They led me into a dark chamber with three big windows overlooking the desolate gardens I had passed on my arrival.
“Is this all for me?” I asked, turning a circle. I’d never had a room to myself, especially not one so grand, and even at Mrs. Boliver’s I’d shared my attic with a family of cockroaches and one enormous rat.
“Of course it’s all for you,” said Bram distractedly, and Minnifer mumbled, “What is she talking about?”
Bram lit a second candelabra. Minnifer promised to bring up a kettle of hot water for washing. Then, with anxious looks, they left the room, closing the door behind them. I heard them whispering outside. A moment later the key turned twice, softly, and they were gone.
Chapter Three
I woke the next morning to find a crow sitting on my chest, peering down at me with the disconcerting gaze of something that might like to take a great juicy bite out of one of my eyeballs. Its own eyes were bright black droplets nestled among the blue sheen of its feathers. I could feel its weight, heavy on the sheets, claws pricking the comforter. The room was freezing, the air slightly damp, as if I were out of doors.
The crow and I stared at each other for a long moment. Then I screeched at the top of my lungs, kicking at the sheets. The bird let out an indignant caw and flapped over to the mantelpiece, where it looked over its feathered shoulder at me as if in reproach. A second later, it flew into the chimney and began wriggling its way up it, sending showers of soot onto the hearth.
Immediately, I forgot my fear and leaped out of bed. I ran to the chimney and peered up it, waving away the soot. “Don’t do that!” I called out. “You’ll get stuck!”
A sparrow had once gotten stuck in the chimney in Mrs. Boliver’s parlor. Smoke had billowed out, staining every doily and lacy pillow black, and when I’d poked the broom handle up to find the blockage, the sparrow had fallen into the ashes, closely followed by six roasted hatchlings and a nest. The mother sparrow had gone down the chimney’s flaming throat, foolish and brave, to stop whatever glowing monster had been cooking her offspring. I’d been very upset by the incident and had buried the little creatures in the back garden next to Mrs. Boliver’s extensive cemetery of goldfish.
This crow seemed to know exactly what it was doing, however. The noise of its efforts became quieter and quieter, then ceased altogether. I hoped that meant the bird had popped out the top.
When the crow was gone and the chimney was silent once more, I got up from the hearth and peered around the room. I’d only seen snatches of it the night before, fleeting glimpses revealed by the light of the candelabra. Now, by day, the chamber was even grander than I had imagined. The bed was as large as a coach, a four-poster hung with periwinkle velvet. The floor was laid with sumptuous carpets. And every surface, every mirror and pane of glass, was covered in frost.
I stepped into the center of the room, eyeing the fuzz that glittered on the tapestries and furniture. How odd, I thought. Frost must come early to these mountains. Outside, the trees were just turning rich shades of russet and bronze, their leaves escaping their anchors and swirling in the air. Light flooded through the great mullioned windows, warm and golden, like apple cider. I ran forward and threw open a casement, breathing deeply of the crisp mountain air.
My room overlooked what might have once been a hedge maze, but was now all twigs and thorns, threadbare against the lichened stone and blazing leaves. I could see the whole front of the castle, rising up around me in points and gables and little crooked windows. I could see the woods too, not nearly so frightening by day, making a ring around the gardens. It was beautiful here, in a wild, forgotten sort of way.
A knock sounded from the door. I hurried to it and tried the handle. It was unlocked. I poked my head out, and there was Bram standing in the hall, his hat in his hands. He looked as if he had just come in from outside, rosy faced and smelling of the cold.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, without any sort of preamble.
“Starving,” I said. “Good morning.”
“All right. You can eat with us. I’m afraid Mrs. Cantanker said you weren’t to be in the formal rooms until—”
“Until they’ve decided I’m not a guttersnipe?”
“Well, I’m not sure she used quite those words. But we eat just as well as they do, don’t worry. I’ll come back to collect you once you’ve dressed.”
He ducked his head and retreated down the corridor.
I closed the door and stared at it a moment. Then I smiled. Things were already looking up. I decided I wouldn’t mind much if there had been a mistake, if the wrong Zita had been summoned and I was sent away again. I had made it all my life without a castle or an inheritance, and I was sure I could last all the rest of it without one too. I decided to make the most of this adventure while it lasted.
I had only my dusty traveling clothes to wear, so I approached the huge old wardrobe and opened both doors. A great puff of pine and powdered roses wafted out to greet me, and I saw before me the most splendid array of clothes I had ever laid eyes upon. There were gowns in all different colors, from ruby to turquoise to dark, shadowy green. Lovely black hats too, and a mirror for adjusting, and dozens of pairs of shoes with bright silk bows and velvet laces, fur-lined ponchos, great fluffy overcoats, splendid morning robes in flowery brocade, as well as quite a number of black capes and black gloves, and little drawers full of jewelry.
It was all much too grand for me. And yet . . . Surely no one would mind if I borrowed just one thing. Perhaps no one even remembered this clothing was here. And if they did, and they minded, at least I’d have gotten to wear such finery once in my life before I was thrown out on my ear.
I selected a gown the color of fog and mist rising from marshes, and I slipped it on. For a moment it felt too small, like it was made for someone short and broad. But then something extraordinary happened: the threads seemed to rearrange themselves, tickling across my skin, and to my delight I looked at myself in the mirror and saw the hem stretching downward and the sleeves scurrying to reach my wrists. A moment later the dress fit as if it had been made for me.
I let my breath out slowly, running a finger over the fabric. The dress had a great ballooning skirt and whalebone stays, and all of it clicked together on its own, jerking me suddenly upright. I squeaked a little, but then leaned into it, realizing this was less a dress and more a means of conveyance, which you could ride in like an automobile. No wonder rich people always seemed so proud. Their clothes did not allow for anything else.
I did my hair as best I could, patting it down with water and trying in vain to make it point all in one direction. Then I walked several circles around the room, feeling ever more pleased with the gown and my decision to wear it. In a fit of confidence, I lifted my chin and sailed out into the hallway, the silky skirts swishing around my ankles.
Bram was just outside, leaning against the wall and chewing a stalk of dry grass. His eyes went wide when he saw me. For a moment I was flattered because I thought I looked lovely too. But then his thundercloud-black eyebrows dropped, and he said, “Come on, miss. Quickly. I’m not sure what Mrs. Cantanker will think of that.”
“Oh,” I said, my courage suddenly deserting me and running away down the corridor. “I just thought—”