Chapter 8 #2
“Oh, come now. I didn’t mean anything by it.” My brow furrowed as Beth placed a hand against her forehead.
“It’s silly, really, Miss. Just Cormac back from Galway.”
Cormac. The footman. Gods above, that’s right. I hadn’t seen him since my arrival. “Ah! Mr. O’Dea? Has he been in Galway this entire time?”
“You’ve met him, then?” Beth asked, her eyes bright as she glanced my way.
“He’s ever so kind. And always brings the maids something on his return from market.
He’s new, came here last year, and her ladyship sends him off to sell her goods.
She says he gets the best prices, but it means he’s away a bit. ”
I smiled. I couldn’t even remember what he looked like. But one thing was certain. Cormac O’Dea had an admirer.
“Yes,” I said. “He’s very kind indeed. I wonder what trinkets he brought home for you this time.”
“Maybe a length of ribbon!” Beth exclaimed, and for the first time I wondered how old she truly was.
And the urge to warn her of the dangers of slick-talking men took hold.
The house—like Beth—was abuzz upon Cormac’s return, and in the disarray, I managed to squirrel some supper to my room.
Lamb stew, with hearty chunks of fresh meat, slow-cooked in herbs and broth on a bed of onions and carrots.
My mouth watered, as if scent alone could substitute taste.
Just a few more steps and I could set down the tray.
A few more steps and I could sit by the fire.
Eat. Close my eyes and count my blessings.
It was a strange thing, eating. Going weeks and months without, there was a kind of resignation. As if the body knew there was no food. As if it knew to switch off the hunger so one might conserve enough strength to simply exist.
But at the workhouse—with half a ladle of watery broth and a chunk of stale bread to get us through twelve-hour days—it was like the beginning all over again. Each day brought the pain. As if the meager rations had woken the hunger, and the stomach demanded more.
But now, months into my strange new role, I never went without. If Aggie wasn’t shoveling food in my direction, there were trays waiting around every corner, my palate’s desire a mere bellpull away.
And I welcomed it. I grazed through the day—a prized heifer with an acre for my own pleasure.
Little and often. Never enough to get too full.
For if I was ever fully satiated, I might forget who I was, and my true purpose.
This was not my life. This was but a stepping stone to independence.
A cottage of my own and a few acres to sustain me.
No rent. No landlord. The life my father dared dream for all of us.
Dared so much that, when Teddy had crossed my path … I shook my head.
Setting down the tray, I caught sight of the vase of fresh flowers by my bed.
Beth was militant when it came to those flowers, both cutting and drying.
Every day, without fail, a fresh bouquet appeared—roses, bluebells, foxglove.
But never had a day gone by without an unusual bloom I’d never laid eyes on until my arrival.
Each day it sat boldly, with pride of place, in the center of the bouquet, its white drooping trumpets hanging from vine-like stems. Beautiful.
I could smell its uniquely sweet, heady scent from here.
Jasmine, with a hint of lemon. Not quite unlike the overpowering scent of Lady Catherine’s incense.
Mam would’ve loved them. She was a great lover of flowers. My chest tightened, and I settled in front of the fire before carefully loading my spoon with the hearty stew.
My eyes closed as the savory notes struck a delicious melody that danced over my tongue. Good God. If I never again woke come morning, I’d die happy knowing this was my last meal.
I didn’t even miss the absence of quartered potatoes. To be fair, when all this was over, I never wanted to see a potato again.
Or smell one.
Then again, I’d said the same of meat not too long ago, and yet now I ate it with gusto.
A shudder rippled over the nape of my neck, and I slipped a throw from the back of the chair to drape over my shoulders.
“Not now,” I whispered, stiffening as the telltale crackle of oncoming lightning thickened the air in my chamber.
I hadn’t seen an apparition, exactly, but felt a sort of presence.
Often. Mostly when alone. In the dark. In the quiet.
And yet I was not afraid, for it brought comfort; and it was not the feminine presence I thought I’d encountered when I woke from the fainting spell, but masculine.
Like the specter I thought I’d spied, with the bird, in the library that first morning. As familiar to me as my own reflection.
“I’ll read to ye tonight, Michael.”
That’s how I’d started to fill the void of silence—reading aloud when the house settled in for the night.
It wasn’t that I was frightened, but something about my spectral visitor screamed protection and loneliness, as though they knew me and had never moved on for fear I’d not fulfill my promises.
Who else could it be if not my brother? So I welcomed him.
Though, why he hadn’t appeared to me in the workhouse was a mystery.
With a shake of my head, I tucked into the stew, silently chewing between bites.
Tap, tap.
