Victorian Adventurer


Victorian Adventurer


Victorian Adventurer

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The last of the day’s sunlight slipped into the sky as I pulled up outside my cottage in a carriage. The coachman opened the door for me and handed me down out of it; his eyes glittered with curiosity when he saw me, but I did not pause to speak to him.

I knew why he had looked at me so curiously: I was wearing a new gown, the latest fashion in which to be fashionable, with a stiff, tight-fitting bodice and a full skirt that fell all the way below my knees. A long cloak covered both the dress and my bare arms, while the cape hid whatever was beneath my hair and hat—and the hat was a simple one, no lace or feathers about it.

I walked straight through the front door of my home without speaking and took a candle from its sconce on the wall to light by; once I had lit it, I stood there staring around the room. There was only one other thing that had changed since my last visit, though, and this I noted even as I stared in dismay at the sight of it. My mother lay on her bed, unmoving as if she were asleep still.

There wasn’t much of her left now, just bone and skin and flesh. Her face was pale and thin as wax, and I could see through it into her skull like looking down a hole. I shuddered involuntarily and turned away before I could make myself look more closely.

I didn’t want to think about what had happened to her; if she weren’t dead, perhaps I would have felt better about her fate, but it seemed too horrible an idea to consider. No, if my mother wasn’t dead then it must mean something had taken her life from her in some way.

But what? I asked myself desperately as I moved across the room toward her. What had done this to her? Why was she lying here so still, with her eyes closed, her body as cold as a corpse? I reached out and touched her cheek, and she made no sound at all.

If she could hear me, why wouldn’t she respond? I pressed a hand over her mouth gently. Nothing. She hadn’t been breathing either; perhaps the spell was gone. But that was the worst of it; I realized then that she might never open those eyes again, never speak to me. It seemed impossible that such a thing could happen.

I sank down onto the bed beside her, my heart beating rapidly against my ribs. I wanted nothing more than for my mother to wake up and smile at me, to ask me how I liked her new gown; we had been together for so many years that the sight of her always cheered me.

When I was younger and had thought less clearly, she used to tell me stories, teach me things that she had learned herself, or listen to me talk about whatever had caught my interest. We had spent countless hours together in this very room until she had finally fallen ill with a fever and I’d sent word for Doctor Diggory to come and take care of her.

And when he had pronounced her fit enough to be brought home, I had stayed to nurse her as best I could; she had been so grateful to have someone there to keep her company. It wasn’t as if I couldn’t do the work well enough; Mother was a good cook and housekeeper. I should have been happy to be able to spend time with her. Perhaps I was happier than anyone else in the world.

But then it became harder and harder to stay at home, knowing that I might find her like this, lying motionless upon her bed. So I left the cottage whenever I needed to go somewhere, and told her I was going into town to buy supplies or to pay a visit to someone I knew, or any number of things that seemed acceptable excuses for not being with her constantly.

I didn’t want to see her like this, with her mouth agape and her eyes fixed open, as if she were sleeping; I had seen corpses lying in their caskets, and they were different somehow from a woman who lived in this house and breathed with the rest of us. It was hard for me to imagine what it was that had killed my mother.

“What are you doing?” I jumped in surprise at the sound of my brother’s voice. The door leading into the kitchen stood open, and he stood framed within it, staring at me with wide eyes. I hadn’t heard him coming up behind me, and I had no idea how long he had been standing there.

“I’m trying to decide what to do,” I said carefully. “Is there anything to eat? Or water? I haven’t eaten since lunch.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know,” he replied vaguely. He was wearing his usual clothes: breeches and tunic and cloak, his boots, which had begun to show signs of wear. As he approached me, I saw he carried another pair of them in his hands. They were new. “Didn’t Father say anything to you?”

I shook my head, and then stopped myself from saying no because it was the truth, although I didn’t understand quite what he meant. Had my father mentioned something to my brother that he hadn’t spoken of to me?

“It was after you left today,” he continued, frowning. His eyes darted back and forth between mine. “We found Mama dead in the garden when we went out this morning to look for some flowers to put in her hair.”

“She did?” I stared at him, unable to believe it. That couldn’t possibly have been true. There was no possible way that she could have died while I was out running errands—there were two of us now, and both of us would have noticed her death, even if one of us hadn’t rushed to fetch help first.

How could he possibly know something like that unless he had actually seen her die? But he didn’t seem upset or frightened or even particularly surprised. In fact, his face looked oddly blank; as if he weren’t certain exactly what to think. Maybe I was imagining it.

“Father wants us to leave the village right away before people begin asking questions. Do you mind leaving the cottage empty? I mean, it won’t need tending, will it?” He sounded uncertain, but I nodded anyway.

It occurred to me suddenly that he had only just returned himself; he had probably come straight here and was wondering why I wasn’t there. He was supposed to be looking for me as soon as he got home.

“Yes, I’ll do it. Thank you.”

