City of Ruin, page 16
Movement near a far cottage, one that looks closest to completion, catches my eye. Paige and I pause at a rudimentary structure, sheltering stacks of lumber. Beyond it, a man with a familiar dark mane of hair and broad shoulders works alongside the others. Only, Master Blackburn isn’t wearing his smoking jacket or riding coat, as usual. His white shirtsleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and sweat dampens his back and under his arms as he lifts a beam, handing it up to the man in the rafters. Blackburn’s hair, though pulled back away from his face, exposing his stubbled jaw, is too unruly to be tamed, and I have to smile at that.
It gives me pause, and clearing my throat, I peer around the skeleton of a village instead. “What is this place, Paige?”
“The new Emberbrook, when it’s finished.”
“New Emberbrook?”
“Yep!” Paige tugs on my hand and continues toward her father. When Blackburn notices us, he tenses. “Papa wants to move most of the town here,” she explains. Blackburn and Collins exchange a few words before Blackburn makes his way toward us. I wasn’t prepared to see him here, like this, working alongside his laborers. A sudden flutter of nerves fills me as he draws closer.
“Papa was trying to save the old village,” Paige continues, “but too many of the houses are unsafe because of the earthquakes.”
“So, he’s rebuilding it somewhere else,” I finish for her.
“Yep!” Paige chirps again. “Papa says wood is safer than brick, plaster, and stone.”
I nod in understanding as Blackburn’s eyes meet mine, and my heart races as each of his confident strides eats the space between us.
“Miss Sinclair,” he says as he pushes his sleeves higher up his arms. His gaze lingers on mine a second longer before he looks at his daughter. “I was expecting Gibson to drive you.”
“We had a bit of a setback,” I offer as Paige blurts, “We got stuck!”
“Ah, I see.” His brow is thick with sweat and his hair hangs in his gray eyes as he stops a few feet away, Paige standing between us. Hands on his hips, Blackburn glances down the road as if he’s expecting to see Gibson. “Other than that,” he says, looking between Paige and me. “I trust you two are staying out of trouble today?”
“Yes, Papa, and I just made some new friends!”
He rests a hand on his daughter’s shoulder, squeezing ever so slightly with affection, and I wonder if Blackburn realizes he’s doing it. “I thought you might,” he muses, and his eyes drift to me. I tuck a wayward strand of hair behind my ear, realizing I must look a wreck after the mud and walking, and I glance down at my dirty hem to confirm.
“How did you find the children?” Blackburn asks, and there’s a hint of amusement in his voice.
There is no hiding my humiliation—I can feel my cheeks burning. “They are very well, thank you. And very happy where they are.” I force myself to look into his eyes. “But you already knew that.”
Blackburn’s brow twitches, and the corner of his mouth lifts slightly. “I’m glad to hear it.”
“And this,” I say, gesturing at the makings of a new village. “This is what you do on your Sundays while everyone else rests?”
Blackburn peers around with a sigh. “There is still much work to be done, and I can’t afford to lose momentum.”
“There are so many cottages,” Paige says. “Who will live in all of them?” She skips over to one that is nearly finished.
Trailing behind her, Blackburn motions for me to follow him along the mud-covered path carved between foundations. “The people coming in off the ship, I suppose.”
“Is it still coming?” Paige asks, hopping up onto one of the porches as we pass.
“Yes,” he says, though Blackburn sounds anything but certain. The conversation I’d overheard him having with Collins begs a dozen questions to be answered about slave ships and the Council.
Prudy’s voice rings in my head, and I know I should simply ask him. If he’s showing me different parts of the estate, he wants me to see what is real, not what is in my head, so I find the courage to do just that. “What kind of ship are you expecting?”
“More workers,” Paige answers for him as we amble between partial structures. As modest as the cottages are, they will be large enough for a family by the time they are finished.
I look at Blackburn. His hands rest on his hips as he stares down at the slushy earth, lost in thought.
