A Devilish Slumber

by Shereen Vedam

  Hannah gasped and Rose swished her smaller nose in satisfaction and returned to her normal appearance. Her shifts were getting easier. Her grandmother would be proud.

  “Now, Hannah, you might see other such feats in the coming days. You see, the people who are in our entryway, they call themselves the Rue Alliance. They are like me.”

  “Can they all change how they look?” Hannah asked in an awed voice.

  “This and more. Will you keep our secret? It would be dangerous if anyone outside our alliance discovered what we are capable of. Especially for the children.”

  “Oh yes, my lady. I promise to keep mum. I only ever wish to please you.”

  “I hope you realize how much I have valued your assistance this past year,” Rose said, unwilling to let Hannah settle into her new position in the expanded household without making her gratitude clear. “You are my treasure, Hannah. I could not have survived without you.”

  Hannah’s face suffused with color. After a slight hesitation, she gave Rose a hug.

  Rose held her close before releasing her. “Now come along. If Pollard has her way, we will have much to do.”

  In the entryway, Hannah gave Daniel a shy smile. “I know where the butler’s pantry and quarters are, sir. There might be clothes left in the wardrobe that will make you look the part better.”

  Stony, who had busied himself carrying boxes and trunks inside, until it seemed as if he was building a fortress by the entryway, came inside with another large case.

  Hannah turned to Pollard. “And there are other clothes as well, ma’am, aprons and such, and livery for the footmen.” She cast Stony a dubious look, as if worried none of those clothes would fit him.

  “Excellent,” the housekeeper said, though her frown disputed the positive comment. Her stern gaze did not waver from the arm Rose still had draped across Hannah’s shoulder.

  The two of them self-consciously eased apart.

  “I suggest you don a uniform, Hannah,” Pollard said. “It will help you remember your place.”

  “Hannah,” Rose said, taking the girl’s hand, “will you please do as she asks?”

  “Oh, yes, my lady.” Hannah’s smile was as wide as the sky, but she judiciously withdrew from Rose’s hold and clasped her hand behind her back. “It will be wonderful to be part of a proper household in which I can work my way up. That is all I have ever wanted.”

  Pollard nodded her approval.

  Mrs. Weatheringham said, “Good. We can all take our lead from Hannah. From this moment on, everyone must appear and act as if we are who we say we are. Our purpose is to open this house and ready Lady Roselyn to reenter society. Do you understand, Hannah?”

  “No, ma’am. But that does not matter. I can still do as asked.” Hannah looked at the assembled company and then back at Rose. She wore a somber expression. “My lady, I will work as hard as I can to be part of all of you. More than anything, I want to belong here.”

  “I hope you do not regret those words, Hannah,” Pollard said. “For there is much to do. Every room must be turned out. All Holland covers must be removed and the furniture beneath them cleaned and polished. The curtains must come down, and be repaired if necessary, then washed and hung back up. Blankets and pillows will need to be cleaned, as will the counterpanes. All the linen must be checked for wear and marked for mending if required, then sent out to a professional laundry service, for we will be too busy to do the work ourselves. We will be scrubbing floors and washing paintwork. The carpets and rugs must be taken out for beating and shaking and then spot cleaned. And, of course, the windows need attention.”

  Rose listened to the litany of chores in horror. “I had no idea that closing the rooms off for so long would result in such a mountain of work. I am sorry, Pollard. This could hardly be what you expected when you agreed to work for me.”

  “Not at all, my lady,” the housekeeper said. “We are happy to be employed. Any chore is acceptable, and one in such an exalted house will be most welcome indeed. Payment aside, once our position is no longer required, perhaps you will be kind enough to give us a reference.”

  “But of course,” Rose said.

  “Then I look forward to the challenge of bringing this house to order,” Pollard said. “I hope, with the help of the others, to make you proud. Now, if we are done with pleasantries, I shall inspect the kitchen and pantry. Then, Hannah, you shall take me on a tour of the house.”

