Of Monsters and Madness (4 page)

After dinner, Maddy takes me to my bedroom and prepares the bed for the evening, turning back the linens and warming them with a plate full of heated coals. When she’s done, she helps me undress. I stop her when she reaches for my scarf. “I’m rather chilly tonight. I think I’ll sleep with it on if you don’t mind.”

She nods, and moves to add fresh logs to the fireplace while I slip between the bedcovers. Though the rain has stopped, the evening air is cool and the feeling of warm linens beneath me is a luxury I could not have imagined. Maddy comes to rearrange the blankets one last time. “All set, then, miss? If you need anything, you just push the button beside the door. It sends a loud noise right to my room. I’ll hear it an’ come straightaway.”

Her face is so eager that I don’t have the heart to tell
her I would not want to interrupt her sleep. Instead, I work up my nerve to ask her the question that’s been on my mind all night. “Do you … do you happen to know if there’s anything I might say that would please my father? What topics of conversation he finds most interesting?”

Maddy pulls away from the bed. “The other servants an’ I don’t have conversations with the Master. He tells us what to do an’ we listen.”

“Of course,” I mumble, feeling foolish. “It’s just that … I fear I have disappointed him already.”

She pats my arm and her face turns reassuring. “Oh, no, miss. I’m sure you haven’t done anything. Yer lovely. Absolutely lovely. The Master can be difficult to please, is all. What with his terrible sickness.”

“Sickness?”

She abruptly withdraws her hand. “Never you mind now. Yer father is pleased grand to see you, I’m sure. Sweet dreams, miss. If you need me, just push the button.”

I lie there long after she has gone, contemplating what she said. The house is silent and the bed is so large I feel like a ship adrift at sea. Lost amongst the bed linens. Lost amongst my thoughts.

The wind rattles fiercely against the windows, tempting me to leave the safety of my covers and peer outside to see my new surroundings. Eventually, I succumb, slipping my feet into a pair of cloth-lined bedroom slippers Maddy has left for me, and tiptoe over. There is a courtyard below.

A cloaked figure walks the perimeter, and a shiver runs through me as I remember Maddy’s words in the carriage. It must be Jasper or Thomas walking the grounds. A light catches my eye on the opposite side of the courtyard, and I press closer to the glass. It’s a lantern flaring to life. A figure is briefly illuminated in an open doorway, dragging a large burlap sack behind him. He limps forward, and suddenly, the lantern is extinguished.

Putting one hand up against the cold glass, I hold very still and stare down into the darkness below.
Was that Father?

I strain my eyes for any signs of movement
—Is he still out there?
—when a loud pop comes from behind me.

My hands fly to my scarf until I realize it’s only a log settling in the fireplace, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Moving away from the window, I go over to my
valise and withdraw two books from the collection packed carefully inside.

One is battered and torn, with the spine badly broken in several places. This book is dearest to my heart since it once belonged to Mother. The other is my journal, and it means almost as much to me. I reach into the side pocket next and feel for the newspaper. Taking a seat on the rug in front of the fireplace, I spread the pages out before me and continue reading.

I carefully rip the article away from the rest of the newspaper. Tucking it away into my journal, I wonder, not for the first time, if I was wrong to come to Philadelphia. Wrong to come to such a place as this. What would Mother think? Would she have approved of my traveling halfway across the world on my own? Or should I have stayed with the missionaries in Siam?

I should feel safe in my new home
.

But no matter what Mr. Poe said, it is not safe to walk the streets. There is a murderer on the loose.

Three

T
he next morning, I wake to the sound of Maddy sweeping ashes from the fireplace. I roll over, peeking out of one eye. The draperies are pulled back and sunlight is streaming through the windows. The menace of yesterday’s storm is completely gone. Light ripples across the room, and I gasp out loud when I see the floor. It’s bathed in an orange glow of patterns so strange and wonderful they seem to be alive.

Maddy turns to face me with a wide smile. “Good morning, miss. It’s a beautiful sight, isn’t it?”

