The Magestaff - Sample
Perrault Chronicles
Cordelia Castel
Copyright © 2017 by Cordelia Castel
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
www.CordeliaCastel.com
Contents
1. The Perrault Fortune
2. The Special Guest
3. Lord Bluebeard’s Proposal
The Perrault Fortune
Rilla stood outside the parlor door, biting down on her lip to contain her excitement and holding the tea tray to one side. Two gentlemen from Metropole had come to visit, and they were regaling Mother and the twins with tales from the capital city. Their description of the palace balls had sent pleasant tingles up her spine. Rilla tried to picture herself in a beautiful gown, and her shoulders slumped. As much as she'd love to dance with the likes of the Earl of Gerwitter and the Crown Prince Armin, she knew it was impossible.
These gentlemen resided in Clement, another country within the United Kingdom of Seven. It was a place of politics and parties and palace balls. Rilla, on the other hand, was stuck in the faraway village of Moissan, all the way in Serotin.
“You had better go inside,” muttered Benoit the footman. “Madame does not like to be kept waiting.”
“Was one of the gentlemen really taller than me?” she whispered.
The older man glanced up at her, face softening. “And handsome, too. But you will see him only if you bring in the tea.”
“Do I look okay?”
Benoit smiled, shaking his head. “They are here to see your sisters. Serve the tea, Rilla.”
Rilla nodded. He was right, of course. But she had always hoped that someone would look beyond her gangly, six-foot frame and dowdy clothing. Unfortunately, as a servant, she was beneath everyone’s notice. However, it didn’t stop Rilla from hoping that one day, a gentleman would come to visit and whisk her away from a life of drudgery.
Benoit walked down the marble tiled hallway towards the front entrance of the Perrault Manor, and Rilla pushed the parlor door open.
Mother’s fake laugh rang out through the room. “I have no idea what’s happened to the refreshment. I shall ring again.”
The words sent a jolt through Rilla’s heart. The penalty for making Mother ring the bell twice wasn’t something she wanted to experience again. She stumbled into the parlor with the tray, trying not to disturb Mother’s finest china. The dainty cups clinked in their saucers, and a small amount of liquid splashed from the teapot, staining the embroidered napkins. She cringed at the mess.
Mother’s belladonna cologne, mingled with the aroma of Earl Fae tea, made Rilla’s already nervous stomach churn. She took slow steps, careful not to slip on the floor she’d spent hours polishing. The wall clock struck eleven, obscuring the murmurs of the gentlemen.
“Cendrilla!” Mother’s shrill voice rang out from behind the high-backed chair. “Why does it take you so long to serve tea?”
Rilla exhaled and cast her eyes down. Being a head taller than her mother and sisters was bad enough. But having to wear a tight, yellowing servant’s dress in front of male visitors was mortifying.
Rilla set the items down on the marble table, unharmed, and held back a sigh of relief. Mother shot her a sideways glare. Her mahogany-brown hair was perfectly coiffed, her cream, silk gown immaculate, and her face painted like a china doll. Rilla was glad her unruly blonde curls were hidden under her bonnet. She felt like a scarecrow in comparison.
Gabrielle and Angelique tittered behind their fans. Her twin stepsisters were also porcelain-skinned beauties with dark hair and delicate frames. From the corner of her eye, Rilla spotted Angelique batting her lashes at the two gentlemen who each sat across from them on gilded armchairs.
The men stopped their story, and the taller of the two gentlemen raised his eyebrows. “Are you employing farm hands to serve tea, Madame Perrault?”
Rilla’s stomach plummeted, leaving a sick, tingling feeling to crawl up her gullet and into the back of her mouth. She swallowed, trying to hold back the heat spreading across her cheeks. She had expected better from a gentleman from Metropole, but it seemed that even the rich and refined couldn’t help making barbs about her height. Clenching her teeth, she poured the tea.
Mother opened her fan and tittered. “Never mind her, Mr. Engel. You were telling us about your family’s estate in Clement?”
