The Night Gardener by Jonathan Auxier Read Free Book Online Page A

her son got walloped by a boy half his size.” Molly made a silly face, but Kip refused to smile. She sighed. “Kip, I said that to protect us. It was just a story.”
    “Was it?” He fixed her with as hard a gaze as he could. “Do they count as stories when the other person thinks they’re true?” He took his crutch from her and started toward the stables. Suddenly he felt exhausted and sore from the fight—and shaky. The exhilaration of his victory had been replaced by a cold gloom.

hough Molly had perhaps stretched the truth about her domestic prowess, she was determined to make good on the claim. She spent the first week at Windsor Manor scrubbing, scouring, and dusting every surface she could find. She made a sort of game for herself out of anticipating her mistress’s every wish so that she could fulfill it before being asked. (Penny helped in this matter, often acting as a spy who would come back with reports of half-filled wineglasses or drafty windows.) By the end of the week, Molly had succeeded in her efforts, as evidenced by not one but
three
separate instances of her mistress uttering “thank you” after being served.
    It was mid-Friday before Molly finally met Master Windsor. When she heard his carriage rolling up the drive, she put aside her wash and fetched her brother in the yard. The two of them rushed to the front stoop so they might greet him at the door. Molly had enough sense to know the importance of winning her master’s approval—and if he was anything like his wife, she knew it would be a difficult thing to gain.
    Molly and Kip both stood at attention, straight as candlesticks, like proper servants. They were wearing clean (if oversized) clothes and shined shoes. Molly had even gotten her brother to wash his face, though he hadn’t done a very good job around the ears, and his neck still had some red marks from where Alistair had bitten him. Molly wasn’t sure whether she should be furious with her brother or proud of him for getting into that fight. She imagined her parents would have shared her ambivalence—Ma, impressed with his courage; Da, disappointed in his hotheadedness. This thought made her smile. Then it made her sad.
    When the carriage rattled to a stop in front of the house, Molly was surprised by the man who climbed down from the driver’s seat. His shoulders may have once been broad, but they were now severely sloped. He had a weak chin and round face. Even his mustache was halfhearted. Like the rest of his family, he had pale skin and dark eyes, which he blinked incessantly—as though he were afraid that someone might strike him. Looking at the man, Molly understood at once why Alistair had not been afraid of his mother’s threats: to put it plainly, Bertrand Windsor was a milksop.
    “We expected you some hours ago,” said Constance, who had rushed to meet him. She had been increasingly anxious for his arrival all afternoon. “Have you any news?”
    “F-f-forgive me, darling,” he said with a distinct stutter. “I was a bit late getting out of town.” Master Windsor knocked some mud from his shoes. “It didn’t help that the roads have turned to marshsince Monday—I daresay at this rate, the whole valley will be a bog by Easter!” He looked up at his wife, perhaps expecting a laugh, but none was forthcoming.
    “And your meetings?” she pressed. “Were they productive?”
    He apparently did not hear her and turned to Molly and Kip. “H-h-heavens!” he exclaimed. “How my two children have changed! One would h-h-hardly recognize you for Windsors.”
    Molly took this to be a joke and obliged him with a polite smile. “Alistair and Penny are upstairs, readyin’ for supper. I’m Molly, and this here’s my brother, Kip.”
    “We’re the help!” Kip said, bowing as best as his crutch allowed.
    Molly took the man’s hat and cloak. She couldn’t help but notice the sour odor of tobacco and ale on his clothes. “I’ve nearly got food on the table,