by M. J. Haag
She leaned forward and pressed her lips against the glass.
“We are pleased to reunite you, Mama,” Cecilia said.
Maeve smiled lovingly at her daughter’s reflection then ran her hands along the frame.
“Mirror, Mirror against the wall, I summon you now to answer my call. Show me Kellen.”
The glass shimmered gold then green, our reflections fading as a new image developed. Through the dimly lit trees, my sister ran as if being chased. The cloak of her dark hood had fallen back, showing her pale skin and ebony braid.
“Show me the tracker,” Maeve said. The image shifted to the man Maeve had sent after my sister. He sat upon a horse that trotted through trees.
“Good,” Maeve said, glancing at me. “Our family will be together again soon.”
“Yes, Mama,” I said with a smile I truly felt. Not that I thought for a moment Kellen would be home soon. Wherever she had been wasn’t where the tracker was. The lighting had been different along with the size of the trees. While I was relieved the tracker wasn’t near her, I was also concerned. Why was Kellen running?
“Show me Prince Greydon,” Maeve said.
I frowned slightly and watched the image of the tracker fade. Nothing replaced the man’s craggy face and worn mount, however. The glass darkened, showing nothing but a wall of black.
Maeve’s smile faded. Cecilia reached out and pressed her sister back while retreating a step herself. I quickly did the same.
Maeve’s scream of rage startled me, but not as much as when she whirled around, her eyes wildly searching. I swallowed hard, expecting to feel the hand of her wrath. Instead, she moved to grab the same wooden rod I had considered, then took to beating the mirror. The rod didn’t shatter the surface. The glass and wood remained unmarked even after enduring several minutes of Maeve’s anger.
Maeve stopped just as suddenly as she’d started, tossed the rod aside, and smoothed back her hair. Her gaze swept over the three of us.
“I apologize, my darlings. It would seem our prince still hides behind his charm.” She took another calming breath. “I must ask for your patience a bit longer.”
“And that is something we will unfailingly give, Mama,” Cecilia said.
“We know everything you’re doing is for us all,” Porcia said.
Maeve nodded and looked at the mirror again.
“Mirror, show me who Kellen spoke to since leaving this house.”
The image of Mr. Bentwell materialized on the glass. He sat at his desk, reading an old looking book, as he often did. The image shifted back to its original grey.
“Mirror, mirror against the wall, from my presence you may now withdraw.”
Maeve turned to us and smiled serenely once more.
“I know you’ve only just arrived, my dears, but it would seem we have urgent business in town. Eloise, it would be best if you stay here for the time being. We will return with news.”
Maeve started toward the door, and Cecilia and Porcia hurried to follow. The sound of the carriage moving outside only moments later bespoke Maeve’s urgency.
Leaving the men to finish carrying things upstairs, I returned to the kitchen.
“Please tell Lady Grimmoire that the meal will be ready shortly,” Heather said, already dishing portions of a light stew onto plates.
“There is no need,” I said dully. “Mama just left.”
“Left?” Catherine asked, straightening from her artfully stacked pastry plate. “To go where?”
I opened my mouth to speak, but the words “To kill Mr. Bentwell” stuck in my throat.
After all, one didn’t speak out against Mama.
Chapter Five
I ate a quiet meal with Catherine and Heather. By the time I finished, all I could feel was the pulsing ache from my bruises.
“Is there anything that would help me heal faster than the tea?” I asked Catherine.
“Only rest and time, miss. The body will heal at its own pace.”
I sighed and nodded. Her mattress still waited by the fire for me.
Surprisingly, the world drifted away easily when I closed my eyes. I didn’t know how long I slept before Heather gently shook me awake.
“They’ve returned. Perhaps you should meet them at the door.”
I nodded groggily and managed to stand without hurting myself too much. I’d just made it to the foyer when the door opened and the three women walked in speaking animatedly as women often did when returning from an outing. Most, however, didn’t return covered in blood. However, the sight of their blood-spattered bodices and stained skirts didn’t shock me as much as it should have.
