No wonder she never wanted a child in this house. This was no house for a nervous kid. I’d have spent my entire childhood sitting on my hands, so terrified I’d break something that my magic would’ve rebelled and built into a localised earthquake that would’ve broken everything anyway.
The woman – mygrandmother,Lady Pembroke – sat in a high-backed chair in front of the fireplace and rang a bell. A moment later, a short, stocky woman in a black dress and sensible shoes appeared by the door. Her skin matched mine – a dark smudge against this white house and its white furnishings. I wondered if she ever accidentally tried to scrub herself away.
“Some tea for me and my guest,” Lady Pembroke barked without looking at the maid.
“Yes, Mrs Pembroke.” The maid ducked away. I stared at my knees, too terrified to speak.
My grandmother didn’t speak either, and after an eternity punctuated by the ticking clock and a white cat slinking into the room and curling up at my feet, the maid returned with a tray of tea. She placed the silver tea service on the table next to my grandmother. Lady Pembroke poured the tea with meticulous attention to old fashioned service, and proffered me a cup and saucer.
I took the cup, just to have something to do with my hands. As I moved the saucer to my knee, my shaking hand splashed hot tea on my lap. I set the cup down and picked up a shortbread instead.
I took a bite of shortbread. Big mistake. It was a terrible recipe – too sugary and dry. It stuck in my throat and crumbled all over my jeans. Across from me, Mrs Pembroke frowned as she observed my atrocious table manners, no doubt second-guessing her invitation. I wondered if right this moment the maid stood outside the door, her finger poised over the panic button, waiting for a signal to turn me in.
“Let us get straight to the point,” Lady Pembroke said. “If you are Dana’s child – which I refuse to believe until I see your paperwork – you’ll get no money from us. We made it very clear that we were not to be involved in your life in any way.”
“I already told you, I don’t want money.” Blood roared in my ears. The yellow walls swelled and buckled in front of me. Opposite the fireplace was a white bookshelf containing rows of books with matching white and gold spines. I counted them.One, two, three…
“If that is so, you have until the bottom of this teacup to tell me what you want, or I’m calling the police.”
“My best friend just died,” I said.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” She sipped her tea, not sounding sorry at all.
“He took me in when I was on the streets, gave me the first real home I ever knew. I was in foster care before that. I ran away. I couldn’t take the abuse. It was the bravest thing I ever did, but also pointless. I lived on the streets, and the abuse never stopped. I’m easy to hurt.”
The words caught on my tongue, arriving stilted and out of order. I’d never said this many words to a stranger in my entire life, at least without drugs coursing through my system. “I didn’t come for you then. Corbin came for me instead. I was lucky enough to have a family. I live at Briarwood Castle. It’s just over the hill. It burned down the other night.”
“I saw that in the newspaper. Unfortunate business. I’ve visited the castle for the historical tour. You have an admirable topiary maze and some fine antiques, although your guest amenities could use some work. Why are youhere?”
Seven, eight, nine…
“I see that you and Lord Pembroke never had any other children, and I thought... I wondered… could we get to know each other? Could you tell me about my Mum?” The word was so foreign on my tongue. It had been years since I allowed myself to think of my parents are real people. “I never knew her and I see now that… that it’s important to keep alive the memories of people who meant something to us.”
Lady Pembroke glared at me from across the table, her teacup hovering in midair. I braced myself for her dismissal. I thought I heard the stomping of standard issue police constable boots clattering down the hall, coming to arrest me for daring to approach a woman of her status. Instead, she set down her cup and rose to her feet. “Follow me.”
I trailed after her up the staircase, not daring to touch the gleaming mahogany bannister or the textured white wallpaper. The first floor was decorated in the same grand Georgian style as the rest of the house, all in shades of white and cream that made my dark skin seem even more out of place.
Lady Pembroke threw open a door at the end of the hall. “I’ve left it exactly as she did.”
I stepped into a bedroom about the size of the Great Hall. An enormous four-poster bed dominated the space, hung with white lace curtains and made up with cream silk pillows. A white dresser stood under the window, the mirrors angled inwards. White, white, white. The starkness of it stifled me. The girl in this room had no place in her life for a messy, locked black baby.
It reminded me of the room at Corbin’s parents house, the one that captured a moment in time that had never really existed. A memorial to the two sons they’d lost. A place to remember, and to forget.
A vase at the windowsill held a bunch of cream roses, their petals browning at the edges. I touched my hand to the flowers, sending a thread of magic through my palm. When I withdrew my hand, the roses bounced back to life, and their fresh scent wafted across my nostrils.
Mrs Pembroke gripped the door jamb with white-knuckled hands. “Earth magic,” she whispered.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
She shook her head. “It’s been many years since I seen it.”
“You don’t use yours…?”
“Heavens, no.” She scoffed. “I’ve worked a long time to restore my reputation. I won’t sully it by associating with sorcery.”
I walked around the room, taking in details, trying to piece together my mother from these ancient remnants of her life. Details leapt out, the kind of details that were only obvious to someone like me. Objects on her dresser lined up so all the edges were parallel. The toes of her shoes perfectly even. The tops of the candles shaved off so they were at the exact same height. Posters hung at exact right angles to each other. And everything in even sets – two pillows on the chair, two paintings above the bed, two scarves on each hook. Two candlesticks on the mantelpiece when three would look more aesthetically pleasing.
A weird look crossed over Lady Pembroke’s face as she saw me looking at the candles. “Dana was always doing that – lining up objects in her strange way. She was obsessive about it. We’d go to cocktails with our neighbours and she’d be rearranging their mantelpieces. Lady Shetland once accused her of stealing a wedgewood plate. She made a huge fuss in the middle of a ball and all Dana had done was move it to another shelf so it was in a pair.”
