Murkmere Read Online Free

iron.
    “Kneel,” whispered Silas Seed. “You’re at his level then.”
    I knelt, and the Master and I regarded each other. I felt a flush rise to my cheeks: I was unkempt, untidy, my hair awry.
    But there was a lift to the Master’s tight mouth. “You are as I expected, Agnes,” he said. “Am I as you expected, I wonder?”
    I shook my head, unsure how to answer.
    “Surely they tell of the monster of Murkmere in the village?”
    “I think — I think if they saw you as I do, they would pity you, Sir!” I stammered.
    At that he turned his head away from me sharply, his voice full of contempt. “I don’t deserve pity, Agnes Cotter.”
    I was appalled to have offended him. He’d surely send me away now. But after a dreadful silence during which I stared miserably
     at the dust in the cracks of the floorboards, he said more calmly, “Your mother had a soft heart too, Agnes. She was a loyal,
     brave girl, as I’m sure you are. She was very special to us — my late wife and me.”

    I nodded, heartily relieved but not trusting myself to speak again, though I longed to ask him more.
    “It was another lifetime,” he said, and his expression was sad for a moment. Then he stirred himself.
    “And now Eliza’s daughter is to be companion to my ward, Leah. You’ll have your meals with her, walk with her, converse with
     her. She’s your age or thereabouts, but a child still. She’s lived here at Murkmere all her life. I’ve no children, as you
     know, so she’s had a lonely upbringing.”
    He sat forward a little, against the bars of the chair, and his powerful hands tightened on the arms.
    “On my death she’ll inherit Murkmere and take my place in the Ministration, yet she knows nothing of ordinary life. It’s high
     time she met a girl her own age.” He studied me with a half-smile. “Daughter to Eliza and niece to a schoolmistress, eh?”
    “My aunt’s Chief Elder of the village as well, Sir,” I said proudly, and I glanced over to see if Mr. Silas had heard.
    The Master raised an eyebrow. “Indeed? Then I can’t think anyone could be more suitable as my ward’s companion.”
    “I’m happy you sent for me, Sir,” I said politely, thinking I should respond.
    Now the half-smile was a curl of the lip, no more. “Happy? I hope you remain so.” Then he nodded curtly at the steward, who
     went over to the bureau and opened it, beckoning me over.
    I rose to my feet, puzzled. Silas Seed took out a new-looking roll of pale cream parchment, which he spread open. Inside it
     was covered with black handwriting and he pointed to the only clear space, at the bottom.

    “Sign here, please, Agnes.”
    Looking over and seeing my bewilderment, the Master said with a touch of impatience, “It’s the contract of your employment.
     It sets out the agreement between us both. Silas will sign on my behalf.” He wheeled his chair to the window and remained
     there, looking out at the gray afternoon, his back turned to us.
    Silas Seed dipped a quill pen into the glass inkpot and offered it to me, his dark eyes steady on mine.
I would show him the fine hand I wrote in
, I thought,
prove that I really was a scholar;
and I quickly signed my name with a flourish.
    Mr. Silas signed his own name, and wrote “for Gilbert Tunstall” beneath it, and then the date. He was left-handed and wrote
     surprisingly laboriously for a steward. He sprinkled sand over the wet signatures to blot them, and glanced quickly at the
     Master’s back as if to reassure him it was done before lighting the little wax-burner.
    I watched the tiny flame glow, then the swift movement of his fingers as he rolled the contract up again and dripped hot sealing
     wax on the overlap. The silver seal came down on the shining, dark red globule and the sharp outline of the Eagle appeared
     suddenly, wings outstretched for flight.
    The Eagle was the emblem of the Ministration. With a thrill of awe, I remembered that now I’d be working for one of its