Chapter One #2
“I’m here for the position?” I inwardly winced and tried again.
“I’m here for the housekeeper position. I answered the advertisement and received a letter of acceptance from Mr., erm, Ser.
Mr. Ser.” Odd name, that. It had been one of the things that made Zor convinced his elders had found the right person.
I opened my reticule and pulled out the letter, written on expensive foolscap.
The thick, red wax made the edges flap open.
I waved it in front of the man, proof I was supposed to be here. “May I come inside?”
The elderly man sighed and opened the door further, just enough for me to slip inside. My shoulder brushed the edge of the door, leaving a line of dust on my sleeve. I pursed my lips. I had a difficult job ahead of me if the maids worked so poorly.
I stopped inside the front hall, letting my eyes adjust to the dim room. Goodness, was it always this dreary? I’d originally laughed when Zorababel had said Mr. Ser was the Herald of Death. But who else would want to live in such a gloomy place?
I stood in some sort of Great Hall. Darkness crawled up the wood-paneled walls, reaching high above my head until it smothered the whole room.
A few pieces of furniture, shrouded in dust cloths, littered the room haphazardly.
My eyes strained, searching for the origins of the weak light.
A few arched windows hovered far above my head and deep in one corner, in the crook of the house’s L shape.
Wood creaked overhead, like someone shifted their weight.
Alarm shot through my body and my breath caught in my throat. I whirled, looking upward for the hidden threat. Peering through the dim light, I saw only dark wooden paneling and a closed door leading to the rest of the house’s wing.
Something rustled overhead.
I gulped and looked up, up, up through the gloom.
A spot of light too weak to be called a shaft tumbled through the dust-covered windows and caught the edge of a wooden railing on the floor above me.
I assumed, since this manor house was old and uncared for, it might be a minstrel gallery, where musicians would’ve played so the music could fall across the Great Hall.
A figure swathed in shadows loomed. One pale hand gripped the railing. Whatever he was, he was tall. And something lurked behind him. Cold eyes gleamed from the darkness.
I gasped before I could stop myself.
The figure stepped back, hidden again.
The elderly man turned to stare at me balefully beneath his heavy, white brows. “If you’re the housekeeper, that means I can retire.”
“Erm, what?” I blinked. This great house needed a housekeeper and a butler. I’d always been told large estates had scores of servants to keep them running. “In a few weeks?”
He shook his craggy head. “Tonight. I’ll give you a tour and head out.”
I gaped at him. “Tonight? Then who is going to teach me the routine? How to handle the other servants? Keep up with bills?”
“It’s just you.”
“Just me?” A horrible thought struck me. “You mean we’re the only two servants in this huge house?”
He grunted. “No, you’re the only servant in this huge house.” He turned and walked across the darkened Great Hall toward the crook in the L. “Come. This is the domestic wing.”
I imagined turning, grabbing the massive iron door handle nearly as thick as my forearm, opening the heavy door, and running out into the moors.
I quelled the impulse. Zorababel would be furious if he found out I’d disappeared without completing his mission, and he’d track me down and drag me before the church for a public flogging. I couldn’t escape yet.
Stomach sinking, I followed the retiring manservant across the Great Hall and eyed the grimy windows. “When was the last time these were washed?”
The elderly butler grunted something unintelligible. I thought it sounded like, “That’s your job, isn’t it?”
“Can you tell me what the rooms are as we pass through at least?” I tried to keep the exasperated tone out of my voice as I hurried to catch up to the grumpy old man.
He gave a heavy, aching sigh, as if I’d asked him to give up his firstborn. “Great Hall.” He pointed behind them. “Minstrel gallery.” Then he pointed to the left as they passed the large, circular alcove with windows all around. “Oriel.”
I cocked my head and realized this was what I’d called the beginning of a round tower when I’d been outside. Huh. So that’s an oriel. I’ve never even heard of one of those before.
Standing in the old manor, taking over an upper servant’s position for a reclusive, mystical creature made my breath come faster and fingers twitch. I was out of my element. I can learn, I told myself firmly. I will learn. I have no other choice.
At the end of the Great Hall was a small, unobtrusive door that led to the other wing of the house—what the man had called the domestic wing. The short end of the L.
“Corridor,” the man pointed out, oh-so-helpfully.
I rolled my eyes, trailing him. The gloom hid the little clouds of dust that undoubtedly burst up at our feet each time we took a step.
He led me through a laundry room, folding room, pantry, scullery, buttery, wide kitchen, lock room, butler’s office, and a few other rooms. Once upon a time this house must’ve retained at least a score of servants.
“Where’s my bedroom?” I interrupted his monologue.
The old man glared at me, then pointed at a narrow set of stairs tucked between the scullery and buttery. “Bedchambers are up there. Take your pick.”
“If you’re leaving,” I said, “who will tell me what my duties are? When will I meet with the master of the house?”
A rough, coughing sound erupted from the frail man. I took a step back in alarm before realizing he was laughing. “Hopefully it will be delayed as long as possible. You don’t want to attract his attention.”
A frisson of alarm tingled across my skin, sending the hair on the back of my neck and arms straight up. “Why?” I dropped my voice to a whisper. “Is he cruel?”
“Ill-mannered, cantankerous, demanding, foreign.” All words that could be used to describe himself, too.
“But…doesn’t he eat?” My eyes widened at the realization that maybe he didn’t eat. Maybe the Herald of Death didn’t need sustenance at all.
“Little,” the wizened butler replied. “You’ll eat more than he does. He says he hates the food here.”
He won’t hurt me, will he? The words were on the tip of my tongue, but I held them back. I knew my mission was risky, knew that was why Zorababel had chosen me for it over the other women in the congregation. But I’d assumed I’d be in more spiritual danger than physical.
The questions must’ve shone on my face, though, because the butler wagged his head.
“Keep your head down. Don’t serve him burnt porridge.
Don’t enter his private rooms unless he requests them cleaned.
You’ll be fine.” With that, he led me out of the domestics’ hall and back through the Great Hall toward the gallery. “I’m leaving.”
“Wait!” I nearly grabbed his wrinkled hand. “Shouldn’t I know something else? What did you do for him for all the years you worked here?”
“You’ll be fine,” he said again, and reached into the shadows to pull out two valises. Then he opened the front door and left, leaving me standing on the threshold, my mouth agape.
What had I gotten myself into?