Never Tell a Soul, Damon Priest

8. the man with favorites

Once, Geneva read a book her aunts would have disapproved of if they learned she finished it before the holy bible (and that she stole it from Mrs Newton's library). It told the story of a slave who escaped and found freedom. One passage stuck to her to this day.

Solitude trifles with silence and dines with freedom.

Attending church alone, walking without a companion in any waking hours, and even sitting out in the garden of the Withers House sipping tea with pen and paper, offered a sense of abandon. There was no one calling her name somewhere in the house, not a whisper of things she ought to do at this particular hour, or even a disapproving look at how she climbed down the stairs in haste. She did not have to hold her breath at the sound of light footsteps, or an earful of opinions. And for the first time, she walked out of her bedchamber with her hair tied in a simple ribbon at the nape; no tight bun that stretched her temples, not even a pair of stockings. She even dared raise her feet on the chair!

Guilt would glide in now and then, but too many distractions would follow. The sun would come up and gently caress her skin, or the wind would blow the trees and she would listen as they rustled a tune.

But she was not only doing things that she liked. There were others she had to do, of course. The household, for one, demanded attention. She had to do accounting, remind the servants to clean the windows, and if they were too busy, she would go to the market herself.

There were times when she would notice the servants secretly smiling whenever she would grab the chance to go out. Even the housekeeper, Helene, would ask her to run errands for them as though she enjoyed doing it. Yesterday, Gwen, her maid and companion, caught her reading her stolen book. When she tried to reason that she found it in the park during her morning walk, Gwen merely asked, "Found what, Miss?" with a knowing smile.

For some odd reason, Geneva felt that the servants were doing their best to stay ignorant. Or maybe, like her, they were enjoying the little freedom. With no mistresses in the house, they could play cards all afternoon or go away for hours to go on picnics with friends. Two of their footmen was away for two days, in fact, visiting families they had not seen for years.

It was a limited dream. Geneva could pretend to be an understanding mistress who answered to no one, and the servants had a chance to act as how they would in their ideal lives with their ideal mistress.

As they all breezed in and out the doors, everything else was seemingly the same from the outside. She did not go as far as dine with them, or have long conversations with them. For one, she did not know how. And she still had to pretend that she was mistress and maintain boundaries. And so, they did what was expected and what they wanted with much discretion with the awareness that anything that transpired in the duration of this rare freedom should remain a secret.

And it was so that Geneva walked out that afternoon dressed in a simple white dress, a hat, her hair down and resting on her shoulder, knowing there was no hurry. So long as she did not encounter any of her aunts' friends, she would be safe.

With light, sure steps, Geneva took the long way around the Stratford woods, indulging her sight with the wild flowers that bloomed on either side of the dirt road. Not far away, the woods echoed sounds to her ears and she wondered if the Stratfords were out today, hanging on trees or digging holes in the ground. She was certain they would find this day just perfect.

The hill revealed itself nearly an hour later. Unlike her last journey to the place, she felt differently today. There was no sense of haste or timidity. She did not even have the letter with her. It was just one more day of freedom to explore and wander.

Her heart was mild, the beats even and easy as her steps. She took indulgence from every sweep of the wind while the ground took her higher. Her eyes stroked every line and curve in sight before it settled on the ruins of Windsong. How many years had it been here, standing empty and alone? How many people had it witnessed pass by? How many animals had it fed with its rich grass? And how many young men did it shelter under its trees?