Angel-Seeker (2 page)

Angeletta had not been the kind of woman to welcome into her household an orphan girl whose parents were distantly related to her husband. She thought James's antecedents were questionable enough without having to explain away the presence of an awkward and destitute young relative. It didn't matter to her that Elizabeth's parents had been wealthy people of some standing before her father had lost everything in a series of bad investments with the Jansai. It didn't matter to her that Elizabeth didn't have another soul in the world to care for her. It didn't matter to her that Elizabeth was homeless, motherless, fatherless, penniless. Angeletta would not treat her as a daughter or a sister or a cousin. Angeletta would take her in as a servant—and James, after a few halfhearted arguments, had agreed.

Elizabeth hated Angeletta with all her heart, but she despised her cousin James. Weak-willed, stupid, vain, and ambitious, he was a man who had given over his whole life into his wife's control. Once Elizabeth had been relegated to the role of hired help, James went out of his way to avoid her, never coming to the kitchen, never lingering in the dining room or any public room where Elizabeth might come on him
by chance. He had given her a place to stay and some certainty that it would be hers for life, but he had not given her a
home
. He had given her nothing she could really value.

For the first year of her tenure at the farm, Elizabeth had comforted herself with the belief that everything would change soon. One of her mother's friends would remember her existence, would invite her to come live in her gracious Semorran home. Her father's niece would track her down in Jordana and swoop upon the farmhouse, calling out, “For shame!” when she saw how Elizabeth had been treated. Or—an even better dream—one of the rich landholders who attended Angeletta's parties would bring his handsome son along, and the bored young man would wander out into the gardens, where Elizabeth would be resting after a long day of working in the kitchen to prepare the day's feast. He would sit beside her, and tell her stories, and catch sight of her features in the moonlight, and be struck dumb by her charm and beauty. . . .

But none of these things had happened, not in any of the years that Elizabeth had been hidden away in this green, gentle prison. She had lost all hope of being rescued. She had begun to wonder what she could do to rescue herself.

More than once it had occurred to her that she could hire herself out as a cook somewhere else—on a nearby ranch, for instance, or even in one of the hotels in Semorrah or Luminaux. She had learned how to cook for twenty or more people at a time, and—though she hated to do it—she could work as hard as anyone. Angeletta paid her virtually no wage, considering her room and board to be salary enough, and Elizabeth was pretty certain she could earn something far more satisfying at almost any venue.

But she did not want to be a cook. She did not want to be a servant of any kind. She wanted to be a titled lady, or a pampered wife, or even just an indulged young daughter in someone's house. Why should she have to work at all? Why had Jovah been so cruel to her?

She had not missed her father at all when he died, drowned in an unfortunate boating accident in the waters between Semorrah and the Bethel coast. He had not been around the house that much; he was a remote and somewhat severe figure in her life. But her mother's death had hit her hard, for they had always had the closest
of relationships. They had already moved from the big house, the house she had grown up in, to the small house, the one that was too tiny to afford any privacy and that was too close to the neighboring butcher shop to ever smell entirely clean. Elizabeth had already been unhappy and petulant, unable to understand
why
they had no money,
why
they could not afford silk shawls and fancy candies,
why
she could not see her friends from Castelana and Velora. Coming home one afternoon to find her mother feverish and delirious in her small bedroom had been the greatest shock of Elizabeth's life. But even then, she had not known what terrible changes that illness had portended. If she had, she sometimes thought, she would have crawled in under those hot sheets next to her mother's restless body and hoped to contract whatever fatal disease had struck her mother down. She would rather have died than live the way she was living now.

But if she could get to Cedar Hills . . .

Moving through the kitchen without conscious volition, scarcely aware of what she was doing, Elizabeth cleaned the dishes and wiped down the table and rolled out another loaf of bread. But her thoughts were not on her work. If she could get to Cedar Hills . . .

There was no possible excuse she could fashion that would be good enough for Angeletta. But what if she did not tell Angeletta she was going? What if she merely left? Could Angeletta turn her away at the door when she returned? Wouldn't James, contemptible creature that he was, insist that Elizabeth be readmitted to the house? She was, after all, a blood relation; he would not let her starve in the ditches of southern Jordana.

Elizabeth's hands paused in the act of mixing dough. What if she left the house without the intention of returning?

