“Well hello.” Claudine’s white teeth set in a wide smile, gleamed. “So nice to see you again. I had such a wonderful time yesterday.” She glanced around and Nettle was delighted to see she was looking for her father.
“Oh, Dad’s not here.” Nettle answered before she spoke. “He had to leave for a few days.”
Claudine’s expression faltered, her smile slipping a little. “Oh.”
Nettle shot Bram an overly excited oh-my-gosh look and tried very hard not to let her excitement show. Their father had actually made a positive impression on Claudine!
“I hope he’s not going to be away too long.” Claudine almost sounded put-out with Fred and his absence. There was a flash of an expression that danced across her face, a disappointment and annoyance in herself, as if she’d made a wrong decision. But then a moment later with a silly dismissive wave to herself, she said in a light tone, “Oh, not to worry. I’ll see him soon enough.”
Bram brushed an overly-long golden lock out of the way of his glasses and gave Nettle a sideways glance – confident isn’t she? “He’ll be back before Halloween,” he reassured Claudine.
“Oh, jolly good,” Claudine beamed, lacing her fingers together and bouncing a little on the spot, her antique silver-buckled shoes made a clacking noise on the wooden floor. Then she checked herself toning down her eagerness. “I mean, I wouldn’t want him missing out on experiencing our little tea house, and I do hope to change his mind about All Hallows’ Eve. You’d all love the merriment, it’ll be a shame to miss out.”
Nettle fidgeted with the salt shaker. Her long tapered fingers felt its cool porcelain surface as guilt pinched her shoulders taut. She couldn’t bring herself look at Claudine and her joyful enthusiasm, for she knew though her father would be back before Halloween, he didn’t intend to stay.
Claudine whispered with a wicked glint in her eye, “To have Jasmine playing Lysette would be a coup d’état,” and tried unobtrusively to point outside to one of the town-folk, an old lady wearing a lavender hat with a peacock’s feather tucked into the brim, sipping tea. The old woman caught them looking her way, and raised a teacup in greeting. Nettle thought the woman’s smile resembled a crocodile’s grin.
Claudine nodded politely in response, then leaned down to confer with her audience. “We let Mrs. Lemsik organize last year’s festivities.” She rolled her eyes heavenward and dramatically pressed a hand to her chest. “We were so sick and tired of her droning on and on almost every year about what we were doing wrong, how she could do better.” She pulled a jaded expression. “And as we anticipated, it was an ever so dull event. But she’ll never admit it was.” Her blue eyes twinkled mischievously. “Wouldn’t it be magnificent to outshine her this year, and finally get her to stop nit-picking for good.”
“Well, I don’t want to miss out,” Bram enthused. “If anything, it’ll keep Jazz out of our way for a day or two.” He gave a sympathetic gesture of the shoulders. “No offense, but you’ve got your work cut out with our cousin.”
“Oh, I’m sure we can handle one little girl,” laughed Claudine. Nettle and Bram weren’t so sure.
The tea house was bustling with a heavy hum of chatter, and though there was a plethora of distraction with town-folk to observe, Nettle couldn’t quite shake herself free from her encounter with the cloaked figure. She just had to ask Claudine. “Do you have...” She wasn’t exactly sure how to describe the person. “Beggars, amongst your entertainers?”
The other woman looked taken aback. “Beggars?” Claudine repeated. She held a delicate hand to her mouth, which was pinched a little with distaste. “Oh my, no.” She shook her head, her strawberry-blond curls bouncing slightly with the movement. “Certainly no one who works for me.”
“Maybe I had it wrong, but I thought I saw someone down an alleyway in a dirty old cloak.” Nettle’s dull complexion flushed a little. “I feel so silly now,” she revealed. “I thought they’d been following me.”
“Did they scare you?” Bram asked leaning forward, his expression concerned.
Nettle shook her head, no. She gave a shrug. “It was probably someone just delivering something.”
But Claudine was considering her with quite a lengthy gaze.
Bram rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. “Maybe they were delivering something dirty. Potatoes?”
“Yeah, you’re right.” Nettle agreed. “Either that or I mistook a chimney sweep for a vagrant.”
