“Louisa saw the book and met the Residents. They gave her a shock and she tumbled down the steps.”
It was so cold in the hall, and all I wanted to do was turn around and crawl into bed, yank the blankets over my head, and pretend this night was and continued to be nothing but a bad dream. But Mrs. Haylam pursed her lips and motioned for me to follow.
“I see. Very well. She will need to speak with Mr. Morningside, then. It appears it’s time to explain.”
Chapter Twelve
“How can you be so cavalier about this? There was a giant creature crushing my wrist! It spoke. It’s completely unnatural!”
Mrs. Haylam put up her hand, demanding silence. “Lower your voice, girl. Or have you not learned your lesson this night?”
The threat of seeing those awful things again was more than enough to shut me up. And so I followed, numbed and stunned, afraid that she could somehow control those beasts of shadow and use them against me. But she’d spoken quietly and was now completely silent as she led me down toward the green door. Perhaps she feared rousing those things, too.
I could tell by her quick pace and cold shoulder that she had lost her patience with me. And perhaps that was understandable—getting caught wandering the manor at night when I had been employed not even a week? A reasonable housekeeper might assume I was wandering the house for nefarious purposes, planning to steal from guests. Especially if that housekeeper had heard the maid called a thief in Malton just days ago. But I was not stupid enough to let her know that such assumptions were completely right.
“You will have many questions for him, I imagine, but try not to speak too much and simply listen,” she said, visibly irritated. She opened the green door for me and waited, examining me with cold slits for eyes. “Listen,” she repeated. “Listen carefully to him, and make your choices even more carefully.”
I wiped impotently at the tear tracks on my cheeks. I required no mirror to know I looked a frightful mess.
“My choices?” I replied. So she did suspect me. If they didn’t turn me out that night, I would have to be more careful going forward.
Mrs. Haylam nodded exactly once. “I hope to see you again, Louisa Ditton. I think I am growing a little fond of you.”
Mr. Morningside stood behind his desk with his back to me, a fanciful bird with a blue head and red bill perched on his wrist.
My own wrist still throbbed. Hot blood pulsed behind the burns on my fingertips, and standing there, watching him coo at an exotic animal, was utter misery. If there was punishment to come, then I wanted to confront it now and be done with it. And if I was lucky, he might let me return to my room and sleep out the night before kicking me out in the morning. I shivered; the thought of sleeping even one more night in a house where those shadows prowled chilled me to my marrow.
At least his study was warm, and fragrant with the tang of sunflower seeds and the earthiness of feathers.
“Parrots are remarkable things,” he said at last. The riotously colored bird on his hand shifted, pecking at his sleeve. Mr. Morningside was fully dressed, and at this hour, I assumed it was only because he’d been forced to have a word with me. “So beautiful. Look at this one’s plumage. Indigo and scarlet, yellow and green as bright as summer grass. But such beauty can be deceptive.”
Mr. Morningside turned and faced me, though he did not take his attention away from the parrot.
“Did you know, Miss Louisa, that parrots will eat other animals? Oh yes; they do not simply gorge on fruits and seeds all day. They will eat meat, too, and I’ve heard tales of some that attacked full-grown sheep. All that loveliness, and it conceals savagery.” Finally he looked at me, and his golden eyes were unexpectedly gentle. Kind, even.
I did not like it.
“I was attacked in your house this evening,” I said. My voice trembled, the fright of the ordeal still coursing through me like lightning. Mrs. Haylam had demanded that I listen, but I could stay quiet no longer. “What manner of creature are you keeping here? Obviously not only the birds.”
Smirking, he stroked one finger over the parrot’s breast. “I understand you’ve encountered the Residents. I admit, they can be an unsettling sight for the uninitiated.”
I stammered. I fumbled. My wrist ached and ached and I glanced down at it, fancying I could still feel the iron grip of that monstrous shadow. “I understand all of those words separately, but not in the way you arranged them.”
“Do try to keep up, Miss Louisa.”
That tore at me, and so did his breezy tone. “I have been burned and chased and terrified, and now to face this condescension—”
“Calm yourself,” he said. He took the parrot to a wooden stand and urged it to leave his hand, then he returned to the desk and poured tea for both of us from a waiting service. “Sit.”
I had little desire to stay, but there were too many unanswered questions for my liking. I wanted to know what I had seen. The creatures, the book, even the singing door . . . The tea did help, though. It usually did. I sipped slowly, wincing when my burned fingers grazed the china.
Mr. Morningside noticed, lowering his own cup and saucer and frowning at my injured hand. “You found the book.”
“Yes.”
“And you felt compelled to touch it?”
“It . . . I know it sounds ludicrous, but I had no control over myself. So, yes, I supposed I was compelled.”
He nodded through this response and opened one of the drawers on his desk, taking out a small glass pot of a snowy-white cream that looked like ointment. When he opened the lid on it, the scent of astringent cut through the air. “Your hand, please. It will do nothing for the marks, but it will at least ease your discomfort.”
I hesitated, and he saw it, closing his eyes for a prolonged blink, as if taking a moment to choose his words carefully. It was clear my hesitation had offended him. He looked wounded. Probably no young lady had ever balked at giving him her hand.
“Please.”
Stubbornly, I waited a little longer and then thrust my arm across the desk toward him. I watched as he gently grasped my right wrist and dabbed a bit of the ointment on the livid, burning marks. Warmth blossomed at the point of contact, and I commanded my cheeks not to blush. This person lorded over a veritable circus of dark curiosities, and it did not matter that he had glossy black hair and golden eyes; I would not give him the luxury of my blushes. It helped to remember that I wanted to steal from him. He was an unsuspecting target to me and nothing more.
The pain in my fingers was already gone.
“Now then,” he said, breaking the spell. He closed up the ointment jar and shoved it back in the drawer. Then he tented his fingers and studied me intently, as if I were one of his newly acquired birds. “Did you see anything in the book?”
I shook my head, cradling my tended hand in my lap and using the other to sip tea. “It scalded me. I closed it at once. What’s inside of it?”