  On her way out, she addressed Daniel. “If you wish to keep up the appearance of being a butler, you had best come with us, sir. There is silverware that needs to be inspected, and the cellar to be checked.”

  Daniel shot Rose a mischievous look before sauntering after Stony’s mother.

  She hoped her silverware would remain accounted for after his inspection. She moved to the stairs and sat on the second step. Her legs were shaking.

  Mrs. Weatheringham came closer. “Does it all seem overwhelming, my dear?”

  “I am out of the habit of being around people.”

  “That is a dangerous state of affairs. People are not meant to live alone. We need each other to remind us that we are alive and matter in this world.”

  “I begin to understand that.” She was reminded of her initial meeting with Helen Beaumont. “Helen’s first words to me in the market were, ‘Do you think this fish is fresh?’”

  Meeting Mrs. Weatheringham’s inquiring gaze, Rose laughed. “She was holding up an apple when she said it. I suspect she had guessed how distanced I was from my surroundings and that was her way of enticing me back into the world of the living.”

  “That was Helen’s way,” the elderly lady said with a fond smile. “I am glad she pierced your darkness, my dear, for we are all richer for having you rejoin us.”

  “Yes.” Miss Wood approached them. “I am glad we found you, Lady Roselyn. Or that you found your way to us.”

  “Thank you,” Rose said, deeply touched by their words.

  “May I take a look at your library now?” There was an excited gleam in her eyes. “Mrs. Beaumont mentioned that you once had an extensive collection of ancient lore. She hoped that they might contain some clue about where our talents originated.”

  Rose indicated the door on the right. “But the shelves are empty. The books are packed away in the attic.”

  “No matter. If we are to return the books, I need to first see the shelving arrangements so I can decide how the books should be sorted.” She fairly skipped across the floor.

  “Our Miss Wood is fond of her research and has made some headway to date,” Mrs. Weatheringham said. “Unfortunately, my records are not extensive and, those that Helen left in our charge are not as comprehensive as Miss Wood would like.”

  “I hope my books are of use to her then.”

  “Did you never wonder why we all have such a similar talent?”

  “I thought my family alone could shift,” Rose said. Eve used to tell her that their talents were blessings that should be used as anyone else might wield a particular aptitude for archery or sword fighting.

  “Mrs. Beaumont believed that we have a shared past that connects the alliance,” Mrs. Weatheringham said. “It is Miss Wood’s quest to discover that secret.” She held out her hand to Hope. “Now, I am a little weary. I would like to retire and gather my strength.”

  Rose shot to her feet. “Of course. Pray forgive me for keeping you here so long. The guestrooms are this way.” She escorted Mrs. Weatheringham and Hope upstairs.

  On reaching the first floor, they walked down the long corridor. Rose chose the bedchamber across from hers for Mrs. Weatheringham, with an adjoining chamber to house Hope. The one on the other side of Rose could be allotted to Miss Wood.

  The room they entered was shrouded in darkness. Rose went to the windows and opened the heavy curtains. Dust
sprinkled the air and she coughed. Sunlight streaming in helped dispel the gloom in the large room. She quickly pulled dust covers off, scrunched them into a large ball and tossed them aside, which spewed more dust into the sunlit air. Fortunately, they had served their purpose, for the furniture beneath appeared clean and serviceable.

  “I am sorry for the state of this room,” she said. “The dust will settle soon and the maids should be in to sweep up.”

  “Do not fret, my dear,” Mrs. Weatheringham said, coughing delicately. “We shall make do, will we not, Hope?”

  The little girl nodded solemnly, but her nose was scrunched up.

  “Would you like some refreshments?” Rose asked. “Tea, perhaps. And for you, Hope, how about a comfit?”

  The child looked at her grandmother questioningly.

  “I think we should rest first,” Mrs. Weatheringham said.

