Lyon Hearted, page 3
Anne rushed out from her husband’s bedroom. “Oh, my lord! I didn’t see you there. Bob’s much better now. No more shaking, but he’s weak as a kitten.”
He hadn’t asked about Anne’s husband, but he took the information with a grim nod. “Not a drop of ale or beer for him, remember? Clean water and your good cooking. That’s all.”
She winced as she picked up her youngest child to keep him from crawling into the fire. “I know you said that, my lord, but—”
“No buts. That’s my rule. If you want my help with the fields, then he can’t get a drop.” He leaned over and checked on the older boy’s chalkboard. There was a great deal of doodling on the slate, but also the correct answers to several mathematics problems he’d posed the day before. Little Jory was smart, and right now he was playing with several stones and sticks that he arranged on the floor. “What are you doing there?” he asked the child, though he had a good guess what it was.
“I’m thinking about where to put stuff,” the child answered as he pointed at the rocks and sticks. “Wheat. Sheep. This ’ere is the hill, and that…” He pointed to his shoe. “That’s the peat bog. It’s wet ’ere, which is good in summer, but—”
“Spring would drown the seeds—”
“Yes, an—”
That was as far as the conversation went before the lad’s father started bellowing for a drink. The words didn’t matter. Fury filled the little home while Anne and her two boys fretted in silence.
“You can’t have naught but water,” Anne said as she crossed into the bedroom. “His lordship says—”
The foul curse words that followed should have set Anne to blushing, but she simply whimpered and looked to him. After all, Daniel was the one who had said no, so it was up to him to silence the man’s howling.
He squeezed Jory’s shoulder and straightened up, going to speak to the drunken lout that would have been tossed off the land years ago if Daniel had had a say in it. But this was his late brother’s land—now in his son’s hands—and Daniel hadn’t had control until now.
The room stank and the arse in the bed was the source. “Good God, did you piss yourself?” he asked, already knowing the answer. He closed his ears to the stream of abuse he endured from the man’s mouth. Instead, he stepped back out to grab Anne. “I’m going to take him down to the river and wash him. Do what you can inside here while I’m gone.”
“What? But he ain’t strong enough. He’s had a cough these last days. Says it’s the Witch Woman who cursed him.”
“The Woman in the Woods is no more a witch than I am,” he snapped. The belief in witches ran deep in Cornwall, and he hated the ignorance of it all. “There’s no curse. Just a drunk who blames everyone else for his problems.”
“He don’t mean what he says.”
“He does and a whole lot worse.” He looked down at the boy who would need to grow up much too fast. “Jory, bring the soap and a brush, plus fresh clothes. I can’t carry that and your father by myself.”
The boy nodded and scrambled away. Amazing how quickly the entire family managed to ignore the filth still bellowing from the bedroom. The man was definitely on the mend, as his voice had power, but it sputtered and died when Daniel stepped into the bedroom and spoke in a low, threatening tone.
“I’m going to carry you to the cart, Bob, and then we’re going to wash the piss off you—”
“Go to the devil!” the man bellowed as he swung weakly with his right fist. It was a slow swing with even less force behind it. Daniel caught it and squeezed until the man yelped.
“Swing at me again, Bob, and I’ll leave you in the river to drown with nobody to miss you. I spent the last three days fixing things you ought to have done afore now—”
“Damned nestle bird. Everything were better when yer brother was alive!”
So he’d heard all his life. His brother Peder had been the flashy, titled earl. Daniel was the usurper “nestle bird” who helped work the fields, mend the fences, and plan the crops. Until he’d gotten tired of it and decided to put his love of art to work for him. Prinny himself had lavished praise on Daniel for discovering a treasure trove of Greek urns, one of which had been gifted to the Prince Regent. But that never changed the endless diatribe of abuse he got from those he helped the most. “Too bad Peder isn’t here to help you. He’s as dead as your busted leg right now.”
