Chapter 13
Voss didn’t take me anywhere else in town.
Not properly. The carriage stopped two buildings away at a grocer, and Voss requested that I step inside without him and inquire about our weekly delivery.
The man minding the shop jumped to attention at the mention of Voss’s name, and within minutes, he had his workers bring out a large crate of groceries that was strapped to the rear of the carriage.
Then we returned home.
I fretted the entire trip that he could somehow read my thoughts and knew I’d heard bad gossip about him. But if he could, he showed no indication. He was still quite talkative, and he even showed me his new chalk—thick, spiraled sticks that smelled a little funny.
“Does it write better?” I asked.
He chuckled. “Not better… stronger. You use this when you want something to last.”
I thought the whole idea of chalkboards was the ability to erase your writing.
But I didn’t dive too deeply into any of his conversation on the ride back to the estate. I just allowed my mind to go blank and did a lot of smiling and nodding. And after we returned, he told me he’d have the things he’d purchased for me sent up to my room before he disappeared into his quarters.
I didn’t see him the rest of the afternoon, and instead spent hours helping Filomena wash clothes in a utility room near the kitchen, scrubbing my knuckles raw on the washboard and wringing out cotton until my hands could no longer grip.
Until I got up the gumption to ask the young cook about what was stewing inside my head.
“How long has Mr. Hoffmann worked at Riverbend?” I asked, wiping sweat from my brow.
“Dunno,” she said. “He was here before me. I only got hired this spring, after the first cook left. Hoffmann knows the master very well, though. I get the feeling he’s an old family friend. You’ve never seen anyone so loyal.”
“Maybe he worked for the master’s parents,” I suggested.
“Never asked. I find life is easier at Riverbend when I keep my nose on my work instead of poking into other people’s business.”
Her words felt like a slap on my hand, so I didn’t question her further. By the time we finished the laundry, it was already getting darker outside. “What do we do with all this wet laundry?”
“We hang it outside. As long as we hurry and get it on the line before nightfall, that’s fine. It’ll dry tomorrow when the sun comes out. I’ll collect it, fold it, and press it then.”
Mammy always told me it was bad luck to leave clothes drying on the line overnight, but I wasn’t about to tell Filomena that.
“Need help, young ladies?” Mr. Hoffmann asked as he breezed into the room. “I can carry one of those baskets. I’m headed out to feed the goats.”
Filomena was grateful, but I didn’t want to make polite conversation with a man that I didn’t trust, not after what I’d overheard in town about him. And if he was going outside…
“Leave that last basket for me to take out,” I told Filomena. “You both go on, and I’ll catch up to you. I just need to… pop into the washroom for a second.”
It was a terrible excuse, but neither one of them seemed to take notice. They just hefted two of the big baskets and went outside while I pretended to head to the servants’ washroom.
The moment they were outside the kitchen door, I raced through the servants’ wing to find Hoffmann’s private quarters—down the hall from Mrs. Culpepper’s and Filomena’s rooms. I’d been past it a couple of times, but it was a little out of the way.
When I cleared the threshold, I shut the door behind me and scanned the room, my heart racing.
It was about the same size as my room upstairs, perhaps a little smaller.
He had a sink in the corner with a mirror—a nice luxury—with his personal grooming items sitting neatly on a nearby shelf.
One window faced the side lawn, but the curtains were drawn, so I didn’t worry too much about being spotted from the laundry lines.
I took a moment to exhale a long breath; then I pulled myself together and began searching the room.
I opened drawers and boxes. I poked into his wardrobe and went through all the pockets of his clothes.
I checked his desk, lifting up the leather desk pad to check for hidden notes.
I didn’t even know what I was looking for. I just…
Wanted proof of something. That he was dangerous, that he wasn’t who he said he was.
But there was nothing amiss that I could see. Just normal, everyday things inside a normal, everyday room. And every second I spent here increased my chances of getting caught.
What are you doing? You’re the one acting like a criminal, not him. Get out of this man’s rooms, for the love of God!
I took a deep breath, bracing myself on the sink in the corner, preparing to leave.
My eyes fell upon his shelf of grooming items and a small wooden tray filled with brushes.
Beneath them, I spied something that caught a shimmer of light from a crack in the curtains.
