Murkmere (22 page)

Cold air rippled around us, blowing our gowns against our ankles. When we reached Leah’s door it was creaking to and fro,
opening a little on its latch, then closing. There
was candlelight in her chamber. When the door opened, the oak floorboards of the passage glowed for a brief moment.

We stood in the shadows and whispered to each other.

“She can’t sleep,” I said in Dog’s ear, irritable at being woken up for this. “You should go in and ask her if she wants for
anything.”

“If you pass her chamber as I did,” Dog hissed back, “you’ll see what I saw.”

Grumbling silently, clutching the coverlet about my cold shoulders, I walked past the door as it closed, then turned. Dog
nodded urgently back at me.

Then the door opened a little on the latch.

From where I was standing I could see Leah through the gap. She was crouched with her back to me in a wavering circle of yellow
light. She must have kept the feathers and the scraps of skin after my destruction. They were in a pile beside her, the feathers
rising and drifting in the draft. Her head was bent, and there was something in her right hand.

I couldn’t make out what she was doing until she brought her hand up and the candlelight glinted on silver.

A threaded needle.

She forced the needle into the skin, then out again. It was difficult, impossible. I’d cut the swanskin into countless pieces.
She could never repair it.

For a long moment I stood watching her, rent with pity. Then her door banged shut, making both Dog and me jump.

I beckoned Dog back to my chamber. We were trembling,
with cold or fear or perhaps both. I sat on my bed and Dog sat too while the candles shook in our hands. I had to think how
to reassure Dog that all was well with our mistress when plainly it was not.

“She’s brought those bird feathers out again!” she whispered. “I thought you’d got rid of them.”

“I destroyed the skin. It’s a dead thing, Dog, nothing to be afraid of.”

“She must have put all the pieces back in her chest. What’s she doin’? It’s the middle of the night!”

“I believe she’s asleep,” I said firmly, for Dog’s voice was rising. “She doesn’t know she’s out of bed.”

“What, with a lit candle and all?”

“It’s possible. Why shouldn’t you do things in sleep that you do when awake?” In truth, I did think that Leah might be sleepwalking,
and it was reassuring to think so.

“Should we fetch someone to her?” asked Dog.

“No, no,” I said quickly. “It would be dangerous to wake her in such a state. She’s best left. She’ll come back to herself
naturally. I’ll return in a while and make sure the candle flame is safely out.”

Dog was still looking doubtful. I hurried her to the door, patting her shoulder. “There’s no cause for worry, Dog. I believe
such sleep activity is common enough. We’ll keep it to ourselves and not worry the Master.”

Dog nodded. “And you’ll make sure she’s back in her bed?” She shivered again. “Otherwise she might come walkin’ in my chamber!”

“I’ll do all that’s necessary.”

Her candle guttered away down the passage. Then in the darkness I made my way across the room to my cold bed and climbed in.

I lay waiting, my feet like stones. Later, I lit my own candle with a flint from the tinderbox and tiptoed back down the dark
hole of the passageway. Though her door still swung on its latch, Leah’s chamber was in darkness. I stood by the gap and listened,
but heard only her steady breathing. Then I went back to bed myself, too cold, too full of dread, to sleep again.

The following night I kept the candle burning by my bed. The old house creaked in the wind; doors rattled. Finally, I left
my chamber and stole down the passage, my candle flaring in the drafty darkness. As I neared her door, I saw again the light
lying over the floorboards, narrowing to darkness as the door shifted shut. Fear seized me so I could scarcely move, but I
forced my cold limbs forward. As the door opened again I stood still, hardly daring to breathe, and looked through the gap.

She was in the same position, sitting on the floor with her back to me. How long she had been so, there was no way to tell.
But I saw something that chilled my blood to ice.

She was making progress in sewing the pieces of the swanskin together. Two little scraps had been joined together to make
a larger piece. As she finished sewing it, she held the mended piece up to admire her handiwork before laying it
with the greatest care beside her. Every now and then a little moan would escape from her, as if at the enormity of her task.

I didn’t enter and confront her; I didn’t dare. I was the one who had destroyed the swanskin. I couldn’t prevent her from
trying to repair it when it meant so much to her. I stood watching in a kind of fascinated horror, until my legs began to
tremble.

