Ambergate (12 page)

“Now, let us exchange names.”

This was the hard part. “I am called by a nickname, Scuff,” I said in a small voice. In this beautiful room it seemed a silly,
inelegant name.

She smiled again. “Nothing more glamorous than ‘Scuff’? Perhaps we shall find something else that suits you better.”

“I am only a kitchen maid, Madam,” I muttered. “I am used to it.”

“Mine is Anora Drazel, though you may call me Anora, as my girls do.”

“Anora?” It was hard to get my tongue around it. “Your daughters call you that?” It seemed disrespectful, though it was a
pretty name, the prettiest I’d ever heard.

She had an unexpectedly deep laugh. “They are not my daughters. They are girls like you whom I’ve not had the
heart to turn away. They end up in Poorgrass for all kinds of reasons, and then they stay—they stay here with me.”

She smoothed the violet taffeta of her skirts. “In return for a bed and food, they help me. I don’t ask for money.”

“I’ve been a kitchen maid a good while,” I said. “I’m willing to do any housework you want in return for a bed tonight, and
perhaps”—I looked at the tin—“a few more biscuits.”

She gave her deep laugh again. “Indeed, you shall have more than a few biscuits! But I won’t ask you to work tonight. Tomorrow,
when you are rested, will be time enough. Besides,” she leaned forward again, her eyes on my face, “although a little housework
would be helpful, there is something else I require of you, if you are willing.”

“What is it?” I said, suspicious again.

“You may have seen the sign outside. This house was once an inn, but sadly rundown when I bought it. I have brought it up
in the world, thanks to the generosity of my dear departed husband. I now hold salons every week, Scuff. We have plenty of
rich merchants and seamen passing through, willing to spend money on entertainment.”

“Salons, Ma’am?” I said doubtfully.

“Anora, please. Salons are parties, with music and singing.”

“Your guests dare break the Curfew?” I said, wide-eyed, for all towns had a Curfew and it could mean arrest if the Lawman
found you out after dark.

She gave an elegant shrug. “The Lawman usually turns a blind eye to what goes on here. He knows my salons are much sought
after. My girls are a great attraction, you know.”

“Why, what do they do, Ma’am—Anora?”

She smiled. “Each has a special talent. I train them well.”

“I can sing a little,” I said. “I’ve never been trained, though.”

“You can sing? Excellent!” She clapped her hands together, more like a little girl than a grown woman; she had large hands,
with pointed nails that shone with a rusty glaze. “I knew as soon as I saw you that you would more than do.”

“Do for what?”

“Do as a replacement for poor little Sukey. She is unable to sing tomorrow. But you shall sing for us instead. You shall sing
for your supper!”

“I’m only singing one night, if you please, Ma’am. I must find my new employers.”

“Ah! Tomorrow is our most popular night in the week. Our guests will love you, I know it. Will you give me a verse now, so
I can hear your voice?”

I hesitated, but she smiled at me so encouragingly, I could not refuse to sing, although I had never felt less like doing
so. I gave her the first verse and chorus of “So Sing Success to the Weaver.” My voice shook a little.

“Charming,” she said at the end, and smiled her crooked smile. “You will do very well.”

She rose with a stiff rustle, and held out her hand. “Come, we shall find some supper for you. You shall meet the girls!”

I did not take her hand, but I picked up the box and, holding it fast to me, stood up unsteadily and followed her.

There were three girls in the paneled dining room: Connie, with her fair ringlets, and two dark-haired girls, one of them
around my age.

Madam Anora introduced me and told me their names, but what she said floated through my head. I merely noticed that the three
of them were beautifully dressed, had perfect table manners—“pleases” and “thank yous” forever on their lips—and that throughout
supper they did not stop staring at me, at my strange garb and ravenous eating.

A much older woman brought the food to us. She had a tired, sallow face, and was a housekeeper of sorts, I supposed, since
she wore a cap and apron. She carved our servings of roast beef onto plates of painted china; each place setting was laid
with silver cutlery, and she brought cut glass jugs of wine that she set down on the gleaming mahogany table.

Madam Anora’s late husband must have been wealthy indeed
, I thought, but I was too tired and hungry to dwell on it. I was now cautious enough, however, to drink only water.