Peder had died seven months ago leaving behind a wife and two boys, none of whom was equipped to manage the estate. So Daniel had returned home, going back to working the fields, mending the fences, and ordering the crops all on behalf of his nephew Stefan, the new earl. Which meant that he had to deal with the likes of Bob Mellin.
“I take care of what’s my own,” the man sulked.
“The hell you do. Annie was a lively woman once. You’ve beat that out of her. Jory’s bright as a new penny, but he’s going to be trapped here cleaning up after you. You’re a miserable sot, but God gave you a gift in this broken leg. You get sober while you’re mending, and you do the things that a man does.”
More curses in a banal circle of repetition. Daniel lifted him out of bed and didn’t feel sorry when he jostled Bob’s leg hard enough to make him scream. The leg was set between three pieces of wood tied tight with rags. It was safe so long as Daniel didn’t do any of the murderous thoughts that churned through his brain.
He was none too gentle as he dropped Bob into the cart and then rode to the nearby stream. He barely held back his contempt when he scrubbed the idiot raw because the bastard couldn’t manage it himself. Soon the humiliation was too much, and Bob crumpled to his side and sobbed like a child. Daniel was at a loss then. Bob was in pain, obviously, but Daniel had little sympathy for an adult who drank himself into a stupor every day and then blamed witches that his life was a mess.
He stood to the side and left Bob to cry it out. As it was taking a while, he eventually settled on the side of the stream next to Jory.
“This is what drink does to a man,” he said to the boy. “You’ve got a good mind, Jory. One I mean to help if I can. Don’t let yourself turn into this.”
Jory said nothing beyond a sober nod, and suddenly he felt a fierce kinship with the child. No one would likely ever see or appreciate whatever Jory did to help his family, and yet this quiet child would probably keep his entire family from starving. Especially since the boy was whip-smart and willing to work.
“A man does the work that needs to be done,” he said softly. “That’s all. Don’t look to anyone else to see it or love you for it. It won’t happen—”
“I’ll see that the work gets done,” Jory said, and Daniel could hear a man’s strength inside his tiny body.
“And I’ll see that you get help doing it.” A vow between the two of them sealed when they shook hands. And then they turned back to Bob who had begun to shiver.
It was time to dry him and take him home. It was full dark by then and Bob was exhausted, so it was a little like dressing a large rag doll. Jory helped, and Daniel mourned that any child should see his father like this. But better he see it and be warned than become it.
The house was quiet when he returned. The babe asleep in the cradle, and Anne doing what she could to refresh the bed. Daniel set Bob down then took Anne outside as he tended to their nag.
“He won’t change. You need to think of yourself and your boys.”
“He was a good man once, my lord. He made that cradle himself. Carved it with his own hands.”
Daniel shook his head. “I don’t much care who he was. It’s who he is now that worries me. What of your kin? Have you no father or brother to take Bob’s work?”
He knew she did, but she would not acknowledge it. “Bob’s me husband and he’ll come round. He just needs a drying out—”
“And will he stay dry? If he doesn’t, then we’ll be right back here again. And you can’t count on me doing this again.” He was willing to help, but he had other responsibilities.
“You’ve been right kind, my lord.”
“Write to your kin, Anne. I’ll support you if you want to show Bob the door. He’s been nothing but a drain—”
“He’s my husband!” Outrage made Anne’s slender frame quiver with indignation. “I’m a god-fearing woman. I won’t throw away a good man—”
“What about a bad one?”
She pressed her lips together and lifted her chin. And who was he to blame her for sticking to her marriage vows? Just the man who was cleaning up the mess.
“Do you feel loved, honored, and cherished, Anne? That’s what he promised you at the church. He broke those vows first,” Daniel said. “So by my way of thinking, you’ve got every right to send him packing.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “I don’t think the vicar would agree with you there.”
No, the man definitely would not. But at least Vicar Trewin was easier to talk to than this illogical woman. “He’s the next person I mean to see,” he grumbled as he set out hay for their nag. Then his expression softened. “Get some rest, Annie. There’s a full day ahead, and I don’t doubt that you’ll be shouldering the worst of it.”
