Chapters (35)
- PART ONE SCHOOL
- EXAMINATION
- THE TRIP
- INFECTION
- SWEETS
- PART TWO THE MANOR
- LESSONS
- LIVIA
- SPARRING
- LABORATORY
- PART THREE COMMONERS
- IN THE WOODS
- IN DARKNESS
- LIZZY
- THE LIBERAL
- CAESAR
- QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS
- HEADMASTER
- PART FOUR ANGEL
- THE COUNTRY AND THE CITY
- FARMER
- BONE MUSIC
- DELIVERY
- CAPTAIN
- SCAR TISSUE
- PENCIL AND PAPER
- CAESAR
- PART FIVE ABOVE AND BELOW
- DEMONS
- FACTORY
- FUSE
- BAPTISM
- PART SIX CLOUD
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
I liked him, in a way. He was dark and skulking and wore tan leather gloves, even around the house. Ate a lot, especially pudding. Slept in, went hunting. Blackened his sheets more than he should’ve done, considering his station. He was very full of himself even then, but so what? He was the future Lord of the Manor. Handsome. Rakish. Always teasing us girls.
Then he started changing. It was towards the end of the summer. Talk in the servants’ kitchen was, Lady Naylor had started paying attention to him. Called him to her chambers; kept him locked in with her for hours at a time. Nobody could quite work it out: what they were to each other, how they felt. I mean, he is the fruit of her womb. But he’d been raised by her first husband’s parents, people she would not consent to see even once a year. As Mother would put it: a proper rich people’s shambles.
In the course of the summer, Lady Naylor did for Lord Spencer whatever those schools of theirs are supposed to do to all them noble-born: she chilled his blood. Beat the Smoke out of him, and put it on a leash. The few gentryfolk I have seen in my time at the manor, they always looked a little sickly. Like they had their bowels full and didn’t have no prune juice. Though, of course, the vicar says it’s the only way to get to heaven.
With Lord Spencer it was different, though. Not one of us ever saw him smoke again. Not a mark on his linen. But whatever was dark in him only kept on growin’. You could almost feel it, when he walked past you in the hallway; the way a girl knows a man’s looking at her, Smoke curling out of his skin, even if he’s ten steps behind and walkin’ against the wind. The horses felt it too, grew skittish around him, unless he’d ridden them before. Broken them in. Same with the dogs in the kennels. Only his own bitch could abide him. It’s a smell, some of the stable hands said, too fine for our human noses. It’s like his Smoke has become invisible. Scratch him, though, and I swear he’ll bleed Soot.
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Six days in our charges announce they want to leave. Quickly. Just as soon as we can get them out.