Methodically, her hands resumed their motions, but her mind was racing elsewhere. She had a little money set by—not much, but enough to live on for a few weeks, she was sure. She could take every coin and copper with her on this journey. She could get a job in Cedar Hills, she knew she could. She would cook, or do laundry, or watch children, or anything else that was offered. She would take a job in Cedar Hills, and she would discover a way to meet an angel. . . .

At this point in her meditations, Elizabeth shivered. Even she was a little aghast at the direction her thoughts were taking. Angels were rare,
mystical, divine creatures that should be admired from afar; they were the great winged messengers that carried the hopes and prayers of humans to the ears of the god Jovah. They were shaped like men and women, true, and they lived among humans on the earth, but they were not to be viewed as mortals were, or treated as human in any way.

Still, angels had to mate with humans in order to reproduce. Everybody knew that. So angels needed humans—for some things, at least, at some times in their lives.

Elizabeth set aside the shaped loaf and began to pour more ingredients into her metal bowl. A mortal woman who bore an angel child was welcomed into the hold forever. She could live there while her child was raised, and after—for as long as she liked. Perhaps she might be lucky enough to bear more than one angel child, and so become especially treasured by these divine beings.

Perhaps she would be lucky enough to actually spark true love in the heart of an angel.

Elizabeth was not stupid. She knew all about the wretched women who lived near the three holds, attempting to ensnare and seduce an angelic consort. No one had anything flattering to say about these desperate creatures, these angel-seekers, as they were called. Yet everyone forgot how manipulative and pathetic they seemed as soon as they produced those tiny winged shapes from their wombs. Anyone might mock an angel-seeker, but everyone cherished the mother of an angel. Such a woman would be honored till the end of her days.

I will go to Cedar Hills,
Elizabeth thought.
And I will find an angel who will fall in love with me. And everything will be different then
.

I
t was still dark as Elizabeth moved silently through the kitchen. Three loaves of bread, some strips of dried meat, apples, jugs of water—they all took up more space than she expected, and she had to fill two baskets instead of the one she was intending. Her own clothing had taken up two dilapidated bags instead of one, but she hadn't wanted to leave behind anything precious. She had to take it all with her now, because she was never coming back to this place.

She heard the wagon pull up to the kitchen door, the creak of wood and metal, the complaining whicker of the horses, Bennie's soft voice raised in admonition. A few moments later he pushed open the door and stepped inside, his body dark and strangely elongated in the insufficient light of two candles.

He nodded at the baskets on the table. “I see you're coming with me, then,” he said. “More there than one man could eat in two weeks on the road.”

“Yes,” Elizabeth said, and didn't embroider her answer.

He glanced around. “You'll have your own bag somewhere. Where is it? I'll toss it in the wagon.”

Soundlessly, she pointed at the two frayed pieces of luggage. He laughed so loudly she had to make a shushing sound.

“You must plan to change your clothes more often than I do while we're traveling,” he said cheerfully, bending over to pick them up.

“I didn't know what I might need,” she said sulkily. “I just thought—I'd bring everything.”

“Fine by me,” he said, and went out through the door again.

Elizabeth glanced around the kitchen once more to see if there was anything she'd forgotten. The extra loaves of bread were cooling on the window shelf—a start on breakfast for the hungry field hands who would be arriving within the half hour. She'd also prepared an egg and sausage dish in advance. It would be cold by the time the workers arrived, but they'd eat it anyway without complaining, and go on out into the fields without rousing the rest of the house. Not till James and Angeletta came downstairs an hour or two later would anyone realize, or care, that the cook was no longer in the kitchen.

She picked up both baskets and went out.

It was cooler than she'd expected, but that was just fine; she was wearing her wool jacket, because it was too bulky to pack and she didn't want to leave it behind. The sky was just beginning to lighten in the east, though it looked more as if the black was shredding wearily away than that any gold was pouring enthusiastically over the horizon. The air smelled as clean as winter snow.

“Just hand those to me and climb on in, if you can make it by yourself,” Bennie directed, and Elizabeth passed over the baskets. She clambered up to the high driver's seat, grateful to find it padded, and settled herself as best she could. The two horses hitched to the wagon did not even turn their heads to check out her fresh weight and what it might mean for their labors over the next three days.

In a few minutes, Bennie vaulted in beside her and gathered up the reins. He gave her a sly smile that she made no effort to return.

“Got everything? Then I suppose we're off,” he said and clucked to the horses.