“Eloise, my sweet,” Maeve said. “I’m so glad you’re here. We have a bit of a puzzle for you to solve.”
“Yes, Mama,” I said dutifully.
She held out her hand, and Porcia passed the book I hadn’t noticed her carrying.
“It would seem Kellen, that sweet girl, only wanted to return a book and asked that Mr. Bentwell set aside a special one for you. She asked for it by title. Why would she want you to read this?” Maeve asked, handing the book to me.
I read the unfamiliar title then opened the book, leafing through the pages.
“I already thought to look for a message,” Maeve said. “The book is unmarked with no notes hidden within its pages.”
I looked up and let my confusion show.
“I don’t know, Mama. I’m not familiar with this book and don’t recall Kellen ever reading it, either.”
“Read it. There’s a reason she wanted you to. Solve the puzzle, Eloise.”
“Yes, Mama,” I said, hugging the book to my chest. “Are you hungry? Catherine and Heather have kept your plates warm.”
“We ate while we were in town,” Maeve said. Her lips curled in that way that made my blood run cold and my stomach twist as I saw the evidence of Mr. Bentwell’s death with new eyes. Surely they didn’t eat the man.
“Please tell the maids I would like a bath in my chambers,” Cecilia said.
“Me, too,” Porcia added.
“There’s only the one tub. It’s very large and doesn’t easily fit in the rooms. We typically bathe in the kitchen.”
Cecilia’s eyes narrowed, and I glanced at Maeve, unsure what was expected of me.
“Everything is well, my loves. We knew when we came here we would live rustically for a time. A bath before a crackling fire is quite enjoyable.”
“Of course, Mama,” Cecilia said, her annoyance smoothing out.
“Yes, Mama,” Porcia said just as serenely.
The pair moved off in the direction of the kitchen, and Maeve held out her hand.
“Come, child. Let’s read together.”
Except for Maeve and me, the rest of the house had long since gone to bed. I rubbed my good eye, tired beyond compare, painfully shifted positions in my well-cushioned seat, and continued reading by the light of a candle.
Under Maeve’s watchful gaze, I’d already read the majority of the book and still had no idea why my sister had requested it for me. Not that I was actually trying to understand why. If Kellen was being secretive about a message, then she didn’t want Maeve to know. If I didn’t know, then Maeve couldn’t compel me to tell her.
Stifling yet another yawn, I turned the page and felt immediate relief that I was almost to the end. I didn’t know how Kellen could stay up half the night purposely reading. While I most certainly enjoyed a good tale, I enjoyed sleep more.
When I finished the last words, I looked up at Maeve.
“If there is a hidden meaning in these pages, it escapes me,” I said honestly. “It’s a book of fables and fairy tales. Perhaps she thought it was something I might enjoy reading?”
Maeve stood and knelt before me.
“Your sister saw me beat you and knew that I would beat you again if she ran. Why would she risk your health to return a book and ask for another on your behalf? Do not pretend to be simple, Eloise.” She gently smoothed back a bi
t of my hair. “It will not end well for you.”
“I’m not simple, Mama,” I said, holding her gaze, “but neither am I as smart as Kellen. Perhaps she thought I would understand, but she overestimated me.”
Maeve considered me for a moment.
“Your sister knows you too well. If she thought you would understand, you will.” She stood, taking the book from me. “Go rest. You’ll read it again when you wake.”
“Yes, Mama,” I said, stiffly getting to my feet. She followed me to the kitchen and watched me gingerly lower myself, fully dressed, to the mattress beside the fire.
“This is no place for a well-bred girl to rest,” she said. “Tomorrow, we will change your accommodations.”
“Thank you, Mama,” I said tiredly, not meaning a word of it.
“Good night, my sweet.”
I fell into sleep’s waiting arms before the door closed behind her.
