Chapter 3

The horse's shoes rang out on the cobbles and the horses in the barn called out in greeting. Blasted horses! So much for sneaking back so no one knew I was late. Alice rushed from the back door and was at my side as I dismounted.

"Where have you been? You were gone so long I was getting worried." She grabbed me by the arm and hauled me closer. My collar was pulled back and my neck inspected, then she pushed up my sleeves to check my arms. Inspection over, she sighed and let me go. "She's in a right state that her scones are late and is most insistent that you must serve them. She made me take the tray back to the kitchen and come find you."

I held in the sigh. Of course, she'd want me to curtsey and serve her tea; there was less sport in lording her superior position over Alice.

"Sorry, I found a vermin that had tried to crawl under the wire last night, and it was trapped. I had to dispatch it and needed time alone after." Probably best not to mention that I nearly gave the new Duke of Leithfield a closer shave than any valet would dare.

"Where are the other two?" I asked.

Henry took the mare's reins and led her back to the barn while I unslung the sword and handed it over. Alice gave me a clean apron in exchange. I had no time to change from my dirty clothes; Step-mother would have to cope with me in trousers and not my drab-grey uniform.

Alice laughed. "Still abed. Deliver her morning tea, then we have to wake them up and dress the delicate princesses for whatever outing they have planned."

After nearly six years, Charlotte and Louise still thought they were part of the London set, with sufficient wealth and popularity to sleep late and stay up until the early hours. Except instead of balls, galas, and concerts, all they did was play havoc with Alice and me. We had to stay awake to help them undress, but still be up at six in the morning to reset all the fires and start our chores. I sighed and headed to the barrel of water by the back door. I plunged my hands in, scrubbed off the worst of the dirt, and threw water over my face. Thankfully my hair was short. I had hacked it off the previous year while nursing. Everything got a quick dry on the apron as Alice tied the ends at my waist.

"You'll do in a pinch," she said. "Just hope she doesn't look down at your boots."

Inside the kitchen, I grabbed the silver tray set for tea with scones, strawberry jam, and cream. Alice shoved my cap on my head and tucked my wayward hair underneath. Not quite presentable for her ladyship, but regardless, I headed up the back stairs to the parlour.

I drew a deep sigh and pondered the unfairness of life. Events shouldn't have come to this. This was my home, yet I was forced into servitude. I was born within these walls and raised as a treasured daughter. One desolate winter, I sat by mother's bedside holding her hand until the last breath sighed from her body. But with the passing of my mother, I became the ghost. Thrust into the role of invisible servant and creeping on the balls of my feet so as not to disturb them.

The hidden door to the entrance hall closed behind me, and I carried the tea-laden tray with slow steps, so as not to drop any mess on the carpet. I balanced the tray on one hand, opened the parlour door, and entered her domain. In the last few years she had erased the masculine touch of my father from the room, replaced it with chintz flowers, and crammed every surface with ornaments of leering cats. I like cats. We have two out at the barn. I just don't like hundreds of glassy eyes staring at me from every nook and cranny. At least she didn't touch the library. I could retreat there and breathe in his world, but for how much longer?

"Sorry, my lady," I said, setting the tray down on the delicate table next to the sofa covered in soft pink and palest green chintz. "One of the fences was broken and a vermin still lay trapped within."

She gasped and dropped the needlework into her lap. One hand flew to her chest. "I have asked you not to speak of those dreadful things in my presence. It really isn't fit conversation for a lady, although one would expect such vulgarity to pass your uncouth lips."

"Yes, ma'am." I dropped a curtsey and waited for my dismissal. Please let her be done with me. I preferred to feed father and tell him about the day's events as he sipped on his broth. I would imagine he heard my words and was silent because he was weighing up the appropriate response to give, not because his mind no longer worked.

"Oh, Ella." She waved a pale hand in my direction. The other clutched the cream lace collar of her dark blue tea gown. She wasn't beautiful, there was nothing delicate about her features, but she was a striking woman. With jet-black hair rising from a widow's peak and her piercing blue eyes, she made you stop and look twice. Now her gaze drifted downward and mercifully stopped before it reached my blood stained boots. That is, I was still hoping it was blood, but time had not yet allowed a closer inspection.

"You are in such a state, child. And why must you insist on gallivanting around the countryside in trousers? I do hope nobody of our acquaintance spotted you."

Technically the person I met was not of our acquaintance, no. She would never understand that it was easier to do a man's job dressed as a man. Long skirts hampered movement. But then Elizabeth was of a different time, when women could afford to act as delicate ornaments with no need to dirty their hands.

I hid mine in the cotton of the apron. I had thought they were clean, but what the apron hid was definitely not. "Sorry, Step-mother." The words slipped out and couldn't be recalled.

The scowl dropped over her face. "Do not call me that. Ever."

