Murkmere (11 page)

Leah put out the tip of her tongue and licked the crusted snow round her mouth, regarding the body with a hard, bright gaze
that held no trace of pity “We must say nothing about this,” she said, as if she relished the thrill of such a secret. “It’s
safest to keep silent at Murkmere.”

“What will happen to the body, though?” I said, my voice trembling. “Will the keepers come for it?”

She turned away as if suddenly bored, beating her mittened hands together like a dirge. “They’ll move it soon enough when
the thaw comes — what hasn’t been eaten by the night dogs.”

I think a fit of the horrors seized me then.

I scrambled to my feet and forced my numb legs to move as quickly as they could from that forsaken spot. Leah was making for
the gray dome of the icehouse between the trees, and I followed her into the covered walkway that led from it. There was a
paved surface beneath our boots, thinly powdered with drifting snow. Beyond the stone arches that supported the roof, the
flakes still whirled relentlessly, but under its shelter it seemed unnaturally calm, so that her voice, loud in my ear, made
me start.

“I’m sure I recognized that packman’s face too. Strange, isn’t it?”

“You said no packmen came to Murkmere, Miss,” I said, in disbelief.

“But I think I saw him once, in the house. I remember his healthy, outdoor look. I thought he must be a new keeper.”

“One face looks like another in death,” I said shortly. “The flesh shrinks to the skull.”

“Certainly you couldn’t call him healthy now,” said Leah, with a grimace, and she fingered the bones of her cheeks thoughtfully.

I thought Leah would take her book straight to the Master when we returned. He’d be alone in his room waiting for her, his
iron cage wheeled to the window so he could stare out at the falling snow.

But Leah didn’t turn down the passage to his room. Instead, she gathered her skirts together and dashed at her usual pace
up the dark back stairs, the servants’ staircase, as if she wanted to talk more about the murder. I’d no choice but to follow
her all the way to her bedchamber.

As we went in, Dog looked up, startled. She was at the table by Leah’s bed, setting down a silver tray on which stood a steaming
goblet. The smirk that still hung round her lips began to fade as she saw us together: her mistress in high good humor with
the disgraced companion.

“Oh, Miss Leah,” she gabbled, avoiding my eyes but all little smiles and bobs to Leah. “The Master told me you’d gone out
in this dreadful weather! I ordered Scuff to make you a hot posset —“

She didn’t get any further, for Leah flew at her like a madwoman, knocking off her cap and sending the goblet bouncing onto
the polished floor so that the posset spilled out in a rich golden froth. Dog began to squeal, clutching the silver tray to
her bosom like a shield, while Leah danced around her in a frenzy, belaboring her with her mittens and yelling insults.

“Sneaktongue! Malicemonger! Crudspreader!”

“Not me, Miss!” shrieked Dog. She pointed at me with a
shaking finger and the silver tray clattered to the floor to join the goblet. “It was her, Miss! Her who done wrong!”

“It was you who reported it, fool!” cried Leah, and she swooped on her again.

With her long arms beating around the unfortunate Dog’s head and the mittens flapping, she reminded me so much of a scrawny
mother hen defending its chick that I felt bubbles of hysterical laughter burst from me. I ran forward and restrained my mistress
as respectfully as I could, and Doggett staggered back still shielding her face. I received only a sullen glare for trying
to rescue her.

“To tell Silas!” Leah hissed at Dog. “Silas of all people!”

Dog shook her greasy head wildly. “Mr. Silas asked me, Miss. I had to tell him.”

“Indeed?” said Leah, looming over the maid. “And what was Silas doing outside alone? I believe you both left the Hall together.”

“No, Miss!” Dog began to gabble as if the speed of her story might persuade her mistress of its truth. “Mistress Crumplin
asked me to go after Aggie, to walk with her. Then I saw her was headin’ for the tower and I knew it was forbidden. I was
goin’ to warn her, honest, but Mr. Silas and a keeper came out of the trees at the top of the tower rise. Mr. Silas questioned
me. He said we’d go and find Aggie together. He took my arm so firm I couldn’t do nothin’ but go with him, Miss.”