“Yes, perhaps...” Claudine said, her gaze glancing upward in thought. Her expression shifted into a frown. She waved her sister over. Margot gracefully glided over with a couple of red menus. Whilst she approached, Nettle was interested to see she was busily directing her staff with a series of subtle hand signals. The pace of the wait staff was blinding, for good reason. The dining room was packed and there were people lining up outside patiently waiting for a table to be free. “Claudie?” Margot asked with a pleasant but cool smile for the siblings.
Claudine pointed directly upward to the chandelier above the table. The glass pendants had some sort of smoke swirling around inside them and was a smaller version of the massive cluster of orbs right in the middle of the dining room’s ceiling. “That bulb must be full.”
Full, thought Nettle, or blown?
“Strange,” Margot commented, her gaze sliding back down to briefly linger on Nettle. “I’ll have it replaced.” And with a snap of her fingers one her wait staff was at her side. The heavily freckled boy moved close to hear the instructions Margot whispered to him. He almost looked exactly like Pippa but for the gap between her front teeth. Nettle caught his name-badge, Pip, before he swiftly disappeared on his mission.
“Maybe you could seat Bram and Nettle in the bay window,” Claudine suggested.
Margot’s nose wrinkled and she shook her head, her long copper hair swaying. “As you well you know Claudie, there’s a certain level of quality expected.”
That was a resounding big fat no, thought Nettle. She darted Bram a look of: what’s wrong with us? He shrugged in reply.
“Besides, the family seated there already haven’t received their meals as yet.”
“When they do, shift them. In the meantime, be a dear and look after Nettle and Bram, will you.” Claudine shifted her basket from one arm to the other. “I have a few things I need to attend to in the village.”
Margot’s jaw flexed and there was steel in her tone. “Claudie, I would love to, but as you can see we’re terribly busy. You know how important it all is. We have to turn a lot of tables today. There’s so much I have to do.”
Claudine’s blue eyes momentarily flashed with irritation. “As do I.”
Nettle realised they did look tired, both of them. There were dark shadows beneath their eyes, and their skin seemed a little lacklustre. They must be working long hours to be ready in time for Halloween, she supposed.
Claudine gave a bored sigh, as if she was annoyed her sister didn’t get what she meant. “Nettle and Bramble deserve to be paid special attention, by us. So that certain people might take note of our new friends, as an interest has already been expressed.”
For Dad’s sake, Nettle instantly guessed. Of course she’ll want to spoil us, so then we’ll relay to Dad how marvellous she is.
Margot’s molten amber eyes widened with understanding. Her lips curved into a smile. She nodded. “Certainly Claudie, you can count on me.”
Claudine gave a little ripple of goodbye with her fingers. “Must be off, deliveries to do, can’t keep our customers waiting. Enjoy your morning tea.”
After her sister departed, Margot handed a red menu to each sibling. “Would you like something to drink while you peruse the menu?”
“I’ll have a mug of cowslip, please.” Bram answered.
“Just water for me, thanks,” said Nettle. She was intrigued to see Margot wrote their orders down with a quill, a long slender feather with gold and black stripes. Margot politely inclined her head before departing. She moved off
and softly gave orders to one of her wait staff, this one was named Pipi, and Nettle wondered if all the staff had names that played on Pip.
Pippa, whom Nettle had met several days ago behind the confectionary counter, appeared a moment later carrying a silver tray with a tall glass of water and pitcher. A silver mug with golden froth was placed before Bram. It smelt divine, of green rolling meadows and gooseberries dripping with honey.
“Hi,” Nettle greeted, happy to see someone she knew.
“Good morning,” replied Pippa without looking up. She was fishing her pad and pen out of her apron pocket, the silver tray tucked under one arm.
“How are you?” Nettle asked, figuring it would be nice to have a friend in town near enough her own age. And she very much liked the look of Pippa with her gappy smile and dusting of freckles.
Pippa’s gaze snapped up to lock with Nettle’s. She looked completely taken-aback, and stammered warily, “I-I’m well. I’m good.”
“Good – good.” Nettle nodded and smiled. Nettle supposed not too many of Olde Town’s visitors bothered with getting to know the staff, since they were only here for a fleeting visit. Well, not us, thought Nettle. If I have my way, we’re here for good.