"Yes ma'am. I'm sorry." I twisted my fingers in a fold of fabric, desperate to make my escape. I could face a vermin and remove its head, but I couldn't work up the courage to walk out of a parlour under her stare.

"Yes, well, can't be helped I suppose. You are farm-bred and ignorant. Not like my girls, such gentle hothouse flowers." She rolled her eyes and picked up the teapot.

My lack of breeding was a constant thorn in her side. Father never hid me away as the shameful product of his scandalous marriage to the housekeeper. Perhaps it was the pragmatic nature of rural life. An extra set of hands made the daily tasks easier, no matter where those hands originated.

But the city-bred woman my father married just two years after mother passed wasted no time in demoting me to the kitchens where I belonged. Her daughters looked down their elegant noses at me, scoffing at my plain clothes and dirty hands. They stayed inside and played the piano, while I dug potatoes and drove the tractor.

"Why did you come here?" Sometimes the words wouldn't stay in my head and they escaped before I could erase them. Given the amount of trouble I was already in, I figured I might as well pile a bit more on top of myself.

Her finely plucked eyebrows shot up, and she dropped the pot back to the tray with a clang. "Whatever do you mean?"

"You are so finely bred." I scrambled for the right path to tread, the one that didn't end in a beating. Like roads to Rome, it seemed all of my questions led to the switch across my back."I am sure you were the toast of London and could have had any man after the baron died. Why did you settle on my father?"

Why the lowly knight, I really wanted to ask. He occupied the lowest step on the peerage ladder, a man with only a modest country house to his name. Why did you come here and ruin our quiet lives, when you could have stayed in the city, where lobbing sarcastic barbs is considered sport?

She picked up the delicate cup with the pure gold rim and took a sip, pinkie finger extended at the appropriate angle. "You father was such a handsome and dashing fellow. He quite swept me off my feet."

For a moment I almost believed her. Almost. I stared at my feet and hoped she didn't spot the blob of dried whatever it was stuck to my right boot. Another job to tackle before I could climb into bed; the boots would need to be scrubbed and polished for the morning.

"And there are many advantages to a country life," she continued.

"I don't understand," I whispered. Given her aversion to livestock, villagers, and the outdoors in general, I couldn't see what. She went into an apoplectic shock if anyone suggested she hobnob with the lowbred locals.

A soft laugh tinkled forth from her pale throat. "Well of course you wouldn't. In London, I was a widow with two daughters to see properly wed, and there is a dearth of suitable nobles." She waved an elegant hand in the direction of the window overlooking the front lawn. "This tiny piece of dirt happens to command the enviable position of being right next door to England's most eligible bachelor. I thought ahead, so that I may benefit my girls. In London we were far beneath his social circle, but in the country, proximity breeds familiarity." She gave a conspiratorial wink. "The neighbouring heir needed a beautiful bride years ago when he came of age, but the silly war intervened. Now the prodigal son has returned, and is a duke in search of a duchess. Our time has finally arrived."

Over the rim of her teacup she smiled, like a cruel cat playing with a half dead mouse. Everything made sense now. She married father to throw her daughters in the path of the heir to the Duke of Leithfield. Poor sod. If he knew of the trap that awaited him in England, he might have thrown himself on a German grenade instead. His handsome face appeared before me, a smile crinkling his eyes as he took my hand and asked me to call him Seth. I commanded my thoughts to remain silent. It wouldn't do to blurt out that I had already met, and very nearly decapitated, the duke. That would put an end to her plans for social advancement. So sorry Step-mother, the dukedom is vacant once more, but I do have the previous incumbent's head in my bag, if you want to mount it above the mantel? No, best to keep my lips sealed tight on that little snippet.

"I'm sure he will be delighted to make the acquaintance of Charlotte and Louise, ma'am." I dropped another curtsey and she finally waved me away, before my mind exploded in its effort to contain everything.

I slipped back out the door and ran down the stairs to the kitchen. I burst through the door to find Alice drying dishes as Magda washed. The words couldn't be contained anymore.

"She plans to marry one of them off to the new duke, now that he's returned." The deep sigh blew out of my chest and relieved some internal pressure.

Alice finished one plate and picked up another wet piece of crockery. "How do you know he's back?" Her hand made brisk circular motions, and then the dry plate was stacked with its mates. One eyebrow arched in her oval face. Magda swallowed a laugh, although the jovial cook always had a ready smile for us.

Oops. "I may have encountered him on my ride this morning." I stared hard at my boot. The blob was, thankfully, just blood and a scrap of tissue and nothing more substantial.

"Encountered?" Magda chuckled and shook her head as she pulled the plug in the sink and wiped her hands on a nearby towel. Dratted woman always could read me easier than the newssheet. Although she had eighteen years of practice, it helped that I was a terrible liar.

