The Savage Inheritance

An Ivy Leaf Out of Place

The winding halls twisted like decrepit oak branches till Mercy was certain she would never be able to find her own way. Northcairn Hall seemed have been translated from the verses of a Medieval poem with towers the color of old snow, trimmed with crownings that depicted smiling skulls, owls, and roses. Hemmed in by monstrous hedges and a wide, green lawn that sloped down to tangled forest, it was all very romantic.

But Mister Bawden was nothing that she had expected in the owner of such a house. Bone thin with a face like a horse and large, glassy green eyes, a few years younger than her father, he wore a powdered wig and a pinched expression. For the brief moment he'd spoken to her, he'd barely looked at her before dismissing her rudely.

And then the man servant who led her through the house...

Mercy hadn't known where to look as this Mister Ramsey had loomed over her, glaring into her face as though she wore a mask that he was trying to see past. Something in his gaze almost made her feel guilty, but for what reason she couldn't say. She could not imagine what a man like him would be good for in the service of a gentleman. Perhaps ten older than her, he seemed more the type to frequent taverns filled with smugglers and horse thieves.

"Stay close, Miss Savage." The servant named Ramsey instructed dryly. His deep voice bounced off the corridor walls. "You should not wander by yourself for a time. It is easy to become lost in the Hall."

Quickening her step, Mercy complied without a word. He came to a sudden stop outside a large door, sconces on the wall lit in expectation. The hinges creaked as he opened it. She slipped passed him and surveyed her new chambers. There was a sitting room with a hearth and cheerful fire. The door to an adjoining room showed the foot of a four poster bed. A set of windows, latticed with an iron frame, showed nothing but night beyond.

"My things?" She turned towards the man named Ramsey, but did not look him in the eye.

"They will be brought up presently."

"I should like a pot of tea as well." She laid a hand on the high back of a gray sopha and tapped her fingers.

The floorboards under Ramsey's feet squeaked as he moved a step into the room. "Are your quarters sufficient, Miss Savage?"

"Quite. Thank you."

"I will have dinner sent up to you, if you wish."

Mercy pursed her mouth in distaste. "My host does not wish to dine with me?"

A wry twist of his lips betrayed his cool expression. "I apologize for my employer. He is unaccustomed to guests."

"But I am not a guest, am I?" Mercy could not help demanding.

If she was expected to reside at Northcairn, she needed to feel like she belonged. However, following their brief encounter, Mister Bawden gave her the impression that he would never make her feel that way. It crushed any hope of finding a father in the man, a comforting paternal figure that she had never known. All the skinny, wide eyed man was concerned with were those books. She fought to maintain control of her nerves and took a deep breath.

"No, you are not." 

Ramsey took another step forward and studied her from across the room with a dizzying mix of concern and suspicion.

"What is it, sir? Why do you persist in looking at me like that?" She petitioned shrilly.

Ramsey took another impertinent step closer and reached out for her left ear. With quick fingers, he retrieved an ivy leaf from where it had been tangled in her hair. She blinked after it. A brief memory surfaced of an encounter in a tavern only to be drowned once more in the present.

"I do not mean to offend, Miss Savage. You are not what I expected."

"And what did you expect?"

"Not you." Ramsey growled, studying the leaf as he twirled it between ink smudged fingers thoughtfully.

The air shifted between them, the light dimming and the walls creaking with age. A chill ran up Mercy's spine as though a phantom touch had brushed over her shoulder blade. Ramsey's keen gaze shot upwards, gazing past her into the empty room. He was holding his breath, lips parted and broad brow creased in confusion. The spell of the moment was shattered as two servants carried one of her trunks into the room.

A messy, black wave, loose from the queue at the base of his neck, drifted over the side of his face as Ramsey turned his attention towards her. "If there is anything else I can do-"

"N-no, thank you," Mercy stuttered, only wanting the man to leave. "I will have supper in my rooms."

"Very well. Good evening."

Mercy gripped the back of the sopha and inhaled deeply through her nose only to find Ramsey had left the scent of salt marsh and beeswax in the air.