The next morning dawned unexpectedly blue and beautiful, a balm to Tessa’s aching head and exhausted body. After dragging herself from the bed, where she had spent most of the night tossing and turning, she dressed herself, unable to bear the thought of assistance from one of the ancient, half-blind maidservants. As she did up the buttons on her jacket, she caught sight of herself in the room’s old, splotched mirror. There were half-moons of shadow under her eyes, as if they had been smudged there with chalk.
Wil and Jem had already gathered in the morning room for a breakfast of half-burned toast, weak tea, jam, and no butter. By the time Tessa arrived, Jem had already eaten, and Wil was busy cutting his toast into thin strips and forming rude pictographs out of them.
“What is that supposed to be?” Jem asked curiously. “It looks almost like a—” He glanced up, saw Tessa, and broke off with a grin. “Good morning.”
“Good morning.” She slid into the seat across from Wil ; he glanced up at her once as she sat, but there was nothing in his eyes or expression to indicate that he recal ed that anything had passed between them the night before.
Jem looked at her with concern. “Tessa, how are you feeling? After last night—” He broke off then, his voice rising, “Good morning, Mr.
Starkweather,” he said hastily, jostling Wil ’s shoulder hard so that Wil dropped his fork, and the toast bits slid al over his plate.
Mr. Starkweather, who had swept into the room, stil wrapped in the dark cloak he had worn the night before, regarded him baleful y. “The carriage is waiting for you in the courtyard,” he said, his clipped diction as tight as ever. “You’d better cut a stick if you want to get back before dinnertime; I’l be needing the carriage this evening. I’ve told Gottshal to drop you straight at the station on your return, no need for lingering. I trust you’ve gotten everything you need.”
It wasn’t a question. Jem nodded. “Yes, sir. You’ve been very gracious.”
Starkweather’s eyes swept over Tessa again, one last time, before he turned and stalked out of the room, his cloak flapping behind him. Tessa couldn’t get the image of a great black bird of prey—a vulture, perhaps—out of her mind. She thought of the trophy cases ful of “spoils,” and shuddered.
“Eat quickly, Tessa, before he changes his mind about the carriage,” Wil advised her, but Tessa shook her head.
“I’m not hungry.”
“At least have tea.” Wil poured it out for her, and ladled milk and sugar into it; it was much sweeter than Tessa would have liked, but it was so rare that Wil made a kind gesture like that—even if it was just to hurry her along—that she drank it down anyway, and managed a few bites of toast.
The boys went for their coats and the baggage; Tessa’s traveling cloak, hat, and gloves were located, and they soon found themselves on the front steps of the York Institute, blinking in the watery sunlight.
Starkweather had been as good as his word. His carriage was there, waiting for them, the four Cs of the Clave painted across the door. The old coachman with the long white beard and hair was already in the driver’s seat, smoking a cheroot; he tossed it aside when he saw the three of them, and sank down farther in his seat, his black eyes glaring out from beneath his drooping eyelids.
“Bloody hel , it’s the Ancient Mariner again,” said Wil , though he seemed more entertained than anything else. He swung himself up into the carriage and helped Tessa in after him; Jem was last, shutting the door behind him and leaning out the window to cal to the coachman to drive on.
Tessa, settling herself in beside Wil on the narrow seat, felt her shoulder brush his; he tensed immediately, and she moved away, biting her lip. It was as if last night had never happened and he were back to behaving as if she were poison.
The carriage began moving with a jerk that nearly flung Tessa into Wil again, but she braced herself against the window and stayed where she was. The three of them were silent as the carriage rol ed down narrow, cobbled Stonegate Street, under a wide sign advertising the Old Star Inn.
Both Jem and Wil were quiet, Wil reviving only to tel her with a ghoulish glee that they were passing through the old wal s, under the city entrance where once traitors’ heads had been displayed on spikes. Tessa made a face at him but gave no reply.
Once they had passed the wal s, the city quickly gave way to countryside. The landscape was not gentle and rol ing, but harsh and forbidding.
Green hil s dotted with gray gorse swept up into crags of dark rock. Long lines of mortarless stone wal s, meant for keeping in sheep, crisscrossed the green; here and there was dotted the occasional lonely cottage. The sky seemed an endless expanse of blue, brushed with the strokes of long gray clouds.
Tessa could not have said how long they had been traveling when the stone chimneys of a large manor house rose in the distance. Jem stuck his head out the window again and cal ed to the driver; the carriage came to a rol ing stop.
“But we’re not there yet,” said Tessa, puzzled. “If that’s Ravenscar Manor—”