She dipped into a curtsey. “Thank you, my lord. You’ve been right kind.”
He had been, but his gut told him that it was work thrown to the wind. Bob would find a way to destroy it all. “Make sure Jory practices his letters. He needs to read and write if he means to do better than his father.”
“I will, my lord.”
He saddled his horse and headed out. He meant to go home then. Miss Lina likely had arrived and settled in by now. He needed to greet her. But he had told Anne that he would speak to the vicar next and though it had been an off-hand comment, he wouldn’t break his word.
So he headed away from his home to have a discussion with a stodgy man of faith. At least he’d get a good pint at the vicar’s home, though after tending to Bob, he decided he’d much rather have a meat pastie instead.
He looked at the rising moon and cursed under his breath. Mrs. Hocking had likely gone home by now which meant Miss Lina was wandering about his crumbling castle all alone. He really hoped she didn’t break her neck in the process.
Chapter Four
Li-Na woke with a start. She was in a foreign place and it was quiet enough to terrify. She thought for a moment she had died because of the silence that pressed in on her from all sides. Never in the last five years at the Lyon’s Den had it ever gotten quiet. Someone was always awake, and someone was always making noise.
But she wasn’t in the Lyon’s Den. She wasn’t even in London. And given the absolute, oppressive dark, Cornwall would be her tomb.
She tried to go back to sleep, but she couldn’t relax. She was used to working until nearly dawn. When she’d gone to bed after Mrs. Hocking left, she’d hoped to sleep through dawn. She’d certainly felt tired enough, but now, three hours later, she was wide awake and terrified.
Spirits walked in darkness this black. They manifested to her eye as strokes of ink that darted out, oozed around, or shivered at the corner of her eyes. Squiggles that lived outside the body to terrify the mind. They mixed with the sound of the wind blowing outside. It wasn’t enough to make anything howl, but she heard the low rush, trembled when something rattled or brushed against the wall, and did she hear scurrying feet? Rats? Insects? Spiders?
“Ignorance never makes life better.” She spoke Bessie’s words aloud to steady herself. Then she gathered her courage to get up and look around.
She rose from the bed and put her feet on the cold stone floor. She remembered that her room was large and sparse. Mrs. Hocking had said she had the “lady’s salon of the castle.” It held a bed, a wardrobe, and desk where the woman had set two candles. Then the housekeeper had bid her goodnight and left the grounds. Li-Na remembered it clearly because she’d heard the rickety cart rumble out of the keep. At the time, Li-Na had been grateful because she just wanted to lay flat on her back and rest. Now she wished the dour woman had remained close even if it was to scowl at her.
The first thing Li-Na did was to put on her shoes. She’d learned young that life was much safer with shoes on. She could kick better with shoes.
Next, she lit a candle and held it aloft. She always slept in a light dress rather than a nightrail. That had become her habit from very young, and so she was properly attired as she lifted the candlelight to chase away the darkness. It didn’t work except to create weird shadows that leaped everywhere she looked.
Squiggles and their shadows couldn’t harm her. Rats and people could. And since she saw none of either, she boldly grabbed the iron latch that fastened her door shut. The metal was cold, and she shivered as she gripped it. Then she threw the door open and thrust her candle against the dark.
No rats. No people. She could move forward.
She took a step into the next room, remembering what Mrs. Hocking had said. The castle was round, but half of it was unsafe. The center of the circle was a courtyard, then there were wooden steps into the main hall which was a huge empty room except for a long table and a stone fireplace. To the right was the kitchen, through the door to the left was the master’s chamber. To Li-Na’s shock, they’d walked straight through the master’s bedroom, bypassing stacks of books and what appeared to be paintings stacked against the wall. Then through that to the master’s workroom and then another door into the lady’s salon where she slept.
Two steps into the master’s workroom now. A dark figure loomed to her left and she jumped backwards. The figure moved weirdly on the far wall, and she bit back a scream lest she attract its attention. It was…it appeared…
A shadow.
