Slowly Rising, page 18
"You are very wise for one so young, McKenna."
"I do not feel young, madam."
"No. I know what you mean."
They resumed their walk, but her mistress remained glum.
"I am never generally like this," she continued, studying the scattered clouds that floated across the blue sky. "Thank goodness my husband does not see me moping like a wet rag, or he would think me ill and send for the doctor. I do not know what puts me in this mawkish, doubting mood, McKenna."
"A new husband, a very old house and impending motherhood, madam. And the sneering appraisal of Mrs. Hopper. For once I must agree with Biddy and say that lady is no better than she should be. What you need is a nice scented bath and a foot rub."
"That does sound nice." She sighed. "I was perfectly alright until Mrs. Hopper called me lady of the manor in that way, while looking at my muddy hem and dowdy sleeves. Then subtly suggesting I'm a mercenary hussy."
"It would do no harm, madam," Amalie ventured, trying not to laugh, "to bring out your full potential rather than let it go to waste. Why should you feel dowdy beside anybody? A woman should feel beautiful every day."
"Even if she is only getting dressed to clean an old house and walk through sawdust?"
Amalie smiled. "Especially then, madam. You could put Mrs. Hopper in the shade and no mistake."
"But I'm exhausted just thinking of the effort it would take to make myself pretty."
"That's why you have me, madam. That's my job."
They passed the blacksmith's forge, where Mrs. Wilding paused to have a word with her husband's apprentice and ask after his mother, and then they continued on their path toward the woods.
"I was always so practical, McKenna. I was the one who made do. But I had no coin at my disposal then. Or a house of my own to decorate. Or a husband. It's all rather intimidating."
"Well, I daresay it must be so for Mr. Wilding too, madam. He never had a wife before, did he? Or a fortune to manage."
The lady thought about this for a moment and then nodded. "You are right, McKenna. I must make a better effort myself if I am to make him interested in new clothes too. I would never want people to look down upon him, the way Mrs. Hopper just looked at me." She suddenly seized Amalie's arm and hooked her own around it. "I shall let you be a proper lady's maid to me, as long as you help Jones become a better valet. There, we shall make a pledge to behave ourselves."
They had not gone much farther when the valet, Jones, appeared before them, walking with a brisk stride and a frown on his face.
"There you both are," he exclaimed crossly. "I wish people would tell me when they're going out."
"I beg your pardon?" said Mrs. Wilding.
Now he looked confused, coming to a halt and scratching his head. "I meant, madam, that you should inform me if you are leaving the house." He stared directly at Amalie. "Nobody knew where you'd gone."
"And is there some matter for which you needed me, Jones?" asked Mrs. Wilding.
"Well, I—we were concerned, madam. You never know what dangers might be about."
The mistress almost laughed. "In Slowly Fell? This is not London, Jones. You need not be anxious." Then she paused and looked thoughtful. "Or is there something you have to tell me? Some danger of which I am unaware?"
"No, madam." He avoided Amalie's gaze and looked away at the trees. "I just wish I might be informed when folk are leaving the grounds."
"As my husband's valet, it is hardly your concern where I go."
Again he scratched his head. "When the master left for Shrewsbury, he put the responsibility for your safety in my hands, madam."
"Very well, Jones. But you needn't be quite so stern about it."
He moved aside, and the two women walked on, arm in arm, leaving him to follow.
Her mistress leaned closer to whisper, "I believe Jones has his eye on you."
"Madam?"
"He came to look for you, of course."
"I think not, madam." She hoped not. "Why would he do that?"
"Have you not seen the way he looks at you, McKenna?"
"It makes no odds to me, madam. I have work to do, even if he doesn't."
Every part of her body was now terribly aware of his presence, his footsteps following them along the path, even his breath. Had he come out to look for her?
"I've done naught to encourage him," she added anxiously.
"Some men do not need encouragement, and he is the bold sort."