Pippa gazed hesitantly at Nettle with her mottled hazel eyes. She seemed to make up her mind about the other girl, finally curling her wide lips into a shy smile. “And you?” she returned.
“Can’t complain,” grinned Nettle, it was one of her father’s passing comments he often made.
Bram poked his head out of his menu. “I can’t make up my mind. What do you recommend? Toad Terrine or Earthworm Pastry Cups? Or, hang on… what about Puppy Dog Quiche?”
“Puppy Dog Quiche, definitely, we got fresh road-kill delivered this morning,” answered the girl, her pen hovering above the pad.
Bram gasped in horror. His glasses slid down his nose.
Pippa chortled at Bram’s stricken expression, Nettle’s laughter joining hers. “I’m just teasing. It’s just a name that fits the style of our tea house. It’s really a quiche laced with ham. You’ll love it, I promise.”
It was Bram who noticed the differences in menus. Some tables had blue menu’s, while others, like them, had red. A nearby table of four local ladies, dressed in jugglers costumes, had blue menus and were pointing out to each other what they had decided upon ordering. “Is there a second menu?”
Pippa’s bushy eyebrows rose with an impressed look. “Aren’t we observant?” She hesitated for just a moment, her gaze sliding toward Margot who had her back to them, before answering. “We also specialise in youth essence drinks and meals. These days everyone’s interested in organic foods and looking younger. So we’ve met the demand with a separate menu – mainly for the local’s benefit.” She added with a hushed voice, “A bit dull really, mainly fruit smoothies and broth.”
Bram shivered his distaste at the thought of such healthy food. Nettle laughed at her younger brother. “Come on Bram, it’s not going to kill you.”
Nettle wasn’t too hungry, however she couldn’t resist the temptation of trying one of their Black Beetle Slices. Pippa left to place their order with the kitchen and while Bram was systematically reading the many pamphlets he’d gathered on the way up the hill to the tea house, Nettle settled herself down to do some people watching.
Music played, the volume just a little below the hum of conversation, a light-hearted jig that had Nettle unconsciously tapping her feet as she gazed about the room. There were quite a few tables with town folk dressed in grocer uniforms; leather apron metal-workers or as tavern wenches, sipping cups of tea, nattering to themselves and on occasion ordering something from Margot by simply a slight gesture of the hand.
Something odd nagged at her, pulling her gaze to sweep back across the room once more, and she realised that most of the town folk were staring in one direction. Nettle turned to find their line of sight and saw that it rested on a table at one of the bay windows. That must be the table Claudine referred to, Nettle assumed. A wife and husband drank from tulip shaped goblets, bantering with one another; the dark-headed father having an easy smile, obviously teasing his wife, as she pulled a self-depreciating grin, while twin boys sat in matching high-chairs playing with small metal cars and drinking bottled milk. But it was their sister that had arrested everyone’s attention in the tea house. And who can blame them, thought Nettle, she’s gorgeous. No wonder Margot didn’t want me at that table.
The twin’s older sister took her time selecting the next treat from the pretty pink cake stand placed in the centre of the table. Nettle gauged her age to be around six years old, with a pair of striking wide set eyes the colour of espresso and long curly hair the same shade as her eyes. The child really was a delight to behold, and Nettle quickly realized the table was positioned so that whoever was seated there could be seen by everyone in the dining room.
Nettle caught a snatch of midnight blue through the bay window and her gaze was immediately tugged outside the tea house. The boy in the velvet jacket with his surly mouth and strange violet eyes was walking by quickly disappearing from sight.
Ooooh! Nettle thumped her fist on the table. Her blood boiled at the fresh memory of stinging hands, and worse, her bruised ego.
Bram glanced up, half way through a sip of cowslip. A moustache of froth stained his upper lip. “You alright?”
She gave him a fierce look. “I will be.” She got to her feet. “Stay here until I get back. Jazz shouldn’t be too far away, there’s not much you can do with shorn hair.”
“I suppose not,” agreed Bram. He frowned a little. “Where are you going?”