From a statue. A figurine of a lady with a fan as she gazed into the distance.
And now that Li-Na looked, there were other small figurines set in a crate on the far wall, some packed, some half out. But this lady stood on top of a small table near enough to Li-Na to cast a shadow.
No vermin. No people.
She should look around some more.
She noted the framed paintings set against the wall such that she only saw their backs. There was an open ledger on the center table which she found very reassuring. Numbers in an account book were familiar to her. She wanted to study it, but she wouldn’t do such a thing while the dark void of the master’s chamber remained open. She walked through the workroom to cast her light into Lord Daniel’s bedroom.
She waited at the edge of the doorway first, listening for the sound of breath, the rumble of a snore, or the skitter of tiny paws whether from vermin or maybe a dog.
Nothing. She dared to cast her light into the room. Everything remained exactly as it had been when Mrs. Hocking took her so quickly through the man’s bedroom. Bed. Books. Dark fireplace. And shoes.
Li-Na smiled at the sight of those shoes. Heavy, work boots sat in order next to glossy hessians beside a pair of buckled court shoes. Two different court shoes, in fact, one with a silver buckle and the other sporting an older style shoe rose.
Four pairs of shoes which told her without a shadow of a doubt that Lord Daniel was wealthy. Five pairs, she now realized, unless the man was up and about without anything on his feet. And if the size of his wardrobe was any indication, then he had an equally large amount of clothing. Also, his bedding seemed lush given the curtains that surrounded it, and the carpet beside his bed was…
Her breath caught. It was an animal pelt of some sort and she had no wish to step upon it. Fortunately, the head was turned away from her, so she didn’t have to see the outline of eyes and mouth. She was more taken with the scent that filled the room. It was earthy, she thought, unlike anything she had encountered before. Not unpleasant, just different from anything she’d encountered in London. She smiled as she inhaled again.
“Crotchety beast!”
Li-Na jolted as she heard what she thought was a man’s voice. Her body tensed and that set the candle flame to dancing which made the shadows pulse and leer. She shut her eyes to them, straining to hear more.
Was that a whinny? Impossible to tell. But whatever it was, she had no desire to be caught standing here in the master’s chamber. She could return backwards to her room and wait or press ahead. It was a hard choice, but she reminded herself that ignorance helped no one. Knowledge lay ahead in the great hall, and so she went there.
No vermin. No people. But she saw an abundance of black squiggles made huge in the cavernous room.
She remembered the large table in the middle of the hall, and even if she didn’t, it was hard to miss because the squiggles seemed to love it. They rose from the bench or curled around the edges, but only in her peripheral vision. She skirted the whole thing as she walked steadily to the doorway. But long before she got to it, she heard the conversation.
“As if I’m to blame for the wind! He’s got a better bed then I do in this ramshackle place and still he must complain. Every. Single. Time.”
The door was hauled open, letting a gust of wind blow the large hall. She’d been standing near enough that her candle blew out. The sudden darkness wasn’t startling. The bite of hot wax on her hand was, and she gasped.
“Who’s there!”
It wasn’t a question as much as a demand. She knew better than to remain silent since this wasn’t a situation where she could slink away. And still the words were hard to push through her constricted throat.
“No one important, my lord,” she said.
He snorted at that as he brought a lantern inside and lifted it high. She remained still, her breath short and tight as he peered at her. He was no doubt inspecting her from top to bottom, but as the light was next to his face, she got a better view.
He had a broad face and thick eyebrows which gave him a dour look, especially as his eyes narrowed to look at her. She also saw that his nose and forehead were long and strong, reflecting the wealth he had now and that he would undoubtably maintain well into the future. A glance at his earlobes confirmed that as they were also full enough to indicate great luck.
According to the Chinese way of thinking, he had a fortunate face, but Li-Na knew to look closely at a man’s mouth. Too toothy a grin, and he was a liar. Too thin in lip, and he would suck sourness into every aspect of his life. A pursed mouth tasted and tasted and never committed to anything. And a mouth that moved constantly meant the man was chewing on grievances until he grew bitter.
