Never a Road Without a Turning (7 page)

T
HE
MAJOR
didn’t leave his bedchamber at all that day. Pip was made well aware of this fact by the endless stream of complaints issuing from the housekeeper and her husband as he came and went, attending to his duties. Both of them were forced to climb the stairs many times throughout the afternoon and into the evening, seeing to their master’s needs, so Pip decided it would be in his best interest to stay out of their way and let his curiosity remain unsatisfied.

After taking the horse out for his afternoon exercise, Pip felt a little better than he had upon waking that morning. He’d let the wind blow through him and the quiet soothe him and clear his head. The master probably wouldn’t remember how he’d made it to bed, and Pip would simply pretend the night before had never happened, like any good servant. The major could keep his secret, and Pip could keep his job—quite simple really.

At dinner, the Applethwaites seemed in better spirits as well. Apparently the master had decided he didn’t want to be disturbed for the rest of the night, so Mr. Applethwaite was able to return to his favored place by the fire—and his gin—and Mrs. Applethwaite was able to take up her usual place beside him while she worked on her sewing.

Pip retired to his room early again. The news that their master intended to remain in his bedchamber had started him thinking that tonight would be the perfect opportunity to return the book he’d borrowed. He’d already read it three times through, memorizing several poems, and he really shouldn’t risk it being discovered missing by keeping it any longer. The moon was bright enough to light his way without a candle, and the Applethwaites would be tired from their busy day, so this was probably the best opportunity he’d have to sneak into the library without being discovered.

To pass the time, Pip reread his favorite passages until he heard Mrs. Applethwaite attempting to rouse her husband so they could go to bed. When the house finally grew quiet again, he crept from his room, down the dark hall, and through the kitchen, skillfully avoiding every creaky floorboard that might betray him. As he made his way through the hall to the library, he carefully placed one stocking foot in front of the other, easing his weight down until he was sure the wood beneath him would make no sound before taking another step. Thankfully, the door opened quietly on well-oiled hinges, and Pip slipped inside.

He’d only been in the library twice since the books had been unpacked, and both times he’d been a little too preoccupied to note how they’d been arranged. In the bands of moonlight coming through the windows, it took him some time to locate where the small poetry volume should go. But eventually he was able to slide it into its proper place.

He was trying to decide on the next book he should borrow, when a thump from upstairs froze him in his tracks. His heart thundered in his chest as he strained his ears and waited. The thump was followed by what sounded like muffled cursing, and then the house went quiet again. Pip held his breath and tensed, ready to run if he heard anyone coming, but nothing happened. He gave up on the idea of taking another book and hurried out of the library as fast as he could. He’d almost made it to the door to the kitchen again, when the sound of muffled sobs reached him and then abruptly cut off.

Pip’s frantically beating heart squeezed painfully in his chest as those sobs echoed in the silence they left behind, and part of him ached to rush up the stairs to check on the master, but he didn’t dare. The man would not thank him for the intrusion. And how would he explain his being in the house?

And when had he become so bloody softhearted?

Disgusted with himself, Pip crept quietly back to his bed and crawled beneath the blankets. His own life had been hard enough without borrowing another man’s troubles. He didn’t understand why the major’s quiet, solitary suffering clawed at him the way it did, but he resolved to ignore it from then on.

U
NFORTUNATELY
, P
IP
’
S
resolve did nothing to improve his humor the following day. His spirits didn’t lift, even when Mrs. Applethwaite ordered him to take the cart to the village. They actually fell further when he read the first item on her list: four bottles of whisky, wine, or brandy, or whatever Mr. Cooper had in stock. Mr. Applethwaite only drank gin, the major never had any guests, and Mrs. Applethwaite certainly wasn’t getting the whisky for Pip, so he knew who’d requested it. But
four
? He went to the village at least once a week. Tongues would wag. That was a certainty. Not that Pip gave a damn what the gossips said. But the major might someday. And Mrs. Applethwaite, though loyal to her master, would feel the sting of it too, the next time she ventured that far.

Pip took the slip of paper and put it in his pocket, not allowing his face to reveal a thing. He’d known plenty a drunkard in his life. Gin was like mother’s milk to any child raised in the rookeries. Pip had always aspired to become a true drunkard someday himself, when he could afford it. But the major didn’t have the look of a longtime sot. This was new to the man. Pip knew it in his bones. And he felt unaccountably saddened to see the major wasting his days and his health like this when he’d seemed to be getting better.

Pip trudged to the village as ordered. He stayed with the cart and didn’t bother to look in the shop windows. He ignored Mr. Cooper’s warning glares, and he didn’t even notice if the shopkeeper’s pretty daughter was behind the counter. Pip returned to the cottage as soon as the order was filled and completed his duties with little enthusiasm.

As usual, his afternoon ride lifted his spirits a little, only because he didn’t allow himself to think on much of anything but the horse beneath him and the land they crossed. The strange melancholy that had plagued him since the night before even fled for a time until he saw the major watching him from the library window as he led the horse through the gate on his return.

Strangely irritated, Pip quickly put the horse in its stall and set about giving it a vigorous rubdown. He lingered over the work, hoping the major would be gone by the time he was finished. And as he brushed the horse’s coat until it gleamed, Pip decided he would under no circumstances stand vigil over the major’s evening walk any longer. If the man chose to do it, he would be on his own. When Pip was finished in the barn, he would go to the kitchen, eat his supper, go to bed early, and forget all about affairs that were none of his concern.

Decision made, Pip gave the horse one last pat and set the brush aside. He picked up the saddle from where he’d left it and turned to leave the stall, only to let out a decidedly unmanly shriek when a shadowy figure in midnight blue, with ghastly pale clawlike hands and black eyes, blocked his path.