Mr. Engel told Mother and the twins about his father’s country home in Gewitter, a part of Clement that bordered Vern. Apparently, he was the youngest son of an Earl and had no chance of inheriting the family wealth. Clement was the country in the center of the United Kingdom of Seven, which housed the walled capital of Metropole. Although Rilla had never left her village of Moissan in Serotin, she had seen maps of the continent and knew the location of all the major cities.
“…And this is why I am seeking a lady of good breeding and with a sizable dowry.” Mr. Engel eyed Rilla. “When Gabrielle and I marry, I do not want that eyesore loping about the place.”
Rilla’s stomach plummeted. Mother had told her on a daily basis that she was a burden, an oaf, and an eyesore. But to hear similar words from someone she barely knew stung. Gabrielle and Angelique gasped, and Mother spread her fan across her face, revealing widened eyes.
“Mr. Engel,” said Gabrielle, “Do you mean to propose marriage?”
The gentleman grinned. “Provided that your credentials are in place, I would be delighted to take you as my wife.”
Gabrielle squealed and grabbed Angelique’s hand. “Mother?”
Mother inclined her head. “My advocate will provide the documentation in due course.”
Rilla chewed the inside of her cheek. Where was Mother going to find a dowry large enough to satisfy the son of an Earl?
“Very good,” replied Mr. Engel. “And we can always send the she-troll away as condemned cargo.”
Peals of laughter hastened Rilla’s exit. She wouldn’t run. She wouldn’t cry out. She wouldn’t let them know of her humiliation. As soon as the door clicked shut behind her, she straightened to her full, broad-shouldered frame of six feet.
Rilla wiped her brow with her kerchief and stalked down the hallway, sucking in lungfuls of air. Condemned cargo referred to those whose diseases were too contagious and too dangerous to be allowed to stay in the United Kingdom of Seven. They were bundled into a ship with the minimum of rations and pushed out into the Cursed Sea. Nobody knew what happened to the poor souls. However, stories circulated about the ships reaching the Unknown World, where they were devoured by sea monsters.
From the etiquette books in the library, she had thought noblemen would be cultured and genteel. Or at least different from her family. It seemed that Mother would move quickly on the betrothal. And soon, a procession of fancier people with wittier, more hurtful barbs would fill the manor. Even if Mr. Engel was joking about having her sent away, it was better to leave on her own terms.
“Cendrilla?”
She turned to find Mother standing at the parlor doorway. Clenching her jaw, Rilla replied, “Yes?”
“The gentlemen wish to speak with you.”
Rilla flinched. “About what?”
She tilted her head. “Come inside, and you will discover for yourself. Now, do not make me ask you twice.”
Wincing at the steel in Mother’s voice, Rilla walked forward. Stalling would only delay her departure from her intolerable life at Perrault Manor. She stepped into the parlor, where Mr. Engel leaned back in his armchair, malice glinting in his gray eyes.
“I’ve never seen such a massive thing,”
he said. “She’s as tall as a tree!”
Rilla’s nostrils flared, and her insides shook with anger.
“She’s lived with us forever,” said Gabrielle. “We call her Rilla Gorilla.”
Rilla swallowed. The twins called her that on a daily basis. But she wouldn’t let her humiliation show.
The two men roared with laughter. Mother’s lip curled, and Angelique hid behind her fan.
“How much would a creature like that eat?”
“Ah… Mr. Engel,” said Mother. “If the burden is your worry, please do not fret. She does not cost as much as you would think.”
He shrugged. “I suppose I could have the lands behind the manor cultivated. We could put her in front of a plough.”
Angry tears prickled Rilla’s eyes, and heat flushed through her veins urging her to lash out. To upturn the table, smash the fancy china and stomp all over Mr. Engel’s smug face. But the threat of Mother’s retribution kept her immobile.
“She’s certainly strong enough,” said Gabrielle. “I once saw her wrestle an escaping pig.”
