Chapter 10: The Trunk in the Attic

In the morning Ansel was back on his own side of the bed, with his coat folded on the chair and his eyes on the ceiling.

He did not mention the dream. I did not mention the dress.

He paid the five gold without being asked, and for once I did not want it.

Grey dress, I thought, for the whole road to Tillbrook, and I said nothing.

My father met us at the gate of Tillbrook Manor with a glass in each hand and no coat.

"My son!" he cried, and kissed Ansel on both cheeks.

The Grand Duke of Rothgar had taken a fortress with eleven hundred men.

He stood in the muddy drive and took the kiss.

"Viscount," he said.

"Call me Father! Come in, come in. Have I shown you the east pasture?"

"You sold me the east pasture at the wedding."

"Did I?" said my father, delighted. "Then I can sell you the west."

"No," said Ansel.

"I'll think of something else."

"Please do not."

I left them in the drawing room arguing about a horse and climbed three flights to the attic.

I was there on business.

Article five promised my father's debts paid. I had never seen the real total.

In my old life I would not have signed for a pen without it.

The attic was dust and cobwebs and the smell of old apples.

Under the small window stood a row of trunks.

One was marked with my name, in letters I did not know my own hand had made.

I opened the lid.

A moth-eaten shawl. A doll with one eye.

A stack of account books, which I set aside with a small cry of joy.

At the very bottom, wrapped in a handkerchief, lay a single glove.

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