Elizabeth was inside too, her too-dark eyebrows heavy in her drawn face. She sat back from Katherine in her short child’s dress, near the wall. She had been given a bowl of stew and was eating it hungrily. Katherine couldn’t stomach the idea of food. If she thought about eating, all she could think of was the lovely dinner service at home, while here there were no carpets, no wallpaper, no staff and no signs of civilisation.
Elizabeth had been surprisingly matter-of-fact when Katherine had come to her, heart pounding, and told her they had to leave. Cautioned to bring nothing but essentials, Elizabeth had stopped only to get her coat and her day’s schoolwork, and had returned grim-faced and ready. Katherine had considered taking some of her fine clothes and jewellery, but in the end she had put on a simple old blue riding habit. She had seen the groomsman saddle Ladybird a hundred times, but when she tried to do it herself, she had no idea where to start, and it felt like a long, panicked interval of struggling trial and error before they set out into the rain.
‘Here,’ said Cyprian, proffering her a cup. From a wary distance, he had kept his eyes on her. As though the very fact of her was an intrusion. As though she was the oddity, not him. As though she might be dangerous – and with a curiosity at the exotic, as though he’d never seen a gentlewoman before. Now he handed her a strangely shaped glass filled with hot liquid.
It turned out there was tea here, but it was not good brown tea with milk in a porcelain cup. It was green, with bits of something that looked like grass floating in it.
‘You are very kind, sir,’ she said.
‘My people make this. The herbs that grow here have qualities that have been cultivated since the old world. It’s restorative.’
‘Your people?’ she said. ‘You mean Continentals?’ And then flushed because this was somehow the wrong thing to say, but she didn’t know why. She didn’t know what to do.
‘He means Stewards. Your fiancé killed them,’ said Violet.
She took the tea and just stared down at it, pale green with a few flecks and stalks swirling at the bottom.
‘I see. Thank you,’ she said.
She sat down again. She was dully aware of them drawing off to one side and talking about her in low voices. ‘We still don’t know why she’s here.’ ‘She came alone. Simon’s not with her.’ ‘And if she’s a Trojan horse? We can’t trust her.’
She stared at the fire until the flames blurred together. She shouldn’t be here. She should be at home, dressing for dinner. She wouldn’t be here, if not for what had happened. The terrible, overwhelming thing that had driven her out of the house and into the mud and rain.
Will pulled up a second stool and sat beside her.
‘You heard something, didn’t you.’
He spoke quietly, leaning towards her, his forearms resting on his knees. The words made her seize up. She couldn’t say it. Didn’t want to say it. Around her, she felt a thundering pressure. She held the cup so tight she was surprised it didn’t break into pieces and cut into her.
‘Simon came to visit you,’ said Will. ‘He was in London on business.’ The whole room was so quiet, she felt like she could hear each flame in the fire. Will said it like he knew what she had heard, when he couldn’t. He couldn’t know. No one could. The pressure grew. She didn’t want to say it, because that would make it real. That would make all of this real. This cold, empty castle. The mud soaking her dress. The words that had made her world fall apart.
‘He would have been in a good mood. His business in London had gone well.’ Will said it grimly. ‘Maybe someone arrived to see him. Maybe an associate. Maybe a messenger. I had made you curious enough to eavesdrop. And you heard something.’
The first time Lord Crenshaw had come to call on her, they had set out a porcelain tea set decorated with pink rosebuds, furled green leaves, and gold trim. He had been the perfect gentleman, asking her questions, showing his interest. The whole family had been so happy, their fortunes made. Her aunt and uncle had fussed over her, and she’d eaten her favourite treat that night, apricot ice cream.
She had clambered into bed, too excited to sleep, braiding her sister’s hair and talking about the house that she would have, and the balls that she would attend, and the society that they would move in.
‘He said it wasn’t enough,’ Katherine said.
‘What wasn’t enough?’
He’d come to visit her many times since, each time the picture of courtesy and good manners, solicitous and charming, as he had been on his last visit, when he’d risen to speak with a messenger, and she had followed him out into the hallway.