The Lost Orphan by Stacey Halls

Author:Stacey Halls
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: MIRA Books
Published: 2020-01-17T19:03:24+00:00

* * *

That night I lay awake with the bedcurtains and drapes open, looking at the moon. Its misty face hung above the backs of the houses in Gloucester Street opposite, shining through powdery clouds. I had sat up late writing to Ambrosia, who had reached the northeast safely and found a house to rent on the outskirts of Durham, belonging to a duke who wintered on the continent. There were several acres, she wrote, and a stable block full of horses, and they went riding together, when the children were not running about like puppy dogs getting perfectly filthy. Knowing she had arrived safely, I felt a loosening—my jaw, I realized, had been clenched for a fortnight, and I pushed my fingers into it, kneading the tension, and poured myself a glass of brandy from the decanter beneath the window to celebrate her safe arrival.

The clock in the hallway distantly chimed midnight. My stomach burned from the drink, and my stomach was empty. I wanted some bread and cheese, and decided to make my way downstairs, my stockinged feet soundless on the carpets. In the basement there was a chink of light around the kitchen door, and low voices, and I pushed it open to find Eliza and Agnes at the kitchen table. Eliza had her back to the range, and Agnes sat facing the door. They had the solemn, furtive look of men at a card game, and if they were startled to see me they did not show it, nor I them. I pulled my bed jacket tighter around me, though the kitchen was still warm, with dying embers in the range.

“Madam,” said Agnes. “We thought you was a spook.”

“I thought there might be some bread and cheese left over from supper.”

Agnes got up, busying herself in the larder. Eliza would not look at me, examining her nails and then rubbing at knife marks on the table.

“I hope you shall not be tired in the morning,” I said.

“No, madam,” she said softly.

I had interrupted some private exchange, most likely about myself.

Agnes set a small glass of milk in front of me and unwrapped the cheese from its cloth. I stood waiting for Eliza to leave, but she did not.

“I heard Charlotte stirring on my way down,” I said.

Without looking at me, she peeled herself from the table and padded quietly from the room.

“What were you and Eliza discussing?” I asked Agnes.

She arranged a heel of bread and some cheese on a plate. In the light from the single flame, the lines on her face looked deeper. “This and that. Time ran away with us.” She yawned. “I should be going up.”

I checked the back door, and Agnes closed the shutters and took the candle, and we made our wordless pilgrimage to bed.

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