Forbidden (8 page)

I wondered. Was everyone in Brindle so pious? And so secretive?

“It does not look like a storm is approaching,” I said.

“Oh, yes. It will come this very night. Angus MacCormick has the weather sense. He is never wrong.”

“Did Angus MacCormick tell them of the distance . . . ? Are the men readying?” Mrs. Kitteridge asked.

I looked from one of them to the other. Did they enjoy storms? The men were readying for it. Boarding windows, perhaps, or checking roofs.

Esmeralda closed her eyes as if in despair. “Be quiet, Mrs. Kitteridge. You are altogether too talkative!” She gave me a turgid smile. “This small talk is meaningless and discourteous to you. I apologize for our rudeness. But you’d best be off, Mistress Josie. Remember me to your aunt and uncle.” She turned her shoulder on me.

I had been dismissed.

CHAPTER NINE

I
HAD SEEN LITTLE MORE OF BRINDLE
than the main street and Jackdaws, but there was no time now.

I urged Dobbin to move a little faster as we made our journey back to Raven’s Roost. The morning had passed, Angus MacCormick had said a storm was coming, and he was never wrong. We were already into the afternoon. I was becoming more and more concerned that my aunt and uncle would have returned. And that the storm might come early.

“Go, Dobbin,” I told him, but he did not alter his gait.

As I bumped up and down on the narrow road, I tried to sort through what I had heard and seen in Brindle. How could a small town, perhaps even a village, have a shop such as Jackdaws? What of the shantung dress and other articles that were all “from the same source”? I had an uneasy feeling that I could not define. Mrs. Kitteridge had said too much, and I was “not yet family.” They need not be concerned. I had understood little of their conversation. There had been an air of secrecy about the two of them and about the town, an undertow of menace. And what about Eli Stuart? They wanted nothing but to be rid of him and could not manage it.

The Decree of Three. What was that?

The sun that had been shining was shining no longer. Dark clouds had gathered and hung heavy with rain.

I pushed my blue slippers deeper into my pocket to keep them dry. The trousers, I knew, would wash themselves in the rain.

The wind was gusting now, lifting the skirt of my frock, taking my breath from me. “Come on, Dobbin,” I urged. “Faster!”

Lamb obeyed my aunt Minnie, but Dobbin did not care what I wanted. We proceeded at our funereal pace.

The rain had started, pelting down in a slant that soon soaked me and the trousers I’d draped over the horse’s neck. I was almost glad to see the roof of Raven’s Roost, although I was not overjoyed to think of being inside again with Lamb for my only companion.

But when I reached the house, I found that I was not to be alone. My uncle Caleb came roaring out of the door.

“Where were you girl? Where did you go? Sleekiting around again, were you, sticking your nose into my business?” He was dressed in a warm coat and boots, and his hideous ears were hidden by a black knit cap, like a tea cozy.

“And taking Nag,” he spat.

I tried to give him stare for stare.

“Get down!” he ordered. “Get down and get in the house.”

I was aware of my wet dress clinging to me, exposing my undergarments again as I got both legs to the one side and slid off Dobbin’s back.

My uncle was glaring at my ankle. His eyes narrowed.

“What is that wrapping on your foot?”

“I met a woman who attended to my wound,” I said belligerently. Water dripped from me in a steady stream. I gathered my hair and wrung it out. “It was infected by Lamb’s bite. She applied a potion.”

My heart was beating too fast. He was in a rage.

“What woman? There is only one on Brindle Point who believes herself a healer.”

All my instincts urged me to be careful. “Mrs. Stuart. She was very kind.”

“Come ye inside, Caleb,” Aunt Minnie shouted. “You’ll get your death of cold.”

She stood in the doorway, one hand on Lamb’s head.

My uncle paid her no mind.

I was not prepared for the shout of anger that exploded from him.

“Mrs. Stuart, was it?” He grabbed my arm. “You stay away from her. And from her weasel of a grandson.” His face was so close to mine that his spittle sprayed across my face, and I could tell he was going to strike me.

I took a step back.

Lamb growled.

“Easy, Lamb!” my aunt called out. “Easy, Caleb. Remem- ber what we spoke about? Time will pass.”