She grinned coldly. “I’m going to give someone a piece of my mind.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The Summit of Olde Town
Nettle sprinted up the cobblestone path to catch up with the spiteful boy. She dodged tourists and town-folk busily going about their day until she spotted the blond head. He was moving swiftly, his messenger bag bouncing on his hip. She’d almost caught up with him when a large family with noisy children blocked the path so that he got a good lead on her again. When she’d finally found a hole through the rambunctious kids, she’d lost sight of him. She continued climbing the worn steps until the last of Olde Town’s businesses were behind her and the path opened up to a large enclosed area with a tall wooden sign stating View-Point.
A tall hedge of rosemary grew behind the stone wall where the hill continued upward, and its spiky bushes perfumed the area with an intense woody pungency. Tables and seats were arranged around the enclosure, where one could sit or kneel upon to overlook the amazing landscape of the Forgotten Wilds stretching out below. Families were gathered around the tables enjoying picnic fare, while couples took photographs or video footage of the landscape. A loud chatter and clicks of cameras and laughter filled the air, while a group of minstrels with their woollen cloaks strummed lutes and citterns, plucking harps, singing of chivalry and love.
Nettle couldn’t see the boy anywhere. Her stomach lurched with disappointment. How he could have vanished so quickly was baffling and infuriating. Damn it!
Nettle stomped around the grounds, scuffing the ground with her boots, thoroughly annoyed at being thwarted. She was lost in thought, wondering where he had gotten to and imagining witty and cutting remarks, when she very nearly missed the gap in the wall.
Nettle stopped and stared hard at the wall in front of her. It looked solid enough. But when she rocked slightly to the right and over to the left, to her amazement through a trick of illusion, the wall actually had an opening in it. How clever. The boy had to have gone through here, it was the only explanation. A touch of guilt made her glance over at the minstrels and reassured they weren’t looking her way, Nettle slid through the gap in the wall and darted around the rosemary. Beyond the hedge was woodland and a wide dirt path that led straight into its thick leafy foliage. Several ominous signposts stated in large red capitals – KEEP OUT! PRIVATE PROPERTY! And TRESPASSERS
WILL BE PROSECUTED!
Nettle briefly hesitated, should I, shouldn’t I? But the pull to discover what was hidden within the woodland was far too tantalising. And besides, she bolstered herself, that boy needs to be put in his place.
Excitement and apprehension had her nerves tingling and every one of her senses was attuned to the sounds emanating within the woodland: a solitary pit-pit-pit-pit of a quail; creaking brunches in a balmy breeze; chirping of crickets; and the soft sound of something squirreling around in the undergrowth. She kept close to the tree line, crouching low and silently scuttling ahead, pausing every so often to listen for approaching footsteps. She did not want to be caught up here.
The path, its dirt surface scuffed with fresh footfall, wove deep within the woodland on a slight rise. Dead leaves, curled and skeletal, and dried fragmented twigs crunched under foot. Frothy green moss edged the path in the more damp areas clumped with fern and salix, its yellow foliage reminding Nettle of fluffy pom-poms. The canopy of the forest was choked so thick it allowed very little light to filter through and it was sometime before she realized she was nearing the summit of Olde Town.
An overpowering stench of wet dog, musty clothing and rotten food washed over her before Nettle even saw the man. She pressed a hand to her nose to stem the smell, her stomach clenching with revulsion. She ducked off the path, then very slowly and quietly slunk along until the trail broke into a clearing bathed in sunlight. She hid behind a crop of tussock. Right across the clearing was an opening to a cave, where a massive man stood within its yawning shadow alongside a enormous white dog sitting on its haunches with sinister red eyes. Its long tongue lolled and drool dripped from its mouth to splatter the earth and its giant paws. Nettle knew instantly they weren’t loitering around, they were guarding the entrance.
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.
He was a strange looking man with thinning black hair and a puckered scar that ran down from the bottom of his left eye to a wide mouth in a blunt face, a sharp yellowing tooth poking out between chapped lips. He didn’t look friendly. He was chewing on a leg of something, too big to be chicken. Maybe a ham hock, Nettle pondered, but it was the wrong shape.
Nettle Blackthorn and the Three Wicked Sisters Page 19