‘Sorry about her,’ Eliza said, asshe poured Mary a cup of tea. Joan scowled but remained quiet, moreinterested in filling her mouth with as much pork as she could cram in.
Clara turned to Mary. ‘I’m sorry,too, Mary. I didn’t mean for Joan to overhear. I thought I waswhispering it just to Eliza.’
‘I don't want to talk about it,’ she saidquietly. Mary was hurt by what had happened; she was not yet ready forthe whole staff to know about Edward and her. For one thing, the newswould now surely filter through the village and get back to Edie. Foranother, Edward and she would be watched with hawk-eyes to ensure that nothinguntoward ever happened. It felt to Mary like a giant conspiracy thatnobody wanted them to be together. She didn’t care a jot about Joan, butMary knew she would forgive Clara in time. Just not right now. Ontop of all that had occurred at home yesterday, Mary was in no mood for moreupset.
Chapter Eight
Itwas a great struggle for Mary not to fall asleep. Her weary body pleadedwith her to surrender to her tiredness but she fought it. Taking a foldof skin from the palm of her left hand in her right forefinger and thumb, Maryrammed her nails in as hard as she could stand. She winced and almostyelped with the pain, but it had done the trick; she was awake again and hermuscles’ pleas for sleep subsided. The faint clanging of the grandfatherclock on the floor below told Mary that it was half past eleven. Justfifteen minutes to go and she would get up.
There was just enough of a glow from thefire and from the pale moonlight pushing its way in under the curtains for Maryto see that Clara was in a deep sleep. A gentle snore came from herthroat as she took in a long inhalation. Mary smiled and considered whatshe was about to do. After the humiliating breakfast that morning, shehad returned to her work with a sagging despondency inside her. As usual,she had engineered the duties so that it was she who cleaned Edward’sbedroom. As always, she had paid scant attention to the cleaning of theroom, to the fire grate nor to the bed occupied by Edward’s roommate,Jack. Instead, the majority of her time was always spent on Edward’s bed,allowing her senses to absorb the fragments of his presence. She wouldusually then make his bed, fastidiously ensuring that there was not a singleripple in the linen sheets, followed by placing a delicate kiss on hispillow. This morning, however, her routine had been disrupted at thediscovery of a note under his pillow. Meet me at the boathouse atmidnight, Edward x. Having read the note, she had quickly concealedit under her uniform.
Minutes passed where Mary’s mind wanderedthrough a future life with Edward. She saw them both standing in thesummery garden of a small cottage, full of bright flowers, watching theirchildren playing together. Happily married: that was her future. Her stomach leapt with exhilaration for what she knew what was about to happentonight.
The clock finally struck elevenforty-five. Carefully and slowly, Mary swung her legs from the bed andplaced her bare feet on the cold boards. At bedtime, she had rushed up tothe room and climbed into bed, pulling the sheets and blankets tightly up toher neck so that Clara did not notice that she was fully dressed.
With the merest of movements, Mary steppedaway from the bed, picked up her shoes and silently crept towards thedoor. Before she opened it, Mary stood still and listened. Clara’sbreath rose softly into the still air. Mary unlatched the door and gentlypulled it open. Again, she stopped still and listened for the rhythmicsound of Clara’s breathing. When she was sure that she had not disturbedher, Mary moved into the hallway and pulled the door shut. Clutching hershoes in one hand, she snuck down the ninety-six steps into the basement. The downstairs corridors were eerily quiet and almost pitch-black but for asolitary wall-mounted candle close to the kitchen door, guiding Mary in theright direction. Enough adrenalin pumped around her veins to fight offthe muted feelings of fear and trepidation at being in the depths of the housein the dead of night. A sudden thought of bumping into Bastion made hershudder, a cold sensation tingling down her spine. Who knows what awretch like that would do to me down here, with nobody within earshot? Marythought. Her fear abated when she remembered that Edward was somewherenearby, also making his descent from the upper floors. But he would notlikely go out through the kitchens, but rather through the meat larder, whichhad an exterior door and was much closer to the male servants’ staircase.
Mary was relieved to find that thekitchens were mercifully empty; the only sign of life came from the flickeringflames from the open fire, creating strange, unnatural shadows from the arrayof pots and culinary implements suspended from the ceiling. She hurriedto the door and retracted the large metal bolts which held it closed: she hadmade it outside. As she closed the door behind her, she gasped at thefreezing February night. She thought that she had wrapped up well, butshe hadn’t prepared herself for this level of coldness, already seeping throughher layers of clothing like an insufferable, invasive creature. Whydoes my courtship with Edward always have to involve being frozen to the bone? shewondered, as she made her way across the courtyard towards the path which ranaround the outside of the lake. The moon was like a squashed orange,still days away from its full voluptuousness, yet the skies were sufficientlyclear to guide Mary around the lake’s periphery. On the island the greatfolly stood, its majestic beauty incongruent with its apparent uselessness as abuilding.
As Mary approached the boathouse, sheslowed her pace, wishing that her eyes would adjust to the light, demanding ofthem more
