The Folk Keeper by Franny Billingsley Read Free Book Online Page A

embroidered underskirt. “Finian’s still a little boy who likes to be out poking worms onto hooks and never washing his hands.”
    Supper was a waste of time; there was no chance to speak to Finian alone. The dining room was scarlet and gold, with yard of table bursting with candelabra. Identical footmen in striped livery and powdered hair served us. They must all be brothers to the Valet, or cousins at least, their lips all pursed like respectable prunes.
    Old Francis was the only one who didn’t match, now stumbling against a chair, now struggling with a platter of dumplings, now chilling me with his frozen eye.
    I understood why Finian was so bored. It was all talk about the weather and the estate, and to an estate, weather is everything.
    “Well, Corin,” said Lady Alicia. “How do you like this rain of ours?”
    “I like it very well,” I said, which is perhaps the first true thing I’ve ever told her. I like rain and mist. I’ve never understood why people exclaim over bright skies and bushels of glaring sunshine.
    “It will help our crops,” said Sir Edward.
    Then it was all crops until the end of dinner. Lady Alicia asking questions of Sir Edward, trying very hard to learn about the estate, and Finian making faces at me, but I never laugh when I don’t choose.
    We retired to the Music Room after supper. From weather to crops to music; and still no chance to speak to Finian. The Music Room was small by Manor standards (not big enough to hold more than fifty elephants), and all white and gold, with huge marble fireplaces that yawned into the room with tongues of flame.
    The music was not too bad, really.
    Lady Alicia sat at a spinet in an alcove; Finian raised his little whistle. The room gradually reduced itself to a golden bubble, just big enough to hold a candle, Lady Alicia’s shining hair, and Finian’s big fingers dancing over a scrap of tin. The silver thread of Finian’s whistle wove itself into a rainbow of arpeggios as Lady Alicia spiraled to the final chord. She kissed Finian’s cheek before she left the alcove. She did love him best of all, anyone could see that.
    “Look at Corin’s eyes shining!” said Finian. He took Lady Alicia’s place, perching his big body on the delicate stool. I stood beside him. We were private enough; Lady Alicia had moved three or four leagues away to stand before the fire.
    “I owe you a Conviction,” I said.
    “I’ve been waiting for it.”
    “This must be your business,” I said. “Discover what those around you love best. Then, if they forbid you from doing as you choose, you have a hold on them. You can threaten their dearest treasures.”
    “I don’t think I’d be very good at that.” Finian and I were much of a height, now that he was seated. “Is that how you get what you like?”
    “I’ll tell you more in exchange for another Secret.”
    “Another Conviction?” He took off his spectacles and stared as though he could see better without them. There was a blue vein running from the corner of his eye into the bridge of his nose. You sometimes see it in babies. “Very well, what do you want to know?”
    “Who is the Lady Rona?”
    “Who was she, you mean. She was Lord Merton’s first wife. She went mad, which I can understand, being married to him!”
    “Did she die fewer than twenty-one years ago?” I said.
    “Oh, yes,” he said, “although she died young. Mrs. Bains says she’ll never forget how Her Ladyship was terrified of the sea — screamed if she even looked at it — but otherwise never spoke a word.”
    “Poor Lady,” I said.
    “Poor Lady,” said Finian. “Mrs. Bains says she used to walk round and round, her hair streaming all about. She says the Lady could glide through crowds of furniture and people with her eyes closed!”
    Until then I’d felt a certain kinship with the solitary Lady Rona, set apart from everyone else, but here we parted ways. I could walk through nothingness and stumble every