  Stony came in through the open bedroom door with an armful of cases. “Where shall I put these, ma’am?”

  “Over there by that wall,” Mrs. Weatheringham said. “They can be unpacked later. Thank you for bringing them up, Stony.”

  He set down his burden, tipped his head to Rose and Mrs. Weatheringham, and left.

  “He is a very amiable fellow,” Rose said.

  “That he is,” Mrs. Weatheringham said. “And much more. He once saved my life. But that is a story for another time.”

  Rose bid her and Hope good day and went downstairs. The house was filled with lively chatter. More alliance members had arrived while she was upstairs.

  Considering how nervous most of them were about admitting to their abilities, she truly appreciated their coming to work for her, especially since they were putting their talents and lives in danger to protect her. She did not know how to thank them, so she went in search of Pollard to offer her help with setting her house in order. The housekeeper was in the kitchen sending several people off on various cleaning jobs.

  Work on outside windows, walls and grounds were given to the footmen, coachman, and groom. Two maids carrying buckets and mops hurried by Rose, sending her shy smiles. She recognized Mary, the plain young girl who had shifted to look beautiful on their first meeting. Other servants scrubbed out the range and the large hearth. But Hannah was not among them.

  How amazing that all of these people had the same ability to shift. The possibility of a connection between them seemed more plausible now that they were in her home. She no longer felt quite so alone. And her house was a home again.

  Rose absently fingered her Cimaruta. The amulet remained cool to the touch, signifying that no one around her had shifted. She concluded that these people must rarely use their special talent, leading ordinary lives most of the time.

  “This is all rather exciting,” she said to Pollard once she captured the busy woman’s attention. She was worried the propriety-minded matron would refuse her request to help, but wanted to ask anyway. “What may I do?”

  To her surprise, Pollard’s stern features softened. “I have never turned down a capable pair of hands. I believe Hannah is in the library helping Miss Wood ready that room. They could use some assistance.” She opened a large wooden chest and picked out a crisply folded checkered apron. “This should protect your clothing while you work.”

  While Rose tied the garment around herself, the housekeeper gave her a dust cloth and a jar of homemade polishing mixture, and shooed her out.

  In the library, Nevara Wood was on a ladder, dusting shelves while Hannah took rugs out to be shaken. Rose bid them good day and walked over to remove a Holland cover from her grandmother’s writing desk. After wiping it with a damp cloth, she commenced polishing the wooden surface using cold-drawn linseed oil.

  Rose was surprised that the boxes of books that belonged on those shelves had not yet been brought down from the attic. “Shall I send Stony to retrieve the volumes?”

  “Not yet,” Miss Wood said. “Pollard has forbidden me to go near any books until this room is cleaned and polished.”

  “Ah!”

  Miss Wood adjusted the spectacles that had slid down her pretty nose. “She is right. If the books were here, I would be elbow deep in them and not do one jot of work to ready this room.”

  “Mrs. Weatheringham said you are researching our origins. That must be interesting.”

  Not hearing a response, Rose stopped polishing the desk to look over at her. Hannah had gone out with the rug, leaving her and Miss Wood alone in the room.

  Miss Wood’s movements were slow and methodical.

  “I did not mean to intrude,” Rose said. “We need not speak of this anymore.”

  “Good, because I do not care to speak of ill things.”

  “What ill things?”

  “Our curse,” Miss Wood said.

  Rose stared at the young lady standing on the ladder. Since Eve’s death, Rose had been fighting against a strong impression that she was a burden on those who cared for her. Last night, Phillip had dispelled that persistent dark cloud once and for all, but her recent struggle with grief made her particularly sympathetic toward the sorrow she sensed in Miss Wood. “You see your talent as a curse?”

  The young woman had her back to Rose and her hands were now snaking across a shelf at a rapid pace. “That is what my aunt called my talent.”

  Her compassion for Miss Wood welled. It could not have been easy growing up with a superstitious adult. “But, surely, you no longer believe that.”

