When Siofra reached the back door to the kitchen, Maeve stood waiting and shoved Siofra toward the woodshed. She opened the creaking door, looking left and right, before pulling Siofra inside. “Take off yer clothes and put on this dress. The mistress has been calling for ye these last two hours.” The young woman picked up one of Siofra’s black mourning dresses from the woodpile and held it aloft as she studied Siofra’s appearance. “Land sakes, girl, what have ye done to yer shirt? It’s all torn. I canna even mend it with that much fabric missin’.”
“Sorry. I uh…happened to tear it.” Siofra tugged the offending garment over her head and shoved the trousers to the floor.
“Boots, milady, boots!” Maeve lifted one booted foot and yanked.
After several minutes of twisting and pulling, Siofra stood ready to enter the house. “Thank you, Maeve.”
“Aye, sure, now hurry inside and tell one o’ yer tall tales.”
Siofra winced. She had not been the most forthright, as of late. Forgive me, Father. I know there’s always a choice.
The young ladies giggled as they rushed through the kitchen, Mrs. Sgot waving them on.
Just before they reached the receiving parlour, Siofra slid to a stop. Maeve handed her a pair of gloves and silk shoes then offered herself as a balancing post while Siofra slid them on. With a bit of spit on her fingers, Maeve smoothed Siofra’s hair then crammed some sorry-looking twigs and weeds, bound by a yellow ribbon, into her hands as a bouquet before swinging the door wide open.
With her nose in the air for the solemnity required by Lady Gretchen, Maeve glided into the room. “Miss Blàrach has returned, your ladyship.”
Siofra sidled past and stopped before Lady Gretchen to curtsey. As she straightened, she thrust out the flower offering. “For you.”
Lady Gretchen’s mouth snapped shut instead of uttering whatever greeting, or condemnation, she’d had in mind. She drew back even as her arm extended to accept the “bouquet.” “How very…thoughtful, Siofra. You really shouldn’t, especially given this isn’t a season for proper wildflowers. Now turn and greet your visitor.”
Siofra’s stomach sank. Visitor? But they were still in mourning. Who was Lady Gretchen attempting to shove in her direction now? The butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker?
Siofra whirled on her toes. The banker. With the greatest of self-control, she kept a blank look on her face as she curtseyed before Wilhelm Paorach, a widower twice over, fifty years old, if he was a day, with four children.
He bowed, hat in hand. When he rose, Siofra caught sight of the sweat dripping down his slick forehead, past his sideburns and into his collar. He smelled like he’d been sitting in the sun for several days. Her nostrils itched to sneeze and rid her nose of the stench. It wasn’t even honest sweat from an authentic day’s work in the fields or mucking out stalls. No, just sweat from a man who didn’t bother to bathe and ate with liberality, judging from his wide girth, enough for two or three men.
She fought to control the judgmental thoughts galloping through her mind and failed. The man was a pig. Even now, he snorted like a pig. He had a snub, piggy pink nose and eyes set too close together. From past experience, she knew he behaved like a pig, lecherous hands reaching where they shouldn’t when no one was looking.
Before anyone could say otherwise, Siofra retreated to the farthest chair in the room.
“Siofra, dear, Mr. Paorach is here to see you. Move closer.”
“Oh, but this chair allows me to look on you both with the light on your faces. I do so love to see better.”
Mr. Paorach humphed. “And how are you, Siofra, my pet?”
“Sir, you know it’s unseemly to call me by my given name, as I’ve mentioned on every previous occasion. Do call me Miss Blàrach. Or you could follow the bounds of polite society and refrain from calling at all until our mourning period is over.”
Lady Gretchen gasped. “Siofra! Apologize at once! This is a small community, and Mr. Paorach is ensuring we are well-cared for. After all, we are a household of ladies without a gentleman to look after us.” She turned a sickening smile on Mr. Paorach. “We appreciate your kind concern. Do we not, Siofra?”
“I do not. My mind prefers to think on other matters. The passing of my parents is still fresh and painful. If you’ll excuse me…” She stood and vacated the room, keeping her eyes straight ahead until she closed the door behind her.
Immediately, she held her ear to the door. “Ah, Lady Gretchen, don’t mind Siofra,” Mr. Paorach said. “We know where we stand. I don’t mind a bit of high spirits in a young lass. Marriage tames it out of them. I look forward to the same with Siofra.”
Siofra nearly screamed with rage and would have yanked the door open again had not Maeve grabbed her by the sleeve and pulled her away. “None o’ that. Get yerself to the kitchen.”
“I’d rather go to my room.”
“Suit yerself, but that lady’s maid is up there now, pawing through yer belongings like they was hers. If yer wantin’ to let off some peevishness, stay away from her. Got a vicious tongue on her, she has. Goes straight to Lady Gretchen with every word you speak.”
Siofra closed her eyes and sighed. “Please send Kelley to my room to do a thorough cleaning, one that will take hours to perform. And tell her to make it look good even if she doesn’t actually clean anything. That should prevent any further intrusion on the part of Miss Dawd.”
