The Gates of Sleep

she picked up an implement before reaching for the appropriate bit of silverware herself. And as they moved through the courses, and her aunt began to develop a tiny crease between her brows, it suddenly occurred to her that if she didn’t want Arachne to guess that she was being coached and had a friend here, she’d better make a mistake.

So she did—the next course was fish, and even though she actually knew what the fish-knife and fish-fork looked like, she reached for the ones she’d used for the salad.

“Marina,” Arachne said dryly, “If you don’t want to be thought a bumpkin, you had better use these tools for the fish course in future.” She held up the proper implements.

“Yes, Aunt,” Marina said subserviently, reaching for the right silverware, with a sidelong glance at the footman and a very quick wink when Arachne’s eyes dropped to her plate. The footman winked back.

The food was still pallid stuff. And there was still an appalling waste of it. But at least at this meal, Marina got hot food warm, and cold food cool. And despite a general lack of appetite, enough of it to serve.

And the fruit and cheese at the end were actually rather good. Arachne regarded her over the rim of her wineglass.

“After dinner, when there is company, in general the company gathers in the sitting room or the card room for conversation or games. Perhaps music—I believe you brought instruments?” This time she only raised her brows a trifle, and not as if she found this fact an evidence of her rustication.

“Yes, Aunt,” she said. “I play Elizabethan music, mostly.”

“Pity; that’s not anything considered entertaining for one’s guests these days,” Arachne said, dismissively. “I don’t suppose you have much in the way of conversation, either.”

Marina kept her thoughts to herself; in any case, Arachne didn’t wait for an answer. “I will be teaching you polite conversation, later, when I have your affairs in hand. I don’t suppose you can ride.”

“Actually, I had use of one of the local hunt master’s jumpers, Aunt.” It gave her a little feeling of triumph to see the surprise on Arachne’s face. “I didn’t hunt often, and mostly only when he needed someone to keep an eye on an unsteady lady guest, but he kept his favorite old cob retired on our land.”

“Well.” Arachne coughed, to cover her surprise. “In that case… my modiste is coming with more garments for you tomorrow. I’ll order proper riding attire for you; your father’s stable isn’t stunning, but it’s adequate. I’m sure you’ll find something there you can mount.” Her expression turned thoughtful. “Actually, riding and hunting are two elements of proper conversation you can make use of at nearly any time; keep that in mind. And books, but they mustn’t be controversial or too modern or too old-fashioned—unless, of course, you are speaking to an older lady or gentleman, in which case they will be pleased that you are reading the books of their youth. Tomorrow you will meet my son, Reginald. I have instructed him to see that you are not left at loose ends.”

I would like very much to be left at loose ends, thank you, she thought, but she answered with an appreciative murmur.

“I’m pleased to see that you are no longer hysterical; I hope you realize how childish your reaction was to being removed from what you must see was an unsuitable situation,” Arachne concluded, putting her glass down.

“Yes, Aunt.”

“And I hope you are properly grateful.”

“Yes, Aunt.” I’m grateful that I haven’t lost my temper with you yet.

“Excellent. I believe that we have reached a good understanding.” Arachne rose; the slight tug on her chair by the footman warned Marina that she should do the same. “As I said, I have tasks to complete; I suggest that you improve your mind with a book in your sitting room before bed. I will see you at breakfast, Marina.”

“Yes, Aunt,” she replied obediently, and Arachne flowed off in the direction of the office in which Marina had first found her, leaving Marina to her own devices.

Chapter Ten

WITHIN an hour, Marina learned that she had more than one ally among the staff.

The second one appeared once the formidable Mary Anne had undressed her with the same ruthless efficiency she showed when getting her dressed, and left her, dressing-gowned and night-gowned for the night, with her hair in a comfortable braid, and instructions to ring for one of the downstairs maids “if you need anything.” The tone implied that there was nothing she should need, and her attitude was quite intimidating, except for one thing. Apparently, Mary Anne was above being summoned once her mistress was put to bed for the night, and on the whole, at this point Marina was inclined to take her chances with anyone that Mary Anne considered an inferior.

