Bone House_ A Novel - Betsy Tobin [16]
“As soon as he wakes,” I say, easing her into her coat.
“Above all he must rest,” she says. She stops and looks at me. “What of the Great House?” she asks.
“I am not needed. My mistress is away,” I say. She nods, relieved. From a very young age I have been able to deceive her with ease. I take her arm and steer her out the door.
“Go now and rest,” I say.
* * *
When she is gone, I finish chopping the salad herbs and add them to the pot by the fire. I check to see that the boy is deep in sleep, then begin a thorough search of the cottage. Aside from the bed and a rundle below it, the dining table and two chairs, there are two wooden trunks and a smaller chest. I cross the room and open the first. Inside I find an extra set of bed linen, washed and neatly folded, together with two man-size shirts, a pair of men’s hose, two felt caps for Sunday wear, and a heavy woolen cloak that I have seen the boy wear on several occasions. The second contains her own clothes: two gowns, one for everyday, and one for field labor, her best gown having been used for the burial; two spare kirtles and caps, and a carved wooden rosary.
The boy stirs and I quickly replace the things. He does not wake, however, and I move on to the chest. It is a good deal smaller than the trunks, more a treasure box of sorts, with ornamental metal hinges, carved wooden handles, and a floral pattern embossed in ivory upon the lid. When I try to open it, I am unable, as the lid appears to be fastened by some kind of hidden catch. I lift the box carefully and examine it from every angle, but can find nothing that resembles a release. Puzzled, I lay it down on the table and step back a few paces to view it from afar. This time something catches my eye: one handle is slightly larger than the other. I apply pressure to one side of the handle and it moves a hair’s breadth, at the same time releasing the lid. I smile, pleased at the ingenuity and craftsmanship of the box, and wonder for a moment where she would have obtained such an object.
Inside I find a velvet pouch atop a piece of folded linen cloth. I glance quickly at the boy and take out the pouch: the velvet is of deepest green, kept closed by a simple drawstring made of silk. I loosen the cord and remove an exquisite blue vial made of Venetian glass, about the size of my hand. My master has a collection of such glass in his library, and has traveled to London on several occasions to obtain more. I carefully loosen the cork, sniffing the contents. Though I am expecting perfume, I find to my surprise that it is oil of myrrh, a scent I know well for my master makes frequent use of it as a tonic for his ailments. I replace the vial in the pouch, hesitate a moment, then tuck it inside my kirtle.
Beneath the pouch is a piece of fine linen cloth. When I unfold it, I see at once that it is an infant’s nightdress, delicately embroidered with flowers along the sleeves and hem. The gown was no doubt ivory originally but has yellowed slightly with age. It must have been worn by Long Boy many years ago, and suggests a trace of sentimentalism in his mother that I would not have predicted.
Finally I remove a tiny silver picture frame which holds a miniature portrait of a woman I have never seen. She is young, not many years older than me, and dark-haired, with a fine long nose and sharpish chin. She wears a deep crimson gown with an ivory-colored overbodice and enormous sleeves that are exquisitely decorated. The gown is of a style popular some years before my birth; I recognize the type from portraits hanging in the Great House. In her hand the woman clutches a Bible and a rosary. I peer closely at the detail, for the rosary appears to be the same as the one I have just found in Dora’s trunk, though it is difficult to know for sure, as the portrait is so small. I have heard talk of such miniature portraits, as they are presently very fashionable at court, but this is the first one I have ever seen, and I marvel at the intricacy with which it has been painted. Indeed, my mistress