He hadn’t asked about Anne’s husband, but he took the information with a grim nod. “Not a drop of ale or beer for him, remember? Clean water and your good cooking. That’s all.”
She winced as she picked up her youngest child to keep him from crawling into the fire. “I know you said that, my lord, but—”
“No buts. That’s my rule. If you want my help with the fields, then he can’t get a drop.” He leaned over and checked on the older boy’s chalkboard. There was a great deal of doodling on the slate, but also the correct answers to several mathematics problems he’d posed the day before. Little Jory was smart, and right now he was playing with several stones and sticks that he arranged on the floor. “What are you doing there?” he asked the child, though he had a good guess what it was.
“I’m thinking about where to put stuff,” the child answered as he pointed at the rocks and sticks. “Wheat. Sheep. This ’ere is the hill, and that…” He pointed to his shoe. “That’s the peat bog. It’s wet ’ere, which is good in summer, but—”
“Spring would drown the seeds—”
“Yes, an—”
That was as far as the conversation went before the lad’s father started bellowing for a drink. The words didn’t matter. Fury filled the little home while Anne and her two boys fretted in silence.
“You can’t have naught but water,” Anne said as she crossed into the bedroom. “His lordship says—”
The foul curse words that followed should have set Anne to blushing, but she simply whimpered and looked to him. After all, Daniel was the one who had said no, so it was up to him to silence the man’s howling.
He squeezed Jory’s shoulder and straightened up, going to speak to the drunken lout that would have been tossed off the land years ago if Daniel had had a say in it. But this was his late brother’s land—now in his son’s hands—and Daniel hadn’t had control until now.
The room stank and the arse in the bed was the source. “Good God, did you piss yourself?” he asked, already knowing the answer. He closed his ears to the stream of abuse he endured from the man’s mouth. Instead, he stepped back out to grab Anne. “I’m going to take him down to the river and wash him. Do what you can inside here while I’m gone.”
“What? But he ain’t strong enough. He’s had a cough these last days. Says it’s the Witch Woman who cursed him.”
“The Woman in the Woods is no more a witch than I am,” he snapped. The belief in witches ran deep in Cornwall, and he hated the ignorance of it all. “There’s no curse. Just a drunk who blames everyone else for his problems.”
“He don’t mean what he says.”
“He does and a whole lot worse.” He looked down at the boy who would need to grow up much too fast. “Jory, bring the soap and a brush, plus fresh clothes. I can’t carry that and your father by myself.”
The boy nodded and scrambled away. Amazing how quickly the entire family managed to ignore the filth still bellowing from the bedroom. The man was definitely on the mend, as his voice had power, but it sputtered and died when Daniel stepped into the bedroom and spoke in a low, threatening tone.
“I’m going to carry you to the cart, Bob, and then we’re going to wash the piss off you—”
“Go to the devil!” the man bellowed as he swung weakly with his right fist. It was a slow swing with even less force behind it. Daniel caught it and squeezed until the man yelped.
“Swing at me again, Bob, and I’ll leave you in the river to drown with nobody to miss you. I spent the last three days fixing things you ought to have done afore now—”
“Damned nestle bird. Everything were better when yer brother was alive!”
So he’d heard all his life. His brother Peder had been the flashy, titled earl. Daniel was the usurper “nestle bird” who helped work the fields, mend the fences, and plan the crops. Until he’d gotten tired of it and decided to put his love of art to work for him. Prinny himself had lavished praise on Daniel for discovering a treasure trove of Greek urns, one of which had been gifted to the Prince Regent. But that never changed the endless diatribe of abuse he got from those he helped the most. “Too bad Peder isn’t here to help you. He’s as dead as your busted leg right now.”
Peder had died seven months ago leaving behind a wife and two boys, none of whom was equipped to manage the estate. So Daniel had returned home, going back to working the fields, mending the fences, and ordering the crops all on behalf of his nephew Stefan, the new earl. Which meant that he had to deal with the likes of Bob Mellin.
