Kip was dressed and outside just after dawn. A good night's sleep and two hot meals had done wonders for his spirit. Even his left leg, which usually ached in the mornings, felt better. Molly had said that Master Windsor was returning at the end of the week, and Kip thought if he worked hard, he might be able to tame the front lawn by then.
He started with the overgrown ivy at the base of the mansion. He trimmed around the back and sides of the house. He would have continued around front by the tree, but it appeared as though someone had already cleared the growth on that side. When the ivy was finished, he chopped some firewood, repaired the stable door, and swept Galileo's stall.
Kip enjoyed working outside. It reminded him of hours spent with his father, tending their farm on the shore. It was a small farm-just a few animals, a vegetable garden, and a potato patch-but it had been more than Da could handle by himself. Kip had always secretly wondered, if he had been stronger, if he had been able to work as much as a healthy boy, whether their farm might have thrived. Then maybe his family wouldn't have needed to leave Ireland for work, and they would all still be together.
It was early afternoon, and Kip was drawing water for Galileo at the well when he heard a pained voice in the direction of the house. "But Alistair, I'll ruin my favorite dress!" It was the little girl, Penny. She was speaking to her brother, who was leaning against the big tree out front.
"You should have thought about that before you agreed to play," Alistair said matter-of-factly. "Now get in there, or it'll be a double penalty."
Kip had known bullies in his life, and he could tell at one glance that Alistair was a bully of the highest order-the sort who took a special delight in torturing things smaller than himself. Show him a spider's web and he would tear it. Show him a bird's nest and he would kick it. Show him a lame boy? Kip preferred not to find out what he would do. He had thus far managed to avoid Alistair, which was not difficult, as both the Windsor children seemed to prefer playing indoors, and even when they were outside, the low hills covering the lawn created a sort of natural barrier between any two points.
Now, however, Kip found himself with an opportunity to study the children, unobserved. He watched the little girl lower herself into a hole near the base of the tree. He had not noticed this hole before because it had been covered with leaves. Kip made a note to himself that he should rake them clear when he got the chance. It was not a deep hole, for when Penny touched bottom, her chin was still aboveground. As soon as she was in, Alistair pushed leaves around her body with his foot until she was properly buried.
"Alistair, I don't think I want to play this game," Penny said. Her glasses had slipped down from her nose, and she was trying unsuccessfully to fix them without the use of her arms.
"Today's game is entirely new." The boy paced in front of the tree, hands behind his back like a captain of the guard. "It's something I call 'Pit and Pockets.' You've likely already figured out the 'pit' part. Now for the next bit: I've got something in each of my pockets. In one pocket is a bag of sweets; in the other is…" He spun around dramatically. "Certain doom!"
Penny made a small, terrified sound. She blinked up at her brother. "I pick the sweets," she said in a tone more befitting a question.
Alistair stood back. "No, stupid. You have to choose: Right or left? And whatever you pick, you have to eat."
Kip could not say for certain, but something in Alistair's voice made him suspect that no matter which pocket the girl selected, she would lose. He watched as Penny screwed up her face, concentrating all her mental energy on determining which pocket was the winner. "I…I think it's the left one," she ventured after a moment.
"Left, she says!" Alistair reached a hand into his left pocket and pulled out a fistful of something dark and stringy. The prize hung limp between his fingers, squirming slowly.
Kip had spent enough years working in soil to know what Alistair was holding. "Earthworms," he said under his breath. Penny gave a shriek that confirmed his suspicion.
Alistair held the creatures over his sister's head. "Let's see which one reaches you first." With a great flourish, he sprinkled the worms around the edge of the hole.
Penny, who up until this point had been a commendable sport, broke down. "Alistair, pull me out of here." She spun her head about, trying to keep clear of the worms blindly inching toward her. Suddenly she gave a sharp scream that surprised Kip for its sincerity. Even Alistair looked a bit taken aback. "Help!" she shrieked. "They're getting my feet! I can feel them!"
