Nooks & Crannies

by Jessica Lawson

  Tabitha refused to let her gaze follow its path.

  Her mother stepped forward, tilting Tabitha’s chin until their eyes met. “I want you to know, Tabitha . . .”

  “Yes, Mother?” Tabitha leaned forward, surprised and nearly hopeful. Here it is. A piece of advice to guide me in my years ahead, wherever they might be spent.

  Indeed, Mrs. Crum’s eyes softened, and she brought a hand up to cover her mouth for a moment before speaking. “Tabitha,” her mother said, “I want you to know what a disappointment you turned out to be. Now go, Tabitha. Disappear.”

  The Crums avoided her beseeching stare and strode in a confident manner through the foyer. Tabitha could see snow falling on the other side of the large front windows. Soft flakes flurried down like pieces of frozen beauty. The unlucky ones touched the glass and turned instantly to water. Tabitha was struck utterly numb as she watched them fall, as though she’d been tossed into winter itself. As though she, too, were a solitary snowflake surrounded by glass, paralyzed as she floated down, knowing that she had no power to stop herself from melting.

  From disappearing forever.

  Think of far worse things than being told to disappear, she urged herself in between aching, raw breaths. After all, you never actually believed they would come to love you. Her chest seemed to be collapsing upon her heart and the pressure, oh, the truth’s pressure was overwhelming.

  Oh dear, I suppose there was a piece of you that did think that very thing. Even after they told you about Augustus Home. Stupid, stupid Tabitha. Her parents only wanted her as something they could one day use to raise their social status. And that was all they’d ever wanted from her. She herself, as a daughter and a person, as a gangly and poorly shorn child named Tabitha Crum, was worth nothing.

  Finding a small corner between a set of armor and a foyer table, Tabitha let herself sink to the floor, tucking her knees in tightly and wrapping both arms around. There are far worse things than this, far worse things, far, far worse things. Pemberley fussed and squeezed out of his pocket. Up Tabitha’s apron he scuttled, stopping at her shoulder, where he uttered the tiniest of squeaks.

  “They’re wrong? My existence isn’t pointless, you say?” Tabitha whispered. “Oh, Pemberley, I’m not sure I believe you this time.”

  The large entrance doors opened and Phillips stepped in, his hair covered in white powder. “The motorcars are here. You’re to take three of them, so there’s plenty of room, no need to crowd in. Parents, please get your things.”

  Still feeling lost, Tabitha couldn’t even summon a particle of panic as she felt Pemberley run down her leg and scurry toward Mortimer Crum.

  “It’s bloody snowing,” observed Barnaby’s father with a haughty look. “It shouldn’t be snowing.” It was difficult to know who he blamed: the weather, the Countess, or the butler.

  “A little early for snow,” Phillips agreed. “But not entirely unusual. The cars will get you back safely and far more quickly than the horses.” He bowed to Mr. Crum. “So you see, you’ll get to ride in one of the Countess’s fine motorcars after all, sir. Perhaps they’ll let you press the horn or steer the wheel for a moment or two.”

  Mr. Crum narrowed his eyes. “Are you being serious or cheeky?”

  “I don’t think a butler is allowed to be cheeky, dear,” Mrs. Crum answered.

  “We had a cheeky butler once,” Frances said. “Father fired him immediately.”

  “I assure you, sir, madam, and miss,” Phillips said, “a quality butler’s cheek is never noticed.”

  “So were you being cheeky or weren’t you?” Mr. Crum demanded.

  The Countess appeared in the foyer, smiling and looking like her captivating self. “Everyone ready for a cozy night?” She patted the stuffed hummingbird on Mrs. Crum’s hat. “This fellow’s already cozy as the grave, isn’t he?”

  “Ow!” Mr. Crum bellowed, shaking his leg and knocking down one of the knights, sending metal clattering, scattering, and echoing throughout the front hall. “What in God’s name just bit me?” He jerked up his pant leg, and a small trickle of blood streamed down. “I’ve been bitten!”

  Tabitha lowered her chin and watched her father clutch at the tiny wound, as though it could possibly hurt more than the loneliness she’d felt the majority of her life.

