Page 32 of A Treason of Thorns

“You willing to fetch and carry? Wash and dry? I’ll need you to be quick and sharp. The village lot think they’re a cut above and don’t like getting their hands dirty. There’s no place here for you if you feel the same.”

I step forward, eager to please. “I’ll do anything you’ll pay me for, and you won’t hear a word of complaint.”

She smiles and holds out a hand to shake. “Good girl. Your father would’ve liked that answer. I’m Frey, as her ladyship said.”

I take Frey’s proffered hand across the counter, and her grip is firm. “Vi. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Likewise. I’ll need you for evenings, so your shift starts at three o’clock. That’ll be your start time, every day but Sunday. And I’ll want you to start today. Alright?”

I don’t hesitate. “Of course. Thank you, ma’am.”

Her smile broadens. “Not ma’am, just Frey. You can call that other one sitting over at the tablema’am. I’ve said all I need to, but I’m sure she’s not finished with you yet.”

“I am not ama’am,” the girl in the booth says, clearly disgruntled. I crane my neck, trying to get a look at her face, but she stays well within the shadows. “You make me sound like some hideousdowager with five grown children. Nothing could be further from the truth, isn’t that so, Alfred?”

“Hm, what?” The young gentleman across the table from her glances up from the book propped in front of him and smiles. “Oh, of course. You’re a pearl among women. A shining star. A veritable fountain of youth. Absolutely not a ma’am.”

“Laying it on a bit thick, don’t you think, Alfie?” the girl says fondly. “Frey, can we use the private dining room, and trust you’ll see we’re not interrupted?”

In answer, Frey tilts her head toward a doorway near the strange couple’s table. I hesitate as Alfred gathers up his things and precedes us, a long-suffering stoop to his shoulders.

“Oh, come on,” the girl says as I continue to hang back. “Frey’s right here, and the kitchen staff are nearby. If I try to chloroform you, there are plenty of people about to hear you scream.”

“I don’t think that’s how chloroform works,” I answer dryly, but the girl doesn’t respond. She simply waits for me to step into the room before her. Overcome by my own curiosity, I finally give way. I can hear the rustle of her skirts as she gets up from the table and I fight the urge to glance over one shoulder. If she doesn’t want me to see who she is till we’re alone, I’ll wait for introductions.

The private dining room is done up far more expensively than the public room, with silver-grey damask wallpaper and a long, gleaming wood table. I’m so used to dropping off fish and clams at back doors that it seems exceedingly strange to have been in not one but two private rooms in the past month, although I hope this interlude will be less upsetting than the last one. Alfred’s already settled himself back in at the head of the table, book open beforehim once more. The girl shuts the door behind me, and I turn, finally getting a look at her.

She’s a good six inches shorter than I am, with a small round face. There’s a hint of gold to her skin, like sand on a sunny day, and her eyes are deep brown, nearly black. Her hair is a mass of loose black curls bundled up on top of her head, and when she moves her hands, silver bangles make music at her wrists. I’ve seen her once before, and I’d know her anywhere.

“Get out of my way,” I growl at Esperanza, Princess of Wales, heir to His Majesty’s throne, as I make for the door to leave.

“Violet, stop.” The princess stays steadfastly between me and the exit. I think wildly of knocking her down—surely she can’t put up much of a fight, tiny thing that she is. “I want to help you.”

“Oh, like your father helped mine into an early grave? Or like he just tried helping me into a forced marriage? No thank you. Move. Aside.”

“Please.” Esperanza clasps her hands together. “The king’s sending someone else to keep an eye on you and Burleigh. Someone much worse. I wanted to warn you—”

“No, I don’t think so, I can very plainly see he sent you, as you’re standing right in front of me. Good day.”

I try to edge past her and she glares, dark eyes blazing.

“What was your father, Violet Sterling?” Esperanza asks, and it’s not a question but a command. She emphasizes my last name and I can feel myself grow more defiant.

“England’s greatest Caretaker,” I answer proudly. Everyone knew it, before Papa’s arrest. Most people still know it now. How else did he and Burleigh manage to survive for seven years withouta key? “No place ever prospered like the West Country while he looked after Burleigh. No one did their duty quite like him. The House came first, before king, before country, before his own life.”

Esperanza leans a little closer. “So we agree it was more than odd then, that your father, the model Caretaker, should risk everything, but first and foremost, Burleigh’s health and safety, on a chance at obtaining the House’s deed? He’s not the sort of man who’d do that for personal ambition, or the simple nobility of the goal. No, it must have been desperation instead.”

Esperanza reaches out and pats the chair next to her. “Vi, he knew the truth—that Burleigh is failing. Dying. Whatever you want to call it. It’s the only reason he was desperate enough to gamble on the House’s freedom—because Burleigh’s plight isn’t the result of the House arrest. It was already sickening before it was forced to kill your father.”

“I don’t trust you,” I tell Esperanza. She nods. “But I’m going to sit down.”

The princess takes a sealed and yellowed envelope out of her reticule and hands it to me. “I know you’ve just got home and we’ve only just met, and it’s an understatement to say you’re on bad terms with my father. This must be difficult to hear from me and even harder to believe, but I really do want to help. And I know you don’t trust me yet, but I think I know whose word youwilltrust.”

I take the envelope reluctantly and break open the seal. With a little chill, I recognize the untidy scrawl that wanders across two pages of parchment. It’s my father’s script—I’d know it anywhere, and the faintest whiff of tobacco and starch and Burleigh House itself still clings to the pages. I’m run through by a sudden andchildish longing to be at home with Papa’s final words, sitting in the haven of my airing cupboard with Wyn as we used to when we were small. But Esperanza, Crown Princess of England, is watching me, so I smooth out the wrinkled pages and read.

Dear Violet,

You’re still just a child as I write this, and perhaps I’ve kept too much from you, because I hate to burden you with the responsibilities I’ve been given. In my own way, I’ve tried to prepare you as best I know how, to look after Burleigh House when I’m gone. But I would keep that task from you for as long as possible. It has been my joy and my privilege to serve our House, Vi, but never for a day has it been easy.