Patrick deWitt - Undermajordomo Minor

Lucy said, “Ma’am?”

“Did you not hear what I said?”

“I heard. I suppose I’m not sure I understand the question. A position was offered to me, and I accepted the position.”

“But surely there’s some other type of work where you come from?”

“Not so very much. Nothing that suited me, anyway.”

“And what is it about this appointment that suits you, can I ask?”

“It’s far away,” he said. “It’s different.”

She spoke as though they had hit upon something key: “What if it’s too far away, Lucy?” she said. “What if it’s too different?” Now she fished a single gold coin from her smock pocket and laid this on the bed. “Here is your return fare. And I would like for you to go home, if you please.”

Lucy looked at the coin but didn’t pick it up. “You’re terminating me?”

“It wouldn’t be my place to do that,” she said.

“Does Mr Olderglough want me gone, then?”

“I don’t suppose he does. But then, Mr Olderglough is not currently of a mind to make such judgements.”

“How do you mean, ma’am?”

She assumed the demeanour of one wondering how much she might prudently say. “Do you not find him a peculiar man?”

“Frankly, ma’am,” said Lucy, “most everyone I’ve met since I’ve left home is peculiar to me in one way or another.” Agnes was visibly dissatisfied by the response, however, and so Lucy added, “But yes, I suppose I do find him so particularly.”

She nodded, and asked, “Now, would you be surprised to know that he is more than peculiar?”

“I don’t know what you mean by that,” said Lucy, which was true — he didn’t.

Here Agnes began removing hypothetical bits of grit from her smock. “Far be it from me,” she said, “to besmirch the man’s good name. God knows I looked to him for support and guidance any number of times over the years. But I can’t say, Lucy, that I would look to him for guidance at present.” A sadness came over her, and she said, “Listen to me, boy. Can’t you see that a mistake has been made in bringing you here?”

“But I don’t want to go home, ma’am,” said Lucy. “I’m not happy there.”

“You’re happy here, then?”

Lucy didn’t answer for a moment. He was thinking about Klara. “Possibly I am.”

“You understand that you’re in danger?”

“Yes.”

Agnes stood. There was an air of finality or defeat to her carriage, so that Lucy felt he had let her down in some way. She said, “What happened to you last night will happen again if you stay here. The situation will not improve. On the contrary.” With this, she turned to go. Lucy asked her,

“But why do you stay on, ma’am?”

She lingered in the doorway, considering her reply. Speaking over her shoulder, she said, “Many years ago, I made a pact with a friend. So long as he remains, then so will I stay as well.” Her eyes were kinder now, smoky, and crowded with emotion. “Hold on to that coin. If the impulse to go seizes you, I want you to heed it. Will you do that for me, boy?”

“All right.”

“Don’t just say it to say it. That’s what Mr Broom did, and look what it got him.”

It sent a shiver through Lucy, to hear Broom’s name. “What is the matter with him, exactly?” he asked.

“The matter with whom?” Agnes asked.

“With Mr Broom.”

Agnes shook her head, and she regarded Lucy as though he were a pitiful individual indeed. “You really don’t understand at all, do you?”

“Understand what?”

“Mr Broom is long dead, Lucy. The man you met last night is the Baron.”

Lucy sat for a long while after Agnes had left, trying to connect the author of the elegantly lovelorn letters he’d been delivering each day with the feral and cretinous apparition he’d seen on the landing. When he found he couldn’t link these two, he elected to let it lie awhile. A restlessness came over him and he dressed, descending the stairs and crossing the entryway for the outdoors. Stepping into the cool morning air, he pulled on his cap, careful not to disturb the officious bandaging. He felt an affinity for his head wound; was there not a certain sweetness in its aching pain? He wondered what Klara’s reaction to his injury might be, and he imagined her gentle hands searching his skull to pinpoint the epicentre of tenderness. He would tell of how he came to be hurt, and she would swoon and marvel at his trial of fright, afterwards comforting him with a cup of tea, and perhaps a slice of poppyseed cake. And this moment, would it not make the entire ordeal worthwhile for Lucy? Alas, this was not to be, for when he arrived at Klara’s door he discovered she was not there, and neither was Memel, and neither was Mewe, which isn’t to say the shanty was empty, for it was not; in fact it was filled to capacity, filled with soldiers, the same group Lucy had met when he’d first arrived at the castle. All were standing save for the exceptionally handsome man, who sat in the centre, at the table, and he held Klara’s cape in his hands. His face was drawn and grim, and he was not in the least pleased with Lucy.

The exceptionally handsome man spoke. “I am Adolphus, Lucy from Bury. I apologize for not introducing myself when last we met. But possibly it is that you’ve heard my name since then.”

“Yes,” Lucy said.

Adolphus held up the cape. “It has come to my attention that you’ve brought my Klara a gift. Is that so?”

“It’s so.”

“And why, may I ask, have you done this?”

“Because she was cold.”

“I see.” Adolphus turned to the soldier on his right. “Are you cold?”

“Yes, I’m cold,” the soldier answered.

Adolphus turned to the soldier on his left. “And you?”

“It’s cold. I’m cold.”

“And so am I cold,” Adolphus said. He turned to Lucy. “We’re all cold. But you’ll not furnish us with capes, will you?”

Lucy remained silent. A look of violence came over Adolphus, and he said, “Here’s how it’s going to go, boy. I’m going to give you back this cape. And you may give it to another village lass, or you may wear it yourself, or you may set it afire. You may do with it what you wish, for it is yours. But there is one thing which, I’m here to tell you, you may not do with it, and that is return it to Klara. As a matter of fact, I should think you and she have no further business together, is that understood?”

Lucy didn’t answer. The soldiers were standing unnecessarily close to him, he noticed. “May I ask what you men are fighting about?” he said.

“We fight so that others need not,” Adolphus said.

“And who are you fighting, that I need not?”

“They are bastards and will die bastards.” Adolphus gestured at the men standing about him. “Now, we’ve a significant campaign beginning soon, which will see us through to the spring. I’ve quite enough to do in preparation for this without having to worry about some non-regional cast-off wagging his tiny pink pecker at my bride-to-be. Will you heed me, yes or no?”

He stood and crossed over to Lucy. If only he weren’t so much larger , Lucy thought. If only he weren’t so bold . Lucy couldn’t look him in the eye, and when Adolphus thrust the cape into his arms and pushed him out the door, there was no option other than to accept its happening, and so he did.

Walking numbly through the village, he caught sight of Klara in the marketplace, shivering in her old, ragged coat. He approached her, and was aware of an anger gathering within him. Standing before her now, he wondered if he didn’t hate her.

“Adolphus says you’re to be married,” he said.