Page 16 of The House of Quiet
Chapter Twelve
A Bird Rejected
“So,” Minnow says, missing the obvious cues that Birdie isn’t interested in chatting, “why are there so many rooms upstairs? Were they for more servants, or for kids affected by the procedure? Was it that common to have problems? Do you know anyone sent here?”
Birdie is irritated at the constant interruptions. “Why are you asking me?”
“You’re from the—from Sootcity,” Minnow says, stumbling a bit on her words. “I assume you know more people who have had the procedure than I do.”
“I’ve been working. I’ve barely been home in six years.
” Just the one time, breathless with excitement because Magpie’s procedure had finally happened.
She burst through the door only to find her apartment empty and a new address left with Mare.
Mare had given Birdie the two knit scarves and kissed her cheeks, crying with happiness for their good fortune.
But the new address was a house too big for them to possibly afford even after the procedure, holding only two hollow-eyed, silent parents who refused to tell her what had happened to Magpie.
Not Birdie’s home. Never Birdie’s home.
Birdie lugs the bucket of water and bottles of vinegar into the foyer and measures out what she needs.
Minnow sits on one of the stiff leather chairs, tapping her fingers on the arm of it. Again with the sitting. “Don’t you wonder, though—”
“Why you aren’t helping? Yes, I do wonder that.”
Minnow smiles, genuinely delighted by Birdie’s snark, and retrieves a mop. But then she picks up right where she left off. “If rich kids needing treatment is a new development…why are there so many nice bedrooms down here?”
Birdie dips a rag into the mixture, exasperated, because of course she’s wondered that.
“Doctors, attending to patients. Visiting ministers, checking up on the house. Wealthy donors, wanting to be shocked and horrified and entertained by suffering before going back to their own comfortable lives.” She could see Nimbus’s mother doing that, at least until her own son was one of the suffering.
“I don’t know, Minnow, and it’s not our job to know. ”
Minnow nods, lips pursed. “Hmm. But back to the staircases. You said the servant staircases were hidden. Ours isn’t hidden, is it? It’s just behind a door. Is that what you meant?”
“No, that’s not what I meant,” Birdie snaps. She’s running out of time to decide whether or not to go up and lock Rabbit in. “Servant passages are hidden behind things like wall panels. But this isn’t a normal house. There’s no reason for a hidden staircase.”
“No reason at all,” Minnow says, and at last there’s a hint of a smile on her inscrutable face. “Thanks, Birdie.” Then she leans the mop against the wall and walks away toward the kitchen.
Birdie doesn’t have a headache, but she feels like she will by the end of the day. With one last look at the House Wife’s door, Birdie gives up on her plot to trap Rabbit. There would be no way to explain how Rabbit’s room got locked when none of them have those keys.
That’s what Birdie tells herself, at least. She does a quick mop of the foyer floors.
The hallways will have to wait until after bedtime tonight; there’s just not enough time.
Especially without help. Plus, this keeps her in full view of the House Wife’s room for when she comes out.
Unfortunately, Cook beats the House Wife.
“Doors,” she calls, holding an arm out of the kitchen door with the keys dangling from it. Why can’t Minnow do this?
Trying not to show how annoyed she is, Birdie takes the keys and does the unlock-and-knock round, same as the day before. She doesn’t knock on Nimbus’s door, merely unlocks it as quietly as she can, hoping abrupt noises don’t scare him.
When she takes the keys back, Cook is still working on the breakfast trays for Nimbus and Dawn. Birdie wants to be back in the hallway, but the House Wife came into the kitchen during breakfast yesterday, so it makes sense she will again today. Birdie waits, eyes glued to the door.
Sky walks in first. What will he do after whatever happened—or didn’t happen, thanks to Forest—in his room yesterday? At least there are other people here.
His glance ricochets off her like he can’t physically stand to look at her. But Sky doesn’t look angry. He looks ill. He gives her a wide berth, scooting around the perimeter of the kitchen before taking the farthest seat from anyone.
River and Forest come in next, River chatting happily and Forest saying nothing.
Birdie avoids looking at him, afraid she’ll be pinned in place by those remarkable blue eyes again.
Getting too familiar is dangerous. Maids who view employers as friends or even family always end up hurt.
She made that mistake with Nimbus, assuming his kindness would be shared by his parents.
What would she have done if Hawthorn hadn’t found her on the steps of their house that day?
