The Night Gardener (21 page)

The first trick was getting hold of the key, which was kept in a drawer in Mistress Windsor’s vanity. Molly went to the bedroom, not even bothering to shut the door behind her. She opened the top drawer of the table. Inside lay a jumble of silk scarves along with a black lacquered jewelry box. The ornate box had once held a place of privilege atop Mistress Windsor’s dresser. But apparently, now divested of its jewels, the woman preferred not to look at it. Behind the box, hidden safely beneath the drawer lining, was the key.

Molly grabbed the key, careful not to disturb anything else in the drawer. She was about to slide it back, when her hand brushed against the jewelry box. The box, which had been lying on a scarf, fell to one side with a rattling sound.

Molly paused, looking at the box. She had assumed it was empty,
but now she was unsure. Perhaps Mistress Windsor
had
been getting more jewelry and wanted to keep it secret. Molly reached out and gently lifted the lid. The box contained several rings, all of them identical to the one Constance wore. Molly stared at the rings, each adorned with a pale blue stone.

“You can imagine how it looks,” said a voice behind her, “to find a servant rooting through one’s private things.”

Molly slammed the lid shut and spun around. Mistress Windsor stood in the doorway. The woman’s eyes were red—either from wine or crying or both.

“I’m sorry!” Molly said, dropping the key into her pocket. “I was only … I thought the box might need dusting.” Then, “It was curiosity, nothin’ more.”

The woman raised her eyebrows. “Go on, then.” She took a step closer. “Satisfy your curiosity.”

It felt like a trap, but Molly did as she was told. She lifted the lid of the box and looked at the rings—a half dozen of them—all with identical pale blue stones. “They’re all the same, mum?”

“Very nearly. Each band is a little smaller than the last.” She felt Constance step behind her. “They’re beautiful, no?”

Molly stared at the pale stones twinkling in the shadows. “I suppose, but—” She stopped herself from speaking before she said something she would regret.

“Speak your mind,” Constance said. “I’d prefer it to your glowering.”

Molly sighed. She fixed her eyes on the woman, unable to hold back. “Your family has no money for food or coal or clothes, and here you are hoardin’ up diamonds like King Solomon.”

“Diamonds?” A smile played on the edge of her lips. “Is that what you think those are?” She held out her hand, showing the ring on her finger. “Is that what you think
this
is?”

Molly set her jaw, her cheeks flushing. How was she supposed to know about kinds of jewels?

“You think me a terrible, vain woman, don’t you?” She examined the stone on her finger. “This
diamond
is quartz. The band is more nickel than silver. Most women in my position would be mortified at the thought of wearing such a thing in public.”

“But not you?” Molly said.

“But not me.” Constance smiled, her eyes still on the jewel. She sighed or shivered; Molly couldn’t quite tell. “When I met Bertrand—when I met Master Windsor—he had nothing. He was a clerk with no family or title or prospects. Not the sort of match my family approved of.”

Molly folded her arms. “So you grew up rich.”

“I’m not asking for sympathy,” Constance said. “But I should think you might appreciate what it means to lose one’s home.” She gave Molly a meaningful look. “I married Master Windsor against my family’s wishes. When they learned of it, they cast me out, revoked my inheritance, and never spoke to me again. On the day of our ceremony, Master Windsor gave me this ring—it was all he could afford. But for
me, it was more than I could have hoped for.” The woman rotated the ring, which was loose on her thin finger. “And to this day, every time I put it on my finger, I can remember him—both of us—the way we used to be.”

The woman loosed a trembling breath. “It’s obvious that you have some idea of this house.” She eyed the walls as if they might collapse in on her. “But please don’t presume to have any idea of our lives.”

Molly stared at the woman. She thought of what she had seen weeks before on the driveway. Master Windsor had taken the ring off his wife’s finger to pawn it for money—money to pay off debts he had incurred. She felt a chilling sense of guilt. “But why do you need so many of ’em?” she said, indicating the box.

Constance took a deep breath and exhaled. Molly almost thought she could see her breath against the light from the hall. “Much as I might wish to hold on to the past—I find it ever slipping away.” She held up her hand, thin fingers outstretched. The ring slipped over her knuckle and fell to the floor with a dead
clink
.

“It don’t fit no more?” Molly looked from the ring to the woman, who appeared so much frailer than when she had first met her. Like a thing wasting away.

“So it seems.” Constance gave a bitter smile. “I suppose I shall have to get another.” She held out her bony white hand. “I’ll have that key now.”

olly stood in the middle of Penny’s bedroom. “Miss Penny?” she said, her voice rising.

“I won’t drink it!” the girl shouted. “You can’t make me!” The girl was presently on her bed—not
in
her bed but standing atop it, each foot planted on a pillow, her back pressed against the wall.

Molly sighed. In her hand was a spoon filled with some blackish liquid that smelled bitter like alcohol. It had been supplied by a doctor who had come to check up on the family earlier that week. Molly had learned only that morning, when she saw the bottle untouched, that Penny had been lying about taking it. “Doctor Crouch said you have to drink this every night before bed.” She took a step closer. “It’s just a little spoonful.”

