Page 57 of A Treason of Thorns

It will take you over, and leave you lifeless when it goes back into the earth.

I pull my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around them and making myself as small as I can. I know my duty, but that doesn’t keep all of this from feeling like more than I should have to bear. And it doesn’t make me any less afraid.

19

EACH MORNING, I THROW MYSELF INTO THE HERCULEANtask of cleaning up the rubble in the guest wing. Every afternoon, I walk into the Shilling and ask Alfred if there’s been any progress in the search he and Esperanza are making for the deed. There hasn’t been. Espie’s managing to hold off her father and the dreadful Lord Falmouth, and that’s about it. With anxiety eating holes inside me, I wait tables and go home in the summer dark and plumb Burleigh’s memories, conducting my own peculiar search.

Nothing turns up. I read Papa’s ledger from cover to cover. Then I read it again. I ask for memories of a hundred inconsequential days. I watch Papa fight with Mama. I watch him leave, and leave, and leave. I watchherleave. I watch Papa drink. I watch him entertain the king, and see the tension in his shoulders, the wariness in his eyes I never noticed as a child.

But none of the family history I watch is helpful, and every day, there are more signs that Burleigh is slowly dying. Owls roost in the kerosene pendants. Brambles and dead leaves drift in the corners. Mortar oozes from cracks growing in the walls. More andmore often, Burleigh becomes lost in its own memories. Where the ghosts that haunt its halls were once an infrequent and unobtrusive occurrence, they’re increasingly present. Sometimes I round a corner and find myself plunged into an alternate, light-on-water world of Burleigh’s remembering. Other times, I can’t sleep because of the ghosts in the corners of my room.

And then one morning, I wake before dawn to voices outside my door.

I’m disoriented for a moment, sure they’re just one of Burleigh’s memories, but then the confusion fades and I recognize who’s speaking.

“... Longhill Farm’s been hit worst,” Jed says quietly. I have to listen intently to catch his words. “You know, Sam Worthing’s place, east of the back woods. I’ve been day laboring there, and it’s in a sorry state. Mortar everywhere, dead livestock, and half the orchard ruined.”

“What can be done?” Wyn asks.

“Nothing.” I can hear the resignation in Jed’s voice, and I wrap my arms around myself. “At least not without a proper Caretaker for Burleigh House, or a quick end to the House itself, before more magic can leak out into the countryside.”

A proper Caretaker. A quick end to the House. I wince at the words.

“Let me come out this evening, while Violet’s at the Shilling,” Wyn offers. “I did some House magic during the arrest, when things were particularly bad with George. Maybe I can help.”

Blood and mortar, Wyn. Don’t you dare.

“I don’t like asking it of you,” Jed says. “I don’t like it one bit.But even if our Vi doesn’t find what she’s looking for, and His Majesty burns the House, it’ll be too late for the Worthings and Longhill. Something’s got to be done soon before all that mortar sours the earth.”

Wyn sounds tired. Perhaps Jed can’t hear it, but I do. “I know. And if you have to risk someone, better me than her.”

“I wouldn’t have put it that way, lad,” Jed protests.

“No one ever does.” Wyn’s voice is matter-of-fact, free of rancor. “But I only went into the arrest with George because he finally told me why I’m here, at Burleigh House. It’s for Vi, to make sure Burleigh never brings her to any harm. She’s to put the House first and I’m to put her first. I don’t mind, Jed, truly I don’t. I thought I did for a little while, just after you all came back, but it didn’t last.”

His words remind me of what my father said to me when he brought Wyn home.Here’s someone for you to look after, Vi. Think of it as practice for looking after the House.None of this makes any sense.

“It was a lucky day when George brought you back to Burleigh,” Jed says.

“That wasn’t luck,” Wyn answers. “It was design. George Sterling knew exactly what he was doing when he brought me home.”

A few more words pass between them, too muffled for me to hear. And then,

“I’m off to look for another position,” Jed says. “Don’t know as I’ll find one, with things being as they are, but I’ll try. The Worthings are packing up—they mean to go to a cousin in Sheffield, if you can’t sort things out for them.”

Jed’s and Wyn’s footsteps retreat down the hall and I squeeze my eyes shut.

I don’t want to do this.

It’s my job to do this.

I can’t let Wyn do this.

I was born to do this.

Tumbling out of bed, I grab a satchel. Into it go long stockings and a pair of Mama’s old riding gloves. My patched blouse and fen skirt I pull on at once. Then I add a thin scarf and a hand mirror to the bag for good measure.

Downstairs, I pause in the foyer. There are brambles everywhere, and the soft, feathery sound of birds comes from the kerosene fixtures overhead. The corridor to the kitchen lies ahead of me, and the door to the grounds behind. For just a moment, I’m tempted to walk forward. To step into the kitchen and to pretend, for yet another morning, that I can save my House without it costing me anything more than I’ve already given.