8. Shemaiah
SHEMAIAH
Idon’t really want to kill Mrs. Darning, but I wouldn’t mind being rid of her. The woman is a fixture at the Roan Estate. But in all the years I’ve known her, I’ve never been able to get a clear read on her, which unnerves me. I like being able to understand people and their motivations.
She presents a precarious situation. She knows too much for me to dismiss her, but she was too close to my father for me to trust her to keep her mouth shut around the detective.
Fuck Noah for giving me this job. This is probably payback for the time I locked him and Ruby in the Gate House on a new moon.
He shouldn’t hold it against me since it all worked out fine in the end, but I know he’s still angry about it.
I find Mrs. Darning in the wine cellar. She looks to be taking an inventory of the bottled and preserved blood my father kept in the icebox.
Most of these bottles contain the blood of Mavarri and other creatures from our home world.
My father’s family brought them through the portal with them.
Before it collapsed. He used to open one or two bottles a year, rationing them for special occasions.
Her task is surprising, considering none of the rest of us drink aged blood. It’s a delicacy only my father had a taste for—not that he allowed us to try it. I’m not sure why she’d need to take an inventory of the bottles since they’re so rarely touched.
I stay back, watching her through the gaps in a shelf of chardonnay.
In her late forties, she’s not an old woman, but she’s not young by human standards either.
Mavarri age like normal humans until we reach the age of maturity, when our aging slows dramatically.
The same can’t be said for Mrs. Darning.
I’ve seen her go from the twenty-something-year-old widow who fed us when we were young, to the stern-faced woman before me now.
You would think witnessing so much of her life would make me more sympathetic to her, but instead it makes me wary.
She picks up a bottle and holds it to the light, spinning it one direction, then the next.
With my keen eyesight, I can see the label identifying it as blood from a lumax, a rare animal back on our home world with particularly thick blood, said to smell horrible but taste divine.
Particularly nourishing, if the old accounts are accurate.
She carefully wraps the bottle in linen and places it in a small box packed with ice.
“What are you doing?” I step around the shelf and into the light.
“Nothing that concerns you.” She barely reacts to my sudden presence. “Just the tasks of a housekeeper, ensuring everything is stored properly.”
There’s a slight uptick in her pulse that I note from the throbbing vein at her neck, but other than that, she appears as calm as I am, both of us wearing masks of indifference.
I haven’t spent much time with Mrs. Darning since I was a boy.
She was like a nursemaid to us then, only it wasn’t milk we got from her, but blood.
Once my siblings and I were grown enough to join the new moon parties, her tasks changed, taking on more responsibilities until she managed the entire household while continuing to feed and fuck my father until his death.
She begged him to turn her, and he never did—rightfully, since it likely would have killed her—perhaps the one kindness he ever showed.
But her bitterness and grief at his death hasn’t been well hidden.
I think, in her strange way, she loved him.
She was certainly loyal to him and even helped keep my sister captive for decades.
She takes another bottle from the shelf and wraps this one as well.
“It looks as if you’re getting ready to send these somewhere.” I tap the box with the toe of my shoe.
Darning turns to look at me, a thin, sharp eyebrow raised. “Where would I send it? Are there other Mavarri out there I don’t know about?”
“You know very well there aren’t.”
She turns back to the box she’s packing. “Why are you here, Shemaiah? I haven’t got all day.”
“You won’t be attending the new moon party tonight.”
She scoffs. “I never attend a new moon.”
“You won’t be working the party, either.”
“So who do you expect to ensure dinner is served at the proper time and the proper temperature, that the wine flows freely and the guests are tipsy enough not to question what they see, but not so black out drunk that they’ll forget entirely and want to know what happened?
Who do you think will ensure that music and dancing happen on cue, that the night escalates and everyone is awed by the entertainment?
Do you think a common scullery maid can manage a party like that? You’re out of your depth.”
