Fancytales: The Once Upon A Time Collection

by Leighann Dobbs

  She was then hauled her over the side of a rickety old wooden hay cart – she knew it to be a hay cart because had caught the briefest glimpse of it at the end of the alleyway an instant before the sack had been dropped over her head.

  Struggling to free herself despite the many hands holding her still, Snow was swiftly covered with heaps of smelly, prickly, damp straw. Finally, the many hands she had felt ceased their pulling and tugging, and the conveyance began to move.

  * * *

  “What do you mean you lost her?” Lady Davina snapped.

  “By the time I took care of the maid so she wouldn't sound an alarm, yer girl was already gone.” The lanky fellow spread his hands wide and shrugged. “My guess is 'twere the rogues, mum. Quick as lightnin', that lot, and scurvy biters to boot.”

  “Rogues? Biters?” Lady Davina screeched. “I hired you to bring me the heart, you lout, not excuses! Find her, and be quick about it. It is only a matter of time until someone notices she isn't going about as usual and I can't have them suspecting me.”

  Ignoring his protests, Davina shoved the wiry fellow out the door and closed it tight. She slid the latch into place and then leaned against it for good measure before shaking her head at the man's obvious incompetence.

  After several careful and discreet inquiries, she finally had located a man willing to carry out a sneaky bit of thievery in exchange for a weighty pouch of coin up front with the promise of more once the job was done. She had been assured her contact's man could handle the matter, but now she could see she had been wrong.

  “Fools. Sloven, incompetent fools, the lot of them,” she mumbled. “I should simply have taken care of it myself.”

  Now she hadn't a chance because, thanks to the bumbling efforts of the fellow she had hired, both her step-daughter and the key to her dowry – a fortune in jewels and gold – had disappeared without a trace.

  Chapter Two

  Whooo... Whooo...

  The sound of an owl calling out from his treetop perch for identification of his nighttime visitor brought Snow slowly up from the depths of an exhausted, struggle-induced sleep.

  The flutter of wings beating in sudden flight came from somewhere to her left and memories of having been pulled down an alleyway mere moments before being tossed into a hay cart flooded back, galvanizing Snow into action.

  With hands now free from the abrasive rope with which they had been tied, she clawed and kicked and frantically dug her way up from beneath the heavy layers of damp, musty straw which covered her from neck to ankle.

  Upright at last, she coughed and sputtered from both the pungent smell of the hay and the particles of dust and bits of straw she had set into flight during her escape and then rubbed at her sore wrists, wincing in pain from the burn the ropes had caused.

  Taking in great, deep gulps of fresh, clean air, Snow gratefully noticed the burlap sack with which her attackers had covered her head earlier must have been removed while she slept, but whoever had dragged her away this morning obviously had disappeared just as swiftly because the silence pounding at her eardrums was deafening.

  Glancing around at what she could see of her surroundings through the thick mist of fog enshrouding the area lit by naught but a mere slither of moon which the clouds covered more often than not, Snow strained to hear even the slightest hint of movement in the darkness nearby.

  After several long moments of silence, Snow realized she truly was quite, quite alone. Drawing her knees up to her chest, she wrapped her arms around them and, huddled in pathetic misery in the middle of a rickety old hay cart, fought back a sudden, unbidden rush of tears.

  Stranded and abandoned deep in the heart of some dense, dark patch of forest with no one about to protect her from the dangers which might lurk here in the night, Snow suddenly felt more frightened than she could remember feeling in her entire life. She began to shake, from both fear and the cold seeping into her skin from her damp attire.

  Her gown was no doubt ruined beyond recognition, she thought, glaring down through the darkness at the mound of hay she now sat perched in the center of. And so, too, was her life, she added after a flash of chilling realization – a lady did not disappear into the night, no matter the circumstances, and expect to come home unscathed.

  Even if she somehow managed to make it out of the forest alive and find her way home, Lady Davina – her father's second wife – would likely perish from embarrassment. Nay, Snow amended. Her step-mother would cast her out immediately, without hesitation and without coin or care.

  Cold, ruined, dejected, frightened, defenseless and very much alone, Snow leaned her forehead against the damp skirts covering her up-drawn knees and let the tears fall.

  A short time later, the whisper of branches moving off in the distance touched her ear, and Snow tensed. A twig snapped, and the sound of muffled voices echoed clearly through the mist.

  Had her kidnappers returned? Or, if not they, who then could be wandering the forest at this hour? Certainly no one a lady alone would like to meet, her fears cautioned.

  The sounds drew closer and Snow crouched low in the cart, almost wishing she still had the protection of the straw covering her, but there was no time to hide herself again. Hardly daring even to breathe, she waited in silence while the scuffling footsteps and muted voices came nearer.

  Without warning, the sounds ceased, and so, it seemed, did the beating of her heart. For some reason, the sudden return to silence frightened Snow far more than the sounds whoever (or whatever) had approached the cart had been making before.

  Her imagination brought to mind all manner of terrifying possibilities until Snow could not take the suspense a moment longer. Peeking over the low side of the cart where she huddled, Snow called out in a shaky whisper, “Hello? Who is there?”

