression; a new place of employment was more suitable.
“Barendale Manor,” she murmured aloud. Glancing over at the coachman, who was struggling with the knots lashing her case to the roof, she caught his eye. “What do you know of this place?”
“No more than you, I reckon,” he responded tightly. “I don’t often travel out this far. Folks avoid it, too.”
“Avoid it? Why?”
He bared yellowish teeth. “Why do you think? The Beast.”
Edith blinked. “The what?”
He shook his head, pressing his lips together. “It’s bad luck to talk of it. Can’t imagine you’ll be here long.”
“And why would I not be here for long?”
He didn’t offer a response to this question. At last, the knot came loose, and the fellow unceremoniously tossed down her case. It bounced across the well-raked gravel, leaving an untidy gouge in its wake. Somebody would have to rake that gravel once more.
Edith gave a cry of dismay, pouncing on her case.
“Have a care, can’t you? Be careful!”
“It slipped out of my hands,” the man shot back. “It weighs a ton. I wouldn’t have thought frocks and bonnets could weigh so much.”
She sniffed. “There are books in here, not frocks and bonnets.”
The man rolled his eyes and jumped down with more grace than he’d afforded her poor case. Wordlessly, he thrust out a wide palm, facing up.
Ah, the money.
Edith gave a sickly smile, which the man did not return.
Adjusting her round spectacles, she searched in her reticule.
It was a largeish reticule, big enough to contain a few necessities.
A volume of Shakespeare’s sonnets, for instance, Papa’s poetry of choice, and one of the few books she had managed to save from the creditors and bailiffs who tore about his beloved library.
Inside the poetry book were Cate’s letters.
She had read them over and over on the endless journey from London to Yorkshire. Cate, blunt as always, had told Edith exactly what she might expect from her life here, and how things were.
It still seemed better than what she had left behind.
Edith poured out the last of her coins, carefully counting them out. Just enough. With a forced smile, she poured the money into the coachman’s palm.
“I believe I deserve some extra coins, navigating all those bad roads as I did. And in this mist, too.”
“I am sorry, I only have enough to cover the fee.”
The coachman scowled harder, thick fingers closing over the coins.
He grunted and turned on his heel, clambering back up to the driver’s seat.
Without a word of goodbye, he snapped the reins and manoeuvred the carriage around the courtyard.
The wheels left deep ruts in the gravel, but ahead of him, the mist pulled back enough to reveal the gateway that they had entered.
Two chipped stone pillars soared up to the sky, thick with moss and ringed with ivy.
Beyond those pillars, there was nothing, just more mist, greenish and impenetrable.
Shuddering, Edith put her back to the gateway and faced up at the house.
“Barendale Manor,” she repeated, under her breath. “It would suit being called an abbey more, I think.”
Lines from Cate’s letter swam through her head.
My brother can be…unpredictable. Harsh. He has few friends now, because most of them have been driven away.
I am really at a loss as to what I should do next. I should like to have you here.
Perhaps we can support each other.
It was a perfect arrangement. Cate required a friend, and Edith required employment.
She was gathering up her courage to climb the steep, imposing stone stairs and knock on the equally imposing oak front door when the door flew open.
“Edith!” squealed a familiar voice.
Cate came flying out of the door in a flurry of lace and pastel-colored silk.
“You’re here! You have come!” she cried, lurching down the steps and launching herself into her friend. Her arms closed tight around Edith’s shoulders, pulling her close in a desperate sort of hug, as if she were afraid that Edith might wriggle away.
“Of course I came,” Edith laughed, dropping her case and putting her arms around her friend. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I knew you were coming through the town to get here and hiring a local carriage. I suppose I was afraid that they would dissuade you from coming. With gossip, you know.”
Abruptly, Cate pulled back, watching her friend through narrowed eyes.
The scandal sheets had always had plenty to say about Cate. All favorable, of course. With her strawberry-cream complexion and thick, golden hair, all coupled with neat features and wide, inquisitive blue eyes, Cate had once been considered the catch of the Season.
That was before, of course. Some time ago, both of them would have been considered good matches.
“You look too pale,” Cate said. “And you are wearing a dull brown gown. Brown-haired ladies should not wear brown.”
“I cannot help it. I do not have such a variety of gowns these days,” Edith confessed.
Cate chuckled, but there was a distracted look in her eyes.
“Edith, before we go in and you get settled, I want to be sure that you are prepared for…For Marcus. You never knew my brother in London, did you?”
“No, not much. But you warned me in your letters. You said that he can be harsh and that he pushes others away. That is not surprising, considering…” she paused, swallowing. “Considering everything.”
Cate’s face tightened. “I adore my brother, Edith, but he is almost unbelievably difficult these days. He says awful things, calculated to hurt. I know how miserable he is, and how he struggles, but he cannot…I cannot…” she broke off, shaking her head. “I cannot reach him.”
“I am sorry, Cate. It must be difficult.”
Cate’s eyes glittered with tears, and she abruptly turned away, smoothing her bodice.
“Yes, it is.”
“I…I hope I can help.”
Cate turned back, her bright smile back on her face. “I’m sure you can. At the very least, you can catalogue our disgraceful mess of a library, as we arranged. But I hoped you might be able to support me with Marcus, too, if you can. Just try not to be easily affected by him.”
“I shall be fine,” Edith responded firmly. “I’ve managed a great deal of hardships and indignities over the past six months. I can certainly manage a few sharp words from your brother.”
Cate’s gaze flickered, as if she did not quite believe her.
You’ll see, Edith thought. I shall prove myself.
I shall have to because there is nowhere to go from here.
“Well, let’s get you inside and out of his dreadful damp,” Cate continued, reaching down to pick up Edith’s case. “Oh, heavens! What do you have in here, rocks?”
“Books,” Edith laughed, taking the case from her friend. “Lead the way, then.”
Cate smiled again, a wide, genuine smile, and Edith wondered when her friend had last smiled like that. Cate led the way up into the house, chattering all the way, and Edith followed, then paused, a flicker of movement catching her eye.
Glancing up, she scanned the dark windows littering the front of the manor. Most were curtained, some hidden by curls of mist, and the rest were opaque, nothing more than black glass.
But there had been movement there, hadn’t there? At one of those windows. Edith was sure of it.
She swallowed, shaking her head.
Probably a servant, peeking down into the courtyard. Or the wind.
“Edith?” Cate called, having climbed the steps to the doorway. “Aren’t you coming?”
Edith gave herself a little shake. One particular window had caught her attention, one directly above, with red velvet curtains half-pulled across the pane. She dragged her gaze from the window and smiled at Cate.
“I can’t wait to show you your room,” Cate added, beaming. “Oh, it will be so nice to have you here. I only hope you choose to stay.”
“Of course I shall,” Edith responded firmly.
I will stay. No matter what. I must.
Holding her case and bolstering her courage, she followed her friend into the dark depths of the Manor.