"You're just being hysterical," Alistair protested. "I can see for myself the worms have barely made it past the first layer of leaves." He crouched down and took one of the worms between his two fingers. "Look here, all you have to do is eat one worm, and then you're done."
Penny did not hear him, as she was too busy screaming about how she could feel the worms moving around her ankles. Seizing a perfect opportunity, Alistair raised the worm over her open mouth.
Kip had seen enough. He took up his crutch, Courage, and hobbled out from behind the well. "You leave her alone!" he called, moving toward them as fast as he could.
Alistair turned around slowly. A look of pure pleasure crept across his face. "If it isn't our new groundskeeper!" he said. "I thought I smelled something foul."
Kip ignored the comment and hopped closer. Alistair took a lazy step to one side, planting himself between Kip and Penny. The two boys were now only a few feet from each other. At this range, Alistair looked even bigger. Kip swallowed, steeling himself. "She ain't done nothin' to deserve that. Let her go."
"Or else what?" Alistair said, tossing the worm aside. "One word to Mother, and you'll be turned out-two fishy orphans, alone in the cold."
"I ain't no orphan," Kip snapped. "And you're a bully." His face was flushed, his free hand clenched tight in a fist. He knew talking was useless; this was going to be a fight.
Kip was by no means a good fighter, but he had been in enough scraps to know a few tricks. The first trick was to always strike first-to guarantee he got in at least one good blow before things went bad. The second trick was to bite his tongue, as hard as he could, right before things got started. That way, when he was hit, the pain wouldn't surprise him. The last thing, and this was important, was to level the field as quickly as possible by getting the other boy onto the ground. Down there, having only one good leg was not as much of a problem. None of these tricks had ever helped him win a fight, of course, but they usually helped him lose a little less badly.
Kip dropped his crutch and sprang across the grass, tackling Alistair at the knees. The boy shouted out as they both came crashing down onto the wet lawn. Kip concentrated on hitting the places he knew hurt most: the kidneys, just below the ribs, the back of the leg. It quickly became clear to him that, for all his posturing, Alistair knew next to nothing about proper fighting. The boy landed a few ineffectual blows upon Kip's shoulder blades and elbows before resorting to a campaign of hair pulling and ear biting.
While Penny screamed from her hole, the two boys rolled back and forth across the lawn, fighting with everything in them. Kip heard a satisfying crack as his forehead struck Alistair square in the nose. Blood clouded his vision, and his head throbbed horribly. But from the way Alistair was howling and clutching his face, Kip knew he had scored a direct hit. He grinned as the significance of this fact dawned on him: he was actually winning.
The next moment, Kip felt someone grab his arm from behind. "Get off him!" Molly shouted as she pulled them apart. "What're you thinkin'?" It took Kip a moment to realize that she was talking not to Alistair but to him.
He saw her cast a panicked glance toward the open front door. Mistress Windsor was rushing out to meet them. She crouched down and helped Penny out of the hole. The little girl clung to her neck like a barnacle. "Just what is going on here?" the woman demanded.
Alistair scrambled to his feet and ran to his mother's side. "It was the cripple who started it! He came at me like a murderer!"
Constance looked between the two boys. They both had grass stains and mud on their clothes. They were breathing heavily, and Alistair had blood on his face. "Is this true?" she said to Kip.
Kip, still on the ground, stared up at her, unable to deny the charge.
Molly stepped in front of him. "Forgive me, mum, but your son's lying. I saw the whole thing. My brother was only defendin' himself as any person would."
Kip stared up at Molly, confused; if she had really seen them, then she would have known that Kip had struck first.
"Don't listen to her, Mother!" Alistair said, clutching his nose. "She's just trying to protect him! Ask Penny-she was there."
Unfortunately, Penny was too busy sobbing about the worms eating her toes to give any kind of testimony. Constance gave her son a weary look. "Tormenting little girls and crippled boys? Don't think your father won't hear of this."
