“There was no time to procure new things,” he went on. “But I have a few items of ladies’ clothing you can use until then. Clara will adjust them for you. I have ordered silks for dresses. I selected an emerald that I think will particularly suit you. Wouldn’t you agree, Clara?”
“Yes, my lord.” Clara hadn’t looked up from the floor the whole time she’d been standing there.
Halverton waved a hand, and she stepped back into line. An older man and woman came forward next.
“This is Mr Lanyon, the butler,” Halverton said, “and Mrs Harrow, the housekeeper.”
He turned to her. “And this is Eva.”
“Aoife. Ee-fa.” she corrected gently.
He frowned. “Is that not what I said?”
“Not quite.”
He smiled faintly. “Does it matter, Aoife? Eva? What’s the difference? Pretty all the same.”
“Yes,” she said. “It matters. It’s my name.”
Halverton turned to the butler and housekeeper, issuing instructions in brisk tones. Mrs Harrow murmured that the room prepared for Aoife was ready, and he nodded his approval.
Aoife only half-listened. She was watching the other servants. Most wore the same blank, careful expression, but one young man shifted under her gaze when he caught her looking. She looked away quickly.
Lord Halverton dismissed the staff with a wave, and they filed out of the hallway, leaving two young men in identical uniforms standing at attention in perfect symmetry on either side of the hall. Aoife was surprised he hadn’t introduced her to the rest of the staff.
“Shouldn’t I know their names?” she asked.
He looked puzzled. “Why would you? You will not be interacting with most of them.”
“It’s polite,” she said. “To know the names of the people who work here.”
He gave a short, incredulous laugh. “You would like to be introduced to the scullery maid? The gardeners?”
“Yes.”
He stared at her, genuinely surprised, then said, “That would not be appropriate. Come, I will show you to your room.”
Aoife turned to follow, Halverton grabbing her satchel off her before she could protest.
“Dispose of this,” he held it out to one of the young men on the staff, touching it with only two fingers as though it might infect him.
“No,” Aoife cried.
“You shall have new clothes.”
“It’s not just clothes,” she said, trying to snatch it away from him.
Halverton held it out of her reach. Aoife remembered her father’s words and relented, taking a step back. He studied her for a moment, then lowered the bag. Opening it, he pulled out her mother’s book, turning it over in his hand. “You can read?”
Aoife had to swallow her anger at his patronising tone. “Yes, I can read.”
Halverton tilted his head to the side, looking at her as if she’d grown another head. He smiled. “I knew I was right to choose you.” He handed her the book and looked into the bag again, pulling out the pine marten and passing it over without a word.
“There’s nothing else here you need.” He handed it off to the man: her bag, her clothes, her medicinal herbs, tinctures, and her pestle and mortar. She brought with her all she owned in the world, and he’d taken most of it away. She despaired watching it all go.
“There is something I want to show you.” He strode off without waiting for her reply.
She hesitated, then followed. He led her across the great hall and down a long corridor. As they passed an open door, she spotted Clara and Alton. She, with an arm full of fabric, he kneeling to pick a piece of shimmery blue cloth off the floor. When Alton stood, his movements were less stiff for a moment, and his face softened. As he passed the item to Clara, she smiled and quickly looked away shyly. Aoife smiled. There was life here, after all, hidden behind masks of obedience.