The slight scuffle of sound as Catherine and Heather worked to prepare the morning meal didn’t fully rouse me. Neither did Maeve or my dear stepsisters when they ate in the dining room. I dozed in that blissful space between awake and asleep until Catherine said my name.
“Do you think Eloise is all right? She’s been sleeping a long time.”
“She’s healing, and Maeve kept her up late.” The way Heather said Maeve’s name was the first indication she’d ever given that she might hate the woman more than she feared her.
“I heard. I wonder what it is about that book.”
“Don’t wonder. Work. If we do as we’re told, maybe we’ll live long enough to go back to whoring.”
“I hate whoring.”
“Did you see the state of these dresses I’m washing? I think there are worse things than whoring.”
They fell silent, and I lay there in guilt. A guilt that I knew I shouldn’t feel but did regardless. If only they’d run when I told them. They could have been safely away. Then I realized that, even if they’d run, Maeve would have eventually gone after them for even knowing a hint of what she was doing. Just like Mrs. Tiller and Sabine. Just like Mr. Bentwell.
I shivered slightly and pulled the light blanket more closely around my shoulders.
“Miss, are you hungry?” Catherine asked.
Rolling over, I yawned and nodded. It took some time to sit up and then stand. Everything was stiff and sore. But slightly less so than the day before. And my eye could open more fully.
Catherine set a cloth-covered plate on the table.
“Would you like a warm salt bath?” Heather asked. “It will help with the remaining swelling and stiffness.”
“That sounds lovely.” I started to sit.
“Lady Grimmoire asked that we let her know once you’re awake and fed,” Catherine said.
I paused and looked at Heather then Catherine.
“I think I should perhaps bathe first?” They both nodded, and I smiled. They were trying to help me while still obeying Maeve. Although I appreciated their concern, I knew they were walking a fine line and hoped their kindness wouldn’t get them in trouble.
Leaving the plate where it was, I moved to help Catherine and Heather.
“No, miss,” Heather said. “Lady Grimmoire has made it clear to us you’re not here as kitchen help. You’re her daughter and should be treated as such.” I didn’t miss the way her gaze swept over my bruises or the doubt in her expression when she said the word daughter.
Choosing not to sit, I walked around the kitchen to work out what aches I could and watched Heather and Catherine fill the tub. They’d already had water boiling, so it didn’t take long before I was floating in a warm salt water bath.
“This should help your recovery,” Heather said, patting my shoulder after the final bucket of hot water was poured. With my hair piled up on the top of my head, I sunk deeper, letting the water lap at my chin. The heat seeped into my flesh, soothing me. It felt lovely and relaxing. I would have liked to stay in the water until it turned cold, but I knew lingering too long would bring Maeve’s wrath down upon Heather and Catherine.
With reluctance, I pulled myself from the tub the moment the water lost its heated sting. Catherine was there with a towel for drying and a cream for the deeper bruises along my ribs.
“I’m not sure this will help,” she said. “But it won’t hurt.”
“Thank you.”
As soon as I was dressed, I grabbed my biscuit.
“I’ll go to Mama with you.”
I didn’t want Catherine to face Maeve alone. Based on the angle of light coming through the kitchen window, I felt certain that Maeve and her daughters had eaten breakfast several hours ago.
Catherine gave me a grateful smile and led the way out of the kitchen. We found Maeve in the sitting room at the writing desk. She looked up as we walked in.
“Eloise, you are not a street urchin. You do not eat and walk but sit at a table like a refined person.”
I quickly swallowed the bite of biscuit I had in my mouth and guiltily glanced down at the remains before meeting Maeve’s gaze.
“I’m sorry, Mama. I slept longer than I should have and didn’t want to keep you waiting any further,” I said.
Her harsh expression softened.
“Sweet girl. You are so thoughtful. Next time, finish your breakfast and then come find me.”
“Yes, Mama.”
Maeve waved Catherine away, keeping her contemplative gaze on me.