Alistair sneered. He fished a crumpled bag of sweets from his pocket and opened his mouth. "And then what? He'll puh-puh-punish me?" He said this with an exaggerated stutter.
Constance snatched the bag from his hands. Her eyes were wide, dangerous. Every muscle in her body looked tense. "You will respect your father," she said in a constricted tone. "Go to your room immediately." For a moment, Kip thought she might strike the boy.
Alistair turned from her, his face burning. He gave Kip a special threatening look before marching back into the house.
The woman turned to face Kip. He thought for a moment she was going to apologize for her son, but she did not. "See that you fill that hole at once. Heaven forbid someone falls in and gets injured." She looked at Molly. "Shouldn't you be in the kitchen?" Then she turned and carried Penny into the house without another word.
Molly picked up Kip's discarded crutch and offered it to him. "You fight with the young master on our first week? That's a sure way to promise there won't be a second. What were you thinkin'?"
What was he thinking? All Kip had done was the thing she had taught him. For as long as he could remember, Molly had defended him against other children. Not a week went by when she didn't get into a fight on his behalf. Kip had just been doing the same for Penny-only now his sister was outraged.
Kip did not accept the offered crutch. Instead, he rose on his one good leg, which was sore and threatening to buckle. "You shouldn't 'a lied about seein' the fight," he said, his breathing raspy.
"Better that than tellin' the mistress her son got walloped by a boy half his size." Molly made a silly face, but Kip refused to smile. She sighed. "Kip, I said that to protect us. It was just a story."
"Was it?" He fixed her with as hard a gaze as he could. "Do they count as stories when the other person thinks they're true?" He took his crutch from her and started toward the stables. Suddenly he felt exhausted and sore from the fight-and shaky. The exhilaration of his victory had been replaced by a cold gloom.
8 MASTER OF THE HOUSE
Though Molly had perhaps stretched the truth about her domestic prowess, she was determined to make good on the claim. She spent the first week at Windsor Manor scrubbing, scouring, and dusting every surface she could find. She made a sort of game for herself out of anticipating her mistress's every wish so that she could fulfill it before being asked. (Penny helped in this matter, often acting as a spy who would come back with reports of half-filled wineglasses or drafty windows.) By the end of the week, Molly had succeeded in her efforts, as evidenced by not one but three separate instances of her mistress uttering "thank you" after being served.
It was mid-Friday before Molly finally met Master Windsor. When she heard his carriage rolling up the drive, she put aside her wash and fetched her brother in the yard. The two of them rushed to the front stoop so they might greet him at the door. Molly had enough sense to know the importance of winning her master's approval-and if he was anything like his wife, she knew it would be a difficult thing to gain.
Molly and Kip both stood at attention, straight as candlesticks, like proper servants. They were wearing clean (if oversized) clothes and shined shoes. Molly had even gotten her brother to wash his face, though he hadn't done a very good job around the ears, and his neck still had some red marks from where Alistair had bitten him. Molly wasn't sure whether she should be furious with her brother or proud of him for getting into that fight. She imagined her parents would have shared her ambivalence-Ma, impressed with his courage; Da, disappointed in his hotheadedness. This thought made her smile. Then it made her sad.
When the carriage rattled to a stop in front of the house, Molly was surprised by the man who climbed down from the driver's seat. His shoulders may have once been broad, but they were now severely sloped. He had a weak chin and round face. Even his mustache was halfhearted. Like the rest of his family, he had pale skin and dark eyes, which he blinked incessantly-as though he were afraid that someone might strike him. Looking at the man, Molly understood at once why Alistair had not been afraid of his mother's threats: to put it plainly, Bertrand Windsor was a milksop.
"We expected you some hours ago," said Constance, who had rushed to meet him. She had been increasingly anxious for his arrival all afternoon. "Have you any news?"
