The Curious Case of Mary Ann

by Jenn Thorson

  “Really should get back to our guests,” persisted Lord Carmine.

  Rufus glared at him and pushed the door wide. “So you have seen it!” he said to Edmund.

  “Seen it?” The man wrung his hands. “They tried it out on me! Experimental procedure, you know. Diabolical thing! Lucky for me, my body completely rejected it.”

  By now Lord Carmine was as red as his name. “Oh, pay no attention to him. He’s —”

  “Sane?” suggested Uncle Edmund. “Sane enough to know I want no part of the nonsensical funny-business that bobbles about in that boy’s head, that’s for certain!”

  The news lit Rufus’ temper. “My father tried to give you my sense of humor?”

  Edmund said, “First they forced it on me. Then they started plying me with the stuff to feed it, hoping it would sink in its hooks … grow … Like some poorly-punning parasite.”

  “Hear me out, son …” Lord Carmine was breathing heavily now and Mary Ann was worried his heart might attack him. “I just gave him a small portion of your humor. Just enough so he’d start seeing the world a bit differently — jumpstart the creative madness in him, you know. And if it had worked, think of what a service you would have done for my brother, your own flesh and blood! He’d be able to rejoin society; his quality of life would have improved significantly. You’d have been a hero twice over!”

  Rufus folded his arms and eyed his father coldly. “So I never did misplace it, did I? You stole it. You extracted it without my knowledge. I don’t know when you did it but —” Except in that moment he did. The knowledge filled his face. “It was at my last Unbirthday party, wasn’t it? You kept pushing the mushroom beer and I don’t recall the rest. What kind of father are you?”

  “You were always so merry and madcap,” said Lord Carmine. “There was no way you could have focused properly on slaying the Jabberwock. And then the poem would never have come to fruition. So I had your humor removed. It was only supposed to be until you got through training and quested for the Vorpal sword. You would have gotten it back then. But once I learned your uncle was going sane … talking sense, paying his taxes on time, and dressing in tasteful brown flannel, well …” he shuddered, “something had to be done. You would have done the same thing in my shoes.”

  “In your shoes, I would be completely unable to walk; they’re the wrong size,” Rufus said, clutching at his hair and pacing the room. “Honestly, Father, how could you do this to me? It was devastating! I looked all over for it. I gave myself hell about my absent-mindedness for weeks. ‘How could you lose your humor, Rufus?’ ‘Think: where did you last see it, Rufus?’”

  “An unfortunate side-effect of the endeavor,” agreed Lord Carmine. “One sees these things in retrospect.”

  “So if you only gave him a portion of my humor and he rejected it,” Rufus said, indicating his uncle, “where is the rest of it?”

  “It’s perfectly safe,” said Lord Carmine. “It’s being stored.”

  “Where?” Rufus growled. It was that Jabberwock-slayer tone again.

  “Well,” the Baron looked uncomfortable and sighed, “I suppose there’s no keeping it from you now. It’s being stored where one maintains humor when it’s not in use but wishes to keep it fresh.”

  “And that is?”

  Lord Carmine seemed surprised they hadn’t guessed. “In the humordor, of course.”

  And closing and locking the door on his brother (“Wait! You mean no one’s going to let me out after all?”), Lord Carmine led them down the Tower stairs to the kitchen, where a small wooden box sat, not unlike a tea caddy.

  “It’s been here? All this time?” Rufus buried his face in his hands.

  Lord Carmine picked up the box and tapped its lid.

  A tiny, sleepy voice said, “Knock, knock?”

  “Who’s there?” asked Lord Carmine.

  “Riot,” said the voice.

  “Riot who?”

  “Riot on time, here I am!” Peals of mad laughter rang out from the thing.

  “Yeah, that’s it, all right,” said Rufus, sounding tired himself. “Give me that.” And tucking the box under his arm, he left the room.

  

  “You wanted to see me, My Lady?” Mary Ann asked from the door of Lady Carmine’s quarters.

  The woman was sitting at her vanity and dressed, winding curls into a pile on the top of her head. “Yes, dear, I do.”