So why did he pretend not to remember holding her hand in the churchyard and begging her to "Stay beside me"?
Was there some reason to hide the truth about how he spent those lost days between his appearance among the gravestones in the rain and his eventual arrival at the front door of Slowly Rising?
He confused her, for in many ways he acted like a typical male, but in others...there was something adrift. Stay beside me.
Amalie had little time for neediness and whining; she'd had enough of that from her father. But this was different, it was heartfelt. At least, it had fooled her into believing him for those few startled breaths under the lych-gate. Had he made a fool of her then?
"My husband says Jones was raised in an orphanage and then a workhouse," said Mrs. Wilding. "It must have been a terrible childhood. Very few survive such a life."
"Yes. He has spoken of it."
"But he has risen up since then and made something of his life. That is admirable, is it not?"
"Yes, madam. I suppose so." She thought of him bent over the table, studying the newspaper, his dictionary at the ready beside it.
"You do not like him, McKenna?"
"I do not know what I think of him, madam." She was afraid to think anything of him, in fact.
"I understand he has a fond eye for pink stockings. Perhaps that's the trouble."
Amalie felt a quick blush warm her cheeks. Pink stockings and other similar frilly things were her great weakness. She had always envied the comtesse her many pretty, lacy and extravagant under-things, so as soon as she made any coin herself, she had bought some. Really she did not know what came over her, but it was a vice she could not give up. Now, it seemed, this feminine flaw had brought her to the attention of Gideon Jones
He must have done well for himself to have earned Lady Bramley's admiration," her mistress added.
"Although he is not what I would expect her ladyship to send here as a valet, madam."
"True. But my husband likes him. I suppose she must have known that he would suit. Her ladyship has an eye for these things. After all, she chose you for me, McKenna, and I could not have asked for a better lady's maid to boost my confidence in the forbidding face of the Mrs. Hoppers of this world."
She tried to smile, but found it wiped from her lips before it had properly formed. For ahead of them, sitting in the branches of a tree, sat those three black crows, staring down through the leaves, their beady eyes unblinking.
The valet, Jones, was still behind them, whistling Frere Jacques.
Damn him. He must have heard Coquin singing that tune when he crept into her room uninvited. It would be far too great a coincidence for that man to know the tune and have it stuck in his head otherwise. He must be curious about the silver chocolate pot, but he did not mention that to her either, just like their meeting in the churchyard.
"It is not proper, madam, for a valet to whistle," she said to her mistress, "and I wager he has his hands in his pockets."
Mrs. Wilding laughed. "I daresay you are right, McKenna, but we shall not turn and look and then I won't have to reprimand him."
Amalie shook her head. If her mistress refused to correct the man's behavior, how would he learn?
"Do not be so hard on Jones," her mistress whispered. "We need him on our side."
She remembered how Mrs. Wilding was able to smile and guide her husband with sweetness and honey rather than a sharp tongue. Perhaps she ought to try it for a change.
Had she been too hard on the valet?
"Do you think Mrs. Hopper really talks to her dead husband?" her mistress asked suddenly.
She answered carefully, "Some folk believe in that sort of thing, madam."
"Poor Mr. Hopper," the lady replied with a soft chuckle. "Even in death he cannot get away from his wife."
"Or finish a sentence, no doubt," Amalie added.
They both laughed at that.
Chapter Twelve
He saw her slip out of the kitchen before the others were done with supper, and this time he followed, managing to escape the other maids while they weren't looking for him.
It was dusk out, quiet and peaceful. The sort of thing he had never experienced in London, where there was always a lantern lit and an argument playing out somewhere. But funnily enough he was getting used to it already. The country air had seeped into his skin so that he felt as if he'd been there a long time. Perhaps even forever. He slept well there, better than he ever had. Must be the freshness of everything, he thought. When he put his head down on the pillow each night he slept almost immediately, despite the fact that he did not feel tired, and he woke refreshed, eager to get on with the day.