"F-f-forgive me, darling," he said with a distinct stutter. "I was a bit late getting out of town." Master Windsor knocked some mud from his shoes. "It didn't help that the roads have turned to marsh since Monday-I daresay at this rate, the whole valley will be a bog by Easter!" He looked up at his wife, perhaps expecting a laugh, but none was forthcoming.
"And your meetings?" she pressed. "Were they productive?"
He apparently did not hear her and turned to Molly and Kip. "H-h-heavens!" he exclaimed. "How my two children have changed! One would h-h-hardly recognize you for Windsors."
Molly took this to be a joke and obliged him with a polite smile. "Alistair and Penny are upstairs, readyin' for supper. I'm Molly, and this here's my brother, Kip."
"We're the help!" Kip said, bowing as best as his crutch allowed.
Molly took the man's hat and cloak. She couldn't help but notice the sour odor of tobacco and ale on his clothes. "I've nearly got food on the table, sir."
"Ah, victuals!" Master Windsor clapped his hands, rubbing them together. "There's nothing I prefer to a hot meal at the end of a long ride…Well, perhaps a hot meal at the end of a short ride!" He turned toward his wife, offering a low bow. "After you, my dear."
Mistress Windsor rolled her eyes and walked into the house, closing the door behind her. It shut right in his face.
Bertrand gave Molly a somewhat embarrassed smile and then trotted inside after his wife, calling out some joke about the tortoise and the hare.
Molly exchanged a look with her brother. "He seems…friendly," she said.
Kip snorted. "Friendly like a housefly. I'd 'a shook his hand if I didn't think it'd frighten him to death." He hobbled to the carriage and climbed onto the driver's seat. "It's a mixed-up world where he's the one bein' called Master." He snapped the reins and drove into the yard.
Molly spent the next half hour finishing supper. She stewed alongside her food, thinking about how unfair Kip's comment about Master Windsor had been. Her brother, of all people, should know what it meant to be disregarded.
The evening menu was mostly burned pork roast with a side of mostly bland vegetables-the best Molly could do in light of all the extra housework. Penny spent the bulk of her mealtime trying to see how many individual peas she could spear onto her fork tongs, Alistair busied himself with smuggling what looked to be peppermints from his pocket into his mouth without his parents noticing, Constance seemed more interested in her wineglass than her plate, and Bertrand Windsor was too busy talking to eat much of anything. "Ah! Your native cuisine!" he exclaimed as Molly spooned some boiled potatoes onto his plate. She smiled and resisted the urge to tell him that the potatoes she grew up on had been black and slimy-sick with blight.
Bertrand appeared to be the sort for whom silence was uncomfortable, and he made it his mission to furnish the meal with conversation-mostly by telling jokes he had learned in town. "Th-th-the one gentleman says to the other: 'My wife's always after me for money. When I wake up, she says, Give me five pounds! And then when I come home that night, it's the same thing, Give me five pounds!' The other fellow asked what she does with all her money. And the first one says: 'I don't know, I haven't given her any!'" He chuckled, shaking his head.
Penny looked up from her peas, pointing at Molly. "I like her stories better."
Molly smiled modestly. "I thought it was very funny, sir," she said.
And so it went for the rest of the meal. Master Windsor stumbled through a series of bons mots and "corkers" (a word he had picked up in town). The less interested his family acted, the more eager he became to please. No one appeared more irritated with his performance than Constance, who made repeated attempts to change the subject to something more sensible. "I should like to hear a bit more about the men from the bank, darling," she interjected at one point. "Did they seem receptive?"
"Ah! That reminds me," he declared, "I overheard the most amusing story about two bankers trapped in a nunnery. How does it go? Let me see…"
"Let us not." Constance dropped her silverware against her plate, rose from her seat, and marched from the room.
Master Windsor smiled weakly at his children, who were now watching him. "Indigestion, p-p-perhaps?" he said.
Constance's abrupt departure shattered any illusion of this being a happy family reunion, and the children soon excused themselves, leaving Master Windsor to eat alone. The sight was too much for Molly to bear, and she waited in the kitchen as he finished eating before returning to clear the dishes.
