The Legacy (52 page)

Authors: Katherine Webb

BOOK: The Legacy

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“The new girl, madam,” Mrs. Bell announces, after a short knock.

“Thank you, Mrs. Bell. Do come in, Cat,” Hester says, warmly; then hesitates. Cat Morley looks little more than a child. For a second, Hester thinks there’s been a mistake. The girl is barely five feet tall, and has the fragile, bony look of a bird. Her shoulders are narrow, her hands and feet tiny. Her hair, which is almost true black, has been cut off short. It grazes her ears in a most unladylike fashion. Cat has pinned the front of it back from her forehead, which only makes her look more like a schoolgirl. But as the girl approaches the desk, Hester sees that there is no mistake. Her face is narrow, the chin pointed and sharp, but there are smudges beneath her eyes, and a crease between her brows that speaks of experience. Cat regards Hester with such a level stare, her brown eyes unflinching, that Hester feels uncomfortable, almost embarrassed. She glances at Mrs. Bell as the housekeeper leaves the room, and understands from her pinched lips exactly what the woman thinks of this new appointment.

“Well,” Hester says, flustered. “Well, do sit down, Cat.” The girl perches on the edge of the carved chair opposite her as though she might fly away at any moment. “I’m very pleased you’ve made the journey safely.” She had prepared, in her head, what she would say to the girl to put her at her ease, and to show what a kind and calm and Godly household she had found herself in, but it has got scattered in her head by the shock of the girl’s appearance, and now she can’t think what she wanted to say. “I’m sure you’ll be very happy here,” she tries. Cat blinks, and although her face does not move, and she does not speak, Hester gets the distinct impression that the girl doubts this last statement. “Gracious! I have never seen hair cut in such a style as yours! Is it all the fashion, in London? Am I terribly behind the times?” Hester bursts out. Her own hair is her crowning glory. It is light and full and soft, and gathers into a bouffant high on her head each morning as if it knows exactly what it is doing.

“No, madam,” Cat says quietly, never once breaking off her gaze. “My hair was always long, before. I was forced to cut if off after my time . . . my time of incarceration. It became terribly infested with lice.”

“Oh! Lice! How dreadful!” Hester exclaims, horrified. Her hands fly to her scalp as if to protect it, and she leans away from the desk involuntarily.

“They are quite gone now, I assure you,” Cat says, the hint of a smile ghosting across her lips.

“Well, that’s good. Yes. Well, now. I am sure Mrs. Bell has told you your duties, and do please look to her for guidance in all matters regarding your work. You will be expected to rise at half past six and be ready to start work at seven, but you probably won’t be the first person about—my husband has a great love of walking and nature, which he is particularly able to indulge at sunrise. He will often have risen and gone out before you come down, so don’t be alarmed if you encounter him very early in the day. He does not expect breakfast to be ready before his walks. You may consider yourself at liberty between the hours of three and five o’clock in the afternoon, with the exception of the tea, provided that all your duties have been carried out to Mrs. Bell’s satisfaction.” Hester pauses, and looks up at Cat Morley. The girl’s level gaze is unnerving. There is something behind her dark eyes that Hester has never seen before, and can’t decipher. The shifting outline of something strange, something unpredictable.

“Yes, madam,” Cat says, eventually, and quite tonelessly.

“Cat—your proper name is Catherine, isn’t it? I wonder that you mightn’t like to be called Kitty? A new name for a new start? I think it would suit you very well.” Hester smiles.

“I have always been Cat, never Kitty,” Cat says, puzzled.

“Yes, I see; but don’t you think Kitty would be better? What I mean to say is, you can leave all that old trouble behind with the old name? Do you see?” Hester explains. Cat seems to consider this, and her eyes grow hard.

“I have always been Cat,” she insists.

“Very well, then!” Hester cries, at a loss. “Is there anything you would like to ask me?”

“Only to say, madam, that I am not able to wear corsets. The doctor has told me, after my illness, that it would put too great a strain on my chest.”

“Really? That is a terrible shame. Of course, you must do what is best for your health, even if some might consider it improper. Is the condition likely to improve? Do you think you’ll be able to wear them at some time in the future?”

“I cannot tell you,” Cat replies.

“Well, we shall see when the time comes. Cat, I want you to know . . .” Hester hesitates. Somehow the words she had prepared seem almost silly now that she is face to face with the girl. “I want to tell you that it won’t be held against you, here. Your . . . past troubles. In this house you have the chance to start afresh, and live a clean, Godly life. My husband and I have always said that charity is the greatest of virtues and begins at home. I hope you will find us true to our philosophy.” Again, that disconcerting pause, that immobile expression. A small shiver runs down Hester’s spine, and the skin of her scalp tingles unpleasantly—just like it does when she finds a black spider hiding in the folds of her bedroom curtains.

“Thank you, madam,” Cat says.

Hester feels considerably more at ease once Cat Morley has gone back below stairs to help Mrs. Bell prepare the tea. The girl had an odd air about her, as though she were distracted by something, some unnatural urge perhaps. Hester assures herself that this is unlikely, but she can’t quite shake the feeling. Cat did not drop her gaze as she ought. Well, not as she ought, precisely, but as one might expect her to. She was so tiny and weak looking, it was easy to imagine her frightened of the least little thing. Hester takes up her needlepoint bag, and the fresh frame she stretched only yesterday, ready to begin a new piece. She thinks for a moment, and then smiles. A gift, for the girl who insists on being called Cat. What could better demonstrate her good will? She rummages through her bag and chooses threads of green, blue and saffron yellow. Fresh colors for a fresh new season. Hester hums happily as she begins to prick out her design, and when Cat Morley brings in the tea tray she thanks her kindly, and tries not to notice the way the sinews stand raw and proud beneath the skin on the back of Cat’s hands.

About the Author

K
ATHERINE
W
EBB
was born in 1977 and grew up in rural Hampshire, England. She studied history at Durham University, has spent time living in London and Venice, and now lives in Berkshire, England. Having worked as a waitress, au pair, personal assistant, potter, bookbinder, library assistant, and formal housekeeper at a manor house, she now writes full-time.

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Credits

Cover design by Amanda Kain

Cover photograph © Heather Evans Smith/Trevillion Images

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

THE LEGACY. Copyright © 2011 by Katherine Webb. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

EPub Edition SEPTEMBER 2011 ISBN: 9780062077318

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Webb, Katherine, 1977–

The Legacy / Katherine Webb.

p. cm.

ISBN 978-0-06-207730-1 (pbk.)

1. Sister—England—Fiction. 2. Families—England—Fiction. 2. Country homes—England—Fiction. 4. Great-grandmothers—Fiction. 5. Family secrets—Fiction. 6. Domestic fiction. 7. Psychological fiction.I. Title.

PR6123.E228L45 2011

823’.92—dc22

2011005985

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

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