“I’m needed in the kitchen,” muttered Rilla.
“Stay and answer the gentlemen’s questions.” Mother’s voice carried the unspoken threat of confinement in a spider and rat-infested attic room without food or water or light.
Rilla clenched her teeth, forcing herself to answer their insulting inquiries. Gabrielle hooted with laughter, and Angelique cast her eyes down, not saying a word in Rilla’s defense. If Gabrielle couldn’t see that Mr. Engel’s bullying ways could easily turn on her, then she deserved him as a husband. But Rilla wouldn’t be around to see it happen.
“Mr. Engel.” Gabrielle’s voice was a high-pitched whine. “You haven’t stated your intentions yet.”
The gentleman chuckled. “I had to make sure you weren’t harboring a troll or something equally nefarious. In Metropole, we learn to identify all the illegal magical creatures who try to breach our shores.”
Rilla turned to Mother. “May I go now?”
Mother waved her away with her fan.
* * *
Rilla stepped into the kitchen. She was engulfed by a cloud of warm air, carrying the scent of coffee, freshly baked bread, and tomato soup. Exhaling, she allowed her shoulders to relax. As usual, steam rose from pans bubbling on the iron stove, giving the vast room a warm, homey feel. Cook stood on tiptoe, hanging copper pans on the wooden beams. The whistle of a kettle pierced the air.
Cook reached for the coffee pot. “Did you drop the tray again, dear?”
“No.” Rilla stormed past the other woman into the larder. She rolled away an earthenware pot and gathered the silver and bronze coins she’d saved over the years. The kitchen was the only place Rilla could hide things. Mother and the twins checked her attic room on a regular basis. Stuffing the money in the pocket of her skirts, she strode back into the kitchen, around the oak table and into the pantry. There, she found a large, hessian bag. Strong enough to carry groceries, it would easily hold all Rilla’s worldly possessions.
“What in the Seven Kingdoms are you doing, girl?”
“Leaving,” said Rilla through gritted teeth.
“Who’s upset you this time?” Cook glanced over her shoulder.
“Now they’ve got gentlemen making sport of my attributes. I’ve had enough of them.”
Cook sighed. “A thicker skin is what you need, my girl. We don’t want no repeats of what happened the last time you stood up to Gabrielle’s taunting.”
“I won’t need a thicker skin where I’m going.”
Cook put her hands on her hips. “Cendrilla Perrault, you know what happens to young ladies who venture out on their own. The Anti-Magic Army hasn’t even begun to clear all the hostile creatures from our shores.”
“Well, you didn’t hear what they were saying.” Rilla’s bottom lip trembled. “That Mr. Engel is determined not to have me here when he moves in.”
“They can’t kick you out.” Cook spread her arms out wide. “All this is yours.”
Rilla reared back, her eyes wide. “What?”
“I’m talking about the whole Perrault fortune. The manor, the grounds, the vaults, the lot.”
She shook her head. “It’s impossible.”
Cook fixed her with a stare. “Believe it. You’re the true heiress, not any of that rabble upstairs.”
“How do you know this?” Rilla stared into her hands. None of what Cook was saying made sense.
“You know Madeleine de Morceau?”
Rilla frowned. “The lady who works for the Bishop?”
“The housekeeper of the Commissary Court is what she is. Old Madeleine told me of the number of times Madame tried to get at the Perrault vaults.”
“What?”
“The court ruled that all she was entitled to was a stipend to pay for your upkeep.”
Rilla balled her fists. “But she’s done nothing of the sort!”
Cook looked toward the door. “Keep your voice down, girl. If Madame finds out I told you, she’ll have my job. I heard there’s enough gold there to keep four Duchesses in luxury for four lifetimes.”
“If I own everything, why has Mother used me as a servant all of my life?”
Cook shrugged. “I’ve worked here for fourteen years, and I still don’t understand what goes on in Madame’s painted head.”
“So, Mr. Engel won’t own the manor when he marries Gabrielle?”