When I picked up a brush to see what was beneath it, I sighed in frustration.
It was just a gilded pocket mirror. Quite a nice one, but just a mirror nonetheless. Like everything else in this room, it was normal.
I started to put the brush back in its place, but then it struck me: Why did a valet have a fancy gold pocket mirror?
Quickly, with shaking fingers, I dug the pocket mirror out of the bottom of the wooden tray.
The mirror wasn’t some cheap, gold-plated knickknack that street peddlers sold back in Five Points, near my grandfather’s tenement.
This was solid gold. Its heavy weight felt good in my palm as I flipped it over to inspect the scrolling floral design that had been molded around the mirror. I found a monogram.
LJS
Hmm. No H for “Hoffmann.” And frankly the mirror’s luxurious feminine design didn’t match the valet’s brown-tweed style. It was the kind of thing one might find in a rich woman’s handbag. No V, so it hadn’t formerly belonged to Agnes Voss.
What was the name of Voss’s ex-fiancée?
Lila Jansen.
My fingers trembled on the cold metal. It had to be, right? This belonged to Voss’s betrothed. What was it doing here, amongst the valet’s things?
I didn’t know, but I pocketed it when a muffled sound floated through the walls.
I didn’t need the housekeeper catching me in here.
So as panic washed over me, I quickly cracked the door to peer down the hall—empty!
—and slipped outside. Then I raced down the hall on the toes of my boots, trying to be as fast and quiet as possible.
When I got to the kitchen, I nearly collapsed in relief.
I didn’t know if the mirror was proof of anything, but if it were, I knew I needed to keep it safe somewhere. I also didn’t want to arouse suspicion.
The last laundry basket sat waiting for me.
Slipping the pocket mirror into my skirts, I took a moment to compose myself.
Then I lugged the heavy basket out the kitchen door to the clotheslines, which were strung on iron posts a few yards from the side of the house.
It was rapidly getting dark, so it was hard to spot Filomena in the twilight.
But I finally spotted her working at the lines, so I waddled up and set down the basket.
“There you are,” she said. “I’ll finish this line. You take that one up ahead.”
“Okay,” I said, grateful that I’d seemingly gotten away with my snooping. I glanced at the basket of laundry that Hoffman had hauled out here and got nervous all over again. “Where did he go?”
“Hoffmann?” Filomena asked, talking around a thick wooden clothespin clamped between her teeth. “There.”
I glanced to where she nodded with her chin.
Hoffmann was hiking around the carriage house, headed away from the manor toward the goat pastures. Maybe he was feeding them, just as he’d said.
What if he isn’t? What is he doing out there?
I didn’t know, but I couldn’t abandon Filomena, so I just started working.
By the time we’d hung all three baskets of clothes, my fingers were numb from cold.
Filomena nested the three empty baskets inside each other to drag them behind her, and I started to follow until I looked over my shoulder toward the goat pasture and spotted a silhouette.
I really wanted to question Hoffmann about what I’d overheard in the shop today.
Maybe I’d find out why he was in possession of a mirror that likely belonged to Voss’s ex-fiancée.
So I made a quick excuse to Filomena. “You, uh, go on inside. I see Mr. Hoffmann walking ahead. I’m going to stretch my legs and catch up to him. The night air will do me good.”
She peered into the darkness blanketing the side lawn, then frowned at me. “Your fingers are red with cold. Mind yourself, yeah? Don’t go farther than the carriage house.”
“Of course. I’ll be inside soon,” I assured her.
When the door slammed behind Filomena, I hurried down the path that led to the goat pasture, shaking out my fingers to get the blood moving while hunting for Mr. Hoffmann’s figure in the shadows. Halfway to the carriage house, I spotted him.
He was still walking. He headed around the carriage house and picked his way up the hill that led to the goat pasture. I wondered if he was going there to feed them.
Heart racing, I hurried after him, and hid behind a tree when he tossed a look over his shoulder. He didn’t see me.
As I tried to keep up with the valet, I nervously kept a wary eye on the manor, scanning any lit windows.
If I kept to this path, the master might be able to see me through his window.
In the darkness, he might not be able to spot me, but I didn’t want to take the chance.
