The Rose Master by Valentina Cano Read Free Book Online Page A

linens when they need a good washing, as well as his chamber pot.”
    “I’ve never heard of such a thing!”
    Dora laughed, a gurgling sound. “It is unusual. Not even his father did that.”
    “What else do you know about him?” I asked.
    “He is a secretive man, always has been. I used to see a lot of him in the past, mostly when Miss Bellingham came around to the manor, but I haven’t seen him much in recent years.”
    “Miss Bellingham? Who was she?”
    “Lily Bellingham. I don’t know much about her. I hadn’t been moved up from floor scrubber at that time, so I had little contact with guests. I did see her once, though. She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever laid eyes on, and from the frequency of her visits, I gathered the master thought the same.”
    “Oh, I see.”
    I turned to Dora and caught a sideways glance I could make nothing of. There was an expectation on her face, like someone dipping a toe to test bathwater.
    I frowned. “But, Dora, why did the rest of the household leave? If he’s so wealthy, then surely he could afford to maintain them all.”
    She was silent for a heartbeat. Then, she put the towel down. “I have to go throw some of these ashes outside. Can you finish here?”
    I nodded. Damn it. I gathered my thoughts together and finished washing and drying. I lingered a bit afterward, trailing about the different rooms, but as I saw no one else, I decided to turn in for the day.
    I crossed the main hall and headed toward the servant quarters. I had a hold of my doorknob when a cold gust slithered between my feet. The coil rose up my body until every hair on my head seemed to crackle and coat over with ice. In a minute, my whole body was trembling.
    What’s wrong with me?
    I shook my head in angry jerks, forcing the nonsense out, and entered my room, which was, thank God Almighty, many degrees warmer. Soon, I was in bed and edging toward a traveler’s tired sleep, heady and hot-lidded.

    Eight
    Whatever internal device I possessed that had been trained to rouse me at the same hour each morning was not fooled by my change of scenery. I woke, as usual, at half past five to a room crystallized by cold. I could not hear anyone up yet, and I considered remaining in my cocoon of blankets a bit more.
    I sighed and turned over, but my body was already alert. Fine. I ripped the covers off and stood in my nightdress that still retained wisps of body heat. I threw my cloak over my shoulders and, in a very unladylike manner, began to run and jump in place, warming my limbs up like molding clay.
    Panting, I dressed in my simplest dress—opaque, dark blue with a number of wide pockets. I had no cap, and I couldn’t very well wear my bonnet the whole day unless I enjoyed slamming into walls, so I wrapped my hair into a tight bun and set off for the kitchen.
    I moved past Dora’s room, but saw no light outlining her door—no movement at all, in fact—which, of course, meant there would be nothing hot to drink in the kitchen. I shrugged and continued. Perhaps I would find dregs of juice or a slice of bread to chew on while I waited. I lit one dim lamp in the kitchen and looked in the pantry. I found a loaf of bread, not the newest nor the most charming I’d ever seen, but a hungry stomach is not prejudiced. I cut a slice and ate it standing up, my hand cupped under my mouth to catch crumbs.
    My next quest was for cleaning supplies—the usual arsenal of brooms, dusters, cloths, rags, soap, and vinegar to dilute over the floors. I found the cloths and ragged flannel squares, as well as the vinegar and the broom, but there was not a single duster in sight. Not knowing the manor well enough, I didn’t want to go about opening doors. I would have to wait for Ms. Simple to point me the right way.
    In ordinary circumstances, I would have needed to be given instructions for the day, a list of chores that I had to follow, but since this manor was not even in the same vicinity as “regular