3

“ I ’m so sorry, m’Lady, I should have just told you what he said and let come what may, but I wanted to protect your feelings. You’ve been through so much recently…” Aisling’s eyes dropped to my stomach as she tripped over her tongue, and whether it was from her endless apologizing or Matthews’s blow to my skull, I was starting to have a persistent pounding in my temple. The carriage jostled from side to side as we left the more well-trodden roads of the city to traverse the countryside.

“Aisling, please—you didn’t do anything wrong. He is the master of the house, and he makes that clear enough for us all. I don’t blame you.” I took her hand in mine. She sat across from me, her pale blue eyes wide with concern as she again reached to push aside the hair I had let fall over my face, hoping to disguise the tender flesh and sizable cut on my brow. Her lips trembled.

“He shouldn’t be able to hit you. You’re a Lady.” She frowned, knowing intimately what he was capable of and that he had done much worse—to both of us. I gave her a look, painfully raising my brow, that said just as much .

“He shouldn’t be able to do any of it. To anyone. But that is not the world we live in.” I sighed, allowing myself a moment in the company of my only friend to feel slightly defeated.

Aisling had been my Ladies Maid for three years now and, for almost two of those years, she unfortunately shared the attention of Lord Cabot. I remembered the morning after the first time it happened. She had come in to dress me and could not look me in the eyes which, up until then, was extremely unlike her. When I had finally forced her to look at me I recognized the pained and haunted look on her. It was the same one I saw so frequently in my own reflection. Her lips, neck, and collarbone were all bruised, and her eyes were red and swollen from crying. I had gathered her into my arms immediately and sobbed along with her. I could never forgive him for the things he did, but now I could never forgive myself for the slight tinge of relief I had felt for no longer holding the burden of him alone.

God knows I have enough bastards in Ireland…

His words repeated in my mind, and I returned Aisling’s gaze.

“Have you been drinking the tea?” I demanded.

Her eyes widened at me, asking so brazenly out in the open—but there was no danger of the Coachman being able to hear us as we traveled these roads; it was too loud. She nodded furiously and a few pieces of her dark hair escaped their pins. They were a drastic contrast to the linen headscarf they were tucked beneath.

“Every day?” I insisted, “And twice on the days that he… visits?”

Growing up as I had, reading whatever book found its way to me, with a very intimate knowledge of botany and many different animal life cycles, it had not been overwhelmingly challenging to come across a mixture of plants that created a perfect combination to effectively stave off unwanted pregnancies. And any pregnancy conceived by rape was unwanted as far as I was concerned. I had been drinking it since the first moment I knew without doubt that Matthew was an unredeemable monster.

We had just moved into the estate in the city. I had been grieving the loss of my father, staring out at the street in the front parlor when a starling crashed into the window. I ran outside and cradled it carefully in my hands, bringing it inside and upstairs to my bedroom, blessedly not shared with the master of the house. The poor thing was dazed and seemed to have broken its wing upon impact with the window. I kept it secret for weeks as it healed, I had grown so fond of it, and it of me. I always left the window open and, when it could fly again, it would depart, always returning to spend the small hours of the afternoon with me, singing sweetly in a way that reminded me of home.

One day it flew in through the window while Matthew had his focus on me. His anger lashed out in every way imaginable. He had paused in his fury and noticed the bird, managing to grasp it before it could escape, and I watched in horror as he crushed it in his fist and threw the limp little body against the wall.

I knew then it was not just me. No one could ever be safe around him, and I would do whatever it took to protect others from him. Especially a child, whether it was mine or Aisling’s.

“Yes, every day and twice—sometimes three times—on the days he…” she trailed off, unable to finish the thought aloud .

“Good. It only works if you drink it consistently. The alternative is ghastly and painful.” I reminded her as one of my hands floated absently to my stomach and rested there.

Unfortunately, the tea was not always completely effective, especially if it had been forgotten, or as in my case, he forced himself upon you during your courses. I alone had the lamentable experience of having to forcibly miscarry and, though it was only once, I would never forget the feeling of the tincture wracking my body. Aisling had held me through the entire ordeal.

