Finally Karigan cleared her throat, and that appeared to be a signal for Lorine to carry the tray to the bed. Karigan hauled herself into bed quickly, observing the tray looked heavy.
“Don’t you mind Mirriam, miss,” Lorine said as she gently rested the tray on Karigan’s lap. “She doesn’t like her routine upset.”
“What’s wrong with the air?”
Lorine shrugged. “It’s the way it’s always been. Dirty and bad for the weak and elderly. Sometimes better, sometimes worse, depending on what’s coming out the stacks and which way the wind is blowing.” Then she leaned close and whispered, “Ill humors roam the night air.” She held her grave expression for several seconds before nodding and adding in normal tones, “I hear it is better in the countryside.”
She removed the lid from the main dish on the tray, and Karigan recoiled at the pungent steam that plumed from the contents. Boiled dinner! Just like her aunts used to make. Boiled cabbage, corned beef, and potatoes. She tried to conceal her revulsion.
“Call me if you need anything,” Lorine said, and left.
Karigan stared at the pale, limp offerings on her plate. Ill humors, indeed, she thought, wishing she could reopen the window.
PHOSPHORENE
After Lorine removed the almost untouched meal, the scents of fresh paper and ink replaced the stench of boiled cabbage as Karigan flipped through the books Mirriam had brought. The pages were crisp and the bindings unbent—clearly new-bought. She marveled at the clean print; very little bleeding of ink, the type neat and precise. Though her own time boasted printing presses, none produced such a fine product.
For all that, the illustrations inside were black and white etchings, not nearly as beautiful as the hand-colored renderings she was accustomed to. Something gained, something lost, she thought. The illustrations were generally of young men and young women strolling with arms linked, or a man kneeling before his lady. The title of the first she looked at was, Clara May’s Day to Remember. Another was A Pretty Proposal. The books were, quite plainly, stories of courtship and romance, of girls seemingly beset by hardship only to be rescued by gentlemen of means. All stories Mirriam must have deemed suitable for a young lady.
Karigan sighed. Not that she didn’t enjoy a good romance, but the idea it was the only sort of book she’d be interested in annoyed her. She supposed, however, she might actually learn something about the mores and expectations of this world, so she picked one at random, Saucy Sera and Mister Chaunce.
Saucy Sera, apparently, had a wild streak, rebelling against what was normally expected of girls. She ran and played and climbed trees, and when she was punished for doing what girls should not, she dressed up as a boy and ran away so she could do as she wished, including ride horses. Karigan’s heart was with spirited Sera as she strove for freedom, but naturally her plan fell to pieces when Mister Chaunce rescued her from a dire situation in which her true gender was about to be exposed in a humiliating and public manner. Her character underwent complete metamorphosis as she fell immediately in love with Mister Chaunce. Her wild ways quickly faded, and she became a proper young lady interested only in fashion and pleasing Mister Chaunce. Sera’s reward? A grand wedding day in which she married the gentleman who had saved her from herself.
Karigan thought a happier ending would have been Sera finding a way to stay free and independent, but, she surmised, this was not what the girls were taught here and probably not what they fantasized about. Who wouldn’t want some hero to rescue them and shoulder all responsibilities? And, she wondered wistfully, who wouldn’t desire falling in true love? It was all very seductive.
By the time she finished Sera’s story, the light in the room had dimmed, and the bells clanged again. As if on cue, Lorine arrived with supper. Much to Karigan’s relief, there was no cabbage or corned beef in sight, boiled or otherwise.
“Mirriam says you must eat up,” Lorine said in her soft voice. “You must regain your strength and put some flesh on your bones.”
Karigan didn’t think eating up would be a problem when she poked her fork through the pastry of a meat pie oozing with savory juices.
“Lorine,” Karigan said, causing the maid to halt on her way out. She wanted to know for sure what the bells represented. “Why do the bells ring? Is it to tell the time?”
Lorine gazed at Karigan as if puzzled, then smiled. “I keep forgetting you were not raised in the city. Yes. The bells tell us the time. But most importantly for the mill managers, it tells the slaves when they must work, when they may stop for meals, and when they are done for the day.”
“Was this their last bell? Have they been dismissed for the day?”
“No, miss. It was the supper bell. After supper, they will work while there is still daylight. From sunrise to sunset they labor.”
“Like farmers,” Karigan murmured.
“I think farming might be . . .” Lorine broke off, staring toward the window, lost in thought.
“Might be what?” Karigan prompted.
“More bearable.” Lorine shook her head as if dazed. “Nothing to trouble yourself about, miss. Is there anything else?”
“No,” Karigan replied. Lorine curtsied and was gone, leaving Karigan to reflect on Lorine’s words and wonder about what her experiences as a mill slave had been like.
After she ate her fill, she needed to be up and out of bed again, so she crept out into the hallway and again heard male voices from somewhere downstairs. She picked out the professor’s tones, as well as two or three others. Unlike the visit from Mr. Hadley, the circus boss, this gathering sounded more sociable with occasional laughter. She was thinking about sneaking down the hall to at least take a peek when a throat was cleared behind her.