Three nights more I found candlelight lining her door. The wind had died away with the end of the spring storms, and I had
no more glimpses of her crouched and intent over her work, for the door stayed shut. I was tempted to lift the latch, but
knew I could not do so quietly.

It came to the fourth night of my watching. I climbed wearily out of bed as soon as I thought the household slept. I’d forgotten
to keep my candle burning, so had to fumble with the tinderbox. The darkness pressed around me in a stifling way. At last
the flame was lit. I wrapped the coverlet about me and padded across the chamber.

But this night was different. I was about to close the door behind me when I heard the whispers.

I blew out my candle at once and froze where I stood. Down the far end of the passage by Leah’s door there were two figures
holding lighted candles.

I knew them immediately. It was Doggett and Silas Seed.

A
t first light I strode to Doggett’s room and flung open the door. Only a greasy braid showed on the pillow. I flung the bedclothes
from her huddled body and shook her violently. She gasped awake and drew away from me in terror, her rough, red hands across
the front of her nightgown.

“You worm!” I hissed. “You’ve betrayed our mistress!”

She shook her lank head. “I never, Aggie!”

“You did! I saw you! You took Silas to her room!”

“I never! I never opened her door, I promise, only showed him the light.”

I brought my face close and she shrank back, her eyes darting everywhere, looking for escape. “What did you tell him, Dog?
Tell me!”

“I told him she’d a dead bird in there with her. I did it for the mistress’s safety, Aggie. I thought Mr. Silas should know.”
She stretched her eyes wide and virtuous. “He cares for all our souls.”

Something snapped inside me, and I slapped her hard.

She stared at me, shocked, and put her bitten nails to her cheek. I was ashamed as soon as I’d done it. I stared back at her,
my anger draining from me. She was a weak, foolish creature, and I should never have trusted her.

“I asked that you tell nobody, Doggett,” I said quietly. “Was it such a hard thing to ask?”

She began to sob; her cheek flamed. After a moment of this doleful crying, I could bear it no longer. I put out my hand and
awkwardly patted her shoulder. She looked up at me with eyes all bleary. “I never would have done it, Aggie, but he made me!”

“What do you mean?”

“I have to report to him end of each sennight. Tell him what’s goin’ on with the mistress, the servants and such. This time
when I went and he asked me about Miss Leah …” Her shoulders heaved. “He knew I was hidin’ something. He sees everything,
does Mr. Silas, like the Almighty.” She sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve. “He’s so good it ain’t fair on the rest
of us.”

“He isn’t a good man, Dog. He doesn’t behave as a believer should.”

“But he does penance for it without no one tellin’ him to. I’ve seen him on his knees all hours, prayin’ in his room.”

“You told him you’d found the feathers in the chest?”

She nodded.

“Did you tell him I’d cut it up?”

Her eyes slid away “I don’t remember.”

I gripped her arm, and she flinched. “You must remember, Dog. I won’t be angry anymore. But I must know.”

“I did tell him so, and that Miss Leah had saved the lot. But he made me, he brought the words from me.” She began to sob
again. “Look.”

She pushed my hand away from her arm and rolled up her sleeve. On the inside of her bare arm there were red and blue weals
striping the delicate flesh.

I was sickened. “He did that?”

She whimpered at the memory. “He held my arm down on the desk. I couldn’t pull away. Then he used his ridin’ crop.”

All day I thought about what I should do until my head ached. By the evening I’d made up my mind. Leah left the parlor after
cards that evening, scarcely bothering to mutter a goodnight to me. I waited until I was sure she was safely upstairs. I did
a token tidying as I waited, stacking the cards and putting them away in the bureau, picking up a book Leah had been reading
before supper and tucking it under my arm to take to her chamber. Then I slipped from the room.

It was still daylight outside, for the evenings were growing longer, but the passages in Murkmere Hall were as shadowy as
ever. When I reached the Master’s door I was relieved to see that Jukes had left for the night, though the wheelchair wasn’t
in its usual place outside. I took this to mean that the Master had not yet gone to bed, and was raising my hand to
knock when the latch was lifted on the other side and Silas came out.

He closed the door behind him and looked at me through half-closed eyes. I could smell cigars and alcohol on his breath, and
he seemed relaxed, saying only mildly, “It’s late to see the Master.”

