There’s a pause before she says, ‘To keep you safe, I suppose.’
I’m about to speak but then I figure she knows about the mer, that either Aoife’s told her or – more likely – the maidservant listened at the door after she was dismissed, then informed Brigid. Aoife’s unlikely to share anything with Brigid; she thinks the girl’s a sidenote, a by-blow. The only reason she gives Aidan the time of day is his money. I press my lips together and say no more.
Down the stairs with their green carpet, polished banister and intricately turned balusters. Past the paintings of landscapes and Fitzpatricks with their receding chins and thin blond hair. Along the hallway to the dining room with its blue curtains, sideboards groaning with more dishes than four people can eat – but honestly, I’m starving after a day without food and could probably devour it all myself – shining silver candlesticks and salvers, vases of crystal and gold. And there at the small table – this is the informal dining room, after all – sit Aoife and Aidan, one at each end so that it might be argued that both are at the head. A single chair on either side for myself and Brigid, though ten could easily be seated for a meal.
The same girl who began washing my hair this morning is there, eyes downcast. Brigid and I take our seats. I do not look directly at Aidan.
‘Serve,’ says Aoife, and the maid slides a gaze at Aidan. He gives a slight nod, which Aoife notices. Her lips turn into a thin line and I wouldn’t want to be that girl for all the pearls in the sea. Soon, we’ve bowls of soup in front of us, it smells rich and hearty, with beef and potatoes, leeks and carrots, cracked barley. I try to be ladylike, try not to eat too quickly, but I can see from Aoife’s expression that I’m failing. I sit back, pause, let the liquid settle. I butter a slice of bread and take dainty bites of that when all I want to do is scoff it down then follow it with another and another.
When all the bowls are empty, the second course is served: rare roast beef, more potatoes (baked this time), a spiced kedgeree with eggs and haddock, roast pork with rice, pheasant pie, lark jelly, a selection of cheeses, and more bread, this time in the form of white rolls each made to look like roses in bloom. Aoife has a lemon-whiskey in front of her, Aidan red wine; Brigid and I have simple water with lemon (good for the complexion, but gods know I’d have preferred something stronger). When we are eating again, Aoife glowers at the servant.
‘You may go,’ she says and the girl is smart enough to simply drop a curtsey and leave. The door closes behind her and Aoife waits a few moments, her hands stilled above her plate. When the sound of footsteps recede, my grandmother glances at Aidan, who nods.
‘Miren.’
‘Yes, Grandmother?’ I want to say I know what you have planned but I don’t.
‘You are aware, I know you are, of our parlous financial position.’
I merely nod.
‘I met with the solicitor today’ – as if I didn’t know, as if I wasn’t meant to be there, as if she didn’t lock me in my room – ‘and matters are even worse than I feared’ – as if she didn’t know exactly what our position was – ‘Your grandfather had been hiding things from me. The last of the ships must be sold.’
Yes.
‘The sale of the contents of the house might just make up the difference and keep creditors from hounding us.’
Yes.
‘Your grandfather left you his share of Hob’s Hallow, just as I shall. You are our sole heir, Miren.’
Yes – to whom else would you leave that crumbling pile?
‘But I wish you to inherit more than a debt. Your cousin Aidan has offered another way.’ She speaks as if this is all a foregone conclusion: her words suggest there is a choice, but her tone, oh, her tone! It is all business. Miren, this is how it shall be, you have no choice in the matter. She inclines her head towards our saviour.
Aidan pulls a small square box from his pocket. The wood is honey-coloured, the hinges and clasp golden. ‘Miren, if you would do me the honour of becoming my wife, it would solve many problems.’
Now there’s a proposal any girl would be happy to hear!
He flips open the box and the contents fair bulges out. It takes up all the room that is to be had inside. Against a bed of black velvet sits an enormous baroque pearl. It’s creamy silver, shaped almost like a teardrop, and tiny rubies run around its base, set into the ornament itself so they look like drops of blood. All mounted on a thick band of silver engraved with scales, of course. He must have had this made especially.
Aidan rises and grasps my hand. He does not kneel, and I do not resist. He pushes the ring onto my heart finger. It lies heavy and cold. I do not speak and I do not look at him, and he does not wait for me to do so, but returns to his seat. He expects nothing, not even consent.
Across from me Brigid’s face is like thunder. Can’t she see I want no part of this? There’ll be no help from her.
To my left, Aoife looks satisfied.
‘There,’ she says. ‘It is done.’
Still I do not say a word, and they take my silence for acquiescence.
9
The air across the salt marshes is strangely foul, as if all the corpsewights are standing by the roadside to watch as we pass. But I can catch no sight of them. It seems unlikely besides, so something must have died in the reeds or even further out on the beach, an animal washed ashore and rotting.
Aoife