  Her hands were still shaky, Mary Ann noticed. “Do you need some assistance?”

  “Oh, I’d be very grateful,” she said. And the lady gave her a handful of hairpins, which she began to secure into place.

  “How are you feeling, My Lady? You look well. And the cloud is gone, I see.” It would be nice to clean in the room without it being thoroughly rinsed first.

  “That’s what I wanted to speak to you about, child,” said Lady Carmine. “Tomorrow we go to Queen Valentina’s Unbirthday party in Neath.”

  “I understand so,” said Mary Ann. “I hope you’ll enjoy the journey and it won’t tire you too much.”

  “My, you are thoughtful, aren’t you?” Lady Carmine said reflectively, as if this one moment somehow brought it all home for her. “And that’s why I would very much like it if you would make the journey with us.”

  “Me, My Lady?” Mary Ann’s heart skipped a beat. “I very much doubt you’ll need an extra housemaid with the Queen of Hearts’ hospitality. Hearts Castle is supposed to be the finest of any land.”

  “You’ve been so helpful to me in such a rough time, my dear. And Celeste, well … One does not like to speak ill of others, but the girl just has so many other things on her mind. It’s been hard for her to properly attend to the job. So I’m afraid I’ve had to dismiss her.”

  “Oh my …” Mary Ann understood why, of course, but she never liked to see it happen.

  “That is why in her place,” Lady Carmine continued, gently powdering her nose, “I would like you to accompany me to Neath. As my personal maid, you see.”

  “Oh, My Lady,” Mary Ann had not been expecting this. “I only fluster the moldings. I don’t know anything about all the details of assisting a fine lady such as yourself. You’d best find someone better-suited.” Like someone who wasn’t currently wanted in Neath.

  “I feel certain you would learn and learn quickly,” said Lady Carmine.

  “But —”

  “I would consider it a personal favor to me.” There was a certain strength in her words now, which Mary Ann sensed required careful treading.

  “Yes, My Lady,” Mary Ann said. She would have to get out of it, of course. Perhaps she could steal away from the Manor in the middle of the night and hide in her father’s cottage for a few days. It wasn’t the safest of places, certainly, but if she remained on guard, and didn’t burn a lamp, and kept the noise to a minimum, perhaps she wouldn’t attract —

  “Good.” Lady Carmine rose and indicated several trunks by the door. “I am already packed, but you’ll want to pack, as well.”

  “I’ve nothing,” Mary Ann said, “so it won’t take a moment.”

  “That’s a girl. Always thinking ahead,” said Lady Carmine, proudly. “Your new job starts tomorrow.”

  

  Mary Ann felt sick. How could she go to Neath? And not just Neath, but to Queen Valentina’s Unbirthday party? Yes, there would be hundreds of people present, and there was perhaps some safety in that. But how could she ensure she remained out of the gaze of Jacob Morningstar? Would her invisibility be enough? Because it certainly seemed to be failing her lately.

  And then there was the issue of those Wanted posters. The impostor Mary Ann had been running around Neath, wrecking homes and terrorizing courtrooms. Yes, True Mary Ann had Rufus as an alibi for at least one of the events. But logic was not a popular thing in either Neath or Turvy. She could not be certain that she would ever untangle herself from False Mary Ann’s crimes. This was problematic.

  On the other hand, if one ignored the deat
hly peril, this was precisely the sort of opportunity Mary Ann could have desired. Instead of sending Rufus on a mission to answer her questions, she could now gain information firsthand at the event. Why, if she and the knight worked together, they might just be able to solve the death of her father, expose the knave’s motives, extract herself from danger and even, possibly, say “hi” to mum. It was these thoughts on which she tried to focus throughout the day, as she helped ensure the houseguests had all they needed for their visit. It was these thoughts that buoyed her into the evening as she watched Rufus looking more animated than ever, as he socialized with his royal guests. It was these thoughts that steeled her before bed, as Celeste knocked on their chamber door, tearful streaks down the powder on her face.

  “Lady Carmine has gone to bed. I have a coach coming shortly. I’m going to my sister’s family in Neath,” she said. She turned to Mabel. “So those hair combs I lent you … I need them back. I need to pack them.”