“What have you done now?” Mrs. Applethwaite asked as she stepped into the light, and Pip could only look at her in confusion as he tried to convince his heart that the specter of death had not indeed come for him.

“What?”

She frowned at him. “The master has sent for you again. You must have done
something
.”

Pip felt a sudden fluttering in his stomach that had nothing to do with the panicked beating of his heart. He shook his head. “I don’t know, Missus.”

She harrumphed. “Well, hurry up. He’s waiting in the library.”

Pip closed the door to the stall, set the saddle down, and reluctantly followed her to the house. Despite his objections, she made him remove his boots before she would let him into the kitchen and then merely pointed imperiously toward the door that led to the rest of the house. Once in the hall outside the library, Pip paused, giving himself a moment for his eyes to adjust and to calm his nerves. For some strange reason his heartbeat hadn’t slowed from his fright, and his hand shook a little as he reached out to knock on the door.

When the major called “Come,” Pip entered nervously. Despite the darkness of the hall, the windows in the room provided plenty of light from the late-afternoon sun, but the major still sat in shadow, his high-backed chair turned away from the light and close to the fire as before. The man’s pale eyes seemed to glow in the darkness as he regarded Pip silently, and Pip squirmed, wracking his brain for any misdeed. He’d only been following orders the night before. The major couldn’t find fault with him on that score. But Pip couldn’t think of anything else he might have done wrong recently… until he spied the small slender volume of poetry resting on the major’s knee.

Pip’s stomach dropped, and he began to sweat in earnest now. He watched the major nervously through his eyelashes as he pretended to study the carpet at his feet. But when the silence stretched too long, he couldn’t stand the waiting any longer, and he asked as meekly as possible, “Ye sent for me, master?”

The man remained silent, his elegant fingers tapping lightly on the book until he finally seemed to take pity on Pip and asked, “Do you like poetry, Phillip?”

How to answer that?

Pip shrugged and decided to play the country simpleton. “Don’ ’ave much chance to ’ear it, sir. But I s’pose so.”

The major pursed his lips, but Pip couldn’t tell if that meant he was angered or amused by his response. “I like poetry quite a bit myself, prose as well. I fear reading is one of the few amusements left to me these days, so you can imagine my distress when I believed one of my favorite books had been lost… and my happiness at its sudden reappearance on my shelves today. Quite the miracle, don’t you think?”

Pip knew he was caught but decided it was worth another go. “Per’aps it were only misplaced, sir.”

The major frowned at him then, his pale gray eyes turning frosty. Pip wasn’t sure how the man managed it in the warm glow from the coals, but he hoped to never see it again. Pip swallowed thickly, blew out a breath, and decided on a different tack. He ducked his head and gave his master a guilty quirk of the lips as he said, “Or, per’aps someone foolish might’ve borrowed it when ’e shouldna’ and returned it ’oping no one would notice the short time it were away.” Pip steeled himself then and met the major’s gaze straight on, trying to look as contrite as he possibly could.

As before, something flickered in the man’s eyes before disappearing again, and he grunted. “Perhaps so.” The major dropped his gaze to the book in his lap, and Pip slumped a little in relief now that he no longer had to fight to hold it.

The major lifted the book from his knee and toyed with it for a few moments before sighing wearily, closing his eyes, and allowing his head to drop against the back of his chair. “Perhaps I wouldn’t mind if other books disappeared from my collection, from time to time, if they were returned in the same manner,” he said quietly, “And if,
perhaps
, someone were to come and read them to me when my head aches and my eyes have grown weary.”

The major hadn’t opened his eyes, so he missed the look of incredulity that was surely on Pip’s face in that moment. In the silence that followed, Pip was able to get hold of himself, and when the major lifted his head and opened his eyes again, Pip dredged up a tentative smile. “The master need only ask, and any servant worth ’is salt would be ’appy to read to ’im of a night.”

For the first time since Pip had met the man, the major actually smiled. His smile wasn’t the broadest Pip had ever seen, merely a quirk of his lips, but for some strange reason Pip felt as if he’d been given a present, and his own smile widened in response.

The major quickly looked away and cleared his throat. “Good. Then we have an understanding. You may come this evening, after you’ve finished your duties.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Pip ducked his head and backed out of the room, clearly dismissed but not unhappy about it… very puzzled, but not unhappy.

The major was a queer sort, with his brooding silences and unsettling eyes, but he might be all right after all. Any other gent would have sacked Pip twice over by now, and Pip counted his blessings as he went back to the kitchen, all of his earlier irritation gone.

When he got over the worst of his confusion, he was actually quite pleased with how the interview had gone. Not only had he been given permission to read whatever he liked, but the major wanted him to come and sit with him of an evening. Even if his presence rattled Pip’s nerves a bit, Pip could ignore that for a chance at company other than his own or the Applethwaites. And who knows, he might not only get a chance to satisfy his curiosity about the major but, if he played his cards right, he could spend his winter in front of a warm fire and maybe coax a bit of that whisky out of him in the bargain.

When Pip told her the news, Mrs. Applethwaite couldn’t quite hide her astonishment and disapproval. Pip took a bit more pleasure in her
dis
pleasure than he should have, but he didn’t let it show in his expression.

“Well,” she said, all affronted dignity, “If that is the master’s wish, then of course you must do it. But you will wash your hands before you go and you will mind your station when you are with him. You will also see to the fire and the lamps, fetch and carry whatever he needs. If you’re going to be in the house, you should at least make yourself useful while you’re there.”