  There was a scraping noise, and then a match flared in the darkness. A moment later, the soft glow of a lantern illuminated the area and behind it, seven pair of curious eyes stared at her, watching. Waiting.

  Snow stared back and blinked in surprise. There were seven of them, she counted, all in varying heights and states of cleanliness – most leaning more toward the side of filth than merely dirty.

  Likewise, the clothes they wore, and though most of their trousers were tied snugly at the waist with a length of rope or thong of leather, every single pair hung on the thin, bony frames of her attackers and had been rolled several times at the cuff to keep them from dragging underfoot.

  As far as she could tell, only two of them wore shoes, but it was neither their state of dress nor cleanliness or rather, lack thereof which held her bound by shock.

  Her gaze darted, disbelieving, from one dirty face to the next. She had been kidnapped by a group of children? “Why, you're only boys!”

  At her blurted pronouncement the tallest and, she presumed, oldest of the group rolled his eyes. “Let's get her inside before she catches her death out here in this chill.”

  “Inside?” Puzzled, Snow peered into the darkness, but beyond the dim glow of the lantern she could make out little more than the creepy, twisting shadows of gnarled limbs and the trunks of many tall and possibly ancient trees.

  Finally, the tallest of the boys took the lantern and raised it high to further illuminate the area and slowly the dark, timber-framed bulk of what Snow could only guess must be an abandoned hunting lodge came into view.

  Chapter Three

  Snow came slowly awake just before dawn.

  Snuggling deeper into the quilts, she inhaled, taking in the faint but oddly pleasant masculine scent which lingered within the fibers.

  She had dreamed of dancing the night away in the arms of the marquess, and now, breathing deeply of the spicy scent trapped within the blankets, she knew why.

  Much as they had the night before, memories flooded in and she sat up, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dim, morning light peeking through the shutters and then looked around the room, surveying at her surroundings.

  Not home at all,
she remembered, but rather, an abandoned hunter's cottage where the seven young boys who had spirited her away from London the day before had carried her.

  Through darkness broken only by the thin light of a single lantern's glow, they had brought her out of the forest to the cottage, pointed her toward the cot and then disappeared up a rough, wooden ladder into the loft.

  In the main room, two thickly stuffed but over-worn chairs and a small sofa, all arranged around a woven rug in the center of the room, faced the fire.

  To the left was a cooking area which housed a ramshackle table and several chairs, a crusty wood stove, and a small closet which Snow assumed must be the pantry.

  To the right, nestled against the wall, was the sturdy looking cot where she had slept the night before. It had been covered with a few surprisingly clean quilts and sported a single, pleasantly plump pillow.

  Other than the bed, the rest of the place seemed to be covered by a thick coat of grime. Dust covered every exposed surface, and what dining service there was to eat from or cook with, Snow pronounced unfit for use until it had undergone a thorough scouring.

  Swinging her legs over the side of the cot, Snow went to the window and threw the shutters wide. Morning had not yet burned off the mist of fog, but thin rays of light were making their way tentatively through the trees.

  Peering outside, she discovered what appeared to be a covered well, nestled against the side of the cottage. Beyond it lay a woodshed, and further still, the low banks of a brook twined its way through the forest.

  Turning away from the view, Snow crossed to the ladder and peered toward the loft. Where were the children? She imagined them sleeping upon their pallets, probably more exhausted than she had been after the events of yesterday. And probably just as hungry, she added, rubbing her hand across her midsection which rumbled in protest.

  If she had been at home, Lissie would already have placed a mug of warm chocolate on her bedside table and would be readying her breakfast while Snow dressed and made ready to begin her day.

  But she was not at home, and there were no maids to see to her needs. Her stomach grumbled again and Snow crossed the room to investigate the small pantry.

  To her surprise, she found it modestly stocked with provisions though there was little evidence in the cottage of any of them having been recently put to use. With what she had discovered, she was confident neither she nor the children would starve during her stay.

  For the first time in her life, she was grateful to Mims for having allowed her free reign in the kitchens at White Hall. To distract herself from thinking too deeply of home and the seriousness of her immediate situation, Snow rolled up her sleeves and set about putting the cottage to rights.

  Her first task? Gather water from the well. Lots of water.

  She had just emptied a third bucket of warm water into the basin near the stove when she heard the first sound of movement upstairs.

  She had spent most of the morning cleaning the stove and the things she would need for cooking, but she had managed also to give the floor a good sweeping and even to start a couple loaves bread.

  By the time the first bare foot touched the freshly swept floor, Snow was dishing up the last bowl of spiced oatmeal and turned to greet the boys with a smile.

  Her greeting was returned with looks of horror, though she did see one of the younger boys sneak a peek toward the table just before another stepped in front of him to demand, “What have ye done to the kitchen?”

  Disconcerted by his obvious dissatisfaction with her efforts, Snow said, “I-I cleaned it. A bit. There is more to be done, but I've not eaten since yesterday so I made breakfast. For everyone. You boys just need to wash up there,” she said, pointing toward the basin, “and we can all sit down and enjoy...”