My heart leapt in my chest, and I almost dropped the spoon. “God above!” It wasn’t like me to be given to flights of fancy. It was just a soft knock on the door. “Enter!”
It opened, and in bustled Aggie, her color high, a twinkle in her eye. “I thought ye might have escaped to yer room. I’ve brought ye a fresh-pressed nightdress.”
Breathing deep to calm my pulse, I offered a smile. “That was kind of you, Aggie.”
“Yes, well. Ye were up afore cockcrow this morn, and I thought ye might retire early if the opportunity presented itself.” Without a glance at me, Aggie busied herself laying out the new nightdress before fetching the bed warmer from its hook.
“Mr. O’Dea’s returned from Galway, and her ladyship does like to make a fuss of him to learn news and gossip. ”
“It was a good trip?” I asked, as Aggie strode toward the fire to scoop hot coals into the bed warmer.
“It was, by all accounts.”
“Mama will be pleased.” It wasn’t strange anymore, calling Lady Catherine “Mama.”
“Hmph.” With a grunt, Aggie turned on her heel to warm the sheets with a handheld brazier, and I pushed myself from the chair. “Let me just get the bed ready, and I’ll help ye dress. There’s a chill in the air tonight.”
With a smile, I pulled the throw tight ’round my shoulders and stepped past the shelf of old dolls toward the window. It was full dark now, and with the light of the fire and candles behind, I could see almost naught of the land beyond the glass. But I knew what was there.
Where the third-floor window overlooked the ocean, my fourth-floor room faced the harsh, gray landscape of the Burren—a vast plateau of jagged ravines, knitted closely together with shallow grass that hid the depths of the canyons beneath.
I fancied that mayhap a mythical giant once punched the endless sea of rock, sending hairline cracks throughout the land.
Some cracks were slender enough to bridge with the ball of one’s foot, others still just wide enough to twist an ankle if one were careless.
But some could trap livestock; others, people.
It was a constant warning from Beth. That once I was able to venture beyond the walls of Browne House, I be ever so careful if I chose to walk the land. To step only on the rocky slabs. To keep my wits about me. To never risk stepping on the grass.
“Pull the drapes to shut out that draft, Wilhelmina,” Aggie advised.
I glanced over my shoulder and watched as she swept the bed warmer beneath the duvet.
That’s what I liked about Aggie. She never let me forget who I was or where I came from.
She never called me “Miss” or referred to me as the “Dowager Countess” when we were alone.
Not like the others. She was Aggie to me, and I, Wilhelmina to her. Though I wished she’d call me Maggie.
I untied the drape with one hand and turned to gaze out the dark window one last time before shutting myself away from the outside world.
The moon was high, fighting through a band of fast-moving clouds, but there was nary a star to be seen. Naught but the twinkle of a—what was that?
From the corner of my eye, I caught movement on the rocky plain in the distance. My brows drew together as I squinted into the night. What in the blazes?
With quick hands, I pulled the drape shut, trapping myself between velvet and glass, to shut out the fire’s glow.
Greenish lights. Many of them. They bobbed along with speed, then halted, swaying in the dark as though swinging from the hands of multiple people.
A shiver rippled over my skin, and the little hairs at the back of my neck sprang to life as a sudden chill froze the blood in my veins. My breath misted the air as if it was still the coldest depths of winter, and I was caught outside. It fogged the window, but I quickly wiped it away.
Holding my breath, I stared hard into the night.
I’d once read of insects that could light up the night, but surely these luminosities were too large—not to mention those insects lived in far-off places, not the likes of drab Ireland.
From this distance, I thought they might be lanterns, their height from the ground hinting that they were being held aloft by riders.
But what could riders be doing out there, without a road to be found and naught but dangerous ravines for company?
I’d also never seen a greenish glow coming from any lantern.
The lights turned as one, flitted forward in tandem, then pulled sharply around. The synchronization sent the hair on my arms into full salute as the lights quickly accelerated off down the land, away from the house.
I stared, a knot of dread coiling in my gut as the lanterns bobbed farther away, until Aggie pulled back the drapes.
I yelped, pulse pounding in my throat as I whirled.
“What in the name of God are ye doing?” she asked, glancing out into the night.
“N-nothing,” I stammered, fighting for breath as my chest tightened.
“Aye, well. Come away from the draft, and let me undress ye for bed.” But there was something in her expression, in the way she pursed her lips, the way her eyes squinted into the darkness.
Something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
Just as I couldn’t quite understand what those lights were or where they’d come from.
Or if the voice that reverberated within my mind was mine, or another’s, as Aggie lit the bowl of fresh incense atop my nightstand.
Beware the fog.