Chapter 27
When Kesh disappeared, I hurried back to the manor, considering everything he’d told me.
Which wasn’t much. There was something he wasn’t telling me, and I didn’t understand why or what it could be.
What bargain had he made with the master that had been broken?
Whatever it was, it helped to explain the master’s hostility toward Kesh.
If I could figure that out, I might finally understand why Nin was trapped here to begin with. I remembered that he had originally thought his presence here was accidental, that the master had meant to call his father, not him.
Now I wasn’t so sure.
Another night passed, and Nin did not come to my room.
Now I was really worried. My stomach roiled, thinking of what the master might have done to him.
Had he discovered that Nin’s shoulder was healing?
Had he reinjured him? I kept alert for possible signs when I visited the master’s rooms that morning, but the only notable thing was his heart rate being high again.
And was it me, or did he not swallow the dose of cough syrup I gave him?
You’re losing it, I told myself. Of course he swallowed it.
But I just wasn’t sure.
I spent the day helping the servants, and even casually asked about the ballroom when I was alone with Filomena in the kitchen while she cooked dinner.
“This house is so lonely and quiet,” I said.
“Before I came, I pictured lots of visitors and parties. Dances, maybe… but there’s not even a ballroom. Don’t you think that’s strange?”
“Mrs. Culpepper said her former mistress at that other big house up the Hudson used to come to parties here, back when the Voss parents were alive. Maybe they just entertained in the foyer. It’s big enough.”
Maybe. Then again, perhaps Mrs. Culpepper knew more than Filomena. I’d try to find the right time to ask her, so I didn’t rouse suspicion.
Upon finishing a late dinner with the servants and helping Filomena clean up afterward, I climbed the back stairs and entered my rooms, cursing both the dark and the fact that I’d forgotten to leave a candlestick near the door.
After feeling my way to the bedside table, I struck a match.
Light filled the room, and as I removed my clanging chatelaine from my waist, I spotted a folded piece of stationery sticking out from beneath my pillow.
My eyes flew to the desk, where a pen and the stationery box sat open. Alarm bells sounded in my head. I dropped my chatelaine, snatched up the folded paper, and read the note inside. It was written in a fine, elegant script:
Meet me in the greenhouse.
—N
Nin! Or was it? He’d never left me a note before.
For a moment, delirious thoughts about the servants filled my head, and I worried I was being led into a trap.
The master’s balcony was dark when I checked through my window.
Was this a trap? I ran my finger over the ink.
It wasn’t Hoffmann’s handwriting; I’d seen that during dinner, when he’d occasionally make accounting notes in a ledger.
It had been days since I’d seen Nin. Was he really okay?
I called for Bethany, to ask if she’d seen who left the note, but she didn’t appear.
Right. Okay. That meant there were only two choices: stay here like a coward, or go and find out if Nin was really there.
Nerves twanging, I donned my wool shawl and sneaked down the servants’ stairs without my lantern.
It would attract too much attention. I regretted that decision when I made it outside through the kitchen door.
There was little moonlight to guide my feet, and that made the walk to the garden a little treacherous.
But once I’d made my way back there, it was easier to see where I was walking due to the symmetrical garden paths and all the ornamental trees lined up in nice rows.
When I got to the outhouse and its underground stairs leading to Agnes, I paused at the closed door and listened but heard nothing.
The greenhouse was dark. I picked my way over the crushed-pebble path that led to the door, where I waited for several moments, willing my rapid heartbeat to slow. When my nerves had settled, I quietly opened the door and stepped inside.
It wasn’t as warm in here at night as it was during the day, but it was a thousand times more pleasant that the chill outside. I stood near the tool bench, scanning the shadows while breathing in the exotic scents of orchids.
“Good evening,” Nin’s voice murmured near the top of my head.
I gasped and spun around to find his pale face looking down at me. “You scared the bejesus out of me! Are you okay? You’re unhurt?”
“Why would I be?” he asked, sounding confused.
How did he seem so calm and collected while an entire mob of villagers with pitchforks was rioting inside me. Because everything you’re feeling about him is one-sided.
Trying to sound casual, I said, “I wasn’t sure if someone else had written that note.”
“You weren’t in your room,” he explained. “I didn’t want to stalk the kitchen, waiting for you, so I decided to leave a note.”