“There are things in the pantry—” I said hastily, but he waved my words away. “Oh, never mind; we can get what we need from the town. What shall we do with her?” he asked again, his brows furrowing. “If we’re to go right away…”

“Do we have to leave her alone all night? Can we bring her inside?”

My brother looked at me curiously. “I thought you wanted to leave her in the garden.”

That made sense, in a way, but there were several problems with that plan. One: the weather was still cool enough that it wasn’t comfortable sleeping outside in the ground, and even with our warm cloaks, it wouldn’t be safe; the ground could freeze at night and we’d wake up shivering.

Two: it would take hours to dig a grave deep enough for her and fill it with earth, and if anyone came by during the day or early evening, we’d be vulnerable to discovery. And three: if we brought her inside, she could be stolen or sold.

We could easily lose everything we owned if someone decided to make use of an unguarded corpse. Even if we took the precaution of moving her indoors, though, no one would suspect foul play. The villagers might not know where the family had gone off to, but surely everyone would assume that a daughter of Lord and Lady Koth fell ill and died.

No one would ever guess at a murderer hidden in their midst.

“I want to bring her inside,” I told him firmly. “And I don’t want to move her, either.”

The last thing I needed was for someone to realize they’d seen the body lying there the previous day. I wanted the villagers to think that she had died of natural causes. “We have to bury her tonight,” I continued grimly. “I don’t trust anyone to find a good place to hide her until tomorrow.”

“All right,” my brother acquiesced. “But I think I need to clean her up a little before we try to take her back into the house.”

“What?” I looked down at her pale face. She looked much better than the first time I saw her, but she was still so pale that her skin looked translucent, and her hair had lost its shine. Her dress was in tatters and stained; I couldn’t imagine that the smell of blood or rot wouldn’t attract animals, especially given how far away we were from any trees or other cover.

And her hands… I felt a sudden surge of revulsion for them as if I had done something very wrong; I tried to force the feeling away.

“It’s nothing,” he assured me. “Just… well…” He gestured vaguely, and then abruptly stood up and walked away into the house, leaving me staring after him. I watched him through the door for several minutes, wondering what he was doing, and finally, I followed him in.

He had gone back to the room I’d occupied before; his bed, the one I had shared with Father the last few days, was neatly made, though I saw no sign of anyone else in the room. I went over to him, and saw that he had a candle lit and held it so that he could see the body lying on the floor.

It appeared to be a woman in her early twenties, though I couldn’t tell who she was or anything about her. I was about to say something when I heard the sound of voices approaching.

I looked around for somewhere to hide, but there was nowhere; the only door was closed, and we’d left it open earlier because of the cold, and there was a large wardrobe blocking the entrance to the next room. It was too late for stealth; whoever was coming would be able to hear us. I glanced nervously at my brother, but he didn’t seem alarmed. In fact, he seemed almost excited.

“They’re here!” he exclaimed softly. “Quick, let’s hide her!”

I hurried forward, crouching down beside him. I could hardly believe my eyes when I realized who he meant to put her in—my old bed! I stared at him, incredulous. This was a bad idea. My father had made his bed himself, and I hadn’t been in that room since we moved out and it became our guest room.

Someone had probably slept in this bed recently, and whoever it was had certainly made the most of it. There was no way that any woman, no matter how innocent, could have remained completely untouched in this room. The thought chilled me, despite the fire crackling cheerfully near my feet.

“There has to be another room,” I protested, trying to get him to turn and flee for another room, but he ignored me. Before I knew what he intended, he had taken a handful of sheets from the bed and stuffed them underneath the body of the girl.

As he did so, he murmured a prayer under his breath, though I couldn’t catch all the words; it sounded like a prayer to me that he was making for protection against evil spirits. At least we were certain to be safe from those, I hoped fervently.

My brother lifted one end of the mattress carefully off the wooden bed frame and carried it toward the door, while I grabbed the other side and pulled. We dragged it over to the door of the next room, which opened onto the main room, and pushed it into place.

When we were finished, we both stood back, watching the door for any sign of anyone walking by outside; there was no moon, and it was too dark to see anything outside the room, though my eyesight wasn’t particularly keen; even a torch-bearing soldier could sneak past without being noticed if they were careful.

I turned back to look at the body again; she lay there, motionless, covered up except for her head, with her hair spilling over her face; I reached out hesitantly to pull the sheet over her, but my brother waved me away, whispering a quick prayer to make sure that she wouldn’t rise up at any moment and kill us.

I nodded and backed away slowly, looking over my shoulder every few seconds to be absolutely certain that nobody had seen us come into the house; I couldn’t bear the idea that we might be discovered now. Once we were safely out of sight of the door, I hurried to the window and peered out.

Nobody was moving; I breathed a sigh of relief. Then, as quietly as possible, I climbed over the sill and slid down the wall to land on the ground, where I ran over to the nearest bush, which thankfully was nearby.

If someone came around the house, they would surely search until they found us if they knew we were there; the only question was whether they had any reason to believe we weren’t already gone, or if they had some other task to accomplish.

