Page 87 of The Last Necromancer
"No. I'll find somewhere else."
"Where?" Gus blurted out. "There ain't no work in the factories, you ain't trained for domestic work, and you're too bloody stubborn besides."
"Perhaps I'll offer to speak to the souls of the dying as they pass away. I wonder how much one ought to charge for such work."
"That's not funny," Seth growled. His face was surprisingly grim.
I patted his arm. "I'll think of something. Don't worry about me."
"Don't you think about goin' back to live on the streets," Gus warned. "That ain't no life for you. I'll hide you in the stables myself, if necessary."
I took his hand. "Thank you, Gus, but it won't come to that."
"I'll speak to him." Seth pointed his chin over my head back up the corridor. "He won't throw you out."
Gus snorted. "He won't listen to you. Or me. He don't even listen to Lady H."
"It's all right," I told them. "I just need some time to think up a plan."
"And what if he don't give you time? He's just as likely to toss you out the minute Frankenstein is caught. That could be as soon as tomorrow."
"I'm sure he'll give me more time. He's not that heartless."
"Isn't he?" Seth shook his head. "I'm not so sure." He opened the door and offered me a grim smile. "I'll bring you some tea, shortly."
I thanked him and entered my room—my cozy room with the pile of books, clean clothes, and soft bed. I sighed as they shut the door and left me to contemplate my uncertain future.
***
Fitzroy had recovered enough to leave the house the following morning with Seth and Gus. They were going to investigate the warehouse where Frankenstein kept his creatures. He wouldn't be drawn on whether they would attempt to capture him today or simply investigate.
I tried to read but my mind kept wandering. When I did manage a few pages of the new book, however, I had to set it down altogether. It was about a girl who learned she was adopted. At least her father wasn't a murderer.
I closed my eyes. Perhaps that wasn't fair. Frankenstein had seemed to genuinely care for his creatures. And what if the men whose parts he'd used were dying, as he claimed? Some deaths were prolonged and painful, and I could well see why the dying would beg him to end their pain. Did it really matter that he'd then used parts of them to create something else, something akin to another life?
And what of Mr. Calthorn, the spy master, the man with the knowledge to bring down the government and the crown? The brutal man who'd hurt his wife. If Frankenstein told the truth—and that wasn't a certainty—was he a bad person for ridding the world of such a monster?
I didn't know what to think. The little boy he'd used as a shield came to mind, and so did Frankenstein's blue eyes—so like mine. I knew in my heart that I wasn't a bad person, despite what Holloway said, so how could the man who'd fathered me be bad?
It didn't make sense, and my mind spun around in circles, trying to think it through. I needed a distraction, so I ventured to the kitchen where Cook was attacking a leg of mutton with a cleaver.
"Can I help?" I asked. "Chop some vegetables or clean pots?"
"Vegetables are all chopped, but there be some dusting to do and dishes to clean. There's a pile of 'em in the scullery. Gus'll be right pleased if he finds them all done. It be his turn, today."
"Cook, why are there no maids or footmen here? The house could do with a few."
"Aye, it could. Gus and Seth manage a little, here and there, but the house is too big for 'em to do things proper. You be only a little thing, but if you be a few inches taller, you'd see the dust on top of shelves."
I chuckled and he smiled.
"The master don't like no maids and footmen snooping about, so he says. The ministry got too many secrets."
"Unless those secrets are written down, I don't see why employing some staff would cause problems."
He merely shrugged and returned to the range.
I fetched a duster from the utility cupboard and dusted everything I could reach in the entrance hall. The floor was filthy from the comings and goings, so I scrubbed the tiles with a bristly brush I found. I moved on to the sitting room next. The work wasn't difficult. Indeed, I found I enjoyed sprucing the house up. I took the liberty of rearranging a few pieces of the furniture in the parlor, and hiding some of the uglier knickknacks behind other things. A stuffed rat-like creature was the first to go. Who thought that ought to be displayed in a parlor?