The road noise lessened and I changed the subject in an abundance of caution, knowing the repercussions would be unimaginable if we were overheard. I wasn’t sure whose reaction would be worse—Lord Cabot’s or the Catholic Church’s. I shuddered at the thought. I sat back and leaned against the wall of the coach, urging my heart to slow its unsustainable pace.

“Why do you think Mistress Warren sent the invitation?” I posed to Aisling while drawing the carriage door curtain enough that I could just begin to see the Manor in the distance. I chewed the inside of my cheek while I mused, “‘ Excellent conversationalist’ seems an extremely unlikely moniker to have obtained when I barely speak to the women at tea…” I looked over to Aisling, who shifted in her seat uncomfortably and avoided my eyes. My suspicions grew, and I pressed her insistently. “Aisling… why am I being solicited by Agatha Warren?”

Her blue eyes darted from mine to her lap, and she cleared her throat. She removed a small vial from her apron pocket. The green-tinted tincture swirled inside. I had made four vials of it at the end of last year when I realized my courses had been weeks overdue. Having never taken it myself before then I did not want to leave it to chance that the babe would still be viable if one dose was not enough. Thankfully, it had been. This was the last of them.

While the Ladies would chatter during tea, so too would the Ladies Maids. Aisling had a particular aptitude for gossip and would share the goings on during the evenings as she would dress both myself and my room for the night. It was not long before I suggested that she clandestinely slip the tincture to one or two maids who needed it. She assured me she was meticulous in her admissions to the women she spoke to. She kept my name out of it as best as she could. But it only took someone with half of their wits about them to know access to these medicinal plants had to come from someone who had experience growing them, and that was not any of the Ladies in this city, except for one.

“Agatha Warren is, by my approximation, one hundred years old! And a widow, what’s more!” I hissed exasperatedly as she popped the vial back into her pocket. “What could she possibly need with that ?” The carriage jostled again as it descended the long gravel path to the Manor on Orchid Lane.

“A servant of hers approached me. I don’t know how , maybe one of the girls told her,” she swore. “But she said Mistress Warren knew what we had been doing, and she wanted to help!” Her eyes were bright with nerves, but excitement was also there. Aisling, bless her, had a heart too large for her chest, and sometimes I wondered if it had affected the growth of her brain. “Her maid said that she wanted to let you use the grounds of the Manor to grow the herbs. Think of that!”

Unlike Aisling, I was alarmed by this. Passing the tincture out to those who desperately needed it was already dangerous–but a risk I had been sure was worth taking. But to be seen by someone with it in hand—and to admit to its effect and having produced it? If the widow was not being truthful in her intentions…

“Aisling, we have spoken at length as to how dangerous it would be for anyone to knowwhat we were doing or if we were the ones behind it!” I whispered ferociously. “If the Church finds out–” I was cut off by the whinnies of the horses as the carriage came to an abrupt halt.

Aisling shushed me and smoothed my hair to cover my brow before whispering confidently, “all will be well,” before the Coachman opened the door and assisted us out onto the drive.

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust back to the daylight, but I squinted and realized we hadn’t entirely made it all the way to our destination. We were outside the Manor’s gates, by twenty yards at least. I looked at the Coachman, confused. He must have been anticipating my question as he immediately began to explain.

“Sorry, m’Lady, but the horses refuse to go any farther up the way. I’ve been tryin’ to coax them along, I have, but the stubborn beasts won’t move.” He leaned in conspiratorially and nodded his head back in the direction of the Manor. “Animals can sense when a thing is off, aye? I never saw a more off thing than the Manor on Orchid Lane, I reckon.” He chuckled with a wink.

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I can think of a few,” I said absently, looking up the path to the stately mansion on the hill.

It wasn’t a far walk, and the fresh air would do me good. I wasn’t often afforded the opportunity of leisurely strolls—even less so outside of the city where the air was so fresh. This would also allow me to interrogate Aisling further. However, she seemed to have predicted this and had already excused herself in the guise of announcing our arrival. I scowled off in her direction.