Siofra followed Maeve to the kitchen and settled at the worn wooden table. She dragged the gloves off her hands and flexed her fingers. To think, an hour ago she’d been blissfully happy.
Mrs. Sgot set a steaming bowl in front of her. “Eat up, lass. Maeve has somethin’ to tell ye.”
“Tell me now,” Siofra said, putting down the spoon she had lifted.
“Not a word will ye get, ‘til ye scrape the bowl clean. Yer lookin’ a mite peaked lately.”
Probably from lack of sleep last night, trying to make sure she didn’t forget Lysander.
“And hurry!” Mrs. Sgot said. “That foul-smelling wretch in the parlour won’t stay long now that ye’ve walked out on ‘im.”
“Again,” Maeve added, dashing past to deliver Kelley’s new instructions.
During the evening meal, it was all Siofra could do to prevent herself from accusing Lady Gretchen of plotting with Mr. Paorach. She sat in silence, sipping her favorite potato soup, as Lady Gretchen rambled on and on. But when Lady Gretchen finally worked her way to the point of her conversation, Siofra focused on each word.
“Now, Siofra, to atone for your unladylike behavior this afternoon, you will accompany Mr. Paorach on a carriage drive.”
“I won’t—”
“You will, or you will no longer be allowed to take walks on your own. Obviously, too much of your own company has ruined your ability to converse in polite society.”
“But I—”
“You will abide by this decision or you will forfeit those wild rambles in the wilderness.”
Siofra held her tongue as she considered the facts. She wouldn’t gain the freedom to use her inheritance as she wished until her twentieth year, another four months away. If she flouted Lady Gretchen too often, her guardian would simply tell the solicitor to withhold Siofra’s pin money. But, what of Mr. Paorach? Could Lady Gretchen force her to marry against her will? If the situation worsened, Siofra could appeal to the family’s solicitor. Perhaps Siofra should send Mr. Steadman a letter and explain her untenable situation. For now, she must keep Lady Gretchen agreeable.
“I will be ready at nine. As a banker, I’m certain Mr. Paorach wishes to be at his place of business as early as possible.”
“Hmm. You could be right. I’ll send a letter with your acceptance as soon as we finish.”
Siofra pushed back her chair. “You will excuse me.”
Once Siofra had closed the door to her room, she gazed with longing at her plush bedding. After last night’s lack of sleep, she wanted nothing more than to collapse into oblivion, but she could no longer abide Miss Dawd’s daily violations to her belongings.
First, she gathered all her jewelry, cleaning each piece and admiring those left by her mother. She wrapped them in a soft cloth and placed them in an ordinary wooden crate, provided by Maeve. Next, she tied up her correspondence, save the missive concerning her interaction with Lysander. If there was any chance she might forget him, she wanted this remembrance close at hand. She hid her letters under a floorboard beneath her bed. Not only was it out of sight, but the location would make it difficult for Miss Dawd’s short arms and roly-poly body to reach.
Now to protect her memory of Lysander. Smiling, she placed the written account under her pillow and gave it a pat. This hid one of her most important possessions. Then she grabbed a sheet of paper and penned a note to herself. Look under your pillow. At last, she was ready to retire.
Even in her dreams that night, Siofra smelled the stench of Mr. Paorach’s potent rancid body odor. She struggled to peer through heavy fog. Was she being stalked? Yellow eyes glowed in the mist and heavy breathing passed nearby. The wolf? Where was Lysander? She called out to him.
Siofra woke with a start and bolted up in bed. Her hair felt damp from sweat, and her heart beat an irregular rhythm. How long had she slept? She looked toward the blackened window then glanced at her clock. Almost six in the morning. She would never go back to sleep now.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and walked to her washbasin. After patting her face dry, she refreshed the fire and resigned herself to sit at her desk until it was late enough, and warm enough, to dress for the day.
Look under your pillow. No need for that. She hadn’t forgotten a thing, not even the nocturnal terror. She shuddered. Nothing about taking a carriage ride with Mr. Paorach appealed to her. Could Lady Gretchen make good on her threat to withhold Siofra’s privileges?
Siofra glanced at the still dark window. I could always climb out the window and go down the trellis. It wouldn’t be easy. The rose thorns were vicious. Perhaps it was time to hide some heavy leather work gloves along with her male attire. Oh, yes! She needed a new tunic, having torn hers to make a bandage for Lysander.
She slipped her reminder note inside the pillow casing and took her summary of events and placed it in her bag. She would carry that everywhere she went. She trusted her own servants, those that hadn’t been turned off after her parents’ deaths, but she didn’t trust those hired by Lady Gretchen to replace them. In all, she counted her true confederates to be Mrs. Sgot, Maeve, and Kelley, perhaps Mr. Hudgins and Morg, though both had families to feed and might not risk their positions to side with her against Lady Gretchen and Mr. Paorach. Had her world truly been reduced to three servants?
Disappointment gnawed at her as she gazed at the window, both yearning and hating the moment the sun would stream through. Daylight would take her closer to her carriage ride with Mr. Paorach, but it would also bring her that much nearer some time spent with Lysander. If he waited.