  Mabel nodded, all eyes and open mouth, like a fish wondering what a dock was, and why it was suddenly flopping about on it. “Oh, yes, of course! Right away!” And Mabel swished off to get the items in question.

  Now Celeste moved to Emmaline. “And you know that pin of mine you like?”

  Emmaline nodded.

  “Hold out your hand,” she said. And Celeste dropped a little brooch made of tiny red glass flowers onto her palm. “You should keep it. It looks better on you. Matches your complexion.”

  “Oh my!” said Emmaline, wiping a tear and holding the brooch to her heart. “I — I couldn’t.”

  But Celeste brushed away her protests. “It is done,” she said. “And you …” Now Celeste turned to Mary Ann. “This is all your fault. Stepping on my toes with Lady Carmine … Trying to ingratiate yourself to take my position … I hope you’re happy.” She folded her arms. “Well? What do you have to say for yourself?”

  But Mary Ann said nothing, for there was nothing to be said. It wasn’t as if Celeste didn’t know the truth of the matter. She merely needed to conjure herself a more soothing reason for her dismissal. Mary Ann always thought it remarkable, the sleight-of-hand one does to reinvent oneself, one’s truths, while simultaneously never fixing a thing.

  Mary Ann let her keep this illusion as a parting gift.

  In an hour, Celeste was gone and the revelries downstairs continued, echoing into the night.

  18

  Mary Ann’s day dawned early as usual, but the revelers had sunk into a deep stupor all across Carmine Manor, like a cursed household in a faerie story. As she descended the stairs, Mary Ann could hear snoring, as ferocious a snarling racket as any frumious beast could wish, and it seemed to be emanating from the hall in which King Garnet had been stowed. His snores were the stuff of legends.

  Mary Ann found that Lady Carmine, who had only partaken of the evening’s festivities briefly, was already awake.

  “Are you feeling well enough to travel?” Mary Ann asked, after the woman consumed a hopeful quantity of breakfast.

  “I am fit as a fiddle, in tune and ready to play,” she chuckled, an impish smile crossing her face. “And I understand you helped Rufus locate his sense of humor again! Whoever would have guessed it ended up in a box in the kitchen? How delightfully improbable!”

  Clearly, someone had given Lady Carmine a rather different impression of the events that had transpired. So Mary Ann simply said, “It was a joint effort, My Lady.”

  Like so many things, she imagined the truth would come out in time.

  “My son was most beamish last evening with the guests,” Lady Carmine went on. “I had quite forgotten what he was like before he misplaced his humor.”

  “He certainly seemed spirited,” Mary Ann said, though she’d been too busy with her own duties to speak with him directly. “Now, what would you like to wear?” She held up two gowns. “The red? Or the red?”

  They decided on the red, and Mary Ann began to assist the lady with the elaborate robing process. Mary Ann was quite pleased she managed to get through her preparatory tasks without accidentally collapsing her lungs by corset or smothering her in underskirts. And now, with that success under her cap, it sounded as if the Manor was starting to come to life. One of the valets had arrived for Lady Carmine’s cases, and this gave Mary Ann a moment to get her own meager things from her quarters.

  She laughed at the items she’d amassed: three housemaid uniforms (two Red Turivan one from Neath), one borrowed nightdress, one set of squire clothes (pinched from the line), and her father’s account book. Having borrowed things from Emmaline such as a hairbrush, she wasn’t sure how she would manage without. Of course, it helped to keep in mind that no one attending this party would be there to admire her.

  She was about to exit the bedchamber, when she recalled her list—that little guide of questions she had compiled to give to Sir Rufus. While she no longer needed to tax him with it, she thought the list still might be useful. Surely, with so much activity at once, and a new job to boot, it would be nice to have something to ground her own actions. She would hate to miss an important opportunity to gather all the information she wanted, just because some critical point wasn’t top-of-mind.

  She slipped a hand under her pillow and …

  “That’s queer.”