“I take care of what’s my own,” the man sulked.
“The hell you do. Annie was a lively woman once. You’ve beat that out of her. Jory’s bright as a new penny, but he’s going to be trapped here cleaning up after you. You’re a miserable sot, but God gave you a gift in this broken leg. You get sober while you’re mending, and you do the things that a man does.”
More curses in a banal circle of repetition. Daniel lifted him out of bed and didn’t feel sorry when he jostled Bob’s leg hard enough to make him scream. The leg was set between three pieces of wood tied tight with rags. It was safe so long as Daniel didn’t do any of the murderous thoughts that churned through his brain.
He was none too gentle as he dropped Bob into the cart and then rode to the nearby stream. He barely held back his contempt when he scrubbed the idiot raw because the bastard couldn’t manage it himself. Soon the humiliation was too much, and Bob crumpled to his side and sobbed like a child. Daniel was at a loss then. Bob was in pain, obviously, but Daniel had little sympathy for an adult who drank himself into a stupor every day and then blamed witches that his life was a mess.
He stood to the side and left Bob to cry it out. As it was taking a while, he eventually settled on the side of the stream next to Jory.
“This is what drink does to a man,” he said to the boy. “You’ve got a good mind, Jory. One I mean to help if I can. Don’t let yourself turn into this.”
Jory said nothing beyond a sober nod, and suddenly he felt a fierce kinship with the child. No one would likely ever see or appreciate whatever Jory did to help his family, and yet this quiet child would probably keep his entire family from starving. Especially since the boy was whip-smart and willing to work.
“A man does the work that needs to be done,” he said softly. “That’s all. Don’t look to anyone else to see it or love you for it. It won’t happen—”
“I’ll see that the work gets done,” Jory said, and Daniel could hear a man’s strength inside his tiny body.
“And I’ll see that you get help doing it.” A vow between the two of them sealed when they shook hands. And then they turned back to Bob who had begun to shiver.
It was time to dry him and take him home. It was full dark by then and Bob was exhausted, so it was a little like dressing a large rag doll. Jory helped, and Daniel mourned that any child should see his father like this. But better he see it and be warned than become it.
The house was quiet when he returned. The babe asleep in the cradle, and Anne doing what she could to refresh the bed. Daniel set Bob down then took Anne outside as he tended to their nag.
“He won’t change. You need to think of yourself and your boys.”
“He was a good man once, my lord. He made that cradle himself. Carved it with his own hands.”
Daniel shook his head. “I don’t much care who he was. It’s who he is now that worries me. What of your kin? Have you no father or brother to take Bob’s work?”
He knew she did, but she would not acknowledge it. “Bob’s me husband and he’ll come round. He just needs a drying out—”
“And will he stay dry? If he doesn’t, then we’ll be right back here again. And you can’t count on me doing this again.” He was willing to help, but he had other responsibilities.
“You’ve been right kind, my lord.”
“Write to your kin, Anne. I’ll support you if you want to show Bob the door. He’s been nothing but a drain—”
“He’s my husband!” Outrage made Anne’s slender frame quiver with indignation. “I’m a god-fearing woman. I won’t throw away a good man—”
“What about a bad one?”
She pressed her lips together and lifted her chin. And who was he to blame her for sticking to her marriage vows? Just the man who was cleaning up the mess.
“Do you feel loved, honored, and cherished, Anne? That’s what he promised you at the church. He broke those vows first,” Daniel said. “So by my way of thinking, you’ve got every right to send him packing.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “I don’t think the vicar would agree with you there.”
No, the man definitely would not. But at least Vicar Trewin was easier to talk to than this illogical woman. “He’s the next person I mean to see,” he grumbled as he set out hay for their nag. Then his expression softened. “Get some rest, Annie. There’s a full day ahead, and I don’t doubt that you’ll be shouldering the worst of it.”
She dipped into a curtsey. “Thank you, my lord. You’ve been right kind.”
