The Night Gardener (5 page)

Molly looked down the hall to see if anyone might be coming. She didn’t exactly relish the idea of her new employer walking into a foyer littered with her underwear, but Penny didn’t strike her as the sort of child who was accustomed to hearing the word “no.” Perhaps it was time for a more artful approach.

For as long as Molly could remember, she had possessed a gift with words. It was not magic, exactly. Rather, it was a way of talking that made other people believe in magic things, if only for a moment. It was a skill her parents had taught her to use carefully. “You know, Miss Penny,” she said, sitting beside the girl, “where I come from, it’s bad luck to wear someone else’s clothes on your head.”

“Where is it you come from?” asked Penny, squinting at her through a hole in the toe of some stockings.

Molly shrugged, affecting a casual tone. “Oh, an enchanted isle.”

The girl dropped the stockings. “You do not!”

Molly pretended not to hear her. She hummed to herself, folding a discarded shift and replacing it in the trunk. Penny picked up the stockings and did the same. “Is it
really
enchanted?” she said, scooting closer.

Molly stopped humming. “Aye, but not in the usual ways. The whole thing’s made of emeralds.” She made a space for Penny on her lap. “Sit right here and I’ll tell you all about it.”

The girl immediately scrambled into her lap, forgetting all about the trunk. Molly reached out to either side, picking up the remaining clothes, answering the girl’s questions as best she knew how: Were there fairies? (More than you’d think.) Could people fly and do tricks? (Yes, but no one likes a show-off.) Had she ever been chased by a monster? (Only a very tiny one, about the size of a toad.) With every word Molly spoke, Penny’s eyes grew wider and wider—an effect made all the more pronounced by her thick glasses.

In a few short minutes, Molly’s talk had utterly tamed the girl, who was now excitedly chatting about how much she might like to visit Molly’s island and be chased by monsters. “We can catch fairies in a jar and then feed them to the monsters so they’ll be our pets!”

The little girl turned to face Molly, her face screwed up in a way that suggested critical thought of the highest order. “Was it living on a magic isle that made your hair so orangey?” she asked.

Molly had never considered it quite that way. “I suppose it was, miss,” she said, tucking a curl behind her ear.

Penny looked down at her own dark locks. “I wish
I
had magic hair,” she said. “No matter how many ribbons Mummy puts in, it still looks terrible and dull.”

Molly had to admit that the assessment was somewhat accurate. The girl’s braids hung lifelessly from her head like a pair of black willow fronds. Still, Molly knew that no good could come of a person hating what they could not change. She put aside the last of the clothes and
smiled at Penny. “Oh, but you
do
have magic hair!” She took a dark plait in her hands, examining it like a jeweler. “Have you ever heard of a lady named Queen Cleopatra?”

Penny shook her head.

Molly smiled. “Well, Cleopatra was the most beautiful woman who ever lived. Her hair was raven black … just … like … yours. And every man in the kingdom fell instantly in love with her. Even the great Sir Lancelot.”

“Never heard of him,” Penny said.

Molly tried again. “Perhaps you’ve heard of a man named
Robin Hood
?”

The little girl’s eyes went wide. “Really? Who else?”

Molly leaned in close, her voice low. “You didn’t hear it from me, miss … but some even say … the archbishop of Canterbury.”

Penny gasped, both hands over her mouth. “His Grace fancies
girls
?”

“He most certainly does not,”
interrupted a voice behind them.

Molly turned to find a tall woman standing in the hallway. She had dark hair pulled back in a tight bun. Her skin was porcelain-white, just like Penny’s, and she wore on her face a look of extreme unamusement.

“Mummy!” Penny sprang to her feet and ran for the woman, shouting,
“This-is-Molly-and-she’s-from-a-magic-island-and-she’s-come-to-live-with-us-and-even-though-she-has-a-brother-I-like-her-lots!”
in a single breath. She grabbed the folds of the woman’s skirt and collapsed to her knees. “I’ve never wanted anything so much in the whole world. Can we keep her?”

Molly stood and curtsied, eyes on the floor. “Only if it pleases you, mum.”

The woman stood upright, arms folded. “Tell me,” she said coldly, “do I look pleased?”

olly stood against one wall of the Windsor kitchen. It was a large space with a walk-in pantry, brick furnace, dumbwaiter, and two service stairs. Kip, who had been called in from the yard, was leaning beside her.

Constance Windsor paced in front of them, hands clasped together, shoulders erect. “Have you and I met before?” The woman fixed her dark eyes on Molly, awaiting an answer.

“No, mum,” Molly said.

The woman paused, brushing something invisible from the lace on her sleeve. Behind her were two children: Penny and an older boy, who looked extremely bored. “And when you approached this property, did I greet you and say ‘Come in’?”

“No, mum,” Molly said, unable to hide the tremor in her voice. She could feel her brother watching her, his eyes full of questions. She reached down and gently squeezed his hand.

“Interesting.” Constance heeled around for another lap. “And yet I find you inside my home, uninvited, already unpacked, telling
my daughter goodness knows what kind of nonsense about monsters and amorous clergymen.” Even though she had not asked a question, the woman looked as though she expected an answer.

Molly shifted her weight, feeling the cold stone floor through the hole in her right boot. “It was just a story, mum. I didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”

Penny, who had been listening from a safe distance on the far counter, hopped to the floor. “Mummy, you’re not being fair. I was the one who let her in.”

Constance gave her daughter a stern look, and the girl climbed back to her perch. The woman rubbed her temple, speaking slowly. “Surely you can appreciate how this looks from my perspective?”