  Rose’s mother taught her daughters that their talents were gifts that should be used wisely.

  The ladder shook and Rose grabbed hold of it, afraid Miss Wood was about to fall.

  Hannah returned with a mop clattering against a tin bucket.

  “I do not wish to talk about this anymore.” Miss Wood had her face turned away, but Rose heard the catch in her voice.

  She released the ladder and returned to the desk.

  After a few moments, Hannah began to sing an old folk song. Her clear voice brought a cheerful note to the room. To Rose’s surprise, Miss Wood joined in the chorus, her lively smile belying the fact that they had just been speaking of curses.

  Before long, Rose began to hum along, though her thoughts remained with Miss Wood. She made a note to speak to Mrs. Weatheringham about the librarian’s history. Phillip had taken her to be from Spain. Her exotic look and beautiful name supported that connection. Nevara Wood. She scoured her memory until she recalled that in Spanish, Nevara meant snowfall. A Spanish curse and snow, in the wood.

  The combination of those three elements reminded Rose of the tales her mother used to spin for her and Eve at bedtimes. Eve loved those tales, saying she would one day marry a prince and become a princess. Yet, her sister was dead and it was Rose who was set to marry the man of her dreams. If she lived to capture this shifter who was out to kill her, either directly or by implicating her in a murder. But Rose was no longer alone in this battle. Listening to Hannah and Miss Wood sing, brought a long forgotten bitter-sweet joy to her heart as memories flooded back of the sister she once loved and lost. As if Eve too was singing along with them.

  Chapter Twelve

  AT ROSE’S TOWNHOUSE, Phillip hopped down from his curricle, eager for another glimpse of her smile and a taste of her lips. Still reeling from his argument with his mother about his plans to marry, he needed to see Rose and know that his world was still intact.

  A glance up and down the street showed that Ben was not lurking on the pavement. A niggle of worry followed him up the steps. Using his walking stick, Phillip rapped smartly on Rose’s front door. That was when the ladders positioned against her walls on either side of the front steps caught his attention. He leaned back and looked up. Men were cleaning the upstairs windows. Had she hired servants?

  The door creaked open and a burly giant peered at him.

 
“Who be you?” the stranger asked.

  The hairs on Phillip’s neck stood on end. Had villains taken over this residence and captured Rose? He gripped his walking stick, ready to push his way in and clobber this scoundrel if he tried to shut the door. “I wish to see Lady Roselyn Ravenstock.”

  “Who be you?” the man repeated.

  Phillip elevated himself to his full six foot two. “I be, that is, I am Sir Phillip Jones. Kindly open this door at once.”

  “Oh,” the man said. “The mistress’s cove.”

  Cove?

  The door opened wider and a hefty hand gestured him forward.

  The stranger stood at least a head taller than Phillip and weighed several more stones. He reeked of strawberries, and his uniform was straining at the seams. He would be difficult to best by strength alone, but Phillip knew a few underhanded combat tricks and had a blade secreted inside his walking stick. “Who are you?”

  The giant pointed a thumb at his chest. “Stony,” he said in a rumbling voice. “The doorkeeper . . . um . . . the new porter footman.”

  “I see. Then be so kind as to inform Lady Roselyn that she has a visitor.”

  Stony nodded. He lumbered off up the stairs but halfway to the first landing, he turned back. “Stay.”

  Phillip, too busy studying the sunny entryway, absently nodded. A large rectangular gilded frame housing a looking glass was on the opposite wall, reflecting the light streaming in from the newly washed and sparkling front windows. All the curtains were missing. The brightness touched every part of the entryway, from plaster angels cavorting on the ceilings to the sparkling chandelier fitted with tall candles.

  The once bare walls had an array of scenic paintings in polished ornamental frames. He ran a gloved finger along the side table where the ormolu clock sat, with not a speck of dirt on its surface. And the shining clock was ticking.