The first hour passed agreeably enough. A consumptive sun rose reluctantly to spread their way with light, and soon it was hot enough to make Elizabeth take off her jacket. Bennie talked casually and incessantly, but for some reason he did not annoy her. His voice was soothing, almost, as it skipped over topics ranging from corn harvesting to travel through the mountains during the rainy season. She didn't pay much attention, but it was impossible not to gather certain facts about his life and his attitudes. He had traveled a great deal, it seemed, and
lived just about everywhere: Luminaux, Castelana, even the Jansai city of Breven, where very few strangers were welcome. He didn't care much for farmwork and didn't think he'd stay for long at the farm. He'd been considering heading over to the Eyrie, the angel hold in northern Bethel, and seeing if he could pick up any work in the neighboring city of Velora. Or he might fall in with an Edori tribe and travel for awhile with them.

“Edori!” Elizabeth exclaimed, her attention finally caught. “You have friends among the Edori?”

He shrugged and grinned. “Everyone has friends among the Edori if they give it even a little bit of effort,” he said. “Friendliest creatures in the world.”

“We used to have an Edori slave who worked with me in the kitchen,” Elizabeth said. “Angeletta had to free her, though, once Gabriel said no one could have slaves anymore.”

“Well, the Archangel Gabriel is one sanctimonious and haughty son of a bitch, but I do agree with him about the Edori,” Bennie said comfortably.

Elizabeth was shocked to hear anyone speak so slightingly of the Archangel, but what she commented on was his remark about the Edori. “But everyone kept Edori slaves when I was a little girl,” she said. “Even my mother.”

He glanced down at her with a little smile. “And that makes it right? You might have felt differently about the idea of slavery if the Jansai were scooping up redheaded girls with big green eyes.”

“My hair isn't red, it's auburn,” she said, so annoyed that she turned her head away and ended the conversation. It wasn't as if she'd said she approved of slavery; it was just that she'd never thought about it. She scarcely could recall the Edori woman whom her mother had owned before they grew too poor to keep her, but Angeletta's Edori slave was a more recent memory. She had been quiet, kind, and unhappy, and she and Elizabeth had managed to work together courteously without forming any kind of real bond. Nonetheless, Elizabeth had missed her when she was freed. At times, the Edori voice had been the only friendly one she had heard for days at a stretch.

But all that would change, and change soon. She was on her way to Cedar Hills now.

Bennie was talking again, but she didn't listen. Instead, she squirmed on her seat, trying to find a more comfortable position, and let her eyelids close. A working girl never got enough rest. In about five minutes, she was fast asleep.

That first day, they stopped three times to have a meal or, as Bennie said, “relieve ourselves of accumulated distresses.” By noon, the day had warmed considerably, though the sun never did burn away the lumpy clouds, and the air around them felt thick and muggy. Elizabeth was listless, drugged by the motion of the cart, the heaviness of the air, and the monotony of the journey.

It was close to nightfall by the time they came across a small town at the crossroads of two fairly major roads. A market town, no doubt, bustling and overfull on trading days, but quiet enough now. Bennie turned the wagon down what looked to be the largest street and carefully negotiated the uneven surface.

“Got a voucher for a room at a place called Bart's Tavern,” Bennie told her. “His lordship has traded with this Bartholomew for years, so they tell me back on the farm. Keep your eye out, because I don't have any idea where it might be. Maybe I should have turned on that little street back there.”

Elizabeth dutifully straightened on the bench and watched the buildings march past. Most of them looked like small homes or grocers' stalls, but she supposed any one of them could have doubled as a tavern if its guests didn't care much for roomy accommodations. She had never stayed in such a place, of course. When she had traveled with her mother, they had slept at the homes of friends or in the most elegant hotels of Velora and Luminaux. The few times she had made the trip into Luminaux in Angeletta's company, they had also stayed at the finest inns on the road between the ranch and the Blue City. Angeletta had been condescending about it, but she had allowed Elizabeth to sleep on a cot in her own room, as she was unwilling to pay for separate accommodations for Elizabeth, and of course Elizabeth had no money of her own.

She sat bolt upright on the bench and experienced a moment of complete revulsion.

“Ah. There it is. Small enough sign, wouldn't you say, not like
they must be expecting a lot of business. Don't see a stable out back—well, damnation. I suppose we'd better carry in all our bags and then I'll take the horses back to the stables at the edge of town. You can stay here and settle everything in.”

