Not daring to blink she waited to see it again, thinking she must have dreamed it. But there was movement again a moment later, and she was not mistaken. There was a figure standing beneath the branches. Starling gulped in a huge breath, and felt a desperate kind of hope. If she did run away, if she lives… she would come back here. She would. Without hesitation, Starling pushed a path through the hedge, scratching her arms and legs on blackthorn, and clambered down to the meadow. She hurried through the long grass with her skirts bunched up in her fists, breathing hard and sniffing at the drip on the end of her nose.
‘Alice!’ she called, as she drew near. The fog swallowed her voice. Behind the cascade of willow whips she could see the dark shape of a person. It made no response to her call; it made no move at all. Starling jumped down onto the hard mud at the water’s edge, slipped and fought to keep her balance. ‘Alice, is it you?’ She hurried forwards again, but was suddenly uneasy. The prickle of a warning, at the back of her skull; just like she’d had many times before.
The shadowed shape was too big to be Alice. Too big to be a woman at all. Starling slowed to a halt just beyond the tree’s embrace. ‘Who’s there?’ she said, trying to keep her voice even, strong. It will be hard to run on this ice. But I am smaller, lighter. But whoever was waiting still ignored her. Starling took a deep breath; blood was pounding in her ears. She parted the branches with her hands and stepped into the deeper shadow. And finally the figure stood up from its seat on the protruding root; stood up and turned to face her, and Starling cried out in alarm. ‘You!’ she said, as the air rushed from her lungs in astonishment.
Rachel paused by the front door of number one, Lansdown Crescent, her hand halfway to the bell pull. Dorcas would answer it, or the manservant Falmouth, and they would take her to Mrs Alleyn. That’s not who I wish to see. She retraced her steps and went down the servants’ stair instead, letting herself into the corridor outside the kitchen. She slipped past the kitchen door, checking in the still room and pantry before she reached Starling’s room; all were empty. In the kitchen, Sol Bradbury was nodding in a wooden chair near the inglenook; a huge, half-peeled apple was going brown in her lap, cradled like a pet. There was no sign of Starling, and Rachel cursed silently, anxiously. For months she’s shadowed me around this house, now when I need her, when I have this letter to show her, she vanishes.
‘Mrs Weekes. How odd to find you here. Did you lose your way?’ Rachel spun around to find Mrs Alleyn at the foot of the stairs, her hands linked calmly in front of her, her face a stony mask. At the sound of her voice, Sol Bradbury was wide awake and peeling industriously, blinking away her somnolence.
‘I… I-’ Rachel stammered.
‘I saw you coming along the street and wondered where you’d got to. I wasn’t aware that you had an appointment with my son today.’
‘Indeed, I do not, madam. I only…’
‘You only what?’ said Josephine, in that level way of hers. Rachel’s mind went blank, the silence rang. ‘Perhaps you wanted to see me about something? I can’t imagine there’s anything you might need to discuss with my servants.’
‘Yes, Mrs Alleyn. That is so,’ said Rachel, still frantically trying to think what to say.
‘Come, then. This is no fit place for a conversation, and I too have something I desire to tell you.’ The older woman turned with an elegant sweep of her dress, and went back up the stairs. With dread stealing over her, Rachel followed.
Mrs Alleyn led her into the front parlour, and settled herself on the couch. ‘Now, tell me what brought you here today?’
‘I wanted to…’ Rachel paused, and looked at Josephine’s lovely face. Whatever happened to Alice, you know all about it, don’t you? She summoned all her courage. ‘I’ve been speaking a great deal of late to my father-in-law, about his time in your service.’
‘Mr Duncan Weekes?’ Josephine blinked, seeming to readjust herself minutely. ‘He was a good coachman. He had a marvellous way with the horses. Such a shame his… affliction meant we had to let him go. My father was rather fond of him, in truth.’
‘Yes. I have heard a great deal of your father’s affection for his staff,’ said Rachel. Josephine Alleyn’s lips thinned into the smallest of smiles; her eyes glittered. ‘He has also told me about the time Alice Beckwith came to visit Lord Faukes at Box.’
‘Mrs Weekes, I can’t for the life of me discern what possible interest you might have in Alice Beckwith, a common girl who made an outcast of herself twelve years ago.’
‘Did she? Did she make an outcast of herself, or was she cast out?’ She will not have me back here again, Rachel knew in that moment.
‘I’m sure I don’t understand what you mean.’ Josephine Alleyn’s voice was like ice. ‘Now let us come to what I wished to say to you, Mrs Weekes. It’s clear to me that your… employment with my son is leaving you tired and overwrought. It’s only to be expected, after so many weeks of close contact with an invalid-’
‘Your son is no invalid, madam!’
‘Please don’t interrupt me. When I said that manners had abandoned us here, I did not expect to be taken quite so literally. The task is clearly too much for you, and I will not hear of you continuing, and risking your own health by doing so.’
‘And that is your final word on it?’ said Rachel, after a stricken pause.
‘I never change my mind, Mrs Weekes.’
‘May I…’ Rachel took a breath. ‘May I go and explain my coming absence to your son?’
‘I have already informed him. Now.’ Mrs Alleyn stood, her back immaculately straight.
‘But… I’m helping him! He’s been getting so much better.’
‘You have my thanks, I’m sure. But to continue is quite out of the question. I was mistaken about your… suitability for the role. Do not let me detain you further.’
‘It pleases you to keep him shut away, does it not? Far less trouble to you, less scandal. Far less chance of him learning the truth about Alice, and about your noble father!’ said Rachel. Josephine’s face went rigid with anger.
‘Go no further, Mrs Weekes, into matters that are none of your concern. It would be a shame if your misconduct meant I could no longer support your husband in his business. You saw yourself in; now kindly see yourself out.’ Rachel had no choice but to obey her. Falmouth opened the front door for her, a golem without the least flicker of an expression on his face. But Rachel hesitated on the threshold. I will be allowed to see him no more.
‘I demand to be permitted to take my leave of Mr Alleyn,’ she said, turning with her heart in her mouth. Josephine stood on the parlour threshold, her arms loose at her sides.
‘I thought I had made it quite clear-’
‘He would wish to see me. If you refuse me I will make it known to him that… that you have turned me away.’
‘Oh? And how exactly-’
‘I will make it known to him.’ Rachel spoke with such quiet resolve that Josephine made no reply. For a moment they simply stared at one another, a silent war which Rachel won. Without another word, she started up the stairs.
She felt hunted; she felt Josephine’s hard, angry eyes follow her every step. By the time she reached Jonathan’s rooms she was almost running. She knocked and let herself in, closing the door fast behind her. The floorboards creaked under her feet like the deck of a ship. And the storm beneath us is just now breaking. Jonathan got up from his desk. There was ink on his fingers; his hair was clean and had been cut to skim his collar at the back. His face was clean-shaven. He looked so different that Rachel hesitated.