So I left the path and lifted my skirts to walk through the tall, dry grass, keeping Hoffmann in my sight.
But when he got to the goats’ grazing land, he didn’t head toward the stone wall that surrounded the herd.
Instead he veered off and continued hiking.
Where in the world is that man going? I thought in exasperation. I considered calling out to him, though I wasn’t sure if he’d be able to hear me. So I picked up the pace, hurrying toward him as I prepared to yell.
I changed my mind when I spied the pointy aegis border silhouetted against the purple sky. He was headed straight for it. Was this where I’d seen the poacher? I was almost certain it was until Hoffmann stopped between two obelisks. Then I was sure.
On the other side of the border, a dark figure emerged. I couldn’t make out any details, but when Hoffmann shifted, I spied the figure’s tall top hat.
The poacher.
If this man was so dangerous, why was Mr. Hoffmann speaking to him in the dark? I wished I could hear their conversation, but I was too far away. And it didn’t matter, because they didn’t chat for long, just an exchange of a few sentences. Then Hoffmann was turning around to head back to the manor.
A sudden anxiousness made me abandon my previous plans to show myself to Hoffmann, and instead I scurried behind the nearest bushes.
I was out of sight here but wouldn’t be for long, when Hoffmann would soon crest the small hill he climbed.
So I made the quick decision to lift my skirts higher and book it toward the carriage house and nearby red barn, half-terrified he could hear me running.
The carriage house was closer. Night’s shadows covered the big wooden building, giving me the cover I desperately needed. I spied Hoffmann hiking over the small hill, and a fresh wave of panic rushed over me. I almost didn’t see the woodpile.
A stony privacy wall stood a few feet away from the back side of the carriage house.
Cut wood had been stacked along the side of the wall facing the building, beneath a narrow overhang to keep the weather off.
There! I thought. The perfect hiding spot.
I backtracked a step and quickly slipped under the overhang, immediately spotting a deeply shadowed alcove along the stone wall where there was a break in the long woodpile.
I stepped into the alcove and flattened myself against the wall.
Just in time. Mr. Hoffmann whistled in the distance.
I settled my back against the stone wall, chest heaving, and I waited in the shadows for the valet to pass. Once he’s inside the manor, I can slip in behind him. Maybe even find a chance to talk to him in the kitchen, if the other servants would stay away long enough.
But as I closed my eyes to concentrate on quieting my labored breathing, I heard the distinct sound of someone sighing next to me. I couldn’t say why, but my instincts screamed ghost.
Bethany? I thought, hope rising.
My eyes shot open.
But it wasn’t my former nursing classmate.
It was Nin.
My pounding heart skipped a beat. Thoughts scattered as I looked up to his somber face.
He held a finger to his lips when Hoffmann’s whistling grew louder, and my attention was split between the two men.
There was little spare space where I stood in the alcove along the stone wall, and Nin had squeezed in next to me, so close that the wool of his coat sleeve brushed against my shawl.
But I didn’t dare move. Or speak. I just waited alongside Nin for Hoffmann to pass. Listening to every footstep, every whistled note.
Until the whistling suddenly halted.
Panic shot through me.
The servant had stopped maybe a yard away, where the stone wall ended. I didn’t want to explain why I was out here. Why I’d followed him. Why I was hiding behind a wall with the boy who was supposed to be chained in the basement.
Had Hoffmann seen me hiding? What was he doing?
Footsteps crunched a fallen twig on the other side of the wall.
I held my breath until Hoffmann called out, “I know you’re here. Show yourself.”
My instincts told me to run, hard and fast. To get away.
I didn’t even think. I just lurched from the wall—
Only to be jerked backward when Nin’s arm shot out. He grabbed me around my shoulders and pulled me tight against him. The back of my head hit his chest. Steely muscles held me in place.
Shock turned my body to stone. I didn’t fight.
How could I? Hoffmann was still a few feet away, stepping through the underbrush, trying to figure out where I was.
Did Hoffmann know about Nin? I had the worst feeling that he did, despite all the servants trying to gaslight me into thinking that I’d imagined him.
If Hoffmann saw Nin out of his chains, what would he do?
I was terrified to find out.
For the love of all things holy, please just walk on by, man! As I thought this, I shut my eyes and—
Everything around me fell silent.