There was a long silence only broken by the occasional aggrieved sniff from Dog, while her little beady eyes darted
appraisingly from one to the other of us. But I couldn’t speak. I knew what Leah was thinking, for I was thinking it too.

Silas and the keeper together — had they both been responsible for Matt’s murder? How long had they been in that part of the
grounds? Had Silas given orders, or done the deed himself?

I couldn’t believe it and I didn’t want to, for a piece of my heart held to him still. I remembered the way he had stared
at his hands in the tower, those beautiful white hands, so very clean. There had been no bloodstain on them then.

But a fatal knife-thrust can go so deep that the wound bleeds little externally, especially in cold weather.

As the evening deepened, the snow stopped, and it seemed to become a little warmer. I didn’t attend Devotion: I couldn’t face
Silas before I’d recovered myself, nor could I bear listening to him lead the servants’ prayers. But tomorrow was pay-day,
and I’d have to face him then.

With evening, Leah’s mood changed again and she became withdrawn and restless. She said nothing more to me about Matt’s murder;
she scarcely spoke.

At supper, the dining room, with the two of us sitting at opposite ends of the long table, seemed full of her fidgets. She
scowled at the elderly footman as he crept with painful slowness from door to table, the plates in his trembling hands clattering
together like two gossips in the marketplace.

“Where’s Jukes?”

The old man jumped as she snapped the question, and
the plates of boiled mutton jumped with him. “He’s sick, Miss Leah.”

“Sick?” Leah said the word as if no one at Murkmere should have the temerity to be in such a state.

“He has the feverish ague. Many of the servants are afflicted, Miss.”

“Is that why the onion sauce is gray?” she demanded, staring at the sauceboat in disgust. “The cook’s sauce-maker is sick
too, I suppose. Take it away!”

The footman took the offending sauceboat and shuffled off. Leah pushed the mutton away angrily and pecked at her vegetables,
while I couldn’t help brooding. My throat closed on my food and my eyes watered. If Leah noticed she gave no sign.

She didn’t speak to me until we were in her parlor.

“Shall I get the cards out, Miss?” I asked, making an effort to carry out my duties.

She was slumped down among the cushions on the tapestry daybed. She didn’t answer but jumped up, went over to the window,
and drew back the heavy silk curtains. “That’s better,” she said with a great sigh, and stared out into the dark.

In the evenings Leah’s parlor was cozy, with its crackling fire beneath a pretty, painted mantel, its wall coverings of faded
blue silk and curtains embroidered with forget-me-nots. It was only in the cold, gray daylight that you noticed the walls
were speckled with damp. But now, with the curtains drawn back, the night outside seemed to threaten the little room.

“Come away to the fire, Miss,” I said uneasily. “It’s drafty by the window.”

Leah touched her neck in the restless movement I was beginning to know. “To be out there, free,” she whispered to herself.
The moon had sailed clear of the clouds and was silvering the soft plains of snow beneath it.

“They’ll break the ice on the mere tomorrow,” she said, turning to me. “It’s made me anxious all evening. There’s a thaw in
the air. Those clouds will bring rain, not snow. They’ll want to break the ice while it’s still hard.”

She saw my baffled expression and a sudden torrent of explanation poured from her. “For the icehouse. Every winter they must
break new ice to be layered in straw and keep our food stores fresh. They take sled-loads of it. The grooms and ostlers help
the keepers. They alarm the swans with their din.” Her lips twisted. “It’s foolish to bait a swan in its territory. Last time
a youth had his arm broken.”

“Will you watch the ice breaking, Miss?”

“I’ll go there when they’ve all gone.” She looked at me with a half-smile, as if testing me. She knew about my fruitless searches
for her by the mere. How I must have amused her, day after day, as I trailed after her in the mud and bitter cold.