Elizabeth turned to him, mute with dismay.

“What?” he said, pulling the horses to a halt in front of a reasonably well-kept three-story building. “Did you see someone you know? Feel a sudden pain? You don't like this place? I have to tell you, I didn't see any better options as we were driving through town.”

“I don't think—I can't—”

He waited a moment in kind patience. “You don't want to stop here for the night?” he said. “We could drive on, but I'm dead beat, and I don't know where the next inn might be found. I suppose we could do better, but I don't mind saying, we could do much worse.”

“I can't pay for a room,” she said baldly.

Bennie burst out laughing. “No, of course you can't. I'd be surprised if you could pay to buy yourself a glass of ale. I've got the voucher. We'll share the room.”

She was both embarrassed and furious—unable to believe she had been so stupid as to put herself in this position. She was even more angry when her voice quavered as she spoke, though she tried hard to keep its tones cold. “I know I have appeared to be very shameless, coming away with you like this, but I did not intend—I'm not the kind of woman—”

He still sounded reprehensibly amused. “You don't want to buy a bed with your body?” he said. “I never thought you would. Jovah kiss you, child, you're young enough to be my daughter.”

Her eyes lifted quickly to his face. “Then I can safely believe you will not expect—”

“I'm not saying I'd turn you away if you were willing,” he said. He flung up a hand to signal a middle-aged man who stepped through the doorway, an inquiring look on his face. “Daughter's age or no. But I never thought I was going to get any more than your conversation on the journey. So you can worry about other things, as long as you're set on worrying.”

It was a struggle to say the words, but he deserved them. “Thank you.”

Bennie swung himself down from the wagon. “Don't mention it! Hello, my man, are you Bart? I've a voucher here from James Overman. I believe it will secure me a room for the night—”

In a remarkably short period of time, Elizabeth and all their luggage had been escorted to a room on the second floor. She inspected it while Bennie went off to settle the horses for the night. The floor was uneven but clean, the roof was low, the bed was wide and rather hard. She sat gingerly on one edge of the mattress and wondered if Bart would bring them a cot. Or if she would have to curl up on the floor, perhaps on top of this quilt. Nothing would induce her to sleep on the bed beside Bennie, no matter how innocent his intentions.

She had washed her face and combed her hair when Bennie reappeared, a thick comforter folded over his arm. “Not so bad,” he approved, looking quickly around the room. “Not that we're likely to get too attached to it in any case, since we'll be gone by morning. Bart gave me something to make up my own bed,” he added, and proceeded to lay out the comforter on the floor.

“You can have the bed,” Elizabeth offered, coming quickly to her feet. “I'll sleep on the floor.”

“Ha,” he said. “I will take one of those pillows, though.”

She tossed one to him. “I will. Really.”

He turned to face her. “I might not look like a proud man,” he said, “but I've got more pride than that. Are you hungry? They've got a public room downstairs, and the food smells mighty good. Our voucher covers the price of a meal, too. His lordship must be shipping some awfully fine produce to Bartholomew.”

It didn't seem worth arguing about anymore. Elizabeth nodded, picked up a shawl in case it was chilly in the public room, and followed Bennie out the door.

The next two days followed much the same pattern. Bennie drove the wagon and talked, Elizabeth sat beside him and either listened or dreamed. Once in a while, impelled by boredom or curiosity, she asked him a few questions and listened to his answers, but he didn't seem to care if she participated in the conversations or not. The weather neither worsened nor improved, which Bennie said was a blessing. Elizabeth wrinkled her nose.

“A blessing? It's cold in the mornings and hot enough to make me sweat in the afternoon, and we've seen nothing but ugly clouds for three days in a row.”

“Yes, but trust me, you'd rather not be traveling in straight sunlight. You're both hot
and
half-blind by the time you arrive at your destination. And if you'd ever traveled in rain, well, all I can say is, you wouldn't be complaining now.”

She had taken off her jacket well before lunchtime, and now, in the full heat of late afternoon, she was rolling up her shirtsleeves. “You're right. I wouldn't want to travel in rain,” she said.

He handed her the reins. “Here, just hold to these a moment. That looks good,” he said, and proceeded to roll up his own sleeves all the way to the shoulders of his shirt. “Thank you, lady,” he said, taking back the reins.