by H C Turk
“Your cooperation so pleases me that I shall offer my own,” she professed. “Since the parishioners last Sunday proved how men are drawn to you, we shall proceed to manifest that factor. I am arranging for your introduction to Edward Denton’s son. When Eric comes near you, he will not be able to look away. The more interest you return, the more he will desire my ward and nothing else.”
“No fine liar am I, mistress,” I returned. “How convincing can I be in displaying a false interest when sinning men disgust me? If your God be the same as mine, you understand His appall upon hearing lies from His created folk.”
“You were liar enough to feign illness upon departing St. Nicholas in accord with my suggesting that your health be poor. Surely, God understands how your dishonesty aided in removing you from a difficulty. He will also understand that further pretense will send you to a compatible land. But with all your learning in geography, Alba, please do not select another continent. As for convincing the male, you should speak only after Eric speaks. Conversation shall be your only activity, for even sexual affairs begin socially. But do not batter the young man with your massive sentences. Philosophy, Alba, is not romantic.”
“Neither are witches,” I mumbled, an assertion that I would soon have opportunity to prove.
• • •
I could be no happy subject for Elsie the day I was appointed to seduce the Denton boy. The diligent servant remained delighted, wrapping me with fabrics and securing the laces; for I demanded a corset to conceal my pervasive fundament, and a bit of chain mail for a vest, if you please.
Though gratified to find herself correct regarding my attire, Elsie would have preferred a mannequin to a lass in order to dress it constantly without complaints of her squashing and smashing the tender parts. Humming like the tutor’s flute, she found extreme pleasure in piling my hair upon my skull as though building a cathedral, the purple hat attached like a ceiling vault. A golden brooch of Rathel’s I reluctantly accepted against my bodice; but not the first necklace will be strangling me, miss, for the smell of silver so near my face makes my mouth dry, and wet it shall become when I vomit upon the brocade and show it to the beau with you to blame.
Pleased I was to quash Elsie’s obnoxious purring. Her silence did not last, however, for there she was applying spittle to my shoes’ dullness only to babble about how deeply I would impress the Dentons; and what a thing to happen considering that the mistress was to have married into that family. If only these elders could forget their past and allow the youths their future….
“Miss Elsie, what are you raving about, with a marriage for Amanda and Mr. Denton?”
“And I’m telling you, lass, how improper it is to be talking about other folk and things between them gone for years.”
“And I am telling you, miss, of my accurate awareness that part of the duty of people in London is to gossip about one another, an activity you undertake as though a craft. And since the person in question is our beloved mistress, I shall only benefit to learn more of the dear superior. Therefore, why did Rathel not wed this Denton, and what became of the man she had previously wed?”
“Ah, lass, Lord Franklin passed away to God from a long illness that finally took him to be with Jesus.”
“Praise God for providing Christian folk with Heaven. Were you present at the time, miss, and was the disease contagious? Were you ill yourself? Is this the sickness to have made you what you are?”
“Ill I was not, lass, except for my poor feeling at Lord Franklin’s own. A fine master he was, and so friendly to me that I was pleased to be caring for him to aid his doctor. Aye, and God works His wonders in most circular ways, child, for the doctor was the same gent caring for him years before, when he was first taken by the fever, one known to return, though seldom murderously.”
“But why should Amanda wish to marry Edward after Franklin’s death? Was he immune to the realm of fever and thus a more permanent mate?”
“The men you’re speaking of, lass, were in that same business of building things. Thick they were, so when the master took ill, Mr. Denton promised to be looking after this family should the worst occur.”
“The worst, presumably, was Franklin Rathel’s death.”
“Aye, it was, lass, praise Jesus to comfort his soul.”
“But if Mr. Denton’s vow was to wed Amanda, why did the two refrain?”
“Well, lass, marrying was not the vow he truly intended. His meaning was only to be caring for the lady’s financial things.”