"Oh? Anything you care to share with us, your bosom friends?" Alice asked as she finished up drying.

"Isn't it time we woke Charlotte and Louise? Can't have them missing luncheon." I tried for a distraction as I gestured to the door.

Alice wiped her hands and hung the tea towel to dry in front of the range. "Oh, Ella. We demand at least one little snippet, or I shall dally here and make us both late."

"You wouldn't dare," I whispered.

Both brows arched now. Confounded girl, why was she my best friend? "I met him after dispatching a vermin. He crept up on me and I nearly took his head off."

Laughter burst around the room and I ducked as it swamped me.

"Oh, Ella. You and that blasted sword." Alice laughed so hard she had to wipe her eyes dry on her apron.

"Perhaps you should have decapitated him, dear?would've been far kinder than seeing him saddled with one of them," Magda said between bouts of chuckles.

"Happy? Can we go now?" I rolled my eyes and resisted the urge to stamp my foot. The pair of them would dine out on this for days.

Alice swallowed her remaining laughter, but it shone as a sparkling amber light in her eyes. "Yes. But you will have to fill us in on all the little details over dinner. Especially what he looks like."

The rest of the day passed in a blur of chores: cleaning, mending, and running up and down stairs. Not to mention waking Charlotte and Louise, and the time it took to pull their corset laces tight while they berated me for my slovenly behaviour. I'd like to see either of them emerge before noon and cart coal up and down the narrow servants' stairs.

Several hours later, as dusk softened the light outside, I finally grabbed an hour to myself, although I was not truly alone.

Father sat by the window in his wicker wheelchair. His gaze focused on the lawn and trees beyond. We liked to think he watched the comings and goings, but we had no idea how much he knew of his surroundings. From down below, we could glance up and wave at his countenance, and each night we prayed he might wave back.

Father was first amongst those to sign up in late 1914?he said the village lads needed a father figure to watch out for them. He said we would be safe in our corner of rural England.

He was wrong.

Four years later, his body returned, but not his mind. In the ten long months since he had come home, we searched daily for any sign of improvement. Six months ago, we celebrated the day he stopped drooling and appeared to find it easier to swallow. There had been nothing since, apart from tiny flickers deep in his gaze, and yet hope lived in my heart. I took a deep breath and stepped further into his bedroom, a dinner tray in my hands and the paper tucked under my arm. An armchair sat next to his position with a convenient table for the dinner. I placed the tray down and kissed his cheek.

"Lots happened today," I took my seat and began the slow ritual of spoon-feeding him the beef broth. Like a hungry chick being fed by a mother bird, he would open his mouth for more. Magda was slowly making the broth chunkier, so he took his time to chew, and hopefully gain more sustenance from his meals.

"I met our neighbour, the duke." I had to drop my voice to a whisper just in case she heard. "Nearly took his damned head off, but he really shouldn't creep up on sword-wielding women." Yes, it would have been entirely his fault if his head became separated from his body and rolled across the clearing.

"Only one vermin to clean out from the fence this morning. I am so glad Henry suggested the bottom wire." This was our routine: I narrated my entire day while father took his dinner. Sometimes his eyes followed me, and I lived for those moments, anything that showed he still dwelt inside the body and might break free. One day.

After he finished the broth, I wiped his chin and picked up the paper. "There's an article saying it has been over a week with no vermin sightings in London. Perhaps the pandemic is almost over?"

In Somerset, once we dealt to the first wave, the occurrences were sporadic. Usually one a day and sometimes there were days with none. Hope crept back into our minds. Perhaps life might return to normal? We survived the Great War in Europe, and now the battle at home turned a corner. Still, I thought on the vermin I found that morning. I didn't recognise him, so where had he come from? Another village, or farther afield? Had London rid itself of vermin entirely, or had they simply retreated to the countryside?

I recorded them all, and we did our best to track them. We knew who had died locally in the first round. Then, in the aftermath, we needed to identify who had succumbed to the second wave and been bitten by their returned loved ones. With isolated cottages, it was a mission trying to find out who had simply moved, failed to return from war, or had transformed into a vermin. Father's man, Stewart, helped me keep the journal, and together we crossed out names of the dispatched and wrote in new names of those we suspected of being turned. Today had a new entry: unidentified male.

Magda and Stewart would be along once full dark fell to put father to bed. I couldn't bear it, as the sight of his helplessness pierced my heart. Perhaps I was a coward, deserting him over a simple routine, but I preferred to think of it as maintaining his dignity so only his old valet and the housekeeper saw his vulnerability. This way, I could maintain the fiction in my mind of him silent and thoughtful.

I tucked away the paper, leaving it by his side in case he wanted to read the business section for himself. Then I cleaned away the tray, kissed his cheek, and closed the door with a soft click behind me.