Before their master was even off his horse Starling was at his side, closer than she would normally stand, made careless by need. But she didn’t take his hand to implore, or even touch his sleeve. The rot beneath the rind; she could still smell it, however distracted she might be.
‘You have word of Alice?’ she said, and did not curtsy or bid him good day, or wait for him to speak first. Lord Faukes glared at her, long and steady, as he handed the reins of his horse to the yardman. He walked on towards the door, and she trotted alongside.
‘She did not manage to make you any less brazen-faced, then, eh?’ he muttered, distractedly. Once indoors, he handed Starling his hat and gloves and went through to the parlour to sit down. ‘Bring me brandy, girl. Bridget, I would speak to you.’ His voice was grave, but even. The women, old and young, glanced at one another. They could read nothing from his words, so they did as they were bid. When Starling took in the brandy, Bridget was already standing in front of him with her hands laced together, quite still and resigned. Starling wanted to stay but Lord Faukes said brusquely: ‘Be gone with you, little wench.’
For ten minutes Starling waited alone in the kitchen, and just like the first time she’d waited for news from the parlour, time grew sticky and slow, stretching itself out near to breaking point, like a string of tar. They seemed unbearably long, those last few moments in her life in which Starling had hope; the possibility of joy. When Bridget came out her face was grim and still, giving nothing away. Starling rushed to meet her.
‘Bridget, tell me. What news is there? Where’s Alice?’
‘I don’t know where she is, child.’ Bridget pressed her lips together briefly, clamping off the words. ‘But she’s gone, and I think… we must be ready not to see her again.’
‘What? What do you mean? There is news, then? Tell me it!’ Starling gripped the older woman’s hands, felt how cold and dry they were. Like there was no blood beneath the skin at all.
‘Come in here, Starling, and stop clamouring so. I will tell you what you need to know,’ Lord Faukes called from his chair, the same parlour chair he always chose, though his hips wedged into it tightly, his flesh moulding into the wood and fabric. Half reluctant now, Starling went to stand in front of him. ‘Bridget. I have a yen to eat veal for supper. Go into the village and see if there is any to be had.’
‘Sir, I doubt that at this late hour there will be any-’
‘Go on and look for some, I say!’ His sudden bark burst the bubble of decorum that had perched, fragile, over the household. Starling felt a warning again, scratching away at the back of her mind as though it wanted out. But she had to know what he would tell her about Alice. She was caught, like a fish on a hook. Bridget glanced from her master to Starling and back again, her clenched knuckles even whiter, spots of crimson in her cheeks and her eyes full of some desperate want that she could do nothing to fulfil. With wooden steps she made her way to the door and went out of the house, not even pausing for her coat or hat, or for coins to pay the butcher.
Only once they were alone did Lord Faukes look up at Starling, and clear his throat.
‘Alice has disgraced herself beyond redemption. She will never be welcome here again; I shall have no more to do with her.’ He spoke without anger, but also without doubt.
‘What disgrace? What do you mean? Where is Alice?’ Starling pleaded.
‘You will not see her again.’ His words landed like blows, each one shaking her more than the last.
‘What?’
‘She has run away with a man; a lover. Feckless, ungrateful girl. She has eloped to be wed, since she knew I would not allow it. There. It is as painful to me as it is to you, I hope you realise. She has deceived us all as to her true nature. Or perhaps she was corrupted by the wild influence of another. Or others.’ At this he gave her a steady look, hard and considering. ‘Tell me truthfully. Did you know of this liaison? Of her plans to behave to so ruinously?’
‘I don’t understand.’ Starling shook her head. ‘She has run away with Jonathan? But… he was here after she went missing; he came looking for her…’
‘What nonsense is this, with Jonathan? Of course not with my grandson! He would not act so wrongly! I don’t know the name of the man she has gone with. If I knew it, believe me I would find them all the faster. Jonathan is at Box even at this moment, deeply upset by it all. I do not deny that I knew of some… attachment between them. A cousinly affection. But the idea that the two of them would collude in such a way is… preposterous.’
‘But they planned to marry! They have written to each other and spoken and thought of little else since I have known them!’
‘Written, you say?’ said Faukes, eyeing her severely.
‘And… and she has taken nothing with her – no clothes, none of her possessions… all are still here!’
‘Of course she’s taken nothing – you shared a room, did you not? She could hardly pack a trunk without you knowing it, could she? Whoever she has left with, she must think he has the means to clothe her anew.’
‘But Jonathan… Alice…’ Starling struggled to set her thoughts in order. She put her hands to head to keep them all in. ‘Alice loved Jonathan! She would never run away with anybody else!’
‘Do not contradict me, wench!’ Faukes shouted, his face mottling with blood. ‘It’s more than you deserve that I take the time to explain the situation to you!’ He thumped the arms of the chair with his hands, making the frame of it shake. He was as solid and strong as the wood itself, Starling thought. She rolled onto the balls of her feet, ready. None of this is true. She was as certain of it as she was of her own heartbeat.
‘Forgive me, sir. But I… I…’
‘You do not want to believe it, any more than Bridget did, or Jonathan or I. But it does no good to deny facts when they are put plainly in front of you. The girl has made a mockery of all she has been given, and she will have nothing more from me or my family. This house will be let. I will see you and Bridget put into positions elsewhere, if you will accept my help with due gratitude, and be good and obedient, the pair of you. And you will speak no more of Alice Beckwith. The girl is dead to me; I will not hear her name.’
‘How do you know, sir?’ Starling whispered, her throat too tight for speech. ‘How do you know of this elopement?’
‘She wrote a letter, delivered to my house in Box.’
‘May I see the letter?’
‘So, she taught you to read? No, you may not. I flung it into the fire, it angered me so. There. Take this bitter news and be reconciled to it, for it cannot be changed. Perhaps I might find room for you in my own household. Eh? What do you say to that?’ Lord Faukes levered himself out of his chair as he spoke and stood over her, head and shoulders taller. Starling took a step backwards. ‘I shouldn’t mind seeing such pretty, flaming curls every day.’ He reached out a hand as if to catch a lock of her hair, and Starling stepped back again.
‘No!’ she managed to cry.
Her backward step made her catch her heel on the corner of the couch. As she fought for balance he dealt her a backhanded blow to the side of her head that made her ears ring, and she twisted as she fell, landing hard on her stomach across the arm of the couch, which drove all the air out of her in one rushing exhalation. Before she could think or try to rise she felt the weight of him bearing down on her. His hand was on the back of her neck, gripping hard, pushing her face into the seat so that she could hardly breathe, let alone fight him. She reached over her shoulder, nails scrabbling at his sleeve, seeking skin. She couldn’t reach any, could not make her arms bend behind her to find his cheek or eyes or mouth; any soft part she might have been able to injure. She had nothing to bite but the dusty fabric in front of her face. Her own breath was hot and suffocating, clamped over her nose and mouth like a swaddling cloth.