“The misconception is surprising, in that Lady Amanda selects her words with care. How is it she so misunderstood Mr. Denton?”
“Ah, miss, ’twas no misunderstanding, but a change, and I’ll be saying no more.”
“But her current position seems fine,” I remarked. “And Mr. Denton is wed with children, so his life is likely as he desires. Therefore, wherein lies the continued discomfort?”
“And less it is, miss, with you here, for it deals with children.”
“Am I correct in assuming that Amanda has never born children, or did she spew out dozens, all of whom sensibly ran away to the wilds?”
“No, she’s having not a one, lass, and that is her misfortune, for more than anything was she wishing a child of her own.”
“She had none because her womb is as barren as her heart?”
“Ah, child, and Master Franklin was ever insisting it be the wife’s womb that’s barren.”
“Miss Elsie, I smell imperfect accuracy in Franklin’s assertion.”
The servant ceased buffing my shoes to look toward me with concern.
“And how is it you’re thinking you know this, lass?”
“I can sense it by your manner of speaking, Elsie,” I confessed. “And I offer to aid in your distress. If you suffer remorse from having gossiped about your employers, I shall pray with you to help alleviate your shame.”
“And I’ve no shame within me, child,” she returned firmly. “I was not the one bringing the man a fever to make him barren.”
Elsie then sighed, reeking of foolishness for her lax speaking.
“Oh, Elsie, since you had no part in the disease, you should feel no remorse, though I do wonder how you learned of this illness.”
“And it’s the very the doctor who’s telling me.”
“You beseeched him?”
“Ah, and lass, he’s telling me because of his own part in it, I’m saying.”
“He caused the fever?”
“Of course not, child,” Elsie scoffed. “But he’s following his patient’s order and not revealing to the mistress that the lack of children was no fault of her own, as the husband had her believe, God forgive his own shameful soul.”
“Did Amanda eventually learn?”
“Aye, and she did, in that the doctor was feeling his own remorse for allowing the deception, and would have the wife know before her husband passed away.”
“And though the physician was relieved from this revelation, the mistress became distraught.”
“That she was, girl, but the truth will sometimes cause this.”
“Praise God for truthful people, Elsie, in that lies would ruin us all. And what of Lord Franklin regarding this major revelation?”
“Ah, I’m thinking he never knew, for he passed away thereabouts, though it did seem that he was finally recovering. But finally, Jesus bless him, he did not.”
“After Lord Franklin went to his rest with Jesus, Amanda was to marry Mr. Denton as per his vow, but did not in that something had changed. Am I to guess the modification, Miss Elsie? I think it easy. It must have something to do with Lord Franklin’s impotence.”
“Not so wise you are as you’re believing, child, for it had naught to do with the lord’s, but the lady’s.”
Then Elsie sighed and reeked of foolishness for her lax disclosure.
“But, miss, do I not denote contradiction? I thought the lack of children in the family was due to the man, but now you say the woman
was causal. Both persons were incapable, you tell me?”
“Both it was not, miss, until the lady took ill herself.”
“Ah hah! Amanda contracted her husband’s fever, becoming barren herself, and therefore is the person she is today.”
“No, and wrong you’re guessing again, lass, in your too-young wisdom. The lady’s barrenness was from a different sickness all together. And a queer one it was, girl, with her talking endlessly and losing her hair…. Uh, I say, Miss Alba? And it’s a strange look you’re taking, girl, as though you were as cold inside as your skin. Lass, are you feeling poorly now yourself?”
“Oh, and…and I was for a moment, Elsie. A…a quick chill come and gone. A…but a bit of dizziness. I’m fine now, miss…. Fine again.”
But I was not fine. I was ill, too ill to hear further gossip. My life had suffered another painful loss, my reduced ignorance of the Rathel’s expertise in witches. And the reverse.
I departed without hearing Elsie’s ending comments of the Dentons’ history. Again she had a massive smile at the young miss’s going for her first bout of romance with the handsome Eric. Then I sat with Amanda in a rolling box, a container repulsive to any witch, especially one longing to begin the process of abandoning society’s encasements.