  “It didn't need cleanin', lady. It were just fine the way it was.” He glared at her, belligerence clearly evident in his gaze.

  “Nonsense,” Snow continued. “You might have fallen ill had you eaten from those bowls as they were, and...”

  The boy jammed a dirty hat upon his tangled hair and headed for the door, the rest of his small group fast on his heels. “We don't need no motherin'.”

  “Wait!” Snow called.

  Clearly frustrated by the delay she was causing, the boy turned back to her, impatience showing in his every line.

  “I want to go home.”

  He shook his head. “Sorry, lady. The boss said to watch over you, an' so we will.”

  He started forward and Snow called out to him again. “Your boss? Take me to him, please. Surely there has been a misunderstanding, and...”

  The boy was shaking his head again. “It's your step-mum, see?”

  Her confusion must have showed on her face because the boy stepped a bit closer to elaborate.

  “A few days ago, Richard followed her down to the tavern. She hired a fellow what works down by the docks to kill you.”

  While he explained, the other boys tiptoed forward, one by one, until they were all seated at the table, hungrily downing the warm porridge Snow had prepared.

  But Snow barely noticed, she was so distracted by the oldest boy's claim. Lady Davina had hired someone to kill her? She started to protest, but the young man held up a hand for silence and shook his head in denial.

  “Heard every word of it m'self. Bring me her heart, she said, and there's no mistake.” After a minute, the boy shrugged. “'course we might aught have gone to the boss first, but there just weren't time. We barely managed to grab you afore he did anyway, an' that's the only reason you are still alive.”

  “Yeah, cause we're fast!” one of the other boys piped up, greedily scraping the last bit of food from his bowl and into his mouth.

  The youngest of the boys stepped around the older and nodded toward the table where the rest of their group sat finishing off their meal.

  Looking up at him with wide eyes, and then over to the table where the others had defected to sit, the boy asked, “Can we please eat, Simon? Dunno what's in them bowls over there, but it sure smells good.”

  Chapter Four

  On her second day of enforced stay at the cottage, Snow enlisted the aid of the younger boys and managed to remove the ragged curtains from the windows, scrub the floor, and even launder the bed linens in addition to cooking for them all.

  By the third, a few of them had given in to her repeated requests at mealtime that they wash their hands and face before joining her at the table, and even surrendered their shirts for washing and mending, and by the fourth, Snow had learned their names.

  Youngest to oldest, they were Derrick, Warren, Anthony, Richard, Vincent, Edward, and Simon, and they were orphans, all of them. Left to their own devices, the boys had banded together in an effort to survive on the brutal streets of London – a feat which they had apparently failed.

  From bits of their private conversations, Snow gathered the boys had been on the brink of starvation, stealing food and clothes where they could when last year, a savior had stepped in and given them a better outlook on life.

  The fellow the boys referred to only as their boss had apparently pulled them off the streets and convinced them there were better things to do with their lives than turn to crime.

  He had tested them, of course. Giving them tasks to earn his respect until finally he had brought them here, to this cottage, and allowed them run of the place – so long as they reported to him at least once a week and continued to stay out of trouble.

  Snow couldn't help but wonder at the man who had given the boys a new lease on life, and whether or not he realized this small band of youths he had dubbed rogues practically worshiped him.

  Sitting quietly in the chair near the hearth she had claimed for herself, Snow worked to mend the boy's clothes, all of which were in various states of disrepair. She also sneaked in a bit of hemming here and there and soon, the clothes which had hung from the boys' slender frames fit – almost like magic.

  On the fifth day of her stay
at the cottage, Snow acknowledged triumph. A bit of a routine had been established, though none of the boys seemed to realize it.

  At dawn, Simon lead a few of the boys to the woodshed to gather what was needed for the day and fires were started in both stove and hearth while the others brought buckets of water for cleaning and washing and cooking.

  Beds were then hastily made and floors swept while Snow prepared breakfast for them all. She was then left to clean up while the boys hunted for rabbit or other small game in the forest for their dinner.

  But it was the hours after dinner Snow enjoyed most. Once the dishes had been cleared from the table, washed, and stacked neatly in the pantry for morning, she would retire to her chair to do mending before bed and, except for Simon, who preferred to read at the table, the boys would gather on the rug before the hearth to tell stories of wit and daring in order to entertain their guest.

  And she was entertained, but no matter how exciting their tales or how much she enjoyed their company, one thing remained the same – Snow desperately wanted to go home.

  She missed sleeping in her own bed in her own home, and she missed Lissie. She wanted to wake up in the morning and slip into a clean dress which was different than the one she had worn the day before. She wanted to visit her friends for tea and waltz across a crowded ballroom in the arms of the most handsome man at the ball.

  Forgetting the mending for the moment, Snow let the quilt she had been stitching rest upon her lap while she gazed into the fire, her thoughts filled with memories of Marquess Kelsing and the kisses they had shared.

  Staring off into nothingness while twining the thin chain from which the heart-shaped golden locket her father had given her before he died dangled between her fingers, Snow once again let her thoughts drift back to the Duke of Sutterleigh's ball.