ran a hand along the table. It was silky smooth, worn from many years of use. In front of where I sat, along the bottom edge, were notches I’d made the summer I was fifteen and feeling rebellious. Mab was often hard on me— too hard, I’d thought. All my friends were having fun during vacation, and here I was slaving away, trying to please a teacher who was a hundred times tougher than any at school. So that summer I vowed I’d cut a notch for each time Mab said “Good job.” And I had. I’d sawed those notches with a butter knife. I ran my thumb over them now. All three of them.
Mab was a hard teacher, but she’d taught me well. Or so I’d thought, until Difethwr invaded my dreams.
“Tomorrow,” Mab said, “I’ll show you how to brew this tea. But bear in mind it’s only a temporary solution.”
My head drooped, partly because I was so tired—but partly because I was ashamed. I’d lost control of my own dreamscape.
“Don’t fret, child.” The kettle boiled, and Mab poured hot water into the teapot. The rising steam was fragrant with herbs—mossy, with hints of pine and flowers whose names I didn’t know. It smelled relaxing, like a safe, shady forest glade where a person could lie down and rest. Mab sat beside me and patted my hand,
“But you don’t know what’s happened.” Thinking of T.J. and Gary and Sykes, I shuddered. “Terrible things.”
“I know more than you imagine. But now is not the time to discuss it. Tomorrow we’ll talk. And we’ll begin doing what we must do. Now, it’s time for you to sleep.” She looked at her watch. “The tea needs to steep for a few minutes more. Why don’t you go upstairs and get ready for bed? I’ve laid out a nightgown for you.”
The only time I ever wore nightgowns was at Maenllyd; I usually slept in sweats and a T-shirt. But the thought of putting on a clean nightgown and finally being able to lie down, snuggle under the covers, and unclench brought tears to my eyes.
“Go on,” Mab said. “I’ll bring up your tea.”
I took the back stairs from the kitchen to the third floor. Climbing those stairs felt like climbing Mount Snowdon, and I was grateful to Jenkins for carrying my bag. Five minutes later I wore a nightgown—white flannel sprinkled with violets, ruffles at the wrists and neck. I’d never choose it for myself. But it was clean and soft and warm and it smelled wonderful, like a gentle wind blowing up from the valley.
By the time Mab tapped on the door, bearing a tray with the teapot and a mug, I was sitting in bed, leaning against a pillow, my feet thawing under the covers. Mab set the tray on the nightstand, then poured tea through a strainer into the mug. It smelled as warm and safe as it had in the kitchen.
“Drink this, then sleep,” she said, handing me the mug. “No one will wake you.” She sat on the edge of my bed and smoothed back my hair with her cool hand. “All’s well for now, child.”
I took the mug in both hands and sipped. The tea tasted even better than it smelled. Its warmth wrapped me in a soft blanket, inside and out. Although it was hot, I drank it greedily. The warmth spread, along with a feeling of utter well-being. I slid down the pillow and curled up on my side. It felt good, so good, to close my eyes, and I was asleep before Mab clicked off the light.
16
I AWOKE TO GOLDEN LIGHT STREAMING THROUGH THE window. I didn’t need to look at the clock to know what time it was: an hour past sunrise at the latest. The early-morning light at Maenllyd has a special quality I’ve never seen anywhere else. It saturates everything it touches with a deep golden hue, intensifying colors and shooting them through with a magical quality that seems to purify the whole world.
My bedroom was cold. I wrapped the comforter around me and got up to look outside. The rag rug felt cozy under my feet, but stepping from it onto the wide floorboards was almost like stepping onto the frost that covered the lawn.
My breath fogged the pane; I wiped it clean with my sleeve. The scene below me, still and somehow holy in this light, was one I’d gazed on countless times. When I came here as Mab’s apprentice, there was nothing to do in this room besides study the stack of books Mab gave me and look out the window. I spent a lot of time at the window. I could have drawn its view from memory. Maenllyd is a big, L-shaped house. From the side wing, where my room was, I could see the main wing. Chimneys, four of them visible from here, bristled along the slate roof. The house was built of stone—
Frost traced icy cobwebs in the windowpanes’ corners. My toes felt like icicles, and I turned away to find my clothes. My duffel bag was stashed under the bed, empty. Someone, Mab or Rose, had unpacked it as I slept. I found a pair of socks in the top dresser drawer and pulled them onto my grateful feet. What I really needed to warm me up was a shower—and showers were a particular pleasure at Maenllyd.
Years ago, after I’d chosen the third-floor maid’s room for my bedroom, Mab had surprised me when I returned the next summer with a luxury bathroom installed just for me. Two former servants’ rooms had been knocked into one and fitted with marble tile, gold taps—the works. In my bathroom, the floor would be warm, thanks to under-floor heating. But the best part was the shower, in a stall separate from the sunken whirlpool tub. Multiple showerheads streamed hot water from several directions and heights. After yesterday’s endless trip, a shower was going to feel glorious.
I found my underwear in the dresser and took a soft gray sweater and a pair of jeans from the wardrobe. I carried the bundle of clothes into the bathroom. Yup, the floor was warm; someone had cranked up the heat for me. I turned on the shower, then yanked the nightgown over my head and stepped into the shower stall. Jets of water soothed away the aches of travel. I lathered up with lavender-scented soap and washed my hair with shampoo that smelled like a whole bouquet of flowers.
I dried off with a thick, white towel, massaging wakefulness into my limbs. Then I got dressed, brushed my teeth, and combed my hair. Despite yesterday’s trials, I looked like myself today—no dark circles under my eyes, no exhaustion-induced sag to my skin. I was ready to face the world.
Almost. Mab insisted on a neatly made bed. In Boston, I wasn’t always so meticulous; it was nice sometimes to come back to the apartment and crawl into a messy nest. But that wasn’t an option at Maenllyd. I punched the pillow into shape, tightened the sheets, and dragged up the comforter. Smoothing out wrinkles, I realized how good I felt. Awake. Alive. Not only had I snoozed ’round the clock without interruption, I hadn’t dreamed. Hadn’t even worried about dreaming. It felt like I’d been born anew with that beautiful morning light.
That tea was good stuff. If my Drude-tormented clients could get hold of it, I’d be out of business.
I ran down the narrow back stairs from the third floor to the second. In the upstairs hall, I crossed the faded Persian rug to the main staircase. Here was where the decor got fancy—a carved teak banister, polished within an inch of its life, curved along wide stairs that descended gracefully into the front hall. I knew Mab would be in the kitchen at this hour, so it would have been more direct to take the back stairs, but it was a tradition for me to come down the grand staircase my first morning at Maenllyd.
Mab wasn’t in the kitchen. She stood waiting at the foot of the stairs, her hand on the newel post. Most people would find the thin, straight line of her mouth austere, but I could see the almost-invisible upturn at the corners that showed my aunt was smiling.
“Now I can say it: Welcome home, child.” Her smile quirked up another degree. “How are you feeling?”
I ran down the last few stairs and planted a kiss on her papery cheek. “Wonderful. Better than new.”
Her eyes scrutinized my face, and she gave a short, sharp nod. “Good. Because we must start work immediately after breakfast.”
