The Rose Master (5 page)

We departed ahead of the dawn. Mr. Keery appeared as hesitant as the day before, and I was too tired to persevere in opening him up like a clamshell. Let him keep quiet if he pleased; I’d soon have other things with which to concern myself. It was cooler than the previous morning, enough for me to shut the window in an attempt to keep my blood from growing icy spikes.

I chafed against the boredom of the ride (made terrible without the pleasure of the scenery), so I rummaged through my bag and brought out my Bible—small and scuffed, but bearing my initials in crimson thread on the cover. It had been a present from my father years before, and I’d learned to thumb through it at odd moments. My father always felt closer when I held it, regardless of where in the world he might be roaming. All the things I missed after so many months of barely any contact would come into my head—his thin smile, his sure hands, the way he’d nod as I recounted my daily life at Caldwell House. I didn’t even have an address to be able to write to him. And for his part, although he knew of my new position, he would not have time in the midst of the whirlwind that was Lord Exter’s life to send
me even the simplest of notes.

I sighed, flipped at random through the onionskin pages, and read the f
irst passage my eyes landed on.

I nodded at the words and sighed at their musical syllables. Quite pretty. I wondered why my parents hadn’t insisted on my Christian upbringing, as I hadn’t ever laid a finger on a Bible until my mother passed away. She hadn’t been opposed, exactly, but she’d never given it the importance my father thought it deserved. Or, at least, that’s what I’d heard from Mary. My father, on the other hand, was the most devout man I’d ever met. He could recite entire passages from memory without a single stumble. He’d tried, in his way, to teach me about faith, but it was still confusing to me, all the different stories with all their different versions, all the hidden meanings tucked like seeds in the folds of the sentences. Church hadn’t helped much either. Lady Caldwell had had a strict rule about her employees attending Sunday services, so I’d been taken every week for the past ten years. Still, the sermons were convoluted; sounds that enticed murmurs from the congregation, but that had nothing to say to my thirsty mind. I was indifferent to religion, and I didn’t want to be.

Perhaps I would have the opportunity to ask my questions at whichever church I’d be attending at my new home. Maybe a country church would provide the relaxed atmosphere I needed to embrace the meaning of the book I held in my hands.

I kissed it, as I’d been taught to do, and tucked it back into my travel bag. I settled back in the seat, untying my bonnet, and allowed my thoughts to spread.

The first sign that we were nearing our destination came in through the small slit of window I’d left open—the scent of roses. I couldn’t believe it at first. It trickled in and filled the coach with its thick odor. I flung the rest of the window open and was grasped by the full madness of the flowers. I inhaled and laughed as the perfume filled my lungs, my chest cavity, my stomach.

I yelled up at Mr. Keery: “We are getting close, right, sir?”

“Yes, miss, we are almost there.”

I took out my small mirror and inspected my hair, pulling and tucking as needed until I could easily fit its brown mass under the bonnet. I caught my reflection, smiling, wide eyes glittering in the perfumed air.

“We’re almost there,” I told the girl in the mirror. As I peered into my face (one that didn’t brim over with beauty, but which was pretty enough), a vague hope filled my head. Perhaps there might even be someone interesting at Rosewood, someone with whom I could settle down into a quiet life. I had turned seventeen, after all.

There was a sudden jolt as the coach came to an abrupt stop. I reached out my hands to steady myself and looked out. Mr. Keery was swinging the reins and urging the halted horses to continue, but they whinnied and pulled their ears back.

“What’s wrong with the horses?” I asked.

“Just a bit spooked, miss. Don’t trouble yourself.”

The snorts and stomps told me they were more than “a bit spooked.” I opened the door and climbed down with care onto the dirt road that wound through the snow.

“Miss, please, you’ll catch cold.”

I ignored him and walked up to the animals, laying my hands on the muscular side of the one closest to me. Their skin visibly twitched without pause.

“These animals are terrified!” I told Mr. Keery. “Look at the foam in their mouths!” I moved to face the creatures and began a stream of comforting words, pouring vowels into the two sets of ears before me. I did not say anything in particular, just the nonsense a mother would say to a slumbering child to keep the dark wings of nightmares away, but it seemed to soothe the poor beasts. I extended my arms and wrapped them around the horses, pulling them toward my body so that I had their heaving chests against my sides. I’d done this countless times with frightened fowl, and even once or twice with Elsie after she’d had a nightmare, but never with any creature this large.