Her doorknob turned, and Kelley’s lithe form slipped inside. “Miss, you’re up. You should ha’ called for me. I would’ve stoked the fire.” Her earnest brown eyes shined at Siofra, and she plucked up a shawl to wrap around Siofra’s shoulders.
“Thanks, Kelley, but the day I can’t throw a log in the fireplace is the day they should hand me a mobcap and place me in a bed for good. Is anyone else up?”
“Hah! Never this early. Lady Gretchen and yer personal maid were up ‘til the wee hours, drinkin’ all yer daddy’s fine brandy.” She crouched on her knees to peer into Siofra’s face. “Are you well, Miss?”
“Fine.” Siofra tried to smile, but it didn’t come off. “I can manage Mr. Paorach for one morning.”
“Mrs. Sgot told me t’ give you this.” She slipped her hand in the pocket of her apron and pulled out a coin. “It will protect you.”
A magic coin? Two days ago, before she met Lysander, Siofra would have scoffed at the idea, but now she grasped the coin in her hand and studied both sides. Just worn metal, not really a minted coin at all, but gold.
She shook her head. “I can’t accept this, Kelley. It’s far too valuable.”
“You must. Mrs. Sgot says there’s nothing a troll wants more than gold. If he smells this, he won’t be able to focus on you. And it’s magic. You keep it!” She folded Siofra’s fingers over the coin. “I’ll have some breakfast up here in two ticks.”
Siofra stared at the closed door. Apparently, her servants believed the magic tales. She was in good company.
At nine o’clock on the dot, Maeve rapped her knuckles on Siofra’s door and stepped inside. “He’s here, smellin’ up the parlour. We’ll have to open the windows again. Are ye ready?”
Siofra nodded, unable to speak the words. Maeve held open the door, and they descended the stairs to her doom. By this time, Mr. Paorach waited at the door, his smile betraying crooked yellow teeth better suited for an animal. Was there anything about this man that didn’t remind her of animals?
“Siofra, my sweet, how I’ve looked forward to this day.” He held out his arm. “Shall we?”
“You may call me Miss Blàrach,” she said, ignoring his arm. “You know Maeve, of course? She will accompany us as chaperone. As usual, Miss Dowd is derelict in her duties.”
“Chaperone! We’ve no need of a chaperone, my pet. Your parents were dear friends of mine.”
Siofra moved past as if he’d never spoken the lie, dragging Maeve in her wake. Before Mr. Paorach could reach the carriage, Siofra seated Maeve in the middle and herself as far from the atrocious man as possible.
His dark eyes narrowed, chilling enough to give Siofra a shiver. “I think not. Maeve, get in the rear seat. Now!”
Maeve exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Siofra, who nodded. The man looked fierce enough to do damage. Would he harm them in the middle of town square? He couldn’t.
Once he climbed in the carriage, he made sure to occupy every spare inch of space. Siofra found it difficult to breathe, from the stench and a sudden case of claustrophobia.
As the horses lurched forward, his hand hovered near Siofra’s thigh. Maeve leaned over the seat to rest her arm between them. “Ach, facing backwards makes me ever so sick, Miss.”
Mr. Paorach stopped the horses so quickly, their heads jerked in the air as the bits tore into their mouths. “Get out.” He flicked a finger at Maeve.
Siofra rose. “Let us come to an understanding, Mr. Paorach. I will never go anywhere alone with you, and Maeve is my chosen companion. If she vacates the carriage, so do I.”
He shifted enough to stare up at her for several seconds. The malice in that gaze almost brought Siofra’s head down, but she couldn’t let him break her. “Well?” she asked.
He turned to stare ahead and flick the reins. Siofra plopped down on the seat. For the next twenty minutes, they rode in silence, passing the general store, the slaughterhouse, the mill. When they reached the edge of town, he turned the carriage and headed back, all without a word.
The moment the carriage came to a stop before her house, Siofra jumped down on her own, Maeve not far behind. “Thank you, Mr. Paorach,” she called out, climbing the stone steps to the door.
“My pleasure. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
She froze then twisted her head to lock eyes with him. “I’m not free, Mr. Paorach. I’m not free for the remainder of the week, probably the month. You’ll have to find another playmate.”
“I’ll speak to Lady Gretchen. Between the two of us, we can free your schedule.”
“You misunderstand, Mr. Paorach. I refuse to entertain you. You cannot disregard my feelings and my staff any longer. Do not return.”
He smiled, actually bared his teeth and leered at her, laughing as he set the horse to move again.
Siofra glided through the open doorway, past Mr. Hudgins, the butler, and climbed the stairs as quickly as possible.
Maeve followed her into her room and locked the door behind them. “I’m not sure ye should have put off Mr. Paorach. He looks dangerous, Miss. I’ve heard stories. Here…” She gestured Siofra to turn around so she could unbutton the dress. “If ye want to get outta here before Lady Gretchen looks for ye…”
Less than ten minutes later, Siofra trotted through the back of her property toward the Forbidden Wood. Maeve had managed to obtain another tunic for her, so she was again wearing her trousers. It seemed safer than wearing a dress and walking on the main road where Mr. Paorach might find her. Oh, how she needed some time in the Forbidden Wood.