I scarce listened to the conversation: gossip about gentlemen they knew. Everything Anora said was greeted by tiny shrieks
of laughter from the girls, who talked in high, affected little voices and giggled a good deal too much.

In the pointed golden flames of the candelabra, Madam Anora looked radiant, and not at all as if she were missing her late
husband. “I always insist the girls dress in their best for dinner, even if it is only the family present,” she said to me
during a lull.

“The family?” I said, bleary.

“I look on us as a little family, my dear—my girls and myself. Sometimes we entertain gentlemen, of course, especially before
one of our salons. But during the week we tend to be just the five of us together at supper, don’t we, girls?”

“Yes, Anora,” they chorused.

She put her hand to her mouth. “I was forgetting…” Her black eyes glittered with sudden tears. “Poor, dear Sukey—she is no
longer with us. But we have you instead, Scuff, a gift from the night.” She looked around at the girls, who had fallen silent
without her to lead them in conversation. They never talked amongst themselves, I noticed. “Scuff is to sing tomorrow evening
in place of Sukey.”

The three girls nodded at me, seemingly polite and interested now. I thought I saw a shadow pass over the face of the younger
dark-haired girl, but perhaps I had imagined it.

We had finished our apple pie. I laid my spoon down on the exquisite plate, which I had scraped clean.
In return for all this food
, I thought uneasily,
I must excel at singing tomorrow
.

When the nero leaf and liqueurs were brought around, Madam Anora frowned at the housekeeper. She spoke so harshly I felt sorry
for the poor woman. “Do you never remember that we must not indulge before a salon? Such ruination to our voices—our complexions…”

The housekeeper retreated with the silver tray, her face impassive. The girls barely glanced at each other, but I felt something
pass between them. We gazed silently at the table, laden with our empty plates.

“Forgive me, girls,” Madam Anora said, with a tiny yawn, patting her hand to her mouth. “I shall have an early night. Don’t
linger yourselves, for tomorrow is an important evening.” She dropped a kiss lightly on each girl’s head and swept to the
door. For a moment I thought she had forgotten me, but she glanced briefly at the younger dark-haired girl before she closed
the door behind her. “Becca, look after Scuff. She can have Sukey’s bed.”

The girls sat still and silent for a moment, and so did I, for I did not know what else to do. I thought they might be waiting
for the downtrodden housekeeper’s return. But then Connie nodded at Becca, and Becca jumped to her feet and darted to the
door and listened. “She has gone,” she whispered.

“Are you sure she doesn’t listen the other side?” said Connie, stretching languorously.

“She is too eager for her nero leaf,” said the other dark-haired girl, Rose, in a low voice. A subdued giggle went between
the two.

Becca looked frightened. “Oh, hush! She might come back.”

“Then we must do our duties,” said Connie, and the three of them began to drift around the table, passing cutlery to each
other with little smiles.

“Does the housekeeper come back for the dishes, or do we take them through to the kitchen?” I asked.

Connie looked nonplussed. “The housekeeper? Oh, you mean Anora’s mother, old Ma Drazel.” She gave a giggle behind her hand
at my surprise. “She’ll be looking after Anora
now—she’ll put her to bed.” She looked sideways at the other girls, but they did not meet her eyes.

I stood, uncertain, while they floated about, loading trays with the used china, wiping the table, snuffing out the candelabra.
It took a long while.

“Can I help?” I said.

“Oh, no,” said Connie. “Anora likes it just so, in case we have gentlemen staying for a late dinner tomorrow night. You would
not know what to do.” She lifted the bowl of fruit to the sideboard and dreamily checked its position between two silver candlesticks.

“She should learn, though,” said Rose. She had long black eyes and a face like pale, carved wood. “She will need to help in
the future.”

“I am not staying long,” I explained. “I will be leaving the morning after the salon.”

All three girls looked at me in astonishment. “No one leaves here once they have come, unless Anora wants them to do so,”
said Connie primly.

“Is that what happened to Sukey?” I asked.

There was a pause. They seemed taken aback, then Becca and Rose looked at Connie, who appeared to be the leader of the three.
“Anora wanted Sukey to leave—yes,” said Connie. “Once she was ill, she was not so popular at our salons anymore, you see—she
didn’t bring in so many gentlemen.”