• • •
East and south seemed somehow different in the city. Though not exactly lost, I misconstrued the names of streets, and was in no state to learn. And though our travel was brief, was the duration a witch’s moment or sinners’ minutes? When all directions and durations became the same for me, would I still be a witch, or pass as a sinner even to God?
The entry seemed on the wrong side of the building. Because the Dentons’ townhouse was situated differently from Rathel’s, it seemed improper, as though misplaced. But why this false impression? Why did I find strangeness where not truly extant, as though enough queerness did not express itself toward me without my active search?
Though the city’s queerest person, I failed to comprehend how severe and strange was Rathel’s unbeckoned visit to a household whose master had ruined her life. The chamberlain explained. This smiling servant left us in the foyer to return with a strained inflection requiring no witch to interpret. The Dentons were in, but only the master would be able to greet us, since the mistress was ill, the witch yet unaware that the lady who had usurped Amanda’s place would in no way on God’s Earth or in Satan’s London consent to see the woman to have cursed her, especially considering that she had brought her curse along.
We were led to the master’s office, a colder locale than one’s library or den, a place of business instead of friendship. No casual remarks regarding the handsome decor had Lady Amanda, seemingly businesslike herself, but smelling excited. The next oddity I found was the subpopulace of secondary creatures known as servants scurrying about foyer and furniture like bugs around a tree stump. These servants included men, typical of London households except those with witches.
Male or not, the servants were concerned with Rathel’s presence, not mine. The first person to stare at me was the sick mistress herself. Pale and smelling of illness as alleged, a well-attired woman stepped from a doorway escorted by a chambermaid. After a glimpse at Rathel, Mrs. Denton looked fearfully toward me. And I could read her thoughts as though specially tutored: She has found a weapon so powerful? Then she spoke to Rathel, her words as pained as her thinking.
“How admirable is your courage, Amanda, for you to enter my house when before you only sent misguided pain. But I can be no company due to a genuine illness that came through no coincidence. You will forgive me, then, to the extent you are capable of forgiveness; and how ready this should be when I have caused you no offense. But agree or not, I know you shall understand, for a lack of intelligence has never been a weakness on your part. Adieu, Amanda, and may you gain peace from God instead of those sources you’ve been petitioning.”
As Mr. Denton turned away, Lady Amanda replied, “I pray, Hanna, that your health improves. As for your emotions, do not fear my presence beyond this introduction of my daughter to your household. Not again shall I intrude upon your health. Here, however, is a person you might be fortunate to see often.”
Sinners have no measure for the brevity of Mrs. Denton’s glimpse to me. How could such intense emotion be contained by an instantaneous moment? Then Hanna with a bent gait retired on the arm of her servant, who cooed reassuringly. My only thoughts were for Rathel, that I would not likely return to a household whose members were sickened by visitors.
As the chamberlain led us onward, I recalled Elsie’s words of refused marriage. What was marriage but another sinning business pact whose failure affected the heart—and was not failed marriage Rathel’s intent for me? At this failure, she could reasonably succeed, having practiced with the identical family. Next she would practice with me. I then found that my exposure to this household had been too lengthy, for I was ill. Before me I saw the faces of Georges Gosdale and Hanna. Beside me, Rathel was perfectly normal, stinking of success. I was also normal, dejected and confused, certain that every upcoming step would lead me not to the wilds of England, but to the evil of sinners wherever they might be.
Our personal bug deposited us at a doorway beyond which stood a man seen previously, at his site of construction. Within his home, he seemed less the lord, having scant control over intruding guests. Though smelling of concern, even fear, Edward would remain polite; for English gentlemen respond graciously to ladies, as is supposedly their due. Apart from this position mandated by society, I could sense that Mr. Denton wished to hide, wished to oust the invaders from his kingdom. My mistress, however, was not to be thwarted by another person’s fearful discomfort, for fear was one of her commodities.