  “My guess is that the Countess’s knight ‘bit you,’ sir,” Phillips said, raising one hand to his mouth in what was certainly mock concern. “The Countess’s sincere apologies, I’m sure.”

  Pemberley made it safely back into his pocket space, his little mouse heart beating against Tabitha’s stomach.

  “Well done, friend,” Tabitha said, her voice cracking. “They really never loved me at all, so well done.” She spoke under her breath so that nobody would hear, and though her words held strength, Tabitha’s lips still quivered at the same pace as Pemberley’s heartbeat. There was no sense of triumph or closure in having fixed her parents’ dismissal as fact, or in solving the mystery of why they didn’t love her. Instead her heart felt more permanently off-kilter than ever, unable to claim a suitable beat.

  A whole child’s beat.

  Phillips made shooing motions at the parents, driving them toward the exit like a herd of unruly sheep. He pressed the back of Mrs. Trundle’s mink, scooting her into the developing blizzard, where two bundled footmen were waiting to open the doors to the motorcars. The parents piled in, flakes of white whirling in headlights as the cars drove away. And when the door closed on the swirling, freezing, snow-filled air, every single electric light in the manor went out.

  “Candles,” the Countess’s panicked voice barked. “Get the candles!”

  Footfalls scattered across the entrance hall, and someone bumped Tabitha on the shin. Jostling and murmured words of dismay filled the air.

  “Quiet! Everyone just be quiet and stay where you are until we get some light in here!”

  In the silence that followed, there was a sound of low creaking. Tabitha got her bearings and decided that the noise was coming from her front left. No, wait.

  It was moving.

  The creaking stopped near one of the portraits, where it turned into a soft moan. Tabitha had the distinct feeling that something in the dark was watching her. Perhaps, she thought, remembering the servant girl’s words, the portrait was of a man named George. Perhaps his ghost was haunting the—

  The lights flickered on again, and every child’s eye was drawn to their hostess, who was standing in the middle of the room, ten-inch knife blade poised high in the air.

  Horrible things happen every day, Tibbs. Every single day. For instance, I was having a perfectly lovely day off when I noticed a rather large beetle in my meat pie. Disgusting. But a rather poorer day for the beetle, I suppose.

  —Inspector Percival Pensive,

  The Case of the Slippery Salesman

  The Countess blinked hard and breathed heavily, her bosom practically bursting from the decorative lace on her dress. Turning a slow circle, she raised her eyes to the foyer chandelier and finally halted her movement facing Barnaby Trundle.

  “Oh God, don’t murder me,” he begged in a hollow whisper.

  The knife lowered and disappeared back into the Countess’s handbag. “My apologies, young Bartleby,” the Countess said, patting the frightened boy on the shoulder, ignoring his flinch.

  “Barnaby,” he whimpered. “My name is Barnaby.”

  She gave a hesitant laugh and licked her lips. “I was a bit startled, children. The boy bumped me and I . . . was startled. That’s all.”

  “Perfectly understandable, Grandmother,” Frances said, her voice shaking ever-so-slightly as she assessed the Countess’s oversize reticule. “You’ve lived alone too long.”

  “It’s just the storm, messing about with the electric light,” Edward said. “Do you know that a single jolt of electricity could fry a man from toes to eyebrows? In fact—”

  “No frying, Edward,” Viola quietly ordered.

  His cheeks r
ose with a nervous grin. “Fair enough.”

  The Countess nodded slowly. “That’s right, Frances. I’ve lived alone too long. Just the snowstorm, nothing more. Phillips, see the children to the second parlor. Agnes, see that the imbecile cook I’ve hired brings in some hot cocoa, tea, and sweets. Those are things made with sugar, not salt, in case she needs clarification. The children and I will get to know one another a bit more, I think.”

  “I’m the only one worth knowing,” Frances muttered.

  Oliver reached over to give Tabitha’s hand a single squeeze. “That went a bit beyond eccentric, wouldn’t you say?” he whispered.

  Tabitha stared between Oliver’s hand and face, feeling a pleasant glow in her chest and a rush of . . . she wasn’t sure what, but it was a very nice, warm feeling in the midst of a very cold, uncertain situation.