“Not unless he marries you.”
“But I still don’t get it. They must know that at some point, I would find out about my inheritance and throw them out. I don’t understand why they would be so cruel.”
“I’m supposing at some point, they’re expecting you to run far away, ignorant of your fortune. When the time of your twenty-first birthday comes around, any of them can present forged papers signing over the money to them.”
Rilla sat heavily into the oak chair. Through shallow breaths, she tried to make sense of Cook’s words. Nobody could be that calculating, could they? Mother spent like a countess, always buying garments for herself and the twins and hosting fancy tea parties. It had never occurred to Rilla that she had been funding their lavish lifestyles.
She pressed her lips together and set her jaw. Rolling up her sleeves, she placed her hand on the table, ready to stand. “Things are going to change around here. I’ll tell Mother I know all about—”
“You will do no such thing, Cendrilla Perrault!” Cook shoved her down into her chair.
“Why not?”
“Right now, she’s making you feel unwelcome and hoping you’ll up and leave behind your inheritance. Telling her you know all about the fortune might force her hand.”
“What do you mean?”
“People have killed for far less than a massive house and a vault full of gold.”
Rilla’s insides froze. Mother would be wicked enough to douse her pillow with Liquid Mortality, an elixir known to cause instant death. She nodded and sat. “Do you think I can claim my inheritance earlier?”
Cook scratched her head. “All I know about legal matters is what I picked up from Madame de Morceau. Your best bet is to ask her. Maybe she can introduce you to the bishop.”
Rilla closed her eyes and smiled, thinking about a dream she’d had while growing up in the manor. It had been a fantasy she’d held for years, but seemed impossible. Now, with the knowledge that she would come into an inheritance in five years or less, everything seemed within her grasp. “I’ve always wanted to convert Perrault Manor into an orphanage. That’s what I’ll do. No child should grow up the way I did.”
“That’s my girl.” Cook beamed. “Always thinking of others.”
“Will you stay on and help me with the children?”
“Of course. Between me, you and Benoit, we’ll bring love back into this manor.” Cook wrapped her arms around Rilla.
Rilla rested her head on Cook’s bosom. The other woman smelled of nutmeg and cinnamon. She let a few tears fall to her c
heeks. For once in her miserable life, she had something to look forward to.
“But first,” Cook murmured into her hair, “you will have to ask Madame de Morceau what she knows about your case.”
Rilla nodded. Madam de Morceau worked in the cathedral in the village center. It would be easy enough to pay the woman a visit the next day. She needed control of her inheritance and manor. Because the first thing she would do before converting it to an orphanage would be to get rid of Mother and the twins.
The Special Guest
After a sleepless night, Rilla pulled herself out of bed at dawn to complete her chores. An early start would give her enough time to visit Madame de Morceau to ask how she could claim her inheritance early. And Mother wouldn’t catch her making a detour.
Rilla left the house before Cook had arrived to prepare breakfast. Dawn was already breaking out across the long, country lane that led to Moissan town center. At this time of morning, the air was crisp and cool, carrying only the faintest hint of manure. A buttercup colored haze spread out from the horizon, seeping through the trees lining the walkway. Rilla’s heavy boots clumped on the dry earth, drowning out the melody of cricket chirps and grasshopper whirring.
The squeaking of a wheel caused Rilla’s steps to falter. A grey-haired woman emerged from behind a blueberry bush, pushing a groaning old man in a barrow.
Rilla frowned. “Madame Airelle?”
The old woman glanced up, her eyes shadowed. “Oh, good morning, Rilla.”
She rushed forward, only to catch a whiff of alcohol. “What’s happened?”
“Poor Frank has broken his leg. We have no messenger birds, so I must take him to Dr. Coin.”
“I can tell the doctor to come to your house, if you want.” Rilla glanced down at the old man, whose face was flushed and twisted in agony.
Madame Airelle shook her head. “There is no telling how long we will need to wait. Frank needs help before the blueberry brandy wears off.”
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