With a quick swoop, I pick a wild daffodil from the damp grass and twirl it between my fingers. “A ship with more workers?” I clarify.
Blackburn nods, but he seems reluctant to answer, which confuses me. Slaves is what I want to think, but I know that’s not exactly how things work in Briarwood. “Is the Council pushing you to get more workers?” I ask instead. “It seems strange you wouldn’t purchase them from the City District as you’ve done with the rest of us, instead of waiting for a ship to come.”
Blackburn looks at me, his eyes narrowed with displeasure. It’s obvious I’ve overstepped, and I lick my lips, tucking that pesky strand of hair behind my ear again, and glance away. “Forgive me,” I murmur. “I don’t know what I’m allowed to know or ask.” Sighing, I run my fingers over the coarse wood frame of a well. “I’m not sure I’ll ever get this right.”
From the corner of my eye, I notice Blackburn’s thoughtful indecision, before, finally, he answers. “The Council has many requirements if I am to keep my family’s land,” he starts, rubbing his jaw. “The short of it is that the more they want me to produce, the more workers I must have to ensure this estate remains in my family and true to its purpose.” And though his explanation makes sense, there’s more he’s reluctant to share. But I know better than to press him.
“Sir,” Collins calls as he strides over, as equally sweaty as Blackburn from a day of labor in the baleful afternoon. Collins dips his chin at me in greeting. “Miss Sinclair.”
“Good afternoon, Collins.” I don’t know if Collins has a family, but I assume not, since he seems to always be at Blackburn’s side.
“Greetings, munchkin.” He pinches the side of Paige’s cheek softly and winks at her as she beams. “We need help raising the rafters, sir,” he says, all business again as he tilts his head toward the cottage they’ve been working on.
Blackburn nods, his hands falling from his hips.
A funny look flashes in Collins’s eyes as he glances between us, then he walks to the well for a ladle of water.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Blackburn says, dipping his chin ever so slightly. “Gibson can show you around the new village and anywhere else you’d like to see today.” As Blackburn turns to leave, urgency bubbles up inside me.
“Thank you,” I blurt out, and though it sounds hasty, I hope Blackburn detects my sincerity as well.
He looks back at me, confused.
“For what you did for the children—for keeping them together, and for sending them to a good home.” My breaths come faster as my heart aches with gratitude. “Truly.”
Blackburn’s expression softens, if only minutely, and when his brow twitches, I long to know what he’s thinking.
“Good day, Miss Sinclair,” is all he says, and with a slight purse of his lips, he goes back to work.
That I am saddened he won’t speak openly with me is troubling and leaves me conflicted. I should not care what this man is thinking or how he is feeling, nor should I expect anything from him other than the kindness he’s already shown. But despite how I should feel, I can’t help but anticipate seeing Blackburn at dinner. He is a mystery, and I have more questions to ask him. At least, that’s what I tell myself. But the heat in my blood belies the truth, and I know it’s more than a conversation with the master I seek. It’s the gravity of his gaze that I yearn to understand, and the strength he exudes that I’m eager to be near again. The curiosity to learn more about him is far too great to keep in check, and I tell myself once I have learned all I can, the intrigue will pass.
But Master Blackburn doesn’t join Paige and me for dinner. And by the time I close my eyes to drift to sleep, I can’t help but wonder if I’ve done something to keep him away.
27
GREYSON
It’s nearly midnight by the time I’m able to unwind. My arms and shoulders are sore from working in the fields long past nightfall. I told myself the work needed to be done to stay on track for Killian’s arrival. But there’s no denying the hum of anticipation and unease I feel around the little governess, under her searing blue, reproachful gaze. The self-loathing I feel in her presence is proof of that. Especially after today.
It’s far easier to be the ferocious brute she thinks I am when she’s spewing unfounded accusations at me. But when her chin trembles and her eyes shine with unbridled gratitude, it’s almost too much to bear. Hope—dangerous and infectious as it is—rears its treacherous head once more.