It wasn’t hard to realize that they had no more desire to have me than I had to stay. But there was the monthly payment. And the promise of the hundred guineas. My stomach was snarled. I looked at my uncle, the terrible red of his face, the spittle on his lips, his harsh words. How was I to stay for two long years?

At my aunt’s shout, he let loose of my arm.

“I remember, woman,” he said. “But I will not hold my tongue. You are not to go near either one of them again, you hear?” he ordered me. “I forbid it.”

Even in the tension of the moment, the word
forbid
resonated in my mind. “He is forbidden.” Forbidden by my aunt and uncle?

I slid my hand into my pocket and clutched the blue slippers. “Uncle Caleb,” I said, fighting the irrational shake in my voice, “I appreciate that you and Aunt Minnie are sheltering me. But I do not take kindly to intimidation. It was not my father’s wish that you should rule over me when he arranged for me to be here and provided money for my keep. I do not expect you to be always affectionate toward me. However, I do not care for being ordered. We will live in better harmony if we treat one another with consideration.”

My uncle scowled. “Do not be impudent. You will come inside and put that saddle and bridle back where you found them.”

“You were in Jackdaws,” Aunt Minnie said. It was not a question but a statement. She nodded toward the trousers.

“Yes,” I said, and nothing more.

Dobbin stood, patiently waiting. I petted his nose, then led him again into the enclosure. The five hens were still there.

Though I was forced to hobble, neither my aunt nor my uncle helped me as I dragged the saddle and bridle and reins back to where they had been, even though I had to make two excursions into and out of the house. The only one who watched me was Lamb.

I had never been so wet or so cold. Shivers chased along my legs.

They were in the sitting room, which I had to pass through again to get to the stair. Aunt Minnie was at the table polishing the silver candlestick with a cloth dipped in white powder. She didn’t look up as she addressed me. “Did you make the acquaintance of the grandson while you were being attended to by Doss Stuart?”

“No,” I said. I had made the grandson’s acquaintance earlier, but I was not going to reveal that.

“Stay away from them,” she said.

“Why?”

“Because we say so. While you are in our house, you will do as you’re bid. Put those trousers by the fire to dry. There is porridge on the hob. Spoon yourself a bowlful and take it with you to your room. I will call you later.”

The trousers began to steam as the heat of the fire reached them.

Neither of them spoke as I fetched a bowl, filled it, and limped to the stair. My aunt handed me a lit candle in a tarnished holder.

“Josie?”

“Yes, Auntie?”

She turned from the table while I stood waiting for what was to come next. “Stay here.”

She opened the door to the storage room, disappeared, and came back with a dark garment, which she handed to me.

I shook it out. It was a thick jersey with a name in red stamped on the chest.
SEA URCHIN.

“It is oiled wool. If you are to work with us, you will need this to go along with the trousers.”

It will be easier if I accede to what they want,
I thought.
Time
will
pass. I need to remember that too.

“When will I go fishing with you?” I asked. “I know nothing about it, but I am willing to learn and to help.”

My uncle gave a short laugh.

My aunt’s eyes seemed to bore into me. “Not yet,” she said. “But soon.”

I felt that gaze on my back as I went up the stairs.

My dress was soaked, and so were my undergarments. I took them off and put on my nightdress, then tried on the jersey. It was immense, coming down to my knees. The sleeves hung over my hands. I rolled them up and already felt the warmth. Some sailor or fisherman had worn this before me.

I sat on the flowered quilt and took the slippers from the pocket of my dress, which lay in a clump on the floor. The blue silk of them was damp but not stained. I was inordinately relieved.

I slid my good foot into one of them. The candlelight shone on the beads so they twinkled when I moved. It fitted perfectly, like Cinderella’s slipper. Where was the prince? I did not like the image that sprang into my mind at the thought of the prince, so I shook my head and carried the slippers across to where my white muslin dress hung and set them beneath it.

I undid the bandage and examined my foot and ankle. It was not difficult to see that the wounds were already healing, thanks to Mrs. Stuart.

I sat then in my nightdress with the
SEA URCHIN
jersey on top and ate every drop of the porridge. It was still hot and deliciously salty. My fingers crept up under the wool jersey and found the opal pin at the neck of my nightgown. When my mother had given me this, she had expected that I would have a comfortable, happy life. “My beautiful girl,” she had called me.

