Bone House: A Novel by Betsy Tobin

Author:Betsy Tobin
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Fiction, Traditional British, Mystery & Detective, Historical, General
ISBN: 9780743406161
Publisher: Simon and Schuster
Published: 2001-02-15T10:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

The following morning I take my mistress her breakfast and I am shocked by the sight of her. The emetic Lucius administered yesterday has left her greatly weakened, her pallor is pasty, and when she turns to me, I can see that her eyes have difficulty focusing. I stand frozen in the doorway for a moment.

“Who is there?” she calls out to the darkness, for her curtains remain drawn from the night.

“It is only me, mum,” I announce, and enter the room, placing the tray on the table by the window. I open the curtains, allowing the morning light to flood the room, but when I turn back to her, she has lowered her eyes to the bedcover in front of her. She gestures awkwardly toward the curtain with one arm.

“No light. I cannot face the light today.”

“Yes, mum.” I close the curtains once again, leaving only a crack of light to split the room.

“That is better,” she says. “But it is no use, standing over by the window. I can see almost nothing of you there,” she says with creeping irritation.

“Forgive me, mum,” I say, and move to the side of her bed. She slowly turns her head to face me. “Will you take breakfast?” I ask. She nods and I pour her a cup of warm ale and place it in her hands. I draw a chair to her bedside and perch upon it while she drinks. She slurps it noisily and with obvious thirst.

“I woke some time ago,” she says, “but I could not find the bell.”

“I’m sorry. It is here beside you, on the table.” She turns and looks, surprised to see the bell in its usual place, then shakes her head as if it has appeared by magic.

“You must rest today,” I say.

“It is only that wretched antimony,” she says with a wave of her hand, referring to Lucius and his cure. “He gave me overmuch. But I shall remain in bed. I gather Edward requires you in the library today.”

I nod uneasily, unsure how to respond. What has he told her?

“I am greatly relieved he has agreed,” she says with a sigh. “I have never had a proper portrait of him. My husband did not wish to be reminded of his deformity. Nor have it recorded for posterity.” Her voice takes on a brittleness as the past rushes over her. She looks away toward the window, moistens her drying lips, appears to forget that I am there.

I did not know my master’s father, only of his fearsome reputation. By all accounts he was a cold-hearted man. It was said that when my master was born his mother burst into tears at the sight of him, and that his father took one look at him and left the room. He was not expected to live and was put out to a wet nurse for the first three years of life, his family never anticipating his return. When he finally did, it was rumored his

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