I showed him the book, privately asking the Almighty to forgive my lie. “He left this behind after he dined with us.”

Silas took it from me and looked at its spine.
“A Theory of World Origins.”
He shook his head. “It sounds blasphemous, doesn’t it, Agnes? It sounds as if it questions the Divinity. I hope you’d never
look at such a book. Your soul isn’t as robust as the Master’s.”

I hoped fervently that he wouldn’t decide to return the book to the Master himself. But he handed it back to me and dusted
his hands to free them of any contamination.
Those hands had wielded the riding crop
, I thought, and my eyes were drawn involuntarily to the brushing movement of the long, fastidious fingers.

When I raised my eyes again he was watching me with his old heart-melting smile. “It’s a long time since we had one of our
talks. The estate has been keeping me busy. I believe you’re making excellent preparations for the ball.”

“I do my best, Sir, of course,” I said primly.

“I must start taking the Prayer Meetings again. I’ll look forward to seeing you there.” And with a nod he was gone, the skirts
of his velvet smoking jacket fanning out behind him.

I knocked, and as soon as I heard the Master’s “Enter,”
opened the door and went in hastily, worried that Silas might return.

The Master’s chair was wheeled to the fireplace, where a small coal fire burned. Glasses and a decanter of brandy were set
out beside him on a small table, and he was staring at the armchair opposite as if Silas still sat there, while he twirled
an empty brandy glass between his fingers. On the floor beside him lay a pile of open ledgers and a magnifying glass. There
was the bitter tang of nero leaf in the air; the curtains weren’t yet drawn, and late evening sunlight slanted through the
windows, making a soft golden haze in the room, in which tendrils of smoke still curled.

I stepped closer, and he looked surprised to see me. He must have thought it was a maid who’d knocked. He wasn’t looking as
well as he had at supper: his pupils dilated, the whites bloodshot. For all that Leah tried to prevent him drinking alcohol,
it seemed he indulged when she wasn’t there — unless Silas had persuaded him to it.

He saw me glance at the brandy glass and muttered, “Medicinal, merely. Don’t tell Leah. I’ve these damned chest pains tonight.
What is it you want, Agnes?” He gestured at the armchair on the other side of the fire, and winced. “Come, sit down.”

The chair still held Silas’s warmth, the cushions dented with his weight. It made me feel uncomfortable. “It’s about Miss
Leah, Sir.”

He frowned. “What about Leah?”

I leaned forward, twisting my hands together and speaking quickly “I wouldn’t trouble you, but I’m worried about her, Sir.
She’s found a swanskin by the mere. She intends to wear it to the ball, as a cape, perhaps. It could wake memories among the
servants, Sir. There’s the old story. Some say it’s true.”

I saw the color flood darkly into his face. “What story?”

I took a deep breath. “That when they become human, the avia leave their pelts behind to return to later. I think the swanskin
that Leah’s found is such a thing, Sir.”

The stem of the brandy glass snapped like a twig between his fingers, and the bowl bounced on to the rug. There was blood
on his hand, but he looked so angry I didn’t dare go near him.

“I tried to destroy it,” I said nervously. “But she’s sewing it together at night, feather by feather.”

There was a long pause. I watched him pull a silk hand-kerchief from the pocket of his smoking jacket and dab his fingers.
At last he said, more calmly, “If she’s making herself something for the ball, and wants to keep it secret, no matter. She’s
going to surprise us with it.”

I persevered. “But you see the danger, Sir? What the servants may think? Silas Seed knows Leah works at something in her room.”

He shook his head stubbornly. “Silas is no gossip; he’s not even mentioned it to me.”

“But you don’t fear for Leah yourself, Sir?”

I was horrified to see his face blacken, his hands clench against his chest as he began to gasp. I rushed over to him.

“My medicine … ,” he said thickly. “Over there.”

There was a bottle with a little glass on a table in the corner,
and next to it a crystal goblet half-filled with tiny brass keys. I seized them all up against my breast. I poured the medicine
out first and gave it to him. I’d no notion whether the measurement were correct, but it was the amount I’d seen Silas give
him; then I looked at the keys. They were numbered one to five, and on the bars that bound him the corresponding number was
raised in the iron next to the keyhole. It was easy enough after that to match number to number and release him from his cage.