The Alchemist's Apprentice Read online

  “No, listen ,” Jill said. “You can’t trust any of the other maids. They’ll spy on you. They’ll gossip about you. Anything you say will be taken out of context and used against you.”

  “I know,” I said, gently. It was probably not a good idea to point out that Jill was a maid too. But then, scullery maids and personal maids had about as much in common as cats and dogs. “Jill ...”

  “Listen,” Jill said. Her voice was low, urgent. “Don’t go to Lucinda or Staunton with any of your problems. You belong to Reginald now. They won’t lift a finger to help you. But if you go to Cook, if you ask her for a quiet word, she’ll give you some potion to help. Tea, perhaps. The no accidental babies tea.”

  I blinked. “Cook?”

  “She knows more than she lets on,” Jill told me. “And she will help you.”

  I found myself lost for words. I’d never realised that Cook knew how to brew potions as well as cook dinners, although - in hindsight - it was blindingly obvious. Cooking and brewing required many of the same skills. Cook didn’t have to be a Potions Master to follow a recipe and ... well, I could easily see her quietly brewing potions to help the household staff. I wondered, suddenly, why I’d never considered it before. It should have occurred to me long ago.

  “Thanks,” I managed. “But it really won’t be that bad.”

  Jill let go of me. “He’s handsome, isn’t he? A fine young man: strong and muscular, powerful and skilful ... just the right combination of traits to make a young woman want to swoon into his arms. That smile, that devilish smile ... I’ve seen aristocratic girls who really should know better dance with him. And yes, there are maids who would cheerfully open their legs for him. They’d see a child as the promise of a better life.”

  Her voice hardened. “But he’s a monster on the inside, Rebecca. He reaches out and twists the minds of his victims. And they don’t know what to do. You have no defences. You have no family that will come to your defence, if Reginald goes too far ...”

  “I know,” I said, quietly. Jill meant well. But she was wrong. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Don’t blame me when your belly starts to swell,” Jill said, tartly. “And don’t expect Reginald to support a child either.”

  She sat down on the bed. “Come find me if you want to talk. But I don’t know what I can do to help.”

  “You’ve done enough,” I assured her.

  Jill grinned, showing a flicker of her usual self. “And now I have to show Anna and Elsa what to do while somehow doing my own work too,” she added. “You jumped out at just the right time.”

  “I’m sure Lucinda will understand,” I said, doubtfully.

  “Hah,” Jill said. She snickered. “At least you knew how to scrub floors and not give lip to your betters. Those two brats must have grown up in a nicer orphanage.”

  “And they have you as a tutor,” I told her. “They’ll learn quickly.”

  Jill shrugged. “We shall see.”

  I picked up my bag, slung it over my shoulder and hurried out of the room. Jill’s reaction bothered me more than I cared to admit, even though I knew Reginald needed me to do more than simply iron his clothes and warm his bed. What had he done to his former maid? I tried to tell myself, again, that I didn’t want to know, but the possibilities kept flickering through my mind. I was a virgin, but I wasn’t ignorant . I’d seen too many things in Water Shallot to pretend to be innocent. And merely watching how my stepfather had treated my mother had soured me on marriage forever.

  Not that anyone would have me , I reminded myself. Clive might want to marry me, if he really does want to marry me, but his family wouldn’t let him .

  I put the thought to one side as I walked up the stairs and down to Reginald’s suite. The door was closed and heavily warded. I touched the panel and waited, but nothing happened. I shrugged and walked down to the second door. Reginald was clearly repairing his defences after I’d broken into his chamber of horrors. I wondered, darkly, if any of the wards would notice his work now . I’d probably damaged his defences more than I’d realised at the time.

  The door to my new bedroom was closed, but opened at my touch. I stepped inside - and stopped, dead. The room was huge! It was smaller than Reginald’s room, of course, but it was still the largest room I’d ever been able to call my own. Two of the three walls were lined with wardrobes and bookshelves; a third was bare, but faint marks on the wallpaper suggested I could cover it with pictures if I wished. One internal door led to a tiny shower cubicle that was still larger than the one downstairs; the other door, which was locked, led directly to Reginald’s room. I guessed Reginald had locked and warded it from the inside, just to make sure no one could sneak into his suite. He’d have to unlock it if he wanted me to enter his workroom without going outside his wards.

  He probably will , I thought, as I opened one of the wardrobes. It was crammed with dresses, all fancier than anything Lucinda had given me. How else does he expect me to work?

  I shook my head at the fancy outfits - whoever had designed them had intended to make them a cut above regular maid outfits, but still nowhere near as elaborate as anything a real aristocrat might wear - and opened the next wardrobe. It was empty. I unpacked my bag quickly, feeling oddly unsure of myself. I had very little that was truly mine. The only thing I could really claim was the money and the potion vials. Everything else, even the underclothes, had come from Ginny or Lucinda. I’d have to return Ginny’s dress one day.

