Fool's Assassin - Страница 102

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He was suddenly a servant rather than a friend. He pulled his winter cap from his head and held it before his knees, eyes and head down as he spoke. His ears were scarlet and not from the cold. There was wariness in his voice as he said, “Your pardon, Mistress Bee. I spoke above myself and out of turn, most wrong of me. It was only gossip, not fit for a lady’s ears, and I’ve shamed myself repeating it. I’ll be about my work now.”

And he turned away from me, the only friend I’d ever made for myself, and took Priss’s headstall. He began to lead her away. “Perseverance!” I called in my most regal voice.

“I must take care of your horse, mistress,” he apologized over his shoulder. He was walking fast, head down. Priss seemed surprised to be hurried along. I stood on the mounting block, quarreling with myself. Raise my voice and order him back. Run away and never, ever come back to the stables again. Burst into tears and crumple up in a ball.

I stood, frozen by indecision, and watched him walk away. When he and my horse had disappeared into the stables, I jumped down and ran away. I went to my mother’s grave and sat for a short time on a very cold stone bench nearby. I told myself I wasn’t so stupid as to think my mother was anywhere near. It was just a place to be. I’d never been so hurt, and I couldn’t tell if it was what he had said or how I had reacted to it. Stupid boy. Of course I’d get angry and demand to know who had said such horrid things. Why had he told me about them if he didn’t expect to tell me who had said them? And sharing my lessons with the other children of Withywoods? I would not have minded Perseverance being there, but if Taffy and Elm and Lea were there, their opinion of me would spread like poison. Surely Perseverance would rather be friends with a large boy like Taffy than with someone like me. Elm and Lea sometimes helped at the table now; it was bad enough to glimpse them in passing, and see how quickly they put their heads together, their sharp tongues wagging like blades on a whetstone. They’d mock me. As, apparently, others were already mocking me for my appearance.

I swung my feet out in front of me. I wore last year’s boots, the leather cracking at the sides of my feet. My leggings were thick with burrs from taking a shortcut through the gardens. The knees were dirtied and a dead leaf clung to one shin; I must have knelt down somewhere. I stood and pulled my tunic dress out in front of me. It was not dirty, but it was stained. I’d had less clothing since that scrubbing out of my room. I felt a vague alarm that perhaps some of my clothes had been burned. Perhaps I should check on the state of my possessions. I scratched at a bit of mud on the hem of the tunic, and it popped off. I’d put this on only a day or two ago. The stain on the breast was an old one. Dirty and stained were not the same thing at all, I thought.

Unless you were looking at someone and didn’t know that those were stains, not fresh soiling. I thought about it for some time. It was all distressing. Lessons with children who hated me, who would poke and pinch and mock me if they had the slightest chance. People were talking about my father and about me in ways that I didn’t like. They believed things that weren’t true, but it was because they looked true. It would look to someone else that my father didn’t care about me. When my mother was alive, she had done all that was needed to keep me neat and clean. I hadn’t given it much thought; it was just something she did for me, one of the many things she did for all of us. Now she was gone. And my father hadn’t begun doing those things for me because, I decided slowly, they weren’t important to him. He saw me, not that my boots were cracked at the sides or that every tunic I owned was stained. He had mentioned that we had to “do better” but then he had done nothing.

And I was just like him. Those things hadn’t mattered at all to me, until someone had pointed out that perhaps they should. I stood up and brushed at the front of my tunic. I felt very grown up as I decided that the answer wasn’t to mope about it or blame my father. I lifted a hand to my fraying hair. I would simply tell him what I needed, and he would get it for me. He’d done it for Shun, hadn’t he?

I went directly to find him. It took me a short time but eventually I discovered him in the Yellow Suite. He was speaking to Revel. Next to them was a servant standing on a stool, hanging the cleaned bed draperies. One of the new maids, a girl named Careful, was standing by with an armful of linens. The featherbed had been put into a fresh cover and looked deep and soft. If no one had been looking, I would immediately have tried it out.

Instead I waited patiently until my father turned, saw me, smiled, and asked, “Well, Bee, what do you think of it? Can you think of anything else you’d like done to your new chambers?”