Hope that Selene could be happy here.
Hope that she might see me as something more than a master . . . more than a monster.
Hope that I can let go of what was in order to save what could be. What has to be.
But the past tangles and writhes alongside the guilt at the very thought, and groaning, I refuse to give in to it. Submerging myself in the scalding bathwater, I try to ease the tension in my neck and shoulders.
Even as I refuse to dwell too much on possible futures, my drifting thoughts conjure a fiery young woman, whose flaxen hair is as unruly as she is. Who is as pigheaded as she is courageous, and as hard-edged and cynical as she is innocent.
But Selene is not innocent. That was taken from her the moment she stepped foot in Bedlam, perhaps even before then.
The Orsons’ reputation was what took me to the orphanage to begin with, and seeing her, I knew I could not leave her behind with a man like Perry. Imagining that bastard’s hands anywhere near the little governess makes my rage roil, and that she would consider life under his roof more bearable than mine was a cleaver to my soul in ways she couldn’t possibly fathom.
You are no better than him, a voice whispers, and when I can no longer bear the stillness, I rise from the water, letting the chill in the room accost my skin. I cannot be here, in this house. I yearn for air, for space, and I reach for the towel to scrub the dampness away, along with every reason I know I should seriously consider taking Selene as my wife.
For Paige. To secure my future. To secure everyone’s future.
For me. That last thought makes me sicken.
After donning a clean shirt and trousers, I brace my hands against the fireplace, staring into the dancing flames. The answer to all of my problems sleeps three doors away. What will you do next, Blackburn?
Clenching my fists, I know I must choose, even if the thought of what comes next sours my stomach. Despite those condemning blue eyes I can’t get out of my head, my lineage must come first, or all of this is for nothing.
As if I need another fear or reminder, a menacing rumble rises from the depths of the earth, and the floor shakes. I grip the bedpost and brace myself for the avalanche of motion I know comes next.
The clatter and crack of shifting walls. The shattering of objects somewhere in the room. The rattling windows and tumbling wood from the pile beside the hearth.
Then, just as quickly as the quake rolled in, the earth is steady again. “Paige!” I fling my bedroom door open and rush for her room, stepping over toppled items on the floor I barely notice in the night’s shadows.
White fear blots my vision as Rebecca’s face flashes to mind.
“Paige—” I stop in her opened doorway.
Miss Sinclair’s hair shines against the pillow, glowing in the moonlight. Dust dances in the air, and the house bustles around me, coming to life as the servants rouse from their rooms. But all I can hear is the sweet reassurances Selene murmurs in my daughter’s ear as she holds her tightly.
“It’s all right. It’s over, for now.” She repeats the words over and over, as if she is just as frightened—as if it’s all she can do to believe them herself. Closing my eyes, I grip the doorjamb and soak in the soothing sound of Selene’s voice, trying to steady my heartbeat.
“It’s all right,” she coos again, and Paige sobs into Selene’s chest, gripping onto her as if her life would end without her, and my eyes cloud with tears. I don’t want to disturb them, but I can’t bring myself to walk away either.
“Paige,” I murmur as I step into the room. Both of them startle and look up at me.
Paige jumps to her feet and leaps into my arms as I stop at her bedside. “That was a big one,” she cries through tears, gripping hold of me, afraid I will let go.
“I know,” I tell her, stroking her hair. “But you’re okay—everyone is okay.” I look at Selene as she crawls out of Paige’s bed. “Are you all right?”
She stands and runs her hands down her nightgown, visibly shaken. I try to ignore the way her shift clings to her body, unbound by ties and buttons.
“I’m okay—Just, uh, a little shaken, I think.”
Prudy calls for me, but I hesitate to leave Paige.
“I can stay with her,” Selene whispers. “I don’t mind.”
Unable to ignore my duty to the household, and anxious to see the damage that’s been done, I nod. “Thank you,” I breathe, barely audible above Paige’s tears. Kissing her temple, I brush the hair from her forehead. “You will be safe with Miss Sinclair. Stay in here until I return. You know there will be smaller ones to follow.”