  She pulled down the bedcover and lifted the pillow. Nothing. She patted the bedding. She lifted the dustruffle and peered under the bed. She peered behind the bedside table.

  Gone.

  When had she last seen it? She recalled it when she’d made the bed yesterday morning. As tired as she was, she had quite forgotten about it last night.

  She took a few deep breaths to calm her pounding heart and told herself quite sensibly that there was no time to dwell upon it now. The shiver of anxiety was still there, though; it did not operate on things like sensibility. She hoped the missing item would not come back to bite.

  Getting the group mobilized for the journey ahead proved to be something of monumental proportions. There were breakfasts to be had and children to attend, horses to rein and carriages to get into place. It took the entire household staff at full capacity, plus all the Red King’s and Queen’s servants to ensure everything went off with a hitch. (For the horses needed hitching; one couldn’t go far without that.) Finally, once all pre-journey bodily fluids that needed expelling were expelled, the traveling party left Carmine Manor, a long line of red figures heading toward Neath.

  Mary Ann had been given Lolly to ride alongside Lord and Lady Carmine’s carriage. And it was from this placement, she could hear Queen Rosamund, a petite, no-nonsense woman with a big voice, shout, “All right, everyone! It is time to sing!”

  Lady Carmine clapped her hands in the carriage. “Oh yes! A sing-a-long! How frabjous!”

  Queen Rosamund said, “Remember, you must all sing as loudly as you possibly can. Because as we all know, the speed of sound travels at seven-hundred and sixty-one miles per hour. Whereas our horses, at a reasonable cantor, can only do ten to fifteen miles per hour. Which means, if we’re very loud, our voices will reach our destination before us and have things set up properly by the time we arrive.”

  Mary Ann had never heard of that approach to travel, but then again, she tended not to be a part of groups.

  The Queen began to sing, very loudly and quite off-key:

  A journeying we go

  A journey song we crow

  We haven’t a care if we ever get there

  (Well, we do, but don’t say so!)

  And everyone joined in, though it seemed many didn’t know the song and invented lyrics and melodies of their own. At least, they did all chime in for the chorus:

  Clip-clop, slip-slop

  The last one there is slow!

  Which was very loud for certain, so it most definitely would reach Queen Valentina’s castle in all swiftness.

  By the time they stopped on the side of the road to take a break, Mary Ann’s throat ached. She was pouring water for Lady Carmin
e from a corked bottle when Queen Rosamund herself passed by asking, “And did you enjoy the music, my dear?” She addressed this to Mary Ann.

  “Why, yes, Your Majesty, very much,” rasped Mary Ann, curtseying. “It helps pass the time so nicely. I apologize, though, I’m a bit hoarse.”

  “Of course you are,” croaked the Queen. “We all are. That’s how it’s supposed to be. That’s why these are called hoarse-drawn carriages, you know.”

  “I didn’t realize that,” said Mary Ann, always pleased to have learned something new. “Thank you, Majesty.”

  She winked. “That’s why I’m Queen. It’s my business to know these things.” And she ran off to box the ear of one of the young pawns, who she’d spied shirking his singing duties along the way.

  The Queen had only just left to do so when Sir Rufus came bounding over. Mary Ann almost didn’t recognize him because never had she seen such a great grin on his face. “Hello, Mother! Hello … you!” And he elbowed Mary Ann in a congenial way.

  “So I understand your humor has been restored,” said Mary Ann, rubbing her arm where a bruise would no doubt appear later. “How are you feeling, Sir?”

  “I’m mainly feeling with my hands, of course!” he said and exploded in laughter. Or rather, exploded as well as one could who had been singing loudly for the better part of an hour.

  The elbow had reminded her of something. “I have some items I’d like to discuss with you about your training,” Mary Ann said, watching Lady Carmine’s expression carefully out of the corner of her eye. “I was thinking when you’re in the Jug Stance, you’ll need to hold your elbow more perpendicular and —”

  And this had the desired effect, for Lady Carmine said, “Oh, I’ll let you two get on with that.” And excused herself to the carriage.

  “Training, eh?” said Rufus beaming. “What do you call a sword without a blade?”