Chapter 5 #2
They were still there, the stretch marks.
The only sign I’d once dreamt of a bright future, one filled with love and laughter with a good man at my side, and a child at my hip.
Pah! How wrong I’d been about everything.
Teddy had never intended to marry me. Not that it mattered, for our babe was born cold.
I opened my eyes. I was glad of it now, for if I’d known what was to come, I might have grieved less and planned more.
“Married?” Aggie asked, meeting my gaze.
“Dead,” I replied. It was true enough—everyone that mattered was gone.
And it wasn’t likely I’d cross paths with Teddy ever again.
Last I’d heard, he’d wed some chit of an heiress from Dublin while I’d grieved our son.
The boy I hadn’t even laid eyes on, whisked away by Lady Grace’s midwives before the words “the child is dead” had even reached my ears.
Diarmuid. That’s the name I’d chosen for my sweet boy—whether Teddy wished it or not. In the end, my letters went unanswered.
“The light of Heaven to your husband. Child too.” Pressing her lips together, Aggie gave a sharp nod toward the bath. “In ye go.”
Aggie scrubbed the workhouse from my pores, working the bar of lye and horsehair brush over delicate skin until it screamed blood red, aflame with pain.
And by the time I was dry and dressed—in a loose cotton day dress peppered with sunflowers, and undergarments, to boot—Beth had returned with a tray of black pudding, toast, and a dish of tea.
Eyes widening, my mouth watered as Beth placed the tray on the table next to my chair. Christ above! When was the last time I’d seen black pudding? Surely ’twas years, likely in Lady Grace’s parlor. We’d never had it. Pigs were for selling, not eating. How else were we to pay the rent?
My stomach growled, but I knew not to dive in. Not to eat my fill. My stomach couldn’t handle it. Even broth had been difficult to keep down those first days at the workhouse. How strange that an empty craw would reject food, yet it did. And I had no intention of vomiting.
Instead, I slowly cut a sliver of the blood sausage, pierced it with a fork, and brought it to rest beneath my nose. Salt. Pork. Spice. My eyes closed. Iron. The faint tang of blood that held it together.
I brought the black pudding to my lips and let it crumble on my tongue, savoring the delicious flavor and its decadent warmth as it slid down my throat. I’d have a slice or two more, but I didn’t dare touch the toast. It never kept the hunger away for long and only drove it home ten-fold.
“There’ll be liver for supper,” Aggie said. “We must get ye to full strength as soon as possible. And when yer done here, I’ll bring ye to her ladyship in the library.”
“Oh, I’m done.” I pierced a second slice of pudding and popped it into my mouth.
“Oh no, yer not, ye must—”
“Take my time lest I heave.” I stood and placed the fork on the tray. “I promise to eat my fill at supper.”
Pressing her lips together, Aggie nodded. “Right then. Follow me.”
I followed in Aggie’s wake, stepping into her shadow as she led the way out the bedroom door.
“This is the fourth floor,” she offered, sweeping her arm in an arc. “The family’s resting quarters. Her ladyship sleeps at the other end of the hall.”
I glanced around. Two windows stood at each end of the corridor, but little good they did.
The hall was dark, with deep red wallpaper inlaid with black, velveteen fleur-de-lis.
This wasn’t the sophisticated gold and cream of the Moore-Vandeleur house.
This was old. Firmly settled in a time gone by.
Black-painted portrait frames lined the walls between golden sconces, their canvases depicting stern men and tightly laced ladies.
Some sported the powdered wigs of the last century, some the chevalier costume of the Stuarts.
Below the wallpaper, as if propping the portraits, black-painted wainscoting lined the lower half of the hallway, darkening it still further.
“Servant stairs is through there. Leads straight to the kitchen and servants’ quarters,” Aggie said, pointing to a hinged panel to our right. If she hadn’t said, I might have never known the wall hid a door. “Not that ye should ever use it. Yer Lady Wilhelmina now, so best be acting like it.”
I tried not to let it bother me, that small loss of self, but it would be worth it in the end if Lady Catherine was true to her word.
My gaze drifted from the hidden servants’ door to another, a little farther down the hallway to our left.