“You look refreshed today,” she commented.
“A benefit from the extra sleep I believe,” I said. A part of me wondered if she would prevent me from sleeping so much in the future.
“Finish your biscuit, and then begin reading again,” she said, pointing at the book that waited near the chair I’d used the day before.
“Yes, Mama.”
Reading the stories a second time proved more entertaining. I lost myself to those worlds and let my imagination free instead of trying to analyze the stories for clues. By the time Catherine announced lunch, I was already halfway through them.
“Have you learned why your sister wanted you to read the book?” Maeve asked as the four of us sat at the table.
“I haven’t yet, but perhaps I will before I reach the end again,” I said, carefully choosing my words.
“Tell me about the stories,” Maeve said.
“The first is about a boy who won’t share his bread with a beggar. The beggar is secretly a caster who turns him into a toad for his greed then makes him into a soup and eats him.”
Maeve’s smile became genuine. Or as genuine as I’d yet to see.
“That tale sounds entertaining. And the next?”
“The next is about another boy, separate from the first and in another town. He steals a pie from the window of an old woman. Like the first story, she too possesses knowledge of magic and curses the boy, removing his ability to taste any food or drink. He dies slowly, starving himself because nothing pleases him.”
Maeve considered me thoughtfully.
“I may need to read these tales. They sound lovely.”
“I do like them,” I said.
“Does the next one also mention someone who does magic?”
“Not someone but something. An enchanted well that grants wishes, but they all go horribly wrong.”
She sighed.
“For the remainder of the day, I think it would be best if you work on straightening your room. You’re not sleeping as well as you should where you are. And, sleeping before the hearth is not befitting for one of my daughters.”
“Yes, Mama,” I said. I glanced at Porcia, who met my gaze. Were we wondering the same thing? Would I be sharing my old room with her?
When we finished our meal, Maeve asked me to follow her. She led me to the attic door and unlocked it with a key. It had never been locked before.
We ascended the stairs, and I noted how Father’s things had been shoved into the free space, once again cluttering what Kellen had tried to organize.
&n
bsp; “It will take some time, but I’m sure you’ll set this mess to rights,” Maeve said.
I glanced at her, unsure of her meaning.
“Mama?”
“This is your room, my sweet. The largest in the house for the child I hold very dear. I’ll call you for supper,” she said before leaving me.
I listened to the door close and the lock slide into place. Turning, I looked around my new prison and felt a sense of relief. Locked in the attic wouldn’t be so horrible. It was colder up here, but I also knew there were several comfortable beds, extra blankets, and even some of Mother’s old clothes. I wouldn’t freeze. At least, not until winter.
Before that gloomy thought could take hold, I set to work. I chose a spot in one corner of the attic near the chimney that came from Mother’s old room. The heat from it would help warm my space, and I also had a small window for light.
Around my chosen area, I moved the bigger pieces of furniture into place, which took time and effort. On top of them, I began stacking smaller furniture I knew I wouldn’t use. Eventually, I created two walls that reached the rafters. Using the oilcloths, I covered them both and looked around my cozy space. It was large enough for two beds, should Kellen be found.
Leaving my bedroom area, I surveyed the rest of the attic. So much furniture remained that I hadn’t needed to touch the little cubby that Kellen discovered, or use Mother’s or Father’s furniture. I pulled the soft chair from Mother’s room into a bit of clear space and sat for a few moments, tired and in pain.
As the light began to fade, I started to wonder if I would have the strength to set up my bed for the night.
A key turned in the lock below and the door opened.
“Miss?” Catherine called. “I brought you candles and a lamp.”
Her footfalls echoed on the stairs as I struggled to rise from the chair. I saw her reach the top and look at the large, covered stack of furniture that made up one wall of my new room.
“What do you think?” I asked, coming to stand beside her.
“I think you’ve pushed yourself too far,” she said. She looked me over. “You’ll need a longer soak in the salt water bath tonight before you sleep.”