Molly opened her mouth but was having trouble forming a response. At the present moment, she “appreciated” almost nothing. In the last half hour, what she knew—or thought she knew—about this house and this position had been turned on its head. “Forgive me, mum,” she finally said. “I think there’s been some sort of confusion. We was hired by an agency at the behest of your husband, Master Windsor.”

“
Were
you?” Constance creased her lips. “I’m afraid that you, the agency, and my husband were mistaken. I have told him repeatedly, as I am telling you now, that I neither need nor want servants in my home. As you can see, I am managing just fine on my own.”

Under other circumstances, Molly would have admired a woman who so boldly contradicted her husband. But now it only felt like
some wicked joke. One look at the room they stood in revealed how little this woman knew about keeping house. The floors were thick with dust and grime. The walls, stained with mildew. Crumbs and spilled food covered every surface. Dirty pans and dishes spilled out over the basin. Molly had spent her whole life scrubbing and cooking alongside her mother. She knew what a well-maintained house looked like—this was not it.

“I say you have them both arrested. They’re dirty and they smell like fish.” The comment came from the boy leaning on the counter beside Penny. He looked about Molly’s age. Like Penny and Constance, he had pale skin and dark hair.
Un
like them, however, he was exceedingly ugly: his wide face was marred with pimples, and his deep-set eyes were connected by thick eyebrows that met in the middle to create a single line. He was presently digging through a bag of toffees, apparently trying to stuff as many pieces as he could into his mouth at once.

Constance turned toward him, her face filled with some complicated emotion that Molly couldn’t name. “Alistair, what have I told you about sweets before supper?” The boy rolled his eyes and spit the whole glob of chewed toffee back into his bag. It was a disgusting sight, but food was food, and it was all Molly could do not to stare.

“Lucky for the pair of you,” Mistress Windsor went on, “I cannot heed my son’s advice. There are no such authorities in this backward place. If you leave immediately, I shall consider the matter done
with. As you can see, I have children enough to care for already. Surely you and your brother can find jobs in town.”

Molly felt a hot flush of blood prickle her cheeks. Did this woman honestly think they would have come all this way if that were true? She had spent weeks knocking on doors, begging for work, then for food, then for mercy. At every turn, people had made it clear: they did not want her kind. “There are no jobs in the city,” she said. “Not for us. If it’s a question of money, we’ll work for room and board, you don’t even need to pay us—”

Constance cut her off.
“We do not need your charity.”
She said this with such force that Molly stepped back. Who had said anything about
charity
?

“Mum, I gather your family lived in town before movin’ out here. If ever you walked a street after dark, surely you know what kind of work falls to those in our desperate position? Please, if you knew what we’ve gone through these last weeks, all that’s happened …” She could have said more, much more, but not with her brother beside her. She shook her head, eyes brimming. “My brother’s health is fragile—
he’s
fragile.” She knew Kip would hate her for talking of him like this, but she had no choice. “We’re only askin’ for a chance.”

The woman studied Molly for a long moment. “How old are you, child?” she said, her voice softer.

“Mummy!”
Penny said, mortified. “Don’t you know a lady never tells her age?”

Constance ignored the rebuke and waited for an answer.

Molly dropped her head. “Fourteen, mum.” When she had applied in town, she had told the solicitor she was sixteen. “I know it’s young, but I swear to you I’ll work harder than ten grown-ups put together. My brother and me was brought up hard on a farm. I’ve kept house my whole life, and Kip can grow anythin’. He’s got ten green fingers, and toes to match. Why, give him a month and he’ll have these grounds lookin’ like your own personal Eden.”

“That and then some,” Kip said, standing tall beside her. Molly smiled down at him and mussed his hair.

Constance watched, her eyes pained, perhaps understanding for the first time the weight of duty upon Molly’s shoulders. “Fourteen …,” she said, as much to herself as anyone. “And your parents. What of them?”

Molly glanced down at Kip and then back to Constance. What could she say to make this woman understand? “Our Ma an’ Da … they got slowed down a bit on the way over from Ireland. We’re on our own.”

“Goodness. I do hope it’s nothing serious.” If Molly didn’t know better, she might have thought the woman was genuinely concerned.

“Oh, it’s
very
serious,” Kip said, eyes wide.

Constance raised an eyebrow at Molly, awaiting further explanation. Molly swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. “Well, mum, it seems that … as fate would have it … our folks was kidnapped … by pirates.”

“They forced ’em to join the crew or else walk the plank!” Kip said, a proud smile on his face. “Just like young Saint Patrick!”

“How extraordinary,” Constance said, her voice growing colder.

Molly wanted to say something—to explain that she wasn’t mocking the woman—but she could only stare at her, eyes wide, trying to say with her face what she could not speak aloud. “Please, mum,” she managed. “We’ve no one to turn to.”

The woman blinked, shaking her head. “You do not know what you’re asking, child. This house is
no place for you
.” She said this without any bitterness. For a brief moment, it occurred to Molly that perhaps this woman did not want to be in this place, either. Constance kept her head down as she walked past Molly. “I suggest you leave before it gets dark.” She opened the back door.

Molly stared at the wilderness waiting for her outside. Cold air rushed in from the door, cutting straight through her coat, rattling her bones. She watched Kip as he fixed his crutch under his arm and hobbled to her side, suppressing a shiver. Even in this moment, he was the picture of courage. “Not yet,” Molly said, turning back to Constance. “Mum, we’ll go, just like you told us. Out in the wild, not a word o’ protest. But before we do, will you hear one thing?” If the woman had looked closely, she would have seen a tiny spark burning in the ring of Molly’s green eyes.