It was strange. Out of place. A heavy, velvet curtain lay, hooked to one side, and I supposed ’twas meant to cover the monstrosity from prying eyes—usually that would be the case.
But with the curtain swept aside, I saw the door, its hinges eaten almost clean through by what looked like centuries of neglect, leaving naught but a trail of blood-red rust behind.
Affixed upon it, a series of locks and bolts glinted, their new-minted iron stark against the black-painted grain of the door.
They stepped from top to bottom, ladder rungs haphazardly nailed to the wood.
And right now, each and every one was unlocked.
What in the name of God? Were they to keep people out … or to keep something in?
Screeek.
The little hairs on my arms stood on end as the twist of a rusted doorknob set my heart a-hammering. Staring at the door, I halted.
“A-Aggie?” I called, my voice a tremor, skittering over a tongue that felt a tad too large for the word. Surely she heard it?
Aggie glanced over her shoulder, right as the door creaked open to reveal … Lady Catherine, emerging back-first.
“Christ!” I exclaimed, hands flying to my mouth.
Lady Catherine wore a black, floor-length bustled skirt.
Its rustle promised of silk whispering over the finest cotton petticoats money could buy.
A high-collared man’s shirt was tucked into the high-waisted band, but she wore no coat today.
No adornments, beyond that simple golden charm dangling from a black ribbon at her throat, with a braided bun wound like a viper at the back of her head, soft ringlets bouncing afore and aft her ears.
In her hand, a kerosene lamp dangled, its light casting shadows on the space within, and I caught naught but a passing glimpse before she doused the lamp and hung it from a hook inside the room before shutting the door.
“Mistress Lynch,” Lady Catherine snapped, not turning. One by one, she slid each bolt shut with definitive clicks, then turned an ancient-looking key—near its end of life if the teeth-shattering grating was anything to go by—into the final lock. “You know better than to dally by this door.”
“Yes, m’Lady,” Aggie answered, bobbing a curtsy.
With a flick of her wrist, Lady Catherine unhooked the curtain, and it fell back into place, concealing the door with a whisper that fought against the screaming draft—an echo that drew to mind a huddle of weeping women. Folly and fancy.
This was no time for silliness. Straightening my spine, I bobbed a curtsy of my own as Lady Catherine turned, a bright smile curving her lips.
“You look somewhat refreshed. I’m that glad.” She glanced at Aggie, and the ghost of a frown flitted across her ladyship’s face. “Tea in the library, Mistress Lynch. I’ll see to my new charge.”
“Yes, m’Lady.” Another curtsy, and Aggie spun on her heel.
“Oh, and Lynch?” Lady Catherine called, the frost in her voice enough to freeze the marrow of my bones. Aggie paused, not daring even a glance over her shoulder. “If I ever catch you dallying in this hallway again, I’ll have to refund your deposit.”
My palms went slick as Aggie stiffened, and the air thinned until it was difficult to breathe.
I forced my gaze to the floor, knowing that’s what my old benefactor, Lady Grace, would have wanted …
but a glint caught my eye. There, near the hem of Lady Catherine’s gown, was the charm she wore around her neck, its black ribbon still hooked through.
Without thought, I bent and snatched it up, presenting it in my palm for her ladyship to retrieve.
“You must have dropped this, Your Ladyship,” I murmured, glancing at her, but Lady Catherine still glared at Aggie’s retreating back. I tried again, this time louder. “The knot must have loosened. Lady Catherine?”
With a start, she turned her attention to me, eyes widening as she spied the charm nestled in my outstretched palm. Her face paled, and she quickly plucked it from my palm.
“Don’t you ever touch this again,” she hissed, taking a menacing step forward. The warning was laden with such venom that it took all my strength not to take a terrified step back. “This is not yours.”
“O-of c-course n-not,” I stammered. “A-apologies.”
“Now.” She retreated a step and tied the charm around her neck, her voice suddenly warm where it had chilled the soul but a moment before. “Let me show you around the house.”
God above and all His saints, protect and guard me.
And as I followed in Lady Catherine’s wake, I secretly made the sign of the cross.