I look toward the source of the light. It’s coming
from the top part of the window I’d looked out of last night. Instead of clear panes, the glass is colored. I wiggle my fingers back and forth and watch as the light bounces off of them. “It reminds me of the morning sunrise in Siam.”

“It’s called staining the glass. Only a skilled tradesman can do it.” Maddy staggers to her feet with a bucket filled with ashes. “There are seven different ones in the house. Blue in the study, purple in the library, green an’ black in the upstairs hallway, white in the Master’s room, violet in the great room. Cook says they was a gift from a Prince Prospero. They’re my fav’rite thing to clean.” Her left cheek is streaked with soot.

I hurry out of bed and reach for the bucket. “Let me help you with that.”

“No, miss,” she scolds. “It isn’t yer place.” She brushes a hand across her face, and the soot disappears.

I glance down at the floor, hoping I have not offended her. I’ve never had servants before and I don’t yet know what my place is. “My apologies.”

“No need to worry, miss. When I finish with this, I’ll be right back up to help you get dressed.” She carries the bucket toward the door.

After Maddy leaves, I go to my trunk and retrieve
my robe. It still smells of
maphrao
—coconuts, as Mother used to call them—and a wave of homesickness washes over me. Even though months have passed, I still have not found myself used to the idea that she is gone. I bury my nose deeply into the worn silk. “I miss you, Mother,” I whisper.

Placing the robe around my shoulders, I pad over to the windows and sit cross-legged in a patch of sunlight. It’s been so long since I was last able to practice my morning meditations. On the ship from Siam, it was too noisy for me to properly focus. Even at night, when the other passengers had settled in for the evening, the sounds of the masts creaking and timbers groaning were a constant companion.

Closing my eyes, I focus on slowing my breathing and clearing my mind.

“Begging yer pardon,” Maddy suddenly whispers from behind me. “What is it you are doing?”

I open my eyes and glance back at her. I did not hear her come in. “It’s called meditation. It helps me to start the day with clear thoughts.”

“How does it work?”

“You sit very still and clear your mind of distractions.”

“How do you do that? My mind doesn’t ever want to stop moving.”

“Truthfully, I find that to be the hardest part,” I admit. “People in Siam meditate every morning and some in the evenings, as well. I’ve only started practicing over the last couple of years. I’m still learning.”

“What’s it like there in Siam?” She moves closer, her face curious. “Is it much like Philadelphia?”

A vision of home unfolds in my mind.
Flat greenery and watery channels of a rice paddy field. Muddy rivers that connect to one another. Colorful trinkets designed for the tourists at market. Dirt roads and elephant riders. Lychee fruit and fresh mangoes. Monsoon season with its sudden torrents of rain …

I describe it all to her and she listens with rapt attention.

“The elephants just walk around free as they please? Do they really have great horns on their faces?”

“Oh, yes. Their horns are called tusks and they have two of them. Elephants roam freely and are ridden like the horses are here. Only, there’s no carriage, and you ride much higher up.”

“I can’t imagine all that rain.” She shakes her head and sighs.

“It only rains that much during monsoon season.
Otherwise, the weather is clear and beautiful. Not like England. From what I can remember, it rained all the time there. Almost every day.”

“You lived in England, too?”

I nod again. “My mother was born there and she took me to England when I was a young child. We stayed until I was six. Then we went with the missionaries to Siam.”

I don’t tell her the reasons why we left England. Or how hard life was without my father. Since Mother refused to speak of him, many labeled me a bastard child. Moving to Siam was a welcome respite from the cruel tongues in England.

“Which one felt more like home?” she asks.

“Siam. Definitely Siam,” I say quickly. “We had simpler lives there, but happier ones. Mother was always smiling, and the villagers welcomed us as family.”

“Then you came here. I never could’ve made it all on my own like you did, miss.”

I glance down. When Mother and I went from England to Siam, we were stowed away on a small boat with the missionaries. They kept us safe and protected. But there was no one to protect me on the ship from Siam to Philadelphia. It was much larger, and the other
passengers kept their distance. I learned quickly not to venture topside too often where I could overhear whispers about my sun-darkened skin and the scandal that I was traveling all alone.