“I am that sure y’could àilleach . I’m that sure y’ could.” If his sad tone did not convey his thoughts, his quick glance at my bruising cheekbone did. I gave him a small smile and a nod and turned to begin making my way up to the estate. I could still hear him crooning to the horses in Gaelic when the noises of the coach turning away eventually drowned him out.

Orchid Manor was one of the largest estates I had ever seen. Three levels of dark stone were engulfed with thick, twisting vines that grew up and around the giant, beautiful windows framed in iron. Untold age gnawed at the bars around the junctions and turned the corners of the windows a slight turquoise with patina. The steep peaks of the roof seemed to pierce the sky, calling back images I had only ever imagined from reading novels. It was nothing short of a castle.

Many inhabitants of the city quipped that Widow Warren had been ‘away with the faeries’ since the passing of her husband decades before, and I could believe there may be some truth to that, now that I was standing just outside the gates. Even from here, I could see that the gardens were immense. There was plant life everywhere, from fields of clover to wild bluebells, and bushes of flowers so purple they were nearly black. They perfumed the courtyard beautifully and it truly felt as though this place could be home to multitudes of magical creatures, not just the fae.

I examined the courtyard more closely as I passed through the gates. To the left of me was a large round fountain ringed in fuchsia foxgloves. Perched in the center was a beautiful woman etched out of stone, carrying a basin. The water surrounding her was dark and sparkled in the gray afternoon light; atop it grew numerous lily pads, their white flowers just beginning to open. A hundred yards away from the fountain leading off to the side of the Manor, I could see the signs of a twisting hedge labyrinth. Two giant lion statues sat at either side of the entrance as sentinels.

“Aisling, look at this garden!” I exclaimed excitedly, despite myself. I could spend hours out here wandering these grounds. I looked over my shoulder to find her and point out the statues. There was no sign of her. I had been right behind her moments ago and I had seen her go through the gate. Where could she have gone?

I rounded back past the fountain and up the front steps to the Manor’s entrance. It had an ornamented wooden door with a slick brass knocker in the center. It was cold as I took it in my hands and rapped it against the door. I heard no noise from inside the Manor and I turned to look out at the courtyard again. Perhaps she went around the side yard but I hadn’t seen her?

About to call for her again, I heard the door latch click open behind me. I turned to greet whoever had opened it–but they were no longer there. The door was ajar into the foyer, but no one was at the entrance to receive me. Unease washed over me. This was the strangest reception I had ever had. Where had Aisling gone? It was not at all like her to disappear.

“Hello?” I called out into the foyer through the opening, unsure how to proceed. “Mistress Warren? Aisling? Hello?” I stepped toward the entrance, the toe of my boot grazing the threshold of the Manor. It took more strength than I expected to push open the heavy door, “I received a letter that Mistress Warren requested my company this afternoon…” I trailed off as I stepped fully inside and took in the scale of the room. This was not a foyer so much as it could be a grand ballroom.

Above me hung an imposing chandelier made of crystal and candles which painted the high ceiling in a glittering haze, making my breath catch in my throat. I had never seen something quite this intricate and delicate and here it was, suspended above me in the air, held aloft as if by invisible chains. It was something of a magic trick that left me in awe and nearly forgetting my uneasiness entirely.

The two front windows behind me were curtained with thick dark drapes that hung an impossible length from ceiling to floor. The chandelier was the only light source in the room. It cast shadows everywhere, leaving an eerie darkness to spread across the wooden flooring where its fluorescence could not reach. Two sets of wide, carpeted stairs climbed to the second floor in mirrored curves and met at an open mezzanine that overlooked the entrance. I moved to open one of the heavy drapes, as much as I was able, in an effort to illuminate the room more. I was rewarded with only the slightest bit of light that barely made a dent in the shadows.

“Hello?” I called out louder this time, and a shrill scream sliced through the dense silence like a sharp blade.