It’s nearly impossible not to notice how handsome Forest is, though. She wants to look at him in a way that surprises her. But it’s the same as art hanging on walls: not there for her to enjoy. Her eyes stick firmly to their safe view of the hall.
“Who moved the door?” Lake shouts angrily as she walks in, rubbing her hip.
She glances at Birdie, and her brows draw even lower.
But then she turns her head sharply to the left, toward the pantry.
“No,” she whimpers. “No, please, don’t let them take you down there.
Don’t.” Lake’s face drains of color as she tracks nothing across the kitchen and through the door to the house.
“They never listen.” Tears begin rolling down her face.
River stands and guides Lake to sit next to her. She leans close and talks softly, but it’s not clear whether Lake can even hear her. The mood in the kitchen is as clammy as the air outside the windows.
“These are ready,” Cook says, gesturing to the trays for Dawn and Nimbus. Birdie desperately wants to volunteer to be the one to help Nimbus. Both because she’s worried about him and to get out of this gloomy space. But she can’t afford to miss the House Wife’s appearance.
“I’ll take them,” Minnow volunteers cheerily, grabbing the trays and leaving. Once again Cook has miscounted place settings for the table, so Birdie adds one.
Rabbit stumbles in a few minutes later. Birdie tries not to show her disappointment. Or her annoyance when, rather than helping clear plates as everyone finishes their food, Rabbit just leans heavily against the counter. Her gaze is glassy. Maybe she’s actually sick.
“Go back upstairs,” Birdie whispers. “I’ll cover for you.”
Rabbit turns and blinks slowly at her. “Why?”
“Because you’re going to get yourself in trouble!”
A dreamy smile spreads like a spill across Rabbit’s face. “No, I’m not. She said I did such a good job. That I was the most help.”
That can’t be right. Before Birdie can press for more details, the House Wife appears in the doorway to the kitchen.
Her expression isn’t severe so much as it’s empty .
Her ornate dress reminds Birdie of drapes, or bed-curtains.
The House Wife feels like a furnishing, not a person.
Birdie can’t explain it better than that.
Maybe she used to be a maid or a nanny. Being physically in a room without having any presence is a valuable skill.
But then why would they put her in charge of treatments?
Another odd thing: The House Wife was wearing that same dress in Birdie’s room. Did she get ready for the day long before the sun came up, or did she never go to bed at all?
The House Wife has that strange look on her face again, like she’s listening to something Birdie can’t hear. “Sky,” she says at last, her voice as soft as if she’s talking to herself. “You’re very noisy today.”
Birdie looks over in surprise and meets River’s equally puzzled expression. Sky hasn’t said a word since he got in the kitchen.
“We’ll start your treatment now,” the House Wife says.
Sky stands, his expression simultaneously hopeful and angry. “Fine,” he says.
Of course it would be the last person Birdie wants to be in confined spaces with. But hopefully the presence of the House Wife will prevent him from doing anything bad.
“Do you want breakfast?” Cook asks, her voice softer and more tentative than Birdie knew it could sound.
“Come along, Rabbit,” the House Wife says, as though she didn’t hear Cook’s question.
Birdie steps forward, blocking Rabbit from view. “She’s not feeling well. I’ll assist you today.”
“No!” Sky edges next to the House Wife like he’s trying to hide. “No, I can’t be alone with her; I can’t .”
Birdie risks a glance at him. He’s not looking at her, though.
He’s looking at the House Wife, desperation contorting his features from haughty to surprisingly young and frightened.
What happened between Sky and Forest yesterday?
Did Birdie read that whole situation wrong?
Maybe Sky wasn’t trying to trap her in his room alone with him at all.
The House Wife waves a slim, pale hand through the air.
Her skin is nearly translucent, no evidence the sun has touched her in years.
“Rabbit,” she says, then crooks a finger.
As though connected to the House Wife by an invisible line, Rabbit’s feet stutter forward.
She follows the House Wife and Sky out of the kitchen.
Sky managed to hurt Birdie after all. He kept her from getting into the rest of the house. Birdie turns toward Cook to plead her case, hoping against hope that Cook will intervene, but Cook’s on the verge of tears. The older woman turns and stomps into the pantry.
It’s all Birdie can do not to scream in frustration. She should be the one with the House Wife. Rabbit is clearly sick or useless or—oh no. Rabbit’s been drinking. That explains the lack of balance, the pallor, the sleepiness. She must have hidden spirits in her trunk.