The earth began to tremble. A little. Enough for Nettle to straighten and nervously glance about, wondering if she’d felt the tremor or imagined it. Oblivious tourists were going about their day but a few had paused, two of them happening to be the pretty Norwegian backpackers who had been present in the beauty annex the first day Nettle had come upon Olde Town. The two girls shared a concerned glance, then as Nettle felt the ground stop shaking, they shook their heads and pulled self-deprecating faces at one another before carrying on back down the hill. Nettle blew out a pent-up breath, her erratic heartbeat began to slow back down. Earthquakes made her nervous, but obviously these minor tremors were common-place.
Her mind flitted back to the fact that the hill was a goblin mound, and what could be buried inside. Maybe the earthquakes have nothing to do with the Balfrey’s mining the cave? Maybe it has everything to do with whatever is hidden within?
All of a sudden, her wrist was snatched by someone with a strong grip and nails that bit into her skin. Nettle near screamed.
She spun around and found herself facing a wizened old woman. She was hunched over, covered in a dirty threadbare cloak with the hood pulled over her matted head. Nettle frantically tugged her arm, desperate to be free. “Ouch, you’re hurting me,” she wailed.
But the old woman with her skeletal fingers and dirty ragged nails held tight. “Come now Missy, you be polite to your elders. I mean you no harm.” Nettle’s nose crinkled in revulsion, the old lady’s breath stunk of rotten eggs.
Beneath the hood Nettle could see the old lady’s gaunt face was deeply gouged with wrinkles and she realised with a start that the old woman was the stranger that had been following her. Nettle stopped struggling, though her heartbeat raced on. She asked warily, “What do you want?”
The old lady licked her dry chapped lips with a tongue holding little moisture. It sounded like sandpaper against concrete. Her sharp brown eyes looked upon Nettle hungrily. “I just been hoping you might take pity on an old woman who don’t have much in this world-“
“OK, OK,” interrupted Nettle hoping to buy her freedom. “Do you want some money?” She hurriedly dug around her back pocket with her free hand for a fistful of coins.
“No, no,” the old woman shook her head. “I has no need for coin. I need something else, something only you could get me…”
Nettle eyed the old woman suspiciously. What could the old woman want? Alcohol? Clearly I’m too young to buy that. “What?”
The old woman jerked her chin toward the next flight of stairs, her thin lips pursed together jutted out. “I been hankering for some of that Dryad’s Breath they sell at the tea house. But they won’t sell to me. Me and my pretty face puts off their precious patrons.” And she cackled as if it was the funniest joke she’d ever heard.
A shiver ran down Nettle’s spine at the noise, it sounded like bones rattling around in a bucket. She was at least thankful the old woman wanted some confectionary and not anything sinister. What harm could some candy do, but rot her teeth further? “OK, I’ll do it.”
The old woman gleefully released her. “Thank ye Missy. A blessing be on your house.” Nettle rubbed her sore wrist taking a few steps back. “I’ll wait here for you.” The old woman’s gaze narrowed sharply and her lips curled back from a row of rotten teeth. “Be sure to be quick, and don’t think about double-crossing me.”
Nettle swiftly scuttled up the steps, casting an anxious glance over her shoulder, only to find the old woman had gone.
Pippa was behind the counter restocking a jar of phookie tusks. “Well, hello there,” she greeted in a low whispery voice, her freckled cheeks widening into a hesitant smile. “Miss Claudine’s upstairs with your cousin.”
“Oh it’s alright, I’ll see her later,” Nettle replied, she found her own smile faltering a little. “I’m actually here for something else.” She scanned the confectionary counter. The kitten paws and imp heads were there, but no sign of Dryad’s Breath. She wondered what it looked and tasted like. Cotton candy? Sherbet? Liquorice? “Dryad’s Breath, do you have any?”
Pippa’s hazel eyes got big and round. “Dryad’s Breath?” Nettle nodded, wondering if she was right in thinking Pippa had paled slightly. “I’ll have to ask,” the other girl said, and she swiftly rounded the counter to disappear into the tea house.
A moment later Pippa trailed quietly behind Margot as the middle sister arrived in the annex. Margot looked tired, more so than the last time she’d seen her. Her complexion seemed dry and rough and for a moment Nettle wondered if that really was a mole in the corner of her nose.
Margot approached with a smile, not delivered as warmly as Claudine would have, but a pleasant-enough imitation, except Nettle wasn’t fooled. She’d already begun to suspect Claudine’s sisters had a problem with her. Maybe they were reluctant for their sister to enter a relationship with someone with children. She hadn’t anticipated that, but supposed it would put some people off. It’d be hard work raising children that aren’t your own. Especially if those kids had baggage, she thought wryly.
Margot said coolly, “Pippa tells me you’re asking for Dryad’s Breath.” She cocked her head to the side and her eyelids dropped to half-mast. She ran her fingers through the feather of her quill as she spoke. “Tell me, what do you want with it?”
What’s the big deal with the Dryad’s Breath? The way Margot and Pippa were reacting she began to fear it may not be legal. Instead she answered lightly, meeting Margot’s steely gaze. “It’s not for me, an old woman begged me to buy it for her.”
Margot snapped her head upