“It?” Karigan asked.
Miss Bunch fanned her face with her hand. “Yes, it. She tsked one too many times, and Father lost his patience. Remember now, their run-ins had been going on for a very long time, and the tension between them both had built up over the years. Father shouted, Servants should not be seen or heard! Well, that did it! We haven’t seen or heard any of the servants ever since. Not one of them. But we know they’re there.”
“Wait.” Karigan held up her hand. “Your father said that servants should not be seen or heard, and Letitia and the others just disappeared?”
“Well, no, child. Dear me, but I don’t tell stories as well as Bay. I left out one crucial fact. The ‘vile’ liquid Letitia feared that would ruin the finish of Father’s table was volatile with spells. The spells responded to his command unequivocally. He could not countermand it.”
Karigan was aghast. “And the servants stayed with you even after your father . . . turned them invisible? Weren’t they angry?”
“Of course they were upset, child. And terribly so. But they stayed in hopes that Father would find another spell to reverse the curse. He searched to exhaustion and illness to find one, and never stopped until he died. He was terribly remorseful, and I think the servants knew it. And yes, they stay on with us. Where else can they find positions, invisible as they are?”
“And so, that’s it?” Karigan said. “Letitia and the rest will be invisible to the end of their days?”
Miss Bunch nodded with a solemn expression on her face. “We try to treat them as well as possible, and continue Father’s search for a cure. We have picked up a thing or two about magic along the way, but so far nothing that will help the servants. Alas, there may not be an answer.”
Karigan had no response this time, and Miss Bunch pulled herself out of the chair and patted her on the shoulder. “As I said, it is a painful story, one that we will never be free of. In the meantime, we go on as we must, and,” she added in a whisper, “we take care about what we say about whom. You never know who is listening in!”
Miss Bunch moved to the doorway. “If you need anything, just call. I sleep down the hall. Bay can’t negotiate the stairs very well lately, poor dear, so she has taken a back room downstairs. Sleep well. Breakfast will be served when you wake.”
Karigan was left alone in the room which, like all the others in the house, was well-appointed. A porcelain pitcher and bowl stood on a wash stand. The heavy bureau, carved intricately with pine boughs and cones, was draped with hand-embroidered linens. A huge cedar chest, full of coarse wool blankets, sat at the foot of the bed. A pieced quilt with a diamond-shaped motif flared like a starburst. She looked in satisfaction at her clean clothes neatly folded on the edge of the bed. She took the winged horse brooch from her robe pocket and pinned it to the lapel of the now spotless greatcoat.
She checked the greatcoat for the love letter and found it intact and undamaged. Miraculously, or perhaps meticulously, the vigilant Letitia had removed it during the cleaning process, and replaced it after. The message satchel, too, had been placed on the bed. She hadn’t dared to open the leather case before, and though she felt the sisters could be trusted, she did so now. Inside was an envelope sealed with the wax imprint of a winged horse. All items accounted for, she could now sleep in peace.
But then she caught sight of herself in the dresser mirror. Her image was like a ghost flowing by, her long white nightgown billowing behind her gauzy and luminous. She backed a few steps to gaze in the mirror. She found herself mostly unchanged from her travels, if a little thinner in the cheeks.
There was a blemish beneath her left eye. She leaned toward the silver glass for a closer look. It wasn’t a blemish exactly, but a reddened crescent-shaped scratch just above the cheekbone, and just below her eye.
She remembered the image of Immerez through the telescope, and the feel of his cold, metal hook against her cheek. She touched trembling fingers to the mark, and turned away from the mirror. It was coincidence and nothing more. She could have gotten the scratch from thrashing through the underbrush, or from her own fingernail. She could have gotten it from anywhere.
Exhaustion was leading her to strange fancies, and she delayed going to bed no more. The bed was like the one her grandmother had used. It was so high that a stool was stashed beneath to help one climb into it. Karigan sank into the down mattress and clutched the blankets about her. It was hard to believe she had been with the sisters for only a day.
This afternoon, she had been asleep on a patch of moss, not even sure how she had gotten there. Tonight, she lay in true luxury between crisp, cool sheets smelling as fresh as if they’d just been pulled off the line. She blew out the lamp on the nightstand and sighed in satisfaction. It had been a strange day, but there was nothing extraordinary about this gabled room or the comfortable featherbed.
Karigan nestled under the covers. The house was draped in silence, but outside peepers cheeped in their springtime chant. The last sound she heard as she drifted into a heavy slumber, was the hoo-hoo-hooing of an owl in a tree below her window.
In the morning, The Horse waited outside for Karigan. She had awakened to the warm glow of the rising sun, as Miss Bunchberry had promised she would, certain that she had slept hours upon hours. Yet, the sun was still low when she finally roused herself. Even when she took her time bathing, and breakfasting on the elusive Letitia’s cooking, the morning advanced very little. Time seemed . . . well, flexible at Seven Chimneys. She had slept in and taken her time in every endeavor, and yet, she was still getting on with her travels bright and early.