  And warn her that she’s been noticed , I thought. Zadornov knew about Ginny. It wouldn’t be long before he made contact and started tightening the screws. What will she do when he starts telling her to forge paperwork for his men?

  I shuddered as I sat down on the bed. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to run. Reginald’s geas would see to that. He hadn’t ordered me not to try to find a way to outwit the geas - I had a feeling that it would have been an impossible order to follow - but it didn’t matter. A geas was hard to fool. Master Travis might have been able to remove it, or convince the spell that it was no longer needed, but I couldn’t. I’d have to work my way through it before it would let me go.

  I’m going to have to brew the potion for him , I thought, lying back on the sinfully comfortable duvet. And then I’m going to have to find a way to outwit him .

  It was possible, I supposed, that the potion was lethal. Master Travis’s notes indicated that the potion wasn’t deliberately poisonous, but it might not matter. Reginald was young and strong - Jill had been right about that, at least - yet even he might not be able to take so much pain without his heart giving out. Master Travis had warned me that some people were too fragile to drink potions, even ones tailored specifically to them. I had to smile. Reginald would have to take the potion himself. He might just drop dead on the spot.

  The dinner gong rang. I tensed, sitting upright ... and then reminded myself that I was no longer required to do anything for dinner. Jill and the new girls would be taking up the trays, not me. What was I meant to do for dinner? I didn’t even know where the personal maids took their food. I’d have to find out before I starved to death. People would talk.

  And blame it on Reginald , I thought, wryly. And for once it wouldn’t be his fault .

  There was a faint tap at the door. I stood and smoothed down my dress, wondering who it could be. Cook wasn’t in the habit of sending food to personal maids, certainly not now. I opened the door and blinked in surprise. Cyanine stood there, her face pale. I thought I saw hints of a bruise on her cheek.

  “Rebecca,” she said. “Can I come in?”

  I dropped a hasty curtsey, then stood aside. Cyanine entered hurriedly, closing the door behind her. She looked around frantically, her eyes lingering on the door to Reginald’s suite before she reassured herself the door was closed and warded. I couldn’t help noticing that there was no lock on my side of the door. Reginald could come in at any moment. And Cyanine had come ... technically, it was her house, but it was rare for the aris
tocracy to inspect the servant quarters. That was Lucinda’s job.

  “I just heard,” Cyanine said. “Are you really his maid ...?”

  “Yes,” I said, carefully. Who had told her ? Her governess? Or her tutor? I couldn’t see Lucinda gossiping with Cyanine. None of the other maids would dare. “He ...”

  “I’m sorry,” Cyanine said. “I’m so sorry. I saw the other maid ... she couldn’t sit down for bruises. Her face ...”

  “I’ll be fine,” I said. It was hard not to feel a pang of guilt. I’d be fine, if Reginald kept his word, but Cyanine wouldn’t . “Young Mistress ...”

  Cyanine dropped her hand into her pocket and withdrew a small jar of salve. “I brewed it today,” she said, holding it out to me. “And if you want more ... you’re free to use my workroom.”

  I felt tears prickle at the corner of my eyes as I opened the jar and sniffed the contents. Cyanine had added a little too much belladonna, I thought; the salve would work, but it wouldn’t be long before it started to decay. She simply hadn’t managed to balance the magic properly. I gave the salve a week at most before it turned into mush. And yet ... I felt a sudden rush of affection. It had been the kindest thing anyone had done for me in weeks.

  “Thank you,” I said, gently. It was suddenly hard to speak. “I ... thank you.”

  “Don’t tell anyone,” Cyanine said, urgently. “Particularly him. Please.”

  “I won’t,” I promised. Access to Cyanine’s workroom was worth its weight in gold. I wasn’t sure what I could do with it - and her collection of ingredients - but I was sure I’d think of something. “Thank you!”

  “You’re welcome,” Cyanine said. She smiled, rather tiredly. “He noticed you in my rooms, didn’t he?”

  “Perhaps,” I lied. Did she feel guilty? That was unusual. I was starting to like her. “Don’t worry about it.”

  Cyanine smiled, again. “I do,” she said. She turned to the door. “And ... may the ancestors keep you.”

  I sighed, inwardly. That wasn’t going to happen.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  I hadn't been sure what I’d expected to happen at night.

  I’d finally given up trying to determine where the personal maids ate dinner and gone down to ask Cook for something to eat. Cook had promptly told me that the personal maids had their own kitchen on the upper levels, somewhere lowly scullery maids weren’t allowed to go, before feeding me the remains of the family’s dinner. I’d walked back to my room, afterwards, and gone to bed, half-expecting Reginald to open the door in the middle of the night. It had certainly taken me a long time to fall asleep. But nothing had happened.