He had been, but his gut told him that it was work thrown to the wind. Bob would find a way to destroy it all. “Make sure Jory practices his letters. He needs to read and write if he means to do better than his father.”
“I will, my lord.”
He saddled his horse and headed out. He meant to go home then. Miss Lina likely had arrived and settled in by now. He needed to greet her. But he had told Anne that he would speak to the vicar next and though it had been an off-hand comment, he wouldn’t break his word.
So he headed away from his home to have a discussion with a stodgy man of faith. At least he’d get a good pint at the vicar’s home, though after tending to Bob, he decided he’d much rather have a meat pastie instead.
He looked at the rising moon and cursed under his breath. Mrs. Hocking had likely gone home by now which meant Miss Lina was wandering about his crumbling castle all alone. He really hoped she didn’t break her neck in the process.
Chapter Four
Li-Na woke with a start. She was in a foreign place and it was quiet enough to terrify. She thought for a moment she had died because of the silence that pressed in on her from all sides. Never in the last five years at the Lyon’s Den had it ever gotten quiet. Someone was always awake, and someone was always making noise.
But she wasn’t in the Lyon’s Den. She wasn’t even in London. And given the absolute, oppressive dark, Cornwall would be her tomb.
She tried to go back to sleep, but she couldn’t relax. She was used to working until nearly dawn. When she’d gone to bed after Mrs. Hocking left, she’d hoped to sleep through dawn. She’d certainly felt tired enough, but now, three hours later, she was wide awake and terrified.
Spirits walked in darkness this black. They manifested to her eye as strokes of ink that darted out, oozed around, or shivered at the corner of her eyes. Squiggles that lived outside the body to terrify the mind. They mixed with the sound of the wind blowing outside. It wasn’t enough to make anything howl, but she heard the low rush, trembled when something rattled or brushed against the wall, and did she hear scurrying feet? Rats? Insects? Spiders?
“Ignorance never makes life better.” She spoke Bessie’s words aloud to steady herself. Then she gathered her courage to get up and look around.
She rose from the bed and put her feet on the cold stone floor. She remembered that her room was large and sparse. Mrs. Hocking had said she had the “lady’s salon of the castle.” It held a bed, a wardrobe, and desk where the woman had set two candles. Then the housekeeper had bid her goodnight and left the grounds. Li-Na remembered it clearly because she’d heard the rickety cart rumble out of the keep. At the time, Li-Na had been grateful because she just wanted to lay flat on her back and rest. Now she wished the dour woman had remained close even if it was to scowl at her.
The first thing Li-Na did was to put on her shoes. She’d learned young that life was much safer with shoes on. She could kick better with shoes.
Next, she lit a candle and held it aloft. She always slept in a light dress rather than a nightrail. That had become her habit from very young, and so she was properly attired as she lifted the candlelight to chase away the darkness. It didn’t work except to create weird shadows that leaped everywhere she looked.
Squiggles and their shadows couldn’t harm her. Rats and people could. And since she saw none of either, she boldly grabbed the iron latch that fastened her door shut. The metal was cold, and she shivered as she gripped it. Then she threw the door open and thrust her candle against the dark.
No rats. No people. She could move forward.
She took a step into the next room, remembering what Mrs. Hocking had said. The castle was round, but half of it was unsafe. The center of the circle was a courtyard, then there were wooden steps into the main hall which was a huge empty room except for a long table and a stone fireplace. To the right was the kitchen, through the door to the left was the master’s chamber. To Li-Na’s shock, they’d walked straight through the master’s bedroom, bypassing stacks of books and what appeared to be paintings stacked against the wall. Then through that to the master’s workroom and then another door into the lady’s salon where she slept.
Two steps into the master’s workroom now. A dark figure loomed to her left and she jumped backwards. The figure moved weirdly on the far wall, and she bit back a scream lest she attract its attention. It was…it appeared…
A shadow.
From a statue. A figurine of a lady with a fan as she gazed into the distance.