“We bring lots,” said Becca, nodding her head like a jack-in-the-box.

“Our singing is most excellent, is it not?” said Rose, with
her faint exotic accent, and the three of them smiled reassuringly at each other.

I looked from one complacent face to another, the three of them determinedly happy.

“But you could leave if you wanted to?” I asked uneasily.

Connie looked blank. “Why should we want to? The salons bring in money and we have our share.” She nudged Rose and giggled.
“And then in return for a little kiss or two the gentlemen give us tips. And where else would we be clothed and fed so well?”

“We’d be out wandering the dark streets, homeless, like Sukey is now,” said Becca, shuddering. “Like we all were once, before
Anora rescued us.”

“Dear Anora,” said Connie fondly.

“Dear Anora,” echoed the other two.

Then they turned their attention to me. “Scuff—that’s an odd name,” said Connie, wrinkling her little nose.

“I wonder what name it is that Anora will give you,” mused Rose. “She has given us all new names, you know. Miss Constance,
Miss Rebecca and Miss Rosamunda.” The three of them curtseyed in turn and simpered at an imaginary audience. There was something
grotesque about the way they did it: they reminded me of three overdressed, overlarge puppets.

Connie straightened and shook out her skirts languidly. “I scarcely remember my real name,” she murmured.

“I would not know where to go if Anora sent me away,” said Rose.

“But she will not do that, will she?” said Becca, anxious again. “Turn us out?”

Connie and Rose turned to her at once and draped their arms about her. “No, no, of course not, little one—not if we don’t
give her any reason to do such a thing,” and then they all smiled and murmured sweetly at each other again.

It seemed that our duties were done in the dining room, and that Ma Drazel would return to take the dishes down to the kitchen
to wash them.

“We should go to bed now,” said Connie, yawning. “You know what Anora said.”

They nodded at each other, and in what appeared to be a nightly ritual, each took a candle from the candelabra on the table.
There was one left, I noticed. “You may take Sukey’s candle, Scuff,” said Connie, and she presented it to me with a little
flourish, as if it were a gift. Then they kissed each other most affectionately, as if they were indeed sisters, and filed
out.

In the hall Becca noticed I had picked up my box. “Leave it,” she whispered. “You must leave it for Anora. She takes all our
things when we first arrive.”

I gripped it more firmly. “She’ll not take this,” I said, and refused to be swayed by her pleading face.

She led me up the curving staircase, a finger pressed to her lips lest I should talk on the way up and disturb Anora, whose
bedchamber was on the first floor. On my journey through the silent house I saw dark bedchambers beyond open doorways, but
our chamber was on the top floor, a room within the attics. It was furnished adequately enough and without the damp chill
of Murkmere, but after the luxury of the downstairs rooms I was surprised.

I looked at the two narrow little beds either side of the empty fireplace, each neatly made and spread with a counterpane
of bleached wool on which lay a folded nightgown and a woolen wrap. There were two empty china candlesticks on the mantel,
waiting for our lighted candles, two chairs with rush seats, a jug and two washing bowls, two prayer mats side by side on
the floorboards.

I stowed my box beneath the bed that Becca indicated, and she handed me the nightgown, shaking it out for me as if expecting
me to wear it. The fine cambric was crumpled and had a faint odor, a sweet-sour girl smell.

The cupboard was crammed with dresses, all as fine as the one Becca was wearing. “Did Sukey not take her clothes?” I asked,
climbing reluctantly out of my skirt, but keeping my chemise and drawers on so I did not have to wear Sukey’s nightgown next
to my skin.

“They didn’t belong to her by rights,” said Becca, pulling her nightgown over her head. “You’ll wear them now. Anora will
get rid of your old clothes.”

“I don’t want that,” I said, removing a hairbrush so that I could pile my clothes together on one of the chairs; the hairbrush
had long curly brown hairs caught in the bristles. “I don’t mind wearing one of those gowns for the salon, but I want to keep
my own clothes.”

“Oh!” she said, and sat down on her bed, chewing her lip and staring at me. Her eyes brimmed with tears that shone in the
candlelight.

“What is it?” I said gently, for everything seemed to upset the poor creature. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”