  And you should be grateful , I told myself, as I washed and dressed myself. Anything that happened in the middle of the night could not possibly be good .

  I put the thought aside and inspected myself in the mirror. The personal maid’s dress looked slightly askew, as if it had been designed for someone who had been taller than I, but it was still tight in all the wrong places. I was uncomfortably aware that anyone looking at me would be unable to avoid having their attention drawn to my breasts, even though the outfit revealed no actual skin . It was strange to realise that it was actually the least revealing of the dresses. I made a mental note to ask Reginald for some work clothes. He could hardly object to me asking for something I’d need to brew.

  If only because this dress won’t provide any protection at all , I thought. The dress cost more than I could possibly earn in a year, but it was so flimsy that I was afraid to touch it for fear of tearing the material. There weren’t even any heating charms. I had the nasty feeling that the outfit wasn’t meant to be worn outside the hall. A single gust of wind and I’ll be naked .

  The wards flickered, just once. I tensed, bracing myself. The door to Reginald’s room rattled once, then opened with an unnaturally loud squeak. I wondered, just for a moment, if the hinges needed to be oiled - they were certainly loud - before realising that they’d been deliberately wiped dry. My predecessor had wanted - needed - some warning of when Reginald entered her room. I felt a stab of sympathy for the poor girl. If an aristocratic girl like Cyanine had felt sorry for her, what had Reginald done to her? I really didn’t want to know.

  Reginald stepped into the room and looked at me. “Are you ready to go to work?”

  My stomach growled. “I haven’t had breakfast,” I said, carefully. “Can I ...?”

  “You’ll find snacks in the workroom,” Reginald said. “Come.”

  He turned and led the way back into his room. I followed, carefully noting how he’d modified the wards. The door to his chamber of horrors was clearly visible - I knew it was there - but the wards were much stronger. I doubted I’d be able to break inside a second time, even if I had a sample of Reginald’s blood. He’d done a very good job.

  “I’ve keyed you into the wards,” he said. I felt the wards unlock at his touch. “You can come and go as you please - provided, of course, that you please me.”

  “Of course,” I echoed. “I won’t let you down.”

  Reginald shot me a sharp look. “You’d better not,” he said. “Your life is at stake.”

  “So is yours,” I said, evenly.

  He scowled at me, then opened the door. I followed him into the room, looking around with interest. He’d made a show of cleaning up the chamber, although I could see plenty of signs he hadn’t done a very good job. The remnants of old potions alone posed a considerable risk to safe brewing. Master Travis would have been furious if I’d left globules of potion everywhere. He’d say it was a hazard to life and limb.

  And he’d be right , I thought, recalling the horror stories about brewers who’d accidentally managed to mutilate themselves when the remnants of the previous potion mixed with the potion they were trying to brew. I’ll have to clean the workroom myself before I do any actual brewing .

  My eyes swept the room. Reginald had also removed a handful of his experiments and piled up dozens of books on the tables. I stared, wondering if he’d let me take some of the volumes back to my room for bedtime reading. There were tomes on potions, tomes on wardcrafting ... I resisted the urge to reach for a particularly rare volume on ancient potions that had been carelessly left on the edge of the table. Reginald didn’t seem to care that there were only a handful of copies known to exist. Master Travis would probably have had a stroke if he’d seen it. I wasn’t sure how much use the volume truly was - it might well have been superseded by more modern alchemical techniques - but it was still priceless. And Reginald was practically using it as a coaster ...

  “Sit,” Reginald said. He picked up Master Travis’s notebook and opened it. “You can read this, can’t you?”

  “Yes,” I said, resisting the urge to point out that I’d told him that yesterday. “I know how to read it.”

  “Good,” Reginald said. He put the notebook down on a table and picked up a second notebook. “This is for you.”

  I took it, automatically. The leather-bound volume was crawling with magic. “For me?”

  Reginald nodded, impatiently. I swallowed the impulse to tell him precisely where he could stick his gift as I opened the notebook. It was a giant potions journal, spelled to conceal its secrets from prying eyes ... the kind of gift, I reflected, that a master might give to his apprentice upon the apprentice completing his apprenticeship. I flicked through the pages, noting how it had been designed with experimental brewing in mind ... if Master Travis had given it to me, I would have been delighted. But Reginald ... I made a silent bet with myself that he’d ensured that he could read the journal with or without my permission. He might even have twinned it with another book, ensuring that he had a copy of anything I wrote.

  “Thank you,” I managed. “I’m deeply honoured ...”

  “Think nothing of it,” Reginald said. He waved a languid hand. “Your first task is to copy out the recipe, then start filling in the blanks. And then you can start brewing.”

  “I need to clean the w
orkspace first,” I said. I made a show of looking around. “It needs to be absolutely clean.”