Wouldn’t it be nice to be so passionately occupied herself, in a lake house as the roses bloomed? What worried her was this: in her nightly erotic dreams, the face of the man changed without her permission.
Angelika halted at the window and watched as Jacob worked Percy on a long lead in a circle, trotting him over ground poles. The animal gleamed, and his ears were pricked forward.
“Everybody is occupied today, even my horse. What would I do with my time if I lived completely alone?” Angelika asked herself out loud. “What would I do if I could do anything?”
Her new awareness of her various privileges told her this: she was already at that decision point. She did not have any strong urge to go out to the laboratory. But she did remember her mother’s fabric and trimmings in the trunk at the foot of her bed.
“Perhaps I will try making Edwin something new to wear,” she decided aloud. It felt like a good, cheery thing to do, and she went off with a new purpose, to find a sharp pair of scissors. “I could pay the tailor to give me lessons to refresh my skills. I could embroider my own quilt.”
Technically, Will was the last project she had worked on, and his comment about mindless needlepoint did echo in her mind, but he was whitewashing the walls of his new address; was his pastime any better? He was pulling away rapidly and had seemed so eager to leave the manor house he’d practically run away. She’d resisted the urge to visit him at least fifty times.
She repeated her mantra aloud now:
“Let him make the effort. I must have an invitation.”
The search for scissors brought her to her father’s study, where she found Sarah, diligently completing her hour of required reading and writing. She sat knock-kneed on a small stool in a dim corner, with a book on her lap and a slate abandoned by her foot. She flinched when Angelika’s shadow fell across the page.
“Hello,” Angelika said to her. “How are your studies?” She didn’t need to wait for Sarah’s reply. The girl looked wretched. “Don’t sit slumped on this stool. Come, sit at the desk. Show me what you are working on.” She wrote out the alphabet, and they read and wrote for an hour.
Angelika felt a corresponding glow in her chest as Sarah worked, and how with each passing minute the girl was growing in confidence to speak and engage. Doing good things for people felt marvelous. Wouldn’t it be a fine thing for Will to walk in during a study session to witness this good deed? He usually only witnessed her dismal failures. She remembered the boardinghouse.
“I could buy you a bag of coal if you like. How much is it?” Angelika patted herself for coins.
“I am warm from my walk back in the evenings; it is no matter.”
Angelika regularly saw Sarah at bedtime and lighting the fires at dawn. She pictured ravines full of bad men. “And how far is this walk?”
This interrogation was causing Sarah to grow increasingly uncomfortable. “I am not complaining.” She got to her feet and backed around the desk. “Mistress, please do not think I am unsuited. I can work harder. My parents need me to work.”
“That’s not what I am leading toward. I am very happy with you.” Angelika could have kicked herself for her carelessness. Sarah was her responsibility now, as long as she was mistress of Blackthorne Manor. “Where’s Mary?”
“She had another one of her turns. But don’t say anything, please. I must go help with lunch.” Sarah rushed out of the room, turning in the direction of the kitchen.
“Someone has made that girl skittish, and I think I know who.” Angelika scowled and began the long trudge upstairs. And trudge she did. By the time she took her last step into the servants’ quarters in the attic of Blackthorne Manor, she was short of breath and wheezed for an embarrassingly long time against the stair rail with her heart drumming in her ears.
“And to think—Mary makes this trip, every day.” Once she could breathe again and the beads of sweat were wiped from her brow, Angelika felt composed enough to discuss Sarah’s living arrangements. She just had to muster some courage.
She had probably ventured up here once as a child, but was brutally chastised by Mary. She could feel the gusts of wind through the dark slate roof. One leap of excitement and Mary would crack her head clean through.
There was only one door, painted a dark maroon, with a silver horseshoe nailed to it. Angelika knocked meekly. There was no answer. One knew instinctively not to go into a sleeping bear’s den, and it took courage to push the door open a crack. The scent of wet wool was released.