At this time of the evening, after supper, he felt quite lively, as if the blood fizzed through his veins with more vitality than usual, his senses more finely attuned. Enjoying a last vivid spurt before he lay down and closed his eyes, perhaps.
There was something mysterious and heavy in the air. Even the birds seemed to feel it, falling quieter, less frantic. Drowsy. Drunk on the day's fragrance.
There she was. He could just see her lighter shape moving among the dense trees. Off in her own world. He often thought that about her, even when she was in a room full of other folk.
Tonight he would find out where she went on her little evening jaunts. He'd tried, several times, to follow her, but there was always somebody in his way, the other staff wanting his attention, the girls flirting. At last he had his chance.
But then he saw that he was not the only one with an idea to follow Miss McKenna. Another fellow— one of the laborers hired by Mr. Wilding from Shrewsbury— also stalked the lady's maid through the grey light. Gideon watched the other man crouch by a tree as their prey approached the pond. What was he up to? No good probably.
Was this the man she crept out to meet?
Anger swept him from head to toe.
But she seemed unaware of her pursuers. Kneeling down by the water, she ran her fingertips across the surface. It was almost as if she was sleep-walking.
No, she had not arranged to meet the other man, for he, quite suddenly, leapt out of the trees and startled her.
"You shouldn't be out here all alone," the fellow said. "Night draws in."
She got to her feet, looking annoyed. "So it does. Fancy that. Night comes after day. How could I not have noticed?"
"I'll teach you another use for that sharp tongue."
"Thank you for the offer, but I am not interested."
"Why not? Think me beneath you, eh?"
"I do not think of you anywhere."
"You're a haughty wench, but I'll show you—" And he made a move toward her, grabbing hold of her wrist. As he tugged hard, she pulled back and her sleeve tore.
"How dare you!" she exclaimed.
At once Gideon sprang forward and intervened. Moments later the other man was curled on his side in the grass, wheezing and cursing as he nursed his belly. "I suggest you get off these grounds now and don't come back," said Gideon, standing over him.
"Who the devil are you to dismiss me?"
"Would you rather I tell Mr. Wilding about this and have him send you off?"
"I meant no harm."
"But you thought a woman walking alone was easy game. Go on. Off with you, before I take out your spleen."
The wounded man blinked up at him, still rolling about and holding his stomach. "You're the bleedin' valet. You don't tell me where to go."
Gideon reached down, gripped the man by the shoulders of his jerkin and pulled him upright. "I'll tell you or I'll show you," he hissed in his ear. "Your choice."
"This drama is entertaining but quite unnecessary," McKenna exclaimed. "I'm sure this man now realizes he made a mistake."
"I wouldn't be so sure of it," said Gideon. "He looks thick-headed to me."
"Let him go, Jones. You're making a dreadful fuss about nothing."
So he released his hold on the other man and let him slope off, still bent double thanks to the hefty fist Gideon had delivered into his windbag. "As long as you're alright then, McKenna."
"It's a merely a torn sleeve and can be mended in a trice. I am not so easily breakable."
"Could have been worse if I weren't here."
"Only for him." She now revealed a long hat pin, which she'd had concealed in her apron pocket. "See, I can take care of myself."
Gideon shook his head. "I didn't suppose you'd thank me for saving you. Might strain somethin'."
That almost earned him a smile as she tucked the lethal-looking hat pin away out of sight again. "Were you following me too? Intent on curing me of my sharp tongue?"
"No," he lied swiftly. "Just happened to be 'ere. Lucky for you."
"What happened? Did the maids finally lose interest in your stories?"
"I can take a stroll, can't I? Ain't against the rules." He looked at the water. "Ought to mind yerself. Lots of people drowned in there, so I'm told."
"Yes. I know."
"Hard to believe when the water is still and innocent like this."
"Do you think so? To me it seems more menacing when it's quiet and still. As if it’s waiting."