I stared, mouth ajar. Revel gave a very pleased chuckle. My father cocked his head at me. “You’ve caught us a bit early, but we’re close enough to finished here. I knew you’d be surprised but I didn’t think you’d be speechless.”

“I like my own room,” I said breathlessly. With the secret entrance to the spy-maze, I did not say aloud. I looked around me and saw what I hadn’t before. The chest at the foot of the bed was sized down to make it easier for me to find things in it. The empty wardrobe standing open in the corner had a stool beside it for the upper shelves. The hooks inside it were placed where I could easily reach them. This was proof that my father did think of me. I knew I could not reject this misguided gift. “You did all this for me?” I asked before he could speak again.

“With some advice from Revel,” my father noted. The tall steward nodded a curt agreement.

I looked slowly around the room. I recognized the small chair by the fire. I’d seen it somewhere else in the house; now it was freshened with new varnish and yellow cushions. I didn’t recognize the footstool. It wasn’t an exact match for the chair, but it was close enough, with the cushion done in the same fabric as the chair. The window had a box seat in it; a step had been added to make it easier for me to take a place there, and a handful of various-sized cushions in bright fabrics beckoned me to relax there. I glanced from it to my father.

“Lots of help from Revel,” he amended sheepishly, and the steward now beamed. “You know that I know nothing of such things as curtains and cushions. I told him after we’d found the bedbugs that I would not put you in that room again. He said it was known among the servants that you favored this suite of rooms, and so he suggested that, as we’d already begun to freshen them, that we finish them especially for you. And here you are, just in time to say if you approve.”

I found my tongue. “They’re very nice. Very pretty.”

My father waited and I had to add, “But I do love my old room.” I could not tell him, in front of the servants, that I wanted a room with an entrance to the spy-maze. I wasn’t sure I wanted to tell him about that entrance. I liked being the only one who knew about it. I weighed my secret and quick access to the spyhole against a chance to dispel some of the gossip. And what if he decided that he must improve my old room instead? The spy-door might be found! I cleared my throat. “But it was a baby’s room, wasn’t it? This is much better. Thank you, Father. It’s lovely.”

It was a bit awkward, but I went to him and put my face up to be kissed. I was probably the only one who knew he was surprised, and certainly only he and I knew how seldom we touched in that way. But he stooped to give me a kiss on the cheek, exactly as if it were something we were both comfortable doing. We were allies, I suddenly knew, holding our walls against a hostile world.

Revel was fairly wriggling with excitement. The moment I stepped back from my father, he bowed and said, “Mistress Bee, if you have a moment, I’d enjoy showing you the cunning drawers in the wardrobe, and how the mirror folds down.” The moment I gave a faint nod he stretched his long legs, and in two strides he stood before my new wardrobe cabinet. “See. There are hooks for necklaces, and tiny drawers for other jewelry. Here is the little shelf for scents! And, to be amusing, I’ve already added some for you! This charming little bottle holds rose essence, and this blue one has honeysuckle; both are very appropriate for a young lady of your years!

“I’ve added a clever little stepstool for you, to allow you to reach every shelf and to see yourself in the mirror. See how it folds up or down! And here, this compartment for larger hanging items, ah, such a pleasant scent—lined with cedar, to keep those nasty little moths away!” As he spoke, he was opening empty drawers and tapping hooks with much more enthusiasm than I could ever have mustered for a wardrobe. I smiled as best I could and continued to smile as he assured me that the maid’s chamber attached to my room would soon be ready for an occupant. He commended Careful to my attention as a possible lady’s maid, and I had to turn and keep all dismay from my face as she presented herself. I judged her to be at least fifteen and perhaps older. She blushed as she curtsied, her arms still full of linens, and I had no idea what to say to her. A maid. What would I have her do? Would she always be near me, following me about? Suddenly I was glad I had been gracious about accepting the new room. If I had insisted on my old one, and they had put her in there, I’d have no chance to use my secret entrance. As it was, if she was sleeping adjacent to my room, would I be able to slip out unnoticed?

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