Page 137 of Ashborne Forged

When she caught sight of me, she drew back from the table where she stood, leaning over a written list with the cook. Her hand shot to flutter at her chest and her eyes went even wider when I turned to regard the other servants. “Leave us,” I snarled.

Chairs scraped and tools dropped to surfaces as the servants darted, en masse, toward the door, while I marched to the other side of the table and took Mrs. Voss firmly by her sleeve, while she squawked and crossed herself, and whispered prayers.

Pushing her ahead of me, toward the largest of the pantries, I shot one look over my shoulder to ensure the kitchen was empty, tossed her inside, then followed her into the dank, cool space, pulling the doors closed behind us.

The moment we were hidden from view she straightened and stopped her ridiculous fluttering, but her hands clutched at her skirts.

The pantry was large, but took only four strides for me to cross to the back where she stood, a warning in her eyes.

“Get out,” she hissed, barely above hearing. “Get away. No matter what brought you back, go. She’ll kill you.”

I shook my head and stopped at her toes, crossing my arms. “She won’t, because I carry her legacy.”

Mrs. Voss’s brows shot up. “The babe is real?” Her eyes lit up and she put one soft, wrinkled hand to my arm. “I assumed… but dear Lord, children? Vane, I wish it for you. But for her?” She shook her head vehemently, her expression shifting to horror.

She remembered what she’d nursed me through.

I didn’t want to talk about it. “Why are you still here?” I hissed. “Why haven’t you left? With your experience you could have a position in any major house—it wouldn’t have to be a title associated with this family.”

Her face and shoulders dropped. “Your mother has been very clear: The moment she learns I’m not loyal to Ashford House, I will be ruined. Or murdered. Likely both,” she muttered. It was a measure of her strength that she said the words without shaking. We both knew my mother was very capable of both.

As she raised her chin, fury gripped me. All the woman had done was be kind to me.

But then it hit me. That threat meant Mother knew that I favored her. That she’d been kind when no one else was. That I trusted her. Which meant, I put her at risk by seeking her out.

Shit.

“You should have told me. Left a message. I wouldn’t have—”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Weep when I leave. Let them find you here, still shaking with fear. Keep up the act. I’ll storm out, angry, because I’ve lost my ally.”

“I will, of course, but it makes no difference. You have to get out, Vane. Go. Anything she would help you with isn’t worth the price. Don’t waste another moment.”

“This is,” I said emphatically.

Her eyes, clouded with age, grew soft. She placed that palm on my chest and smiled. “It must be very worthwhile indeed, to bring you back here.”

I swallowed, but nodded. “You must tell me if you hear anything about a trap. Use our old signal. Do you remember?”

She nodded, but her expression grew sad. “I will, of course, but I haven’t heard anything since you arrived, and I don’t think I will. All my loyal staff have been dismissed, or disappeared in the year after you left. They were all replaced with those who quickly became loyal to her. Or were removed quickly if they had a backbone.”

“Even Bernard?” The Butler had been here as long as Mrs. Voss.

She nodded grimly. “She cured him of a rotting skin disease.”

I grimaced and clawed a hand through my hair. “What about the footman—I’ve forgotten his name, but he was never taken with her—”

“She gave him a love potion that brought him his lady.”

I frowned. The man didn’t have the demeanor of someone in love. “But, it hasn’t gone well?”

Mrs. Voss sighed and glanced over my shoulder toward the doors, leaning even closer. “His young wife became pregnant in the early months, but the baby was sickly. She offered to help for a price, but he had discovered a conscience for using witchcraft and said no. The baby died the following night. Now his wife is sick, as well. He is loyal again, unwilling to lose her also. But he’s a broken man.”

Rage and disgust rocked through me.

This was what she did—pretended care. Pretended generosity. But always, only when she could sink her claws into their lives and hearts. Oh, she wouldn’t ask anything of them at first. But she’d hold their debt over their heads, then use their obligation when it suited her. Usually in a way that tied them to her forever.