"Waitin' for what?"
"Another body." She shot him a devious look. "Yours perhaps."
He shuddered. "Well, that's given me a good chill down the spine."
Now she did smile. Fully, at last. "Why are you here? You're not really a valet, are you? You may as well confess."
"I am a valet for now."
"Until something else takes your fancy? You seem to be a jack-of-all-trades."
"Keeps life interesting, don't it?"
She sniffed, folding her arms. "I do not need life to be any more interesting than it is already. I prefer constancy. To know I've done a good job every day. That's all."
Glad she was finally sharing a little more about herself, he stayed quiet and let her talk. Did she ever let that hair loose, he wondered. It must be of considerable length. In the silky light of dusk it glowed like silver and made him think of winter frost, but not the sort that chilled a man to his bone marrow. This was a beauty that tempted like the prickly shards of ice crystals, only to burn and bite his bare fingers, should they be bold enough to venture forth.
"I wouldn't want to be anything else other than a lady's maid. It's all I ever wanted. For as long as I can remember." Then she looked at him again. "So I like to see others take their work seriously and responsibly. To be grateful for their post and loyal to their masters. To be constant and not changeable as the weather."
She was lecturing him, he realized. "You don't have to worry about me. I take my work seriously, and I'm here to help the Wildings. I'm not going anywhere until the job is done."
A slight frown crossed her face. "Why were you in the churchyard that day and why did you not come up to the house with me? It was very rude of you to go off like that. To disappear without warning"
"What? What day?" He had no idea what she was talking about. Thinking this must be some sort of teasing game, he laughed.
"You will pretend it wasn't you?"
"I don't understand."
"Stay beside me?" Her eyes gleamed angrily. "That's what you begged of me, under the lych-gate. When we were alone. In the rain. Then, not ten minutes later, you walked off and left me, without another word, and while I was looking the other way."
"Me?" What was she playing at? Apparently it was not a jest. Or else she was a very good actress.
"You deny it?"
"I've only been near the church on Sundays. With everybody else."
"So you have a twin then," she snapped. "A mischievous twin, who wanders in graveyards." She took a step closer. "I ought to stick that hat pin in you."
"Now who makes a bleedin' drama out of naught?"
"Naught? I know what I saw and heard. I even remember how it..." She looked away across the water.
"How what?"
Glancing down at her hands, she shook her head and then answered in that brisk way, "It hardly matters now. I don't know why I bothered bringing it up. I had decided I would not, since you seemed so keen to forget it."
"Bloody 'ell, what did this twin o' mine do to you, supposedly? Ravish your stockings off among the grave stones?"
"You kissed my hand." She caught her breath, face flushed in the dying light.
He stared at her. "And that's all?"
Her eyes widened. "It might not seem much to you, but I'm not the sort of girl who lets strange men kiss her hand." She turned away, as if to walk back toward the house, but Gideon reached for her arm. He did not want to grab it the way the other man had done, and so just caught the material of her sleeve in his fingers.
"I don't know why you thought it were me," he said. "How could it have been?"
Her lips trembled and then tightened. Bright, unfathomable and faraway as the moon, her gaze drifted away from him again, as if to say nothing he said or did mattered.
"But I wish it were me," he added. She might not have meant to tempt him— might not have known what she did— but the shape of her doubting lips drew Gideon closer. Just like the sight of dainty, sugary cakes in that bakery window. A luxury forbidden to an orphan and workhouse boy like him. "If that were me, I wouldn't kiss only your hand though. That sounds too gentlemanly to be me."
He almost expected her to run away— he gave her the time and opportunity— but she did not. She was still and quiet, like the pond beside them. Folded up in the gathering darkness her edges began to disappear. There were two things he wanted suddenly: to startle her out of this tranquil, dream-like state, and assure himself that she was truly there with him, because suddenly he began to wonder. Began to fear he was dreaming in this strange, whispering, humming place.