“Lady Amanda Rathel and her new Miss Alba,” was our introduction from the household insect. Though aware of the stress in this home, the chamberlain desired to witness the composition developing. Perhaps in their own social way, these servants were an inferior race of crawlies.
I was uncertain how handsome or impressive Edward Denton should be considered. He was the same age as them all, and sturdy, but even a witch unfamiliar with sinners could sense that he was containing his emotions. Smiling was a chore as he bowed toward Lady Amanda and spoke her name. Rathel, however, seemed completely genuine as she called him “Dear Edward,” producing a pleased visage rarely provided members of her own household. Simultaneously, Rathel reached with both arms, Mr. Denton having to touch her fingers, a brief grasp, then gone.
“Dear Edward, how wonderful you appear,” Rathel stated as her host retreated a step.
“You as well, Amanda,” he replied. “I trust you’ve been well.”
“Especially well since gaining a new member of my household,” she offered, and turned to me. “This youth is Alba, to be known as Rathel. I have taken her in to rear as a lady, one whose place in society might equal her appearance.”
“A great pleasure, Alba,” Edward professed, his smile no more comfortable or comforting than before. Then he kissed my hand.
He did not have to. The tenets of British society did not mandate such an exchange when the subject was too young to wed. I could not judge Edward’s motives in considering me so mature. Perhaps he sought to smell my danger.
Though aware of his intent in bending with stretched arm, I had never suffered such contact. Being an educated lady, however, I knew to lift my arm and allow my hand to be taken; and suave was Edward’s shock to touch my frozen knuckles.
Grateful to God I was for Denton’s having none of Gosdale’s odor. Praise God again that he touched me with only his breath. But the act was so useless as to strike me, and I felt that he had bit me, bit my senses. After a hesitation that might have embarrassed someone, I managed to curtsy, and Edward’s mouth was gone.
I hoped they would battle. Since their quarrel stemmed from mating, the butting of heads as though deer in rut would be proper. Then their problems would be resolved, and I could depart. But Rat
hel and Edward were emotional enemies, and as such would continue to dredge up unreal pleasantries to lay falsely at each other’s positions.
Edward was not the only Denton in this chamber. Another man had risen from his chair as the guests entered, Edward now turning to him. Perhaps this older man was affected by the liquor whose glass he set upon a sideboard, in that his visage and smell were cordial and unstrained.
They began speaking. Of course, Lady Amanda was well-acquainted with Edward’s father, Lord Andrew. Then he kissed her hand, which seemed normal in being between sinners. I was the witch, and strange I found the friendly father’s approaching me after Rathel’s introduction to surround my shoulders with both arms. He then stood away to look down at my face while squeezing my elbows, testing my fiber.
“And what a beautiful belle you have acquired, Amanda,” Andrew declared, looking between Rathel and her charge. “More of London’s superior meals in her and she will be quite the lady, for heretofore she has the poise. And so lovely she is that I must laugh with pleasure,” he professed, and blurted a loud sound to startle me. Rathel then smiled enough to split her cheeks, I hoped.
Andrew was so active that my passivity was acceptable, but why was I not more offended by that smell of liquor so near? Why had this sinner’s torso against mine not been a greater threat? I found the answer in his basic smell, for beneath the alcohol was a scent of innocence, a strange trait for a sinner, but as real as his son’s distress. Unfortunately, that innocence seemed less than influential, and therefore could scarcely relieve me of the ambient anxiety.
My sinners were superior. Those within Rathel’s abode offered no danger from their upcoming moves. Mistaken I had been to wish Rathel’s vengeance begun to thereby reach conclusion. I now desired only to be within that known house again, and to exit London not through cooperation, but flight.
Andrew turned sharply to his son after releasing my shoulders to announce a brilliant notion. And though I was less than terrified of the elder Denton, I moved one subtle step away as he spoke.