“Perhaps,” I say, treading carefully, not wanting to hint at anything amiss. “But Noah has asked Ruby to manage the party as the new lady of the house and matron of the Roan family.”
“Ha!” She returns to her task as if I haven’t spoken at all and snorts, her bitterness evident.
“You mistake me, Mrs. Darning.” I take in her tense muscles and the way she fists the bottle so hard her knuckles are white. The woman hates losing control. “It’s not due to your incompetence that we’re having Ruby take over. I have another task for you. An important one.”
I hadn’t planned on this, hadn’t actually considered it until this moment, but now that I’ve had the thought, it feels right. We can’t have her here while the detective is asking questions, and I do truly need her help. “I need you to retrieve someone from the mainland for me.”
Her attention returns to me, pointy nose turned up like she’s still not buying my excuse.
“It’s important, and there’s no one better suited than the woman who raised us.” I lean a hip against the wooden buffet. The glasses clink from my added weight. “And did such a fitting job of it.”
The flattery works. She loosens her grip on the bottle, carefully tucking it alongside the other. “Who is it you’d like me to retrieve?”
“I received a letter from Gray this morning. Miss Willoughby’s son is not at New Essik Family Group, as she believed. They have no account of the boy. Gray thinks he may have been taken to New Caldon and Miss Willoughby is just mistaken or misinformed.”
“You want me to go all the way to New Caldon.” She shifts back to sit on her heels. “A five-day journey to retrieve the son of a woman who might not be alive when I return?”
My teeth clench, grinding the thought to dust. “I made a promise.”
“Can’t it wait until after the party?”
“Miss Willoughby is distressed about the boy, which might exacerbate her health, and, as you said, she may not have much time.” Why does that thought make my stomach roll?
I should go check on her once I’m done with Mrs. Darning.
I’ll need to update her about all of this anyway.
“We would like to do everything we can to ease her suffering.”
Darning’s calculating gaze swings from me to the bottles she’s been packing at her feet.
I doubt Noah would like me sending Mrs. Darning away at a time like this, when we’re still unsure of her loyalties, but it seems the best option.
I don’t think she’ll run off. As far as I know, she has no family, friends, or acquaintances outside of this household.
Her loyalty isn’t assured, but I believe she’s self-serving enough to want to stay in our good graces.
The woman practically idolizes Mavarri, even when she’s irritated with us as individuals.
I’ve caught her in the Gate House library pouring over Mavarri myths and histories more than once, and she regularly goes to the goddess’ temple to pray.
But it wouldn’t hurt to add a little incentive. “You’ll have a generous stipend, of course. All expenses will be covered.”
She finishes packing the crate, filling in the spaces with soft material to keep the bottles protected. “How generous?”
“An additional month’s wages.”
She pauses a moment, her unnerving blue eyes—an icy blue, set deep in her face—skim my features. “Your man will be there?”
I nod. “The boat will take you back to the mainland after the guests arrive. You’ll meet with Gray, who will escort you to the Express. If all goes as planned, you’ll be back within a fortnight.”
“Very well.” She dips her head, a sign of submission that feels slightly forced.
I might be making a mistake giving Mrs. Darning this task, but I know if I don’t send someone to do it soon, Pippa will suggest she go herself. Frankly, I’m surprised she hasn’t already, although she probably knows we wouldn’t let her. All the women know too much to return to the mainland.
I could go… but… I’m reluctant to leave.
Someone needs to stay here and keep Jafeth in line so he doesn’t do something stupid like sleep with these women and give them false hope when he has no intention of falling in love with them.
Someone needs to look out for Pippa—for all of them.
Noah and Ruby are still too preoccupied with each other, and now there’s this detective business to pay attention to. Yes, I have to stay.
So, Mrs. Darning will have to go.
I click open my pocket watch, check the time, then close it. “Thank you,” I say absently, turning back to the entrance of the cellar and wondering how long it’ll take to track down Pippa.