It wasn't until later that evening that Molly got a clearer idea of why her mistress had been so upset. She had just dried and hung the pots in the kitchen when she heard two voices echoing faintly beside her. They were coming from the dumbwaiter, which connected to one of the rooms upstairs-
"Is that how your new business associates spend their days?" Constance said. "Telling rude jokes in public houses?"
"Wh-wh-why, of course not all day, darling. B-b-but these gentlemen…you must understand they're cut from a different cloth. They're earthy blokes. Still! They're top-notch speculators. They know their way around markets and-and speculation, and…you must believe me when I tell you that these men are the fastest way out of our trouble-perhaps the only way…"
At this point they must have moved away from their spot, because Molly could no longer hear their conversation. She felt an overwhelming desire to learn more about the nature of their disagreement, which she thought might shine some light on the reasons for their moving to this old house in the first place. She filled a pitcher with water and rushed from the kitchen up the main stairway. The pitcher was her excuse, in case she was discovered eavesdropping. She had already learned that, so long as she was doing housework, the members of the family treated her like she was invisible-which suited her just fine. She quietly walked to the sideboard at the far end of the hall and began watering some wildflowers Kip had brought in from the woods. Beside her was the drawing room, and through the gap where the door hinged, she could see the Windsors close to each other, deep in conversation.
Constance had her arms folded tight across her chest. "I feel as though I'm not even part of this marriage. I tell you I want nothing to do with this house, and you ignore me. I say I don't want servants here, and what do you do? You send me a pair of children. Children, Bertie."
"Well, they're working for free," he said brightly. "That's something." Bertrand rested a hand on her shoulder. "P-p-please trust me. This will work, but it will take time."
"You told me there was no time."
"You're right. You're right." He moved closer, lowering his voice. "But there is, of course, a way to buy time." He held out his hand.
Constance stiffened. Molly leaned close to the jamb, trying to read the expression on her face. The woman sighed and removed something from her dress pocket. "Promise me this will end," she said.
Master Windsor did not answer but snatched the object, which was long and seemed to be made of metal, from her grasp. He clutched it in his fingers like a treasure. He turned around and marched into the hallway. Molly pressed herself against the wall, hoping the half-opened door might hide her. He walked right past her, and she caught a glimpse of the object gripped in his pale hand-
It was a key.
9 THE ROOM AT THE TOP OF THE STAIRS
All right. Into bed with you."
Molly stood in Penny's room, a battlefield littered with the corpses of dollies and wooden toys and stuffed animals. With all the additional work to prepare the house for Master Windsor's return, Molly had not had time to clean it. Tomorrow, perhaps. The bed was covered in lace pillows and had a muslin canopy overhead. How was it fair that this family should have so much when she and her brother had so little? She pulled back the thick covers, and Penny-hair brushed and wearing a fresh nightgown-scrambled onto the feather mattress. She climbed to her knees. "What else can you tell me about Cleopatra?" she asked.
In the week since Molly's arrival, bedtime stories had developed into something of a sacred ritual. Unlike most six-year-olds, Penny eagerly awaited the hour when she might run upstairs, put on her nightgown, and snuggle under the covers-because that meant she was about to hear another of Molly's thrilling tales. (On Wednesday, she had been so keen to hear a story that she'd tried advancing the hands of the grandfather clock so that she might convince Molly to tuck her in just after tea.) Molly removed the girl's glasses and set them on the nightstand. "Well," she said, buying herself a moment, "some folks say she was actually a fallen angel."
"I bet that's why the archbishop fancied her," Penny said. "Did she have real angel wings?"
Molly nodded. "But she had to give 'em up when she got here. You could see the stitches from where they cut off her wings"-she ran a finger along Penny's shoulder blades-"right here." The girl squirmed and collapsed onto the mattress. Molly pulled the covers over her. "I'll tell you somethin' else about Cleopatra. When she sang, her voice was so pretty that the whole world stopped what it was doin' just to listen. Wherever you were, you could hear her, like a choir of bells."