And now that Li-Na looked, there were other small figurines set in a crate on the far wall, some packed, some half out. But this lady stood on top of a small table near enough to Li-Na to cast a shadow.
No vermin. No people.
She should look around some more.
She noted the framed paintings set against the wall such that she only saw their backs. There was an open ledger on the center table which she found very reassuring. Numbers in an account book were familiar to her. She wanted to study it, but she wouldn’t do such a thing while the dark void of the master’s chamber remained open. She walked through the workroom to cast her light into Lord Daniel’s bedroom.
She waited at the edge of the doorway first, listening for the sound of breath, the rumble of a snore, or the skitter of tiny paws whether from vermin or maybe a dog.
Nothing. She dared to cast her light into the room. Everything remained exactly as it had been when Mrs. Hocking took her so quickly through the man’s bedroom. Bed. Books. Dark fireplace. And shoes.
Li-Na smiled at the sight of those shoes. Heavy, work boots sat in order next to glossy hessians beside a pair of buckled court shoes. Two different court shoes, in fact, one with a silver buckle and the other sporting an older style shoe rose.
Four pairs of shoes which told her without a shadow of a doubt that Lord Daniel was wealthy. Five pairs, she now realized, unless the man was up and about without anything on his feet. And if the size of his wardrobe was any indication, then he had an equally large amount of clothing. Also, his bedding seemed lush given the curtains that surrounded it, and the carpet beside his bed was…
Her breath caught. It was an animal pelt of some sort and she had no wish to step upon it. Fortunately, the head was turned away from her, so she didn’t have to see the outline of eyes and mouth. She was more taken with the scent that filled the room. It was earthy, she thought, unlike anything she had encountered before. Not unpleasant, just different from anything she’d encountered in London. She smiled as she inhaled again.
“Crotchety beast!”
Li-Na jolted as she heard what she thought was a man’s voice. Her body tensed and that set the candle flame to dancing which made the shadows pulse and leer. She shut her eyes to them, straining to hear more.
Was that a whinny? Impossible to tell. But whatever it was, she had no desire to be caught standing here in the master’s chamber. She could return backwards to her room and wait or press ahead. It was a hard choice, but she reminded herself that ignorance helped no one. Knowledge lay ahead in the great hall, and so she went there.
No vermin. No people. But she saw an abundance of black squiggles made huge in the cavernous room.
She remembered the large table in the middle of the hall, and even if she didn’t, it was hard to miss because the squiggles seemed to love it. They rose from the bench or curled around the edges, but only in her peripheral vision. She skirted the whole thing as she walked steadily to the doorway. But long before she got to it, she heard the conversation.
“As if I’m to blame for the wind! He’s got a better bed then I do in this ramshackle place and still he must complain. Every. Single. Time.”
The door was hauled open, letting a gust of wind blow the large hall. She’d been standing near enough that her candle blew out. The sudden darkness wasn’t startling. The bite of hot wax on her hand was, and she gasped.
“Who’s there!”
It wasn’t a question as much as a demand. She knew better than to remain silent since this wasn’t a situation where she could slink away. And still the words were hard to push through her constricted throat.
“No one important, my lord,” she said.
He snorted at that as he brought a lantern inside and lifted it high. She remained still, her breath short and tight as he peered at her. He was no doubt inspecting her from top to bottom, but as the light was next to his face, she got a better view.
He had a broad face and thick eyebrows which gave him a dour look, especially as his eyes narrowed to look at her. She also saw that his nose and forehead were long and strong, reflecting the wealth he had now and that he would undoubtably maintain well into the future. A glance at his earlobes confirmed that as they were also full enough to indicate great luck.
According to the Chinese way of thinking, he had a fortunate face, but Li-Na knew to look closely at a man’s mouth. Too toothy a grin, and he was a liar. Too thin in lip, and he would suck sourness into every aspect of his life. A pursed mouth tasted and tasted and never committed to anything. And a mouth that moved constantly meant the man was chewing on grievances until he grew bitter.