“One of the servants could have found it.”
“I was keeping track of the servants.”
“Like you were earlier in the carriage house?” Once I’d said this, I instantly wished I could take it back. I don’t know if I was challenging him, or upset that he was standing in front me, acting like nothing was wrong, when he’d been avoiding me for three days.
He scrunched up his nose and lightly scratched it with one knuckle. “A little better than that. I’m less… distracted tonight.”
We stood together for a long moment, not saying anything, not looking directly at each other. It was awkward and painful, and I didn’t know what to say to him now.
“Are you all right?” he asked hesitantly.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” I said flatly, imitating him.
Several emotions flicked across his face, but I couldn’t sort them out. “I am unsure. It feels as though you’re angry with me.”
I exhaled a long, slow breath and kept my gaze on the toes of my boots. “It’s just been a long day.”
“Has anything happened?”
“Not a thing.”
“Oh?”
Part of me wanted to tell him what I’d learned from Kesh. But I didn’t say anything more.
Nin turned his head away, but before he could, I spotted a look of bewilderment on his face. And that made me feel both tenderhearted toward him and also a little ashamed that I was having trouble controlling my emotions. This was all so silly. So why didn’t it feel that way?
Act normal and casual, I told myself.
I didn’t want to tell him how sick with worry I’d been. My chest was a swamp of confusion and hurt. But I didn’t want him to see any of that. “So, why are we out here?”
“I… wanted to show you something. It’s trivial. You’re probably tired, and—”
“I’m not tired,” I insisted and gave him a quick smile to hopefully smooth things over.
“All right, then. Follow me…”
We walked together through the greenhouse, taking our time.
It was dark, and shadows covered most of the long space, but there was enough light to see where we were going.
“Is everything all right with you?” I asked him.
“I thought you were going to come to my room days ago so that I could check your bandages? And bring your shirt sleeve so that I could sew it?”
“Your master would never fall asleep long enough. I attempted to tell you several times, but I couldn’t ever make it there.”
Oh. Wait. That made no sense. “Two nights have passed. The master hasn’t slept for two entire nights? How is that possible?”
He shrugged. “I wouldn’t say he never slept, but he slept lightly, and he was constantly waking.”
“He’s been drinking wine lately, and his heart rate has been much higher. I wonder if it’s the wine affecting him. He’s asleep now?”
“Very deeply. It happened gradually; then he was out. Perhaps insomnia caught up with him.”
“Perhaps,” I murmured.
Now I really felt foolish. How many hours had I wasted, feeling brokenhearted and sick to my stomach the last few days?
“As for the shirt sleeve, I still have it in my pocket, and I’m in no rush. At least I have a sleeve on my jacket, and for that, I’m grateful.”
My heart felt a thousand times lighter. A million! He wasn’t avoiding me, after all. And he wasn’t hurt. Everything was okay.
“Sewing is easy,” I told him. “I used to mend socks and things for people in our tenement building to earn a few pennies now and then. When I got to the hospital, I was eager to learn how to do medical stitches, but nurses aren’t supposed to do that.”
“How did you learn, then?” he asked, clasping his hands behind his back as we strolled.
“One night early in my training, Doc Dalton was too drunk to stitch up a man who’d cut his leg badly when he was breaking into a rich man’s house, so the doctor let me do it—just barked some orders at me.
I was shaking like a leaf, and I probably gave that poor man the most jagged scar…
But the cops who’d brought him didn’t seem to care.
They said I was faster than the docs, so they started asking for me when someone needed stitches. ”
“Naturally. If I ever have to get stitches again, you’re the only person I want doing them.”
A feeling of pride zipped through me, and my brain went into nursing mode. “Speaking of, I didn’t bring fresh bandages with me out here.”
“Don’t think I need any. I took off the old bandage earlier today—”
“What? Those wounds need protection, probably will for a couple weeks. At least they would if you were human…”
“What about half human?”
“Didn’t cover that in class, I’m afraid.”
One side of his mouth quirked up. “Well, I’ll let you inspect my wounds later and decide. But first, this is what I wanted to show you…”
We stopped in the middle of the greenhouse near the bench where I’d pulled the arrow out of his shoulder. Nin directed my attention to a small tree planted in a large pot. The tree was a couple feet taller than Nin, and it was filled with fruit.