"Can you sing?" Penny asked.
Molly shook her head. "Not like that, I can't."
The girl sighed. "Mummy used to sing to me. She'd sing about Princess Penny-that was me. And afterward she'd hold my hand the whole way while I fell asleep."
This surprised Molly, who had trouble imagining her mistress being anything but stern. Just thinking of the way she had treated poor Master Windsor at supper left Molly feeling a chill. "Your mother don't tuck you in no more?" she said.
Penny sighed. "Not since we moved to this ugly house. Now she's only cross with me. I hate this place. There's no one to play with."
"You've got your brother, miss. And mine."
The girl sat up, her face a picture of scandal. "I can't play with boys." She flopped back down. "Besides, Alistair won't let me play with him. He just bullies me."
Molly pulled the covers right up to Penny's chin. "I promise that whenever I'm around I'll not let him bully you. Fair?" She crossed her heart to show she was serious.
Molly glanced at the girl's bed stand. She noticed a stack of books hidden behind a lamp. They were square and thin-the sort of books that contained more pictures than words. Each one was brightly colored and had gilded lettering along the spine. They seemed to be part of a series:
Princess Penny and the Beast
Princess Penny Eats a Whole Cake
Princess Penny Visits the Moon
Princess Penny Stays Up Late
Molly reached for the closest one, which had a picture of a girl with glasses fighting a sea dragon. "Princess Penny…just like your mum's tales!"
Penny sat up. "Don't!" She reached out to intercept Molly's arm. "You're not supposed to see those."
Molly thought she was making a joke, but the girl looked very serious. "Fair enough, miss. We're all entitled to our secret things." She winked. "Only you might want to look for a better hidin' place."
Penny sat back, apparently satisfied that the issue had been settled. "Why did you and your brother leave Ireland?" she said.
Molly knew that these questions were a way of tricking her into another story, but she found it hard not to oblige. "The truth is, I came here because I had a dream."
The girl gave a small gasp, sitting up. "Was it a very bad dream?" She spoke with the tone of someone who knew the subject all too well.
Molly shook her head. "Far from it, miss. I dreamed about a little girl named Penny who needed a maid." She stroked Penny's dark hair. "And she was so pretty and well behaved that I decided to come right over and do the job myself."
Penny shrank from her touch. "That's not true," she said.
"True as time, miss."
Penny tugged at a knot in her hair. "I used to have dreams like that. But here, everyone has horrid dreams. Every night. Mummy, Papa, even Alistair. I hear them in their rooms."
Molly thought of her own dreams, which had lately been terrible and haunting. She looked into Penny's dark eyes and wondered if this was the reason the girl had become so dependent on bedtime stories: they were a candle to light her to bed. "Of course, you know bad dreams is only that," she said. "They're none of 'em real. They canna hurt you or anyone else."
Penny shook her head. "It's not the dreams that frighten me." She peered about the room, as if the walls might be listening. "It's that sometimes, when I can't sleep, I hear something else…I hear him."
Molly caught her breath. "Him, who?" she asked.
Penny leaned close, her voice barely a whisper. "The night man."
Molly stared at the little girl, trying to discern if she was making a joke. Penny went on. "He walks through the whole house, room to room, and then he's gone. I asked Mummy about him, and she said I just made him up. But I'm sure I didn't, because some mornings I see the footprints he's left behind. They're muddy and shaped wrong and I don't like them."
Molly's heart was beating very quickly. She thought of the footprints she'd been scrubbing throughout the house, and she thought of the story her brother had told their first night, about a figure in the fog-had he told the same story to Penny, who had added some details of her own? "Well, the next time you hear this night fellow, could you tell him to wipe his boots before comin' inside? I dinna break my back scrubbin' these floors just to have him ruin it all while I sleep." She stood up.
"Don't go," Penny protested through a yawn.
