Elisabeth laughed. “No, I mean true feelings. An authentic caring that embraces all of him, even the haunted parts, especially the haunted parts. A girl who sees beyond the dashing outer shell.”
“I am finding it difficult to broach the haunted parts,” Sabine said, looking away.
“Oh, but you mustn’t give up,” said Elisabeth breathlessly. “Please, Sabine, I’ve only just met you, but the moment I saw you standing by his side in the entryway—proud and confident but also... cautious—I knew you were a young woman who was up to the challenge of loving him. And then to see him follow you with his eyes, to hear him use discretion when he speaks of details that might bring you unease? His fondness is obvious. The only thing that matters to me is that Stoker finds someone to love him as he should be loved, and that he may love her back.
“Forgive me if I assume too much,” she went on. “I promise that I did not lure you to the scullery to... set upon you with my hopes for your marriage. It is not like me to prattle on,” she said, swiping a tear away. “No brother could be dearer to me than Stoker. And when I hear that he is haunted, I can but assume the worst and blame myself. In this, I am quite at your mercy. Please, Sabine, I implore you, stay the course if you can bear it. He has so much love to give.”
Sabine blinked at Elisabeth, entirely at a loss. “I do not intend to abandon him,” she heard herself say. “And I do not intend to be abandoned myself.”
Elisabeth laughed a tearful laugh. “Oh, I could not have put it better.” She reached out and squeezed Sabine’s hand. “But let me introduce you to someone.Sheis the reason I have dragged you to the scullery. Let me see, where is she? Ah, there she is.”
Elisabeth whispered to a passing hall boy who went to the giant worktable in the center of the kitchens and tapped on the shoulder of a tall woman. The boy jabbed a thumb in their direction, and the woman craned to see. She nodded and put aside her bowl, crossing to their corner as she wiped her hands on her apron.
“Hello, ma’am,” the woman called to Elisabeth, smiling as she emerged from the bustle of the kitchens. The closer she got, the more clearly her face could be seen through the smoke and flour. At first glance, Sabine thought the woman had a large smear of batter or perhaps ash across one side of her face, but as she neared, Sabine could see that she had been, in fact, scarred, most likely by a terrible burn, from scalp to neck. Scar tissue pulled damaged skin tightly across her eye and cheek, and her mouth and ear had puckered into a disfigured sort of droop. Part of her hair had been burned away.
“Hello, Constance,” sang Elisabeth, smiling. “Sorry to disturb you, but I’ve someone I’d like you to meet. What are you making?”
“Tarts, ma’am,” said Constance, smiling her crooked smile. “Using the last of the raspberries.”
“Oh, the children will be thrilled, and I shall have dessert for breakfast for a week.” Elisabeth turned to Sabine. “Constance is responsible for all the pastries and pudding in our house, and how fortunate we are to have her. I’ve had foreign dignitaries, duchesses, members of court endeavor to hire her away. But I could never part with her, and she is loyal enough to remain in my meager kitchen.”
“Oh, you do go on, ma’am!” enthused Constance. “Weren’t nothing but a bit of sugar and flour.”
“Andshe’s as tight as a drum when it comes to her recipes, as you can see. I cannot complain. I quite like having the finest pudding in London.” Elisabeth turned back to the cook. “Constance, I thought you might like to meet our guest. She has been enjoying your currant buns with our tea, so your reputation precedes you. May I present the wife of Jon Stoker—” she held out an open palm “—Mrs. Sabine Stoker. He’s brought her home to meet us. At last.” Elisabeth beamed back and forth between the two women.
Constance made a sharp intake of breath and clapped her hands over her mouth, sending a puff of flour into the air. Her eyes filled with tears.
“How do you do?” said Sabine uncertainly.
The woman dropped her hands from her face and took up Sabine’s right hand, shaking it vigorously in both of her own. “I’m so thrilled to know you, ma’am, so very thrilled. Stoker... Stoker....” She broke off, tears spilling down her damaged cheeks. She looked at Elisabeth miserably.
Elisabeth gave Constance a half hug. “Remember when I said that I don’t hire girls from my foundation in my own household? Well, that is not entirely true. Sometimes, on occasion, in special circumstances, someone from the charitydoesmake her way into our lives here at Denby House. And Constance is an example of that—much to our delight, as I’ve said. She has been with us since just after Bryson and I married. Constance was rescued from a terrible situation in Cripplegate, and it was Stoker, then only fifteen or sixteen, who rescued her. Along with several others.”
Constance nodded tearfully along, looking between Elisabeth and Sabine. She sniffed loudly and wiped her nose. “I would have died if he’d not crashed in on the house where I was being held—and I tell you, I would have welcomed death. He wasn’t even a grown man. He came in through the window with two other boys. He worked quick like, locking doors and gathering us up. He took us out the window, the same way he’d come. We told him that he’d gotten us all, but when we were in the street, he went back and crawled in and out of every room. And did you know he came out with another girl? I’d been there nigh on two years, and I didn’t even know the whoreson who held us had someone else locked up. That girl didn’t make it, God love her, but she didn’t die in that hellhole, and that is a small blessing.” She shook her head as if to clear away painful memories, and smiled at Sabine again. “I’ve so much to be thankful for because of Stoker. And now he’s taken a wife!” She looked at Sabine up and down. “But how beautiful and proper. He always deserved the most beautiful and proper wife, didn’t he, ma’am?”
Sabine cut in, “I’m not sure about how proper I am. I can be demanding and stubborn, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, Stoker won’t mind that. It’s the shrinking violet what would bore him to tears.”
“Well, I’m certainly not that,” Sabine joked. If Stoker knew she was in the basement claiming to be his actual, loving wife, God only knew how he would respond.
“But can you cook?” asked Constance, gesturing to the kitchen.
Sabine cringed. “I’m afraid not. I’m a cartographer by trade, actually. I make maps.”
“Has a trade, does she?” marveled Constance. “Stoker was right to wait for the correct girl, ma’am.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” said Elisabeth, beaming at Sabine.
They chatted a moment more before Constance excused herself to return to her dough. Elisabeth gave Sabine a grateful look and then led the way back to the parlor.
“I hope you didn’t expect us to discuss weather on this little tour,” she said, climbing the dim stairwell.
“I did not know what to expect, honestly,” said Sabine.
“Bryson will say that it was wrong of me to inundate you with this history, but I am not prudent in that way. When you witness matters of life and death on a daily basis, you lose patience with idle chatter.”
“Was the woman Constance injured... in the kitchens?” Sabine asked.