  “We’d better do as she says,” he said, dropping her hand and offering a formal arm and clearing his throat. “ ‘Into the fray, together we go, out of the warmth and into the snow.’ ” He blushed. “Or parlor, rather. That was from a poem we read in class. Some sort of soldier bit.”

  She nodded her appreciation. “Into the fray,” she repeated.

  Though not quite as grand as the one they’d seen during the tour, the second parlor held an impressive array of furniture and features. Paintings hung on the walls, most of them parlor scenes with people mingling, playing cards, and the like. By the time the children had settled themselves near the central table, a tea service and a delightful stack of goodies were displayed for the taking. A jittery-handed Agnes took the liberty of serving each child an individual assortment, while the Countess sampled tiny bites of each type of dessert and Phillips stood by the door, waiting to be needed.

  “Oh, lovely. Sweets, Viola!” Edward took a bite of a dark dessert bar ribboned with chocolate. “Ah, excess,” he said happily.

  The little room became cozy and warm with dancing light and heat from the hearth. At least it would have been cozy, were an uncertain tension not sandwiched within the atmosphere like a thick layer of slightly-off buttercream. And if Tabitha herself had not felt so very unanchored. She roiled with mixed feelings from the conversation with her parents and felt as though she were trying to keep steady upon an empty ship that was to be her new home.

  Had yesterday’s fog been a warning of her becoming quite lost in the world, just as the bittern had been a sign of her parents leaving? Oh, pish-posh, you really must stop dwelling. It’s not as though you were that poor fellow in the Pensive book, tied to the sea piling with high tide coming in.

  That’s right, Pemberley scratched. There are ghosts and oddities and lost heirs to be investigated. Chin up, you adore a good mystery!

  Touché, dear partner, she scratched back. Onward with the evening.

  As though agreeing with Tabitha, Pemberley wiggled his way out of her pocket to nibble on dropped sweet crumbs. He scurried beneath a claw-footed table and disappeared.

  Frances stood and glared at the children until all side conversations halted. Only then did she turn to the Countess with a humbled expression. “Hollingsworth Hall is so very lovely, Grandmother, and I don’t believe I’ve properly thanked you for the invitation,” she said loudly, offering an exaggerated curtsy. “My sincere gratitude is yours. I absolutely cannot wait to visit whenever you’d like. I’m sure we’ll have a wonderful time once all of these . . . imposters are out of the manor.” She sat down, primly folding her hands in her lap.

  Pemberley soon appeared, scooting along the edge of the cushion behind Frances with a rather guilty twitch about his whiskers. Oh my, Tabitha thought. I’ve seen that look before.

  Frances picked at her cookie. “Chocolate sprinkles,” she murmured.

  “Where?” asked Edward, his eyes darting to everyone’s plates. “I didn’t get one with sprinkles.”

  Tabitha felt the pressure of tiny claws as the mouse made his way up her leg and into the safety of her apron pocket. Horrified, she noticed Pemberley had left sprinkles on the side of Frances’s plate in addition to the cookie itself.

  “I suppose that’s because you’re not special like me, Edward.” Frances swept a finger along Pemberley’s leavings, licked her fingers, then popped the cookie into her mouth. “Delicious. Now, let’s talk about something else that’s special. Hmm . . . I suggest ridiculous haircuts.” She smiled at Tabitha. “Yours looks like a lake bird attacked a woman while she chopped your hair with a kitchen knife,” she said, nodding to herself. “Anyone else agree?”

  “We’ve all got our faults, Frances,” Edward said good-naturedly, reaching for another non-sprinkled cookie. “As I’m sure Granny”—he winked at the Countess—“will find out by tomorrow if she hasn’t already. Tabitha’s poorly dressed, I’m too fat, Viola’s too concerned with charitable nonsense, Oliver here has little in the way of personality—just so far, old chap, I’m sure there’s more to you in there somewhere—and as for you, Frances . . . well, I didn’t want to say anything, but I believe your eyes are a good half-inch too close together. Poor breeding, I’d say, if there wasn’t the chance that you were related to Her Ladyship.”

  The Countess watched the exchange, chewing with a thoughtful expression before spitting a bite of walnut fancy into a napkin. “Too much flour. Phillips, I do believe Mary’s been left in the dining hall, poor thing. Bring her in here, will you?”

