Of Monsters and Madness (3 page)

A sense of unease fills my stomach as I stare up at what is to be my new home. Dark and foreboding, it appears just as unwelcoming as the rest of Philadelphia.

Two

M
r. Poe steps out of the carriage first and offers to help me down. I try not to let my apprehension of the towering house in front of me show, and thank him for his kindness. Two older ladies wearing the same matching garb as Maddy are there to meet us, introducing themselves as Cook and her assistant, Johanna.

“What did you manage to do?” I overhear Cook scolding Maddy as soon as she gets a proper look at me. “Drop her in a mud puddle?”

My cheeks flame, but Mr. Poe handles the situation
gracefully. “There was a small mishap at the dock. Fortunately, Miss Lee has agreed not to hold it against us, and we can only hope she will give Philadelphia another chance to make a better first impression.”

I give him a polite nod, and Cook and Johanna gather around me like protective mother hens. Their voices turn soothing.

“We’ll have you cleaned up good as new, miss,” Cook says. “You mark my words.”

“That’s right,” Johanna agrees. “Nothin’ some hot water an’ fresh towels can’t fix.”

Mr. Poe bows to me. “Until we meet again. It will be sooner rather than later, I hope …” My heart beats like a trapped bird inside my chest as I wait for him to continue. He stares for a moment, then says softly, “Welcome to Philadelphia, Miss Lee.”

The ladies erupt in a tizzy as soon as he climbs back into the carriage. They shepherd me toward the kitchen while Maddy regales them with the story of how Mr. Poe jumped into the water to save me. I am soon seated at a bench in front of a roaring fire and given a cup of tea. I take it gratefully, and marvel at the space. The kitchen alone is as big as the house that Mother and I used to share. A rough cloth is applied
to my face, and then another is set upon my arm as Maddy and Johanna begin to dry me off. “Is it hopeless?” I ask. “Is my dress ruined?”

“Not yet, miss,” Maddy says. “Dinner will be late this evening, so I can take you to yer room an’ scrub the stains out there, if you’d like.”

My spirits lift. “Where is the well? I’ll help you draw some water.”

Maddy stops scrubbing. “
You
, draw the water? Oh, no, miss.” She shakes her head. “That’s servants’ work. You don’t need to be doing that.”

In the village where Mother and I lived, there was no such thing as “servants’ work.” Everyone pitched in equally, and when someone needed help, it was offered. But I don’t wish to offend Maddy, so I simply bow my head in agreement.

She fills a large pot with steaming water from the fireplace kettle and then beckons me to follow her up the staircase that leads away from the kitchen.

We go to the first level and Maddy informs me that these are the servants’ quarters. The hallway is dark, with only a single candle burning. I cannot see very far. Then she takes me up to the next level. “The main living quarters,” she says.

I can see clearly down this long hallway because it’s lined with candles. Gleaming hardwoods and beautiful, intricate fabrics grace the walls. Maddy passes several doors until she finally stops in front of one.

“Here we are. This’ll be yer bedroom, miss.” With a well-practiced motion, she places the pot upon her hip and takes a key from her pocket.

When the door swings open, the sight before me causes my breath to catch. Summer sunshine is captured permanently upon the golden-yellow walls, the draperies are like ripe pomegranates, and the rug is a vivid shade of burnt amber. A bed so large it could fit Mother and me a dozen times over sits in the center of the room. On the right side is a painted dressing screen, a washbasin, and an armoire, while to the left is a desk with freshly cut flowers and a matching pair of brown chairs.

Maddy puts the pot next to the fireplace, then reaches for the cords that lace up the back of my dress. I hold on to my scarf as she removes my stays and petticoat. “Isn’t that wet, too, miss?” she asks.

I shake my head, feeling utterly ridiculous and more than a little exposed standing in nothing but my shift and stockings, but if she thinks me odd for keeping
on the scarf, she does not say anything, and turns her attention instead to my traveling dress.

“There is a rip in the seam near the shoulder,” I admit with embarrassment. “I thought I could dress myself, but I tore the fabric.”

Her brow furrows as she looks for the imperfection. “No need to worry. I can stitch this right up, miss.”

I stand there for another moment, unsure if I should offer to help.
Is sewing considered servants’ work as well?

“Why don’t you sit a spell?” Maddy finally says. “This will be done in a dog’s eye.”

The bed catches my attention again, and I run a careful hand down the exquisitely embroidered quilt covering the length of it. The fabric is soft beneath my fingertips. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so beautiful,” I say.

“The Grandmaster chose the furnishings for the room. The chairs an’ desk were the late Grandmistress’s, an’ she made the quilt herself.” She dips a cloth into the pot and scrubs at a spot of mud on my dress.

“Grandmaster? You mean … I have a
grandfather
?”

Maddy glances over at me, her face curious. “Don’t you know all the family you have?”

I shake my head. “Mother spoke very little of my
father, and until I received the letter summoning me here, I thought I would never have the chance to meet him.”

