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She
hadn
’
t
been
this
way
since
she
was
little
.
This
was
the
world
of
linen
cupboards
,
bare
floors
and
dumb
-
waiters
.
It
smelled
of
slightly
stale
crusts
.
Keli
moved
through
it
like
an
earthbound
spook
.
She
was
aware
of
the
servants
’
quarters
,
of
course
,
in
the
same
way
that
people
are
aware
at
some
level
in
their
minds
of
the
drains
or
the
guttering
,
and
she
would
be
quite
prepared
to
concede
that
although
servants
all
looked
pretty
much
alike
they
must
have
some
distinguishing
features
by
which
their
nearest
and
dearest
could
,
presumably
,
identify
them
.
But
she
was
not
prepared
for
sights
like
Moghedron
the
wine
butler
,
whom
she
had
hitherto
seen
only
as
a
stately
presence
moving
like
a
galleon
under
full
sail
,
sitting
in
his
pantry
with
his
jacket
undone
and
smoking
a
pipe
.
A
couple
of
maids
ran
past
her
without
a
second
glance
,
giggling
.
She
hurried
on
,
aware
that
in
some
strange
way
she
was
trespassing
in
her
own
castle
.
And
that
,
she
realised
,
was
because
it
wasn
’
t
her
castle
at
all
.
The
noisy
world
around
her
,
with
its
steaming
laundries
and
chilly
stillrooms
,
was
its
own
world
.
She
couldn
’
t
own
it
.
Possibly
it
owned
her
.
She
took
a
chicken
leg
from
the
table
in
the
biggest
kitchen
,
a
cavern
lined
with
so
many
pots
that
by
the
light
of
its
fires
it
looked
like
an
armoury
for
tortoises
,
and
felt
the
unfamiliar
thrill
of
theft
.
Theft
!
In
her
own
kingdom
!
And
the
cook
looked
straight
through
her
,
eyes
as
glazed
as
jugged
ham
.
Keli
ran
across
the
stable
yards
and
out
of
the
back
gate
,
past
a
couple
of
sentries
whose
stern
gaze
quite
failed
to
notice
her
.
Out
in
the
streets
it
wasn
’
t
so
creepy
,
but
she
still
felt
oddly
naked
.
It
was
unnerving
,
being
among
people
who
were
going
about
their
own
affairs
and
not
bothering
to
look
at
one
,
when
one
’
s
entire
experience
of
the
world
hitherto
was
that
it
revolved
around
one
.
Pedestrians
bumped
into
one
and
rebounded
away
,
wondering
briefly
what
it
was
they
had
hit
,
and
one
several
times
had
to
scurry
away
out
of
the
path
of
wagons
.
The
chicken
leg
hadn
’
t
gone
far
to
fill
the
hole
left
by
the
absence
of
lunch
,
and
she
filched
a
couple
of
apples
from
a
stall
,
making
a
mental
note
to
have
the
chamberlain
find
out
how
much
apples
cost
and
send
some
money
down
to
the
stallholder
.
Dishevelled
,
rather
grubby
and
smelling
slightly
of
horse
dung
,
she
came
at
last
to
Cutwell
’
s
door
.
The
knocker
gave
her
some
trouble
.
In
her
experience
doors
opened
for
you
;
there
were
special
people
to
arrange
it
.