“I won’t! I won’t! I won’t!” Penny leapt to the floor, keeping the bed between herself and the spoon. “Alistair said it’s made from rat’s blood.”

“Rat’s blood?” Molly rolled her eyes. “And how would Alistair know that?”

The girl threw her arms out. “He’s
older
than me … Older people know all sorts of things!”

Molly nodded, conceding the point. “I’m older than your brother, and I say it’s
not
rat’s blood. And the doctor—why, he’s older than all of us put together.” She sat down on the edge of the bed, catching a glimpse of herself in the dark window. She tucked a loose strand of hair under her cap. “Now, why don’t you tell me what’s really troublin’ you?”

The girl worked her lips together, making her face very small. “I don’t want us to be sick,” she said, her voice low.

Molly looked at the girl’s face, so pale in the lamplight. She thought of the portrait downstairs—how many times she had seen it and wondered at how the family was changing. “Miss Penny, just ’cause you don’t want to believe a thing doesn’t mean it’s not true. If you’re sick, this medicine is the way to get better. Besides, I was in the room when the doctor looked at you. He said it was just a touch of fever—”

“He said he didn’t know
what kind
of fever. That means it could be anything!” She climbed back onto the bed, approaching Molly. “It could be black death or scurvy or cholera or even exploding eyeball disease … Alistair told me about that one.”

Molly nodded gravely. “Well, if you think your eyeballs are gonna explode, please do it outside. I dinna want to clean up your sheets.” She smiled to show she wasn’t serious. Her gaze drifted to the small bookshelf along Penny’s wall, where she noticed a number of new
Princess Penny
books lining the bottom. She turned back to the girl. “Now, what do you think Princess Penny would do if she was faced
with a great, big, horrible spoon o’ medicine? You think she’d run away scared? Or would she take it all down with a hearty laugh and ask for more?”

Penny tugged at the end of her braid. “A hearty laugh,” she said. “But no seconds!”

Molly smiled. “Fair enough.” She slid the spoon into Penny’s mouth and removed it. “How was it?”

“It tastes …” The girl smacked her lips together. Her eyes went wide. “Like raspberry cordial!”

“Imagine that!” Molly stood and walked to the dresser. “Now, this bottle’s meant to last till the doctor comes back—so don’t you go stealin’ sips when I’m not lookin’.”

Penny sat up. “Aren’t you going to have any?”

“Oh, I dinna think the doctor’d like that, miss.” She set the spoon on a tray and replaced the cap on the bottle.

“Why not?” Penny said. “You’re sick, too.”

Molly put her hands on her hips, turning around. “So you’re a doctor now?”

“But you
are
,” Penny said. “Look there—in the window.”

Molly turned toward the glass, which was black against the night sky. She studied her reflection, and a chill skittered through her. She took an unsteady step backward, one hand at her neck. “Let’s get you tucked in …”

Molly barely remembered leaving Penny’s room. The next thing she knew, she was racing down the staircase, breathing fast.

Molly rushed into her bedroom and shut the door behind her. She wished she had a lock. With shaking hands, she took three candles from her nightstand and lit them. She needed light. She needed to be certain.

Molly slowly walked to her dresser, which had a cracked mirror mounted on its top. She didn’t want to look. But she knew she had to. She raised her eyes and stared at her reflection. “It canna be.”

The girl in the mirror looked like Molly, only
different
. Her skin was smooth. The freckles that Molly had inherited from her mother had all but faded away. She pinched her cheeks hard to make them blush, but they refused to change. She carefully unfastened her cap, letting her hair fall around her neck—

It was almost black.

She lifted a curl from her cheek, and the strands of hair broke away from her head, falling limp between her fingers like dead weeds. She flung them away, horrified. “No, no, no, no …” She braced herself against the dresser. Her whole body felt weak, like she might pass out.

Molly knew the change couldn’t have happened all at once. When had it started? Lately she had been so caught up with chores and letters from the tree that she could scarcely think of anything else. She thought of Kip and felt her stomach drop. He paid attention to things. He must have noticed the change—he probably saw it the moment it began. But if he had, why hadn’t he said anything?

Molly put on her coat, blew out the candles, and slipped out of her room. She would not be sleeping in her bed that night.

ip lay wide awake on his creaky cot. Wind shivered past the stable walls and through his thin blanket. He had been sleeping out here ever since Molly first showed him the night man’s top hat, but moving away from the house had not helped him sleep any better. His thoughts were continually haunted by the knowledge that his sister was still inside there—fast asleep—while the night man stalked the halls. Kip stared up through the windows at the moonlit heavens. He tried to draw constellations in the sky, connecting stars to each other so that they resembled good things from his life. But just when he could almost see his parents or the farm, the little stars would flicker and fade and appear anew in the shape of the tree.