I felt their muscles unknotting themselves, and the foam slowly stopped spewing from their mouths. My breathing had also slowed, and I suddenly felt exhausted. I could have fallen right to the ground if not for the warm bodies I still held. I waited for the dizziness to pass, wondering if there was something wrong with me. Two fainting spells in a single week.

The wave of relief soon came and I walked away from the horses. But as soon as I withdrew my hands, they began their snorting again, this time even louder and more frantic.

“Are you all right, miss? You look terribly pale,” Mr.Keery said.

“I’m fine, but these horses . . .”

“They quieted down with you.”

I nodded. With a smile, I took the reins from his hands.

“Miss?”

“If I walk in front of them for a bit, maybe they’ll get back to normal.” Before he could say anything, I pulled the reins and took a step forward. With a last set of whinnying, the horses began moving once more.

The pathway became more difficult to traverse, with stones that had to be chucked and snow in thick mounds that made me wince as the wheels crunched through them.

I could not help gazing around me in awe.

I’d never seen such whiteness, and, in all honesty, I felt unnerved; a trickle of hot fear tickled down my arms and legs. There were no bird cries of any sort; the only sound was the muffled hooves of the steaming beasts behind me. With a start, I realized why the path was so difficult to move through: it was untrodden. No one had passed that way since the last snowfall, at least two days ago. No one had entered or left the vicinity of Rosewood Manor.

I turned my head to Mr. Keery, who walked next to the horses, his eyes never straying too far from his feet. In the harsh and icy daylight, he looked even worse than the day before. His complexion would have been ruddy in better conditions, but at the moment, he looked like a slab of cold cheese, pockmarked and sagging. Once in a while, he muttered to himself in a string of sounds I could not catch. He grimaced and jerked under the weight of his own words.

I shivered, turning my eyes back to the road. The horses had not stopped again, and we were making good time. By my calculations (which could have been off by a whole day for all I knew of countryside traveling), we would be at the manor in an hour or so. I hoped the people at Rosewood had had the sense to set water boiling for baths, because I did not want to meet my employer with streaks of salt decorating my hems.

Half an hour later, the trees seemed to have bowed and scurried apart. A narrow track opened up underneath our feet.

“We’re near.” Mr. Keery’s voice made me jump after the thin crust of silence that had covered us for so long.

The trees somehow looked darker, more imposing, yet crooked and hunchbacked, their bare arms stretched in supplication.

Stop that
, I told myself.
They are just ordinary trees
.

“Do you think we can get back on the coach now? I would hate to arrive like this at the manor.” He looked at me as if he’d never seen me before. His mouth hung loose, an empty basket of bones and teeth. He took a deep breath and blinked.

“Oh, miss, I’m sorry, did you say something?”

I repeated my question and he eyed the horses.

“I doubt it, miss. These horses have never been outside Lord Grey’s grounds, so they are frightened. Rightly so.”

“They’ve never left the grounds? But surely your master has to run errands or the like.”

He shook his head. “No, miss, we are pretty isolated.”

I was starting to see that. The air was much cooler between the trees that fringed the road. Why would anyone choose to live here? Especially with the wealth Lord Grey apparently had? It made little sense.

The smell of roses lingered in the air, playing with the chilled breezes, floating toward and away from us as it chose. I had grown almost used to it.

Without fanfare, we maneuvered through an exhausted-looking, thick pair of trees and rounded on Rosewood Manor. My breath hitched in my lungs. The size of the place! It had at least four wings, chiseled columns, and a stone facade that was as frightening as it was sturdy. Yet nothing looked taken care of. Everything had a sheen of neglect that changed what could have been a beautiful place into a disquieting image that loomed before me as we walked.

And then, there were the roses. There’s never been a more appropriate name for a place than the name which crowned that manor. On either side, almost leading us, were rose bushes, their red flowers pooling petals on the snow like drops of blood. Underneath every window on the still distant house, I could spot more roses, all red and large. All perfectly timed and blooming in fragrant defiance of winter.

We stepped onto the final path which led straight to the front door and my knees buckled under the cloak of perfume that enveloped me. I hadn’t realized how affected I’d been. My head spun as if I’d had too much wine.

Mr. Keery gripped my arm to keep me upright.

“Welcome to Rosewood Manor,” he said.

SIX

They must have known we were arriving that day, and yet no one was at the door to receive us. I stood on the steps leading up to the entrance, trying to brush the winter off my clothes, unsure what I should do. I saw Mr. Keery grab the coach’s reins and start pulling the horses toward where I assumed the stables lay.

“Wait, sir, what am I supposed to do?”

He looked at me with the same shaken eyes. “Why, miss, go in.”