‘I needed some air,’ I say.
Margrét gives a sigh, clears her throat. ‘No one ever died from fresh air.’
We sit and listen to the faint rush of the river. The drizzle ceases. Snow begins to fall.
‘Let’s see what those girls are doing now,’ Margrét says eventually. ‘I won’t be surprised if Steina has strung herself up on the rafters, instead of the meat. We might discover her smoked through.’
A soft thud sounds from the smithy. The men must be spreading the sheepskins out to dry.
‘Come, Agnes. You’ll catch your death.’
Looking down, I see that Margrét has extended her hand. I take it, and the feel of her skin is like paper. We go inside.
THE FIRE IN THE KITCHEN had collapsed into a pile of whispering embers, and night had fallen thick upon the spilt blood in the stocks outside, by the time Lauga, with swollen fingers, tied the last wet bag of sausage to a string to hang and dry. Steina, her apron covered in smears from offal and blood, leaned against the doorframe and watched her sister.
‘It’s snowing outside,’ she said.
Lauga shrugged.
‘Everyone’s gone to bed.’ She sniffed. ‘Smells nice in here, don’t you think?’
‘I don’t know when killing ever smelt nice.’ Lauga bent down and picked up the pails that had held the sheep entrails.
‘Oh, leave them to dry out. We’ll set to washing them in the morning.’ Steina walked over to her sister and pulled a stool out in front of the fire. ‘Did you see how Agnes set the meat in store? I’ve never seen anyone work so fast.’
Lauga stacked the pails against the wall and sat down beside Steina, holding her hands out to the hot ashes. ‘She’s probably poisoned the whole barrel.’
Steina pulled a face. ‘She wouldn’t do such a thing. Not to us.’ She sucked a corner of her apron and began to sponge at the stains covering her hands. ‘I wonder what gave her that funny turn.’
‘What turn?’
‘Agnes and I were sitting here, as we are now, tending to the heads, and all of a sudden she throws them in my lap, and off she goes, muttering to herself. Mamma followed her out, and I saw the two of them sitting there, talking. Then they came back inside.’
Lauga frowned and stood up.
‘It’s funny,’ Steina continued. ‘For all she says, I think Mamma holds a fondness for her now.’
‘Steina,’ Lauga warned.
‘She’d never say as much, but –’
‘Steina! In heaven’s name, must you always talk about Agnes?’
Steina looked up at her sister, surprised. ‘What’s wrong with talking about Agnes?’
Lauga scoffed. ‘What’s wrong? Am I the only person who sees her for who she is?’ Her voice dropped to a hissed whisper. ‘You talk about her as if she’s nothing. As if she’s a servant.’
‘Oh, Lauga. I wish you’d –’
‘You wish I’d do what? What! Make friends like the rest of you?’
Steina gaped at her sister, open-mouthed. Lauga suddenly walked to the back of the kitchen and pressed her hands, clenched in two fists, against her forehead.
‘Lauga?’
Her sister didn’t turn around, but slowly picked up the soiled buckets. ‘I’m going to go wash these.’ Her voice was unsteady. ‘You should go to bed, Steina.’
‘Lauga?’ Steina rose and took a few steps towards her. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Nothing. Just go to bed, Steina. Leave me alone.’
‘Not until you tell me what I’ve done to upset you.’
Lauga shook her head, her face contorting. ‘I thought it would be different,’ she said finally. ‘When Bl?ndal came, I thought we might not suffer her too much because there’d be officers. I thought we would keep her locked up! I didn’t think she’d always be with us, talking to the Reverend in our badstofa. Now I see that even Mamma is talking to her in a familiar way! No one seems to care that everyone in the valley gives us strange looks now.’