Spellbreaker (Spellbreaker Duology #1) - Charlie N. Holmberg Page 0,36
boiled down cabbage for their supper? In the workhouse, it had been easier to count the days she didn’t have cabbage than the days she did.
God bless Cuthbert Ogden.
She gradually stepped out of the carriage as though immersing in bathwater that was too hot. The Duke of Kent’s estate had done that growing trick again. It had surely doubled in size since yesterday. Perhaps Mr. Kelsey had done some incredible spell to make it loom. To intimidate her. To punish her for accepting the dinner invitation.
But it wasn’t very well her fault, now was it?
She should have said no. She should have sent a telegram directly to the duke himself and told him exactly what she thought of him, his society, and his mistreatment of his servants. Then again, her work with his bloody aspector wasn’t finished, and such a communication would make any future meetings, however accidental, incredibly awkward. Elsie did not enjoy feeling awkward.
“Is it the right place, miss?” her cab driver asked behind her, likely wondering at her hesitation. It was difficult to mistake any other place in Kent for Seven Oaks, surely. But Elsie couldn’t find her voice, so she nodded dumbly. The driver lingered a moment longer before whistling out the side of his mouth and whipping his horses’ reins. Then he was gone, and she stood alone at Seven Oaks, unescorted. But she was nearly old enough to be a spinster, wasn’t she? Just a few more years to go. And what uptight totty one-lung would think her worthy of gossip, anyway?
She wound her fingers together, the lace of her gloves chafing. She was in her maroon dress, the one she wore to church on the days she cared, and Emmeline had pinned her hair meticulously in the back and curled the shorter pieces in the front. Her hat sat like a resting bird atop it all, complete with feathers. She wore no jewelry—what she owned was not real in chain or stone, and she was certain the duke and his family would notice and judge her for it. The collar of the dress was high, besides.
It looked like the mansion was baring its teeth at her.
“Miss Camden?”
Elsie started, seeing for the first time a footman approaching her. A well-groomed footman, to be sure, but too young to be the butler. She offered a timid smile, and Elsie wondered how well the man was treated. Had the Cowls indeed been mistaken, or were the duke and duchess merely excellent at keeping up appearances? “I came out to see if you’d arrived, miss. Mr. Kelsey was worried you’d gotten lost.”
I’m sure he was, she thought. Would the spellmaker punish her for her inability to show up to work today? What if he used the dinner to publicly announce her secret? Or perhaps he would insist they skip the dinner so Elsie could prowl the tenants’ land in her nicest vestments?
She considered running all the way back to Brookley. The sun was setting; maybe she’d make it by morning. Now that would be a good bit of gossip: Elsie Camden stumbling into town a ready mess, her finest dress ripped at the hems. She could practically hear the story in the Wright sisters’ voices.
She plastered on a smile. “I did get a bit turned around, thank you.”
The footman nodded and gestured toward the monstrous house. Elsie’s legs felt so stiff she almost wondered if she’d gotten stuck in one of Mr. Kelsey’s spells again. But she managed to follow the man clear to the entrance, where a second footman held open the door.
It struck her again that the servants certainly looked healthy enough. That was good. To think Elsie might have become a maid herself had she stayed in the workhouse. Not at an establishment like this, of course. Somewhere more cramped, danker. Aristocrats didn’t hire from workhouses.
The footman wound Elsie through a few halls, past more servants, and up a set of stairs to a spacious drawing room. The gilded paintings seemed to dance in the candlelight, the furniture was fine and brightly colored, and the biggest bouquet she’d ever seen sat in a porcelain vase on a low table.
She tried to act as though the casual display of wealth didn’t affect her.
She didn’t know the four women in the room, all dressed in finery save one, whose dress seemed about on par with her own. The oldest, a willowy woman who wore her years well, acknowledged her first. Her neck glittered with sapphires.