I did not believe myself beautiful, though I was aware that my looks must be pleasing. It was not a knowledge I dwelled on. Since I was fourteen, boys and young men had clustered about me, being attentive, paying me awkward compliments. I was never sure I completely believed them.

“Your hair curls so becomingly! It is golden brown, the color of a new penny!” “I cannot describe the way I feel when I am with you. You are by far the most exquisite girl of my acquaintance!”

Their admiration embarrassed me, and sometimes, unfortunately, I would laugh at the wrong moment. Then I felt unkind, though I understood that my laughter came to cover my discomfort.

Did Eli Stuart think my appearance agreeable? Would I laugh if he told me so? I shook my head. What nonsense thoughts came into my head!

I discarded the jersey and crawled under the flowered quilt, my thoughts so muddled and on edge that I thought I would never sleep. But I did.

When I woke, it was completely dark. Rain slashed against the window, dropping noisily into the basin I’d emptied earlier. I could hear the thud of the surf on the beach and the rattle of the tree limbs outside my window.

I’d been told to wait for my aunt to call me, but I would not tarry.

I dressed again in dry clothes and went downstairs.

The fire had been restoked with turf, and it blazed and sparked in the hearth. An iron griddle was pushed to the side of the flames. My trousers gave off a not-unpleasant smell of drying cloth.

Lamb lifted his head to gaze at me, then slept again.

It was a homey scene and should have reassured me, but it did not.

My uncle sat on the wooden settle with the Bible in his hand. My aunt was mixing something in a brown bowl. She glanced at me. “I did not call.”

“No,” I said. “The rain is already filling up the basin.”

She worked the mixture into a ball with her hands, patted it down, and carried it to the griddle. I saw that it was to be a bannock.

My uncle’s lips moved as he read from the book.

I started again. “I was unable to sleep the first night. Shall I . . . ?

“Go outside. Get the bucket. Put it in place,” my aunt said, picking up bellows and blowing the turf embers so they flared. Yellow and orange smoke rose, then subsided.

“If the bucket fills, empty it and put it back. Sleep or not, whatever suits you.”

I wished I knew some curse words, but I did not. Behind her back, I childishly stuck out my tongue, then went outside as I was, without cloak or shawl.

The wind almost knocked me over. I staggered to where I remembered the pump to be, but there was no bucket beside it. Then I heard it trundling somewhere close where it had blown over and found it, guided only by the sound. How cozy the house looked with smoke curling wind-crooked from the chimney, the sitting room window pale and shining with candlelight. The appearance lied.

I turned from it and stood for a moment, staring down at the sea.

Monstrous black rollers rumbled in to smash on the sand and shingle. I saw the whites of them as they broke. Sand blew, stinging my face. I rubbed the rain from my eyes. Someone was walking on the beach close to the surf in the dark of the storm. I could not distinguish if it was man or woman, but there was an uneasy prickling at the back of my neck.

I hurried back to the house.

My uncle was reaching up to the small cupboard as I entered. I saw him lock it and drop what I took to be the key into the Toby Jug that sat close by it. He heard me at the door and swung around. “Dinner and prayers will be early tonight,” he said. “Your aunt and I have business. There will be men coming, men who are our . . .”

He seemed unable to find the word.

“Our associates.” Aunt Minnie supplied the word. She had her back to us as she turned the bannock on the griddle.

“Our associates will come,” he went on. “We will be busy with the fishing. You will remain in your room.”

Perhaps he did not know of the curiosity that was built into my character. Perhaps he did not remember that I had told him how I disliked being ordered.

“Is it not a bad night for the fishing?” I asked. “The sea is raging.”

My uncle suddenly grabbed my arm. “If you are to live with us, you will have to learn not to ask questions,” he growled.

“I apologize.” But I suddenly knew. They were not going fishing. They and their associates had other plans, and those plans were connected with the conversation between Esmeralda and Mrs. Kitteridge. Something was happening, something illicit, and I needed to know what it was. They would leave Lamb to guard me. Somehow I would deal with Lamb.