I doubted very much that they would leave the house unguarded after we disappeared, not after we’d broken in, but there was no way of knowing. For a long time, I waited, breathing heavily from fear, and listening for sounds of movement from beyond the walls.

There was nothing. Slowly, I crept along, keeping to the bushes as much as I dared. After what seemed like an eternity, I emerged from behind the bush, still looking all around cautiously for signs that anybody had spotted me. All the houses in the neighborhood looked the same.

I took a deep breath and hurried through the street. My hands were shaking, though I tried desperately not to show it; I didn’t want to alarm my brother, especially considering that he seemed determined to take care of everything himself. He didn’t need me. He needed to stay hidden until we were ready to escape. It was my job to get rid of the body.

It felt like we walked forever before we reached our destination, a small cottage on the outskirts of town. A young man sat outside the front door, playing an instrument that was like the flute, but smaller; his fingers danced lightly over the keys of his instrument, filling the air with music. He looked up when I approached him, smiling shyly. I smiled back.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you,” I said gently. “May I ask what that is?”

“A lute,” he told me proudly. “I’ve been learning how to play it lately.” His name was Kjartan; his mother worked with mine, so we sometimes saw each other at market, though we weren’t friends, just acquaintances. I wondered if his father was as musically inclined.

He had a sweet smile, like his son’s; perhaps his wife was pretty. I wondered what her husband thought about him coming home from work and sitting on the stoop with his lute instead of helping her at their stall.

I smiled again, politely, hoping Kjartan wouldn’t think me rude; he was very polite for a boy his age. “It sounds beautiful,” I told him. “You have talent.”

He shrugged modestly. “Thank you. I suppose so.”

I frowned suddenly; something was wrong. Something was horribly wrong. The way his voice sounded; something about the rhythm of his movements as he plucked his strings… My stomach fell to my feet. “What happened?” I asked quietly.

His smile faded immediately. “Who are you talking to?” he demanded, standing up quickly. “Did your mother send you to find me? I don’t know who this is!”

I blinked in surprise. “I…” I stopped, realizing how foolish I must sound; I shook my head slightly and continued, more loudly: “I’m sorry to bother you; I was looking for a friend of mine, and I saw your lute. He told me that he played the lute,” I lied, feeling sick to my stomach. “Is this the lute he plays?”

Kjartan looked at me strangely. “This is a lute?” he echoed, incredulous. “Are you sure?”

I nodded quickly, trying to hide my embarrassment. “Yes! He wanted me to bring it to you, he can’t remember exactly where you live; he has trouble remembering things,” I explained apologetically. “Do you know which house it belongs to?” I added.

Kjartan stared at me for a moment longer, then laughed. “Well, well,” he mused. “You’re right! You are lucky enough to find my home,” he said sarcastically, shaking his head. “And now you’ll have to go in and tell them that there’s a strange young lady waiting for me inside,” he went on, looking down at me with amusement. “That will certainly make an impression.”

“I’m so sorry,” I told him quickly, trying to keep a straight face. “I wasn’t expecting to see your home, I just saw the lute in the street, and—that’s why I stopped to talk to you. But if you really don’t mind, I would love to take your lute with me, to give to my friend,” I promised him, thinking fast.

“He doesn’t have one. And I have no money. I’m sure he’d be happy to pay you, I’ll ask him myself,” I offered, trying hard not to look too desperate. “Or maybe my father—”

The front door flew open suddenly. A woman appeared; she was short and stocky, with dark hair tied into a bun at the back of her head. She wore a white dress with lace and ruffles, and her expression was furious. “Don’t you dare!” she snapped angrily.

Her eyes darted between us and Kjartan’s lute, then fixed on me, narrowing dangerously. “Where did you get this from?” she demanded.

“I found it on the street,” I said carefully. “Someone might have dropped it. Or someone could have stolen it,” I suggested hopefully. If anyone had actually stolen it… well, I didn’t want to think about it.

She stared at me silently for a moment, then snorted. “I don’t believe you,” she said sharply. “It belonged to my nephew. It was supposed to be safe in my home, and it’s gone now because you took it and brought it here to try to trick me out of it.”

I swallowed, suddenly terrified. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “Please don’t tell my father,” I pleaded quickly. “My mother would be upset if I lost this opportunity—”

“Don’t worry about my brother,” she said bitterly. “No one tells me what to do anymore except my husband and my son.”

Her husband strode out onto the porch, frowning angrily. He was tall and muscular, with blond hair cropped close to his scalp, and a square jaw. He glared at both of us, but it was his wife who spoke first. “How dare you come here and try to steal our son’s lute?”

“I’m sorry,” I stammered again. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. Please, please don’t tell Father—”

“If we catch you near my house again, you’re going to wish you’d never been born,” she threatened me coldly, pointing a finger at me as though I were some sort of rodent. “Now get away from here, or I swear by Odin you won’t see the light of day ever again!”

The End

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