Once Mary Anne was gone, Marina moved into the sitting room, with a single book of poetry she had found on a table there for company, until the corridor beyond the door was very quiet indeed. Then, barefoot (because the slippers that had been supplied to her had very hard leather soles that would have clattered on the parquet floor) she tiptoed down to the library, ascertained that there was no one there, and retrieved those books of etiquette that she had hidden there. And as an afterthought, collected some real reading material, as well as some duller books that she could use to hide her studies in. Somewhere in her rooms were the books she had brought with her; when she’d arranged these on the shelves, she’d look for her own things, and with any luck, there’d be enough books there to make looking through them too tedious for the very superior Mary Anne.

Moving silently, her feet freezing, she quickly made her way back to her rooms, where she put her finds on the shelves in the sitting room. She worked quietly among the ornaments she found on the shelves, putting the books up without disarranging them, in the hopes of making it appear that the books had always been there. She guessed that no one in Arachne’s household realized that all the books had been collected in the library; Mary Anne had seen her using books there this afternoon, she would assume that the books were still there and not look for them here. She was still setting back vases and figurines when the sound of the door opening made her jump and turn quickly, guiltily.

But the person in the door wasn’t her aunt, nor the supercilious Mary Anne; it was a young woman in a very much plainer version of Mary Anne’s uniform—the black skirt, but of plain wool, the black shirtwaist, unadorned— and a neat white apron, rather than the black silk that Mary Anne sported. A perfectly ordinary maid—with a round, pretty, farm girl’s face, and wary eyes.

“I come to see if you needed anything, miss,” the girl whispered, as if she was not quite sure of her welcome.

In a response that Marina could not have controlled if she’d tried, her stomach growled. Audibly.

And the little maidservant broke into an involuntary grin, which she quickly hid behind her hand.

“I suppose it wouldn’t do any good to ask for something to eat,” Marina said, wistfully assuming the negative. “I don’t want you to get in any trouble with the cook or the—the housekeeper? I guess there’s a housekeeper here, isn’t there?” She sighed. From what she’d heard from old Sarah, the housekeepers in great houses held the keys to the pantry and kept strict tally of every morsel that entered and left, and woe betide the staff if the accounting did not match.

The girl dropped her hand and winked. “Just you wait, miss,” she said warmly, and whisked out the door.

Marina finished shelving her books, hiding the ones she didn’t want anyone to find. By the time the maid returned, she was in a chair by the fireplace with a book in her hands, having mended the fire and built it up herself, warming her half-frozen feet. The girl seemed much nicer than Mary Anne, but there was no telling if she was just another spy for her aunt. Let her think that Marina had only been looking for something to read.

The girl had left the door open just about an inch, and on her return, pushed it open with her foot. She carried with her a laden tray, which she brought over to Marina and set down on the little table beside her. Marina stared at the contents with astonishment.

“Mister Reginald, he likes a bit to eat around midnight, so the pantry’s not locked up,” the girl said cheerfully. “My Peter, he told us downstairs about your luncheon. And supper. And Madam’s special cook—” she made a face. “Miss, we don’t think much of that special cook. Only person that likes his cooking is Madam; it isn’t even the kind of thing that Mister Reginald likes, so he’s always eating a midnight supper. So I thought, and Peter thought, you mightn’t like that cooking much either, even if you hadn’t got more than a few bites of it.”

“You were right,” Marina said with relief at the sight of a pot of hot chocolate, a plate of sliced ham and real, honest cheese—none of that sad, pale stuff that Arachne had served—a nice chunk of hearty cottage loaf—and a fine Cox’s Orange Pippin apple. “I feel like I haven’t eaten in two days!”

“Well, miss, I don’t much know about yesterday, but according to my Peter, you haven’t had more than a few