Paige nods against me, and as the governess comes to stand beside me, ready to take my place, I feel the brush of her gown against my arm, and the soft scent of lilies fills my nose.
Clearing my throat, I force myself to focus and rise to my feet. “I’ll return when I can,” is all I can manage, and with that, I head out the door, determined to put some much-needed space between myself and the woman who has infiltrated my life in every way.
28
SELENE
Having not seen Blackburn around the manor or at dinner in days, I realize this must be normal life in Briarwood. Without my causing upset, the master of the house has gone back to business as usual, and Paige and I settle into our new routine of lessons and lunchtime adventures.
Due to a sleepless night and countless window checks, only to find no lurking creature outside, I rise with the sun, dress for the day, and sneak downstairs for a walk and early morning snack before Paige wakes.
Though the sun peeks through the waning clouds, mist tickles my cheeks and nose as I meander the grounds. Errant sheep, grazing on the dewy grass, glance up at me, their breath white puffs of smoke that evaporate around them in the cool morning. They grow bored with me quickly enough and refocus on their morning meal.
Licking my lips, I take a bite from my apple, reveling in the crisp crunch of it. This simple piece of fruit is a luxury I remember from childhood, and even then, it was decadent. I stare at it, dumbfounded. The shadowy apparition and wailing winds, strange and unnerving as they are, seem a small price to pay for life here in Briarwood.
As I continue on, I peer out at the glistening meadows that stretch beyond the estate, at the steam that lifts from every surface with the warmth of daybreak. Even the greenhouse that butts up to a grove of dogwoods gleams in the promise of a stormless day, and I find I’m utterly content.
Double the size of the stable, the verdant green within the hothouse is admirable, even from here, the colorful blossoms bright and beaming through the condensation obscuring the windows.
From walls to roof, it’s a patchwork of repurposed remnants, a collage of old and new, like everything else in this land—only standing because of the care Blackburn puts into the estate for his family and tenants.
It’s in that moment I decide Paige and I will learn how to tend to the plants in the greenhouse, alongside Jameson the gardener, so that we can appreciate the flora that fills our bellies, flavors our teas, and scents our bathwater and clean linens. Blackburn would approve of that, I think, but I make a mental note to speak with him about it the next time we’re in the same room together. But as weekly routines and plans for the day form in my mind, Blackburn’s face lingers too. His wild mane of hair, damp and hanging in his eyes the night of the quake, and his usual glower, one of concern instead. I hadn’t expected the way his chest heaved with alarm to affect me, or the sudden calm I felt emanating from him as he held his daughter in his arms.
Those stolen moments were everything I hadn’t known I needed to see. The man beneath the beast. Even with his outbursts and blood-splattered shirt, I can’t find it in me to be afraid of him now—unnerved, yes, but it’s different than it was. It’s the primal, pulse-pounding, stomach-fluttering kind, and I fear that more than anything.
Fully aware of how wholly inappropriate, unwanted, and dangerous my thoughts are, I wander through my favorite place on the estate in hopes of a reprieve—the garden. A place where my mind quiets, and I feel hidden within the tumbling brick walls as I appreciate the simple beauty of Briarwood.
The gravel path is pitted from months of intermittent storms, but I appreciate the crunch beneath my feet, more sturdy than the mud that cakes so much of the countryside and dirties the hems of all my dresses. With another bite of my apple, I run my other hand over the unruly pink plumes of goat beard and pick a yellow blossom from a flowering hedge. The daffodils and tiny white florets that cover the flowerbeds between dormant rose bushes glisten in the dewy morning, making it seem as if the dank city was all a horrible dream.
A rusted, wrought iron table with spindly legs sits forgotten and overgrown with withered wisteria vines, and I decide it will be a lovely reading nook for Paige and me when the sun decides to peek through again.