  The butler wrinkled his nose. “Yes, Your Ladyship.”

  Her gaze sank to his feet, and the Countess inhaled sharply. “Phillips, why are you wearing brown shoes with your uniform?” Her lips fell into a slight pout. “I went to a considerable amount of trouble asking one of the servants to shine up your black ones.”

  Phillips cleared his throat and shuffled a bit. “That’s a lovely thing to do, Your Ladyship, but the servant seems to have kept them. I haven’t a clue where they are.”

  Looking extremely put out, the Countess touched her sapphire and straightened her posture. “Well, do find them or I’ll have no choice but to think you don’t really care. And if that’s the case, Phillips,” she said, her voice breaking slightly, “maybe I’ll . . .” She noticed the children watching her. Barnaby Trundle’s eyes were glued to her handbag. “Well, as it is, you look improper, like a man from the vortex of filth from which you came. Sprang out of there like a diseased cat, didn’t you? It all turned out, though. We’ve both done well for ourselves, I daresay. I’m all for rising above one’s station.” She walked forward and patted him on the cheek.

  Phillips stumbled back a step, his lip twitching incessantly as he left the room. Tabitha wondered exactly which “vortex of filth” he had come from.

  “Now,” the Countess said, turning to the children with open arms. “Which one of you is the key to keeping my fortune, I wonder?”

  “Pardon, but don’t you mean passing down your fortune?” Tabitha asked.

  The Countess took two steps toward Tabitha and crossed her arms. “You ask a lot of questions. If it turns out to be you, I’d like you to stop. Especially as the chosen child will be living with me after the weekend.”

  “What?” Oliver coughed and pulled at his collar with a finger. “I’m sorry, Your Ladyship, but did you say that your grandchild will be living with you?”

  The Countess peered across the room to a window, which was being pelted by heavy snowfall. “If this horrid storm wasn’t about, I’d have the signing papers here already.”

  “Um, papers?” Viola asked politely, her shaky teacup returning to its saucer with a rattle.

  “Yes, papers to make me the child’s legal guardian. Permanently.”

  There was a moment of shocked silence at the remark. Tabitha, having been told of her definite non-heir status, was able to take in a more clear, Pensive-like view of the room. Oliver and Viola both looked as though they’d eaten a bad piece of fish, Edward was openmouthed, and Barnaby appeared to have lost several shades of pigment.

  The Countess frowned and rubbed her necklace jewel. �
�Well, really just until he or she comes of age, of course, and then the child can do as they please. Barring a nasty case of accidental death, of course.”

  “Accidental death?” A piece of chocolate wedge fell from Edward’s hand. “What’s that now?”

  “I’m joking! ”  The Countess smiled and laughed, until Frances and Barnaby weakly joined in. “Nobody will be dying accidentally. I was just trying to provide a little levity for you young ones, but I can see that none of you have a sense of humor.” She whirled at the sound of a high-pitched squeak, relaxing when she saw it was only one of the children. “What?” she asked. “What is it, Viola?”

  Viola squirmed in her seat. “Well, it’s just . . . I suppose I’m not certain that I would want to leave my parents.”

  “And I won’t leave my parents,” Edward said firmly. “Though,” he belched quietly, “I’d be happy to stay with you on the odd weekend if you are, in fact, my granny. Grand food and setup you’ve got here, despite the noises in the walls and rumors of ghosts and ominous locked rooms and collection of horrific murder paintings.” He uttered an uneasy laugh. “Anyway, you can’t legally force our parents to sign us over.”

  “Oh, but I can.” A slightly manic grin wobbled on the Countess’s lips. “And I will. Connections with the king allow you to get away with all manner of things, don’t they? Yes, I believe they do.” She stared at each of them as though daring anyone to disagree.

  No one did, and Tabitha suspected that each child was attempting to process the change that had come over England’s finest philanthropist. Even Frances, stiffly maintaining her elegant posture, wore a disquieted expression. All sense of hospitality had disappeared from the Countess’s face. It was as though the celebration had ended for the evening and someone had turned off the festive twinkle lights, replacing them with uncertain shadows.

  Viola raised a shaky hand. “I feel as though . . .” But at the sight of her hostess offering a skeptical smirk, Viola did not finish her sentence.