Maddy looks away. Plunging her hands into the water, she scrubs vigorously. She blots at several more clumps of mud and then removes the dress from the pot. “Here we are.” I can tell she’s forcing a cheery tone. “We’ll just hang it in front of the fire to dry an’ then I’ll fix the tear. It’ll be good as new.”

I follow Maddy over to the fireplace and warm my fingers. My scarf is still damp, but I cannot remove it. Mother made me promise never to take it off in front of anyone.

Maddy hangs the dress up and then goes over to the armoire. She returns to me with a silver hairbrush in one hand and several pins in the other. “Come sit at the desk, miss,” she says. “An’ we’ll see about fixing yer hair.”

She spends an eternity brushing and pinning, and by the time she’s done, I’m dangerously close to falling asleep. Then she tells me to wait while she fetches some sewing supplies. When she returns, she carries a needle and thread and my valise. “Thought you might want this, miss.” She places it on the floor at my feet.

While Maddy fixes the tear in my dress, I search the valise for the gift I brought from Siam for Father. My thoughts are momentarily distracted when my fingers brush the newspaper from the dock, still within the front pocket, and I’m reminded again of the chilling headline I read.

Luckily, I’m also able to find a second gift amongst my meager belongings and it doesn’t take long for Maddy to finish her task before she is dressing me again. I stow the treasures for Father and Grandfather safely away in my side pockets.

We take a different staircase downstairs, and this one leads us to a cavernous room with dark brown walls and large paintings. Without Maddy as my guide, I fear I shall never find my way back to my bedroom.

“This is the great room,” she says.

Maddy returns to the kitchen and I’m startled when the adjoining doors next to me suddenly slide apart. A very tall man steps out from behind them, wearing a black suit. His hair is white, and he has the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. “Ahhh, you must be Annabel,” he says with a smile. “I am your grandfather. But please, call me Grand-père.”

I bow deeply. As the head of this family, he deserves
my greatest respect. “Grandfa—Grand-père. I am honored to meet you.”

“A bow!” His eyes light up. “What fine manners you have. It’s good to see that the heathens have not ruined you.”

“Just the opposite.” I straighten and reach into my pocket for one of the gifts. “The people of Siam have great respect for their elders.”

“Good. Good. I’m glad to hear it.”

Holding out my hands, I present him with a tiny carved wooden elephant. “This is for you.”

He takes it and examines it closely. A look of delight crosses his face. “Exceptional craftsmanship. Thank you, my dear. I shall treasure it.” He places it carefully in his breast pocket. “Now let’s call for your father so that you can meet him. Then we shall adjourn to the—”

A sound comes from the stairs, and we both turn to look at a figure standing near the top.

“Ah, there you are, son,” Grand-père says. “We were just about to send for you.”

The man on the stairs slowly starts to descend, leaning heavily upon the bannister. As he gets closer, I can see the reason he has need of support. His left foot is twisted—bent at an unnatural angle—and he must use
his hands to lift his leg and then propel the lame foot forward with every step he takes.

I bow to him when he reaches us. “I’m honored to meet you, Father. Thank you for inviting me to your home.”

He stares at me but does not say anything.

“Markus, this is your daughter,” Grand-père chides. “She has traveled a very long way to be here. Surely you can say something polite.”

“Polite?” Father takes another step closer. Deep lines mark his face. He looks almost as old as Grand-père. “She bowed like a man, for God’s sake. Her manners are sorely lacking, and until they have been improved, I shall not encourage her.”

My stomach pitches. It feels as though I’m back in the carriage again, lurching forward for the first time. “I meant no disrespect, Father. Please forgive me.” My fingers bury themselves deeply in my pockets, searching for the other gift, and I offer him the most precious thing I have. “This is for you.”

He glances down at it. “A rock? What am I to do with a rock?”

“It’s a stone from the holy temple of Chiang Dao, blessed by the seven monks who live there. It will bring
you good luck and fortune.”

“Good luck saw fit to turn her face away from me many years ago. No holy rock or stone will ever change that.” He glares at me, and it’s only after Grand-père clears his throat and gestures at my offering that Father finally takes the stone.

I glance down at my hands. Already, I have disappointed him.

“Shall we go to dinner, then?” Grand-père says. “Cook has made a delightful roast and fresh—”

“I have a project to finish. Send something down to me,” Father interrupts.

“Can’t it wait for another evening, Markus? This is to be our first family dinner.”

“The first of many, I’m sure.” Father’s tone is dismissive. “My apologies, but my work cannot wait. It’s very fragile right now. I’m sure you understand.”

He disappears without another word into the kitchen, and Grand-père turns to me. “Looks as if it shall be just the two of us, then. But no matter! We have a great deal of catching up to do.”

I put on a smile as we proceed to the dining room. Although I’m happy for the chance to dine with Grand-père, I’m also saddened that I have already
offended Father with my rough manners and poorly chosen gift.

I wonder if I shall always be such a disappointment to him.