But something had hardened inside me since the morning. I wouldn’t let her humiliate me any longer with her cruel games. I
looked back at her steadily. “The mere’s a dangerous place alone, Miss. I’ll come with you tomorrow. It’s my duty as your
companion.”

She stared back at me, then to my amazement dropped her
gaze and flung herself down on the daybed. “Oh, very well. Come with me if you must.”

As the howling of the night dogs passed my window that night, I lay and shuddered, thinking of Matt’s body being torn limb
from limb, his blood dark on the snow. Matt, who had visited the village all the years of my growing; who’d go there no longer.
What had possessed him to come to Murkmere?

And what had possessed me too?

Tomorrow I’d give in my notice when I collected my wages from Silas. I’d tell him I needed to return to my aunt and take care
of her. He’d know my true reason for leaving, of course, but I wouldn’t let him stop me.

I promised myself that soon I’d lie on my own pallet next to my aunt; and with that thought I was comforted. Soon I’d be away
from this dreadful place, where servant girls were driven to drown themselves and innocent men were murdered. No wonder my
poor mother had run away.

And what of Leah, with her heathen ways and doomed soul?

I didn’t care what became of her. Not a jot.

But I didn’t sleep well. Next morning, I looked out of my window as I wearily fastened my bodice, and saw that drizzle had
pitted the snow with tiny holes as if mice had supped on it. Leah had been right about the thaw.

Her mood hadn’t improved. At breakfast, she almost threw
the oatmeal at the old footman, complaining that it tasted bitter and had black pieces stuck through it. All the time we ate
we could hear the unruly clamor from the stable block as the men made themselves ready for the ice breaking.

I didn’t see her again that morning, but I knew she’d be with the Master at her books. They’d hear the tumult of the ice breaking
from his rooms: even indoors it seemed impossible to escape the distant chipping and thudding, the crack as the ice broke,
the roar from the men as the shards were successfully netted from the water.

I’d seen the stable hands troop out earlier, trailing the long wooden handles of the nets behind them, their dark figures
silhouetted against the snow that was tinged yellow under the overcast sky. There was much joshing and guffawing as they met
the keepers, who were standing ready with their sledges and mallets. Then they set off together, a small militia set on destruction.

Our luncheon was late, but Leah seemed relieved now that the rowdiness of the ice breaking was over, and merely grumbled to
herself when a strangely black suet pudding was put on the table before us.

“You needn’t walk with us today,” she told Dog when we were upstairs later, and Dog had helped her fasten her boots. “There’s
my mending for you to do instead.”

As Dog passed me at the chamber door, she shot out her hand and pinched me. “Them swans nip harder than that,” she hissed.
“You’ll see!”

L
eah and I followed the black lines the net handles had made as they were dragged along earlier; the snow crumbled under my
boots like stale cake as I struggled to keep pace with her long legs.

“Have you read the book I gave you yet, Aggie?”

Is it possible she’s making conversation?
I thought, amazed. “I began it this morning, Miss, while you were studying.”

“What do you think of it?” She looked eager for discussion, yet I knew I’d only disappoint her with my answer.

“It seems rather — blasphemous.”

She gave her mocking smile. “How fond you are of that word! A great thinker wrote that book long before I was born. Nobody’s
heard of him nowadays. His books are banned.”

“Then isn’t it wrong to read it, Miss?”

“I’m going to give you far worse books than that!” she said wickedly.

I hugged myself, shivering a little with cold and the boldness with which she spoke. I could feel my amber digging into me.
All that morning as I read the book, I’d imagined the eye of the Almighty boring through the ceiling above me. But I knew
I had to finish it, and read more.

“Do you understand the author’s argument: that events happen by chance and are not predetermined?” Leah asked.

I hesitated, for I’d only learned the meaning of the last word that very morning. “But we’ve been taught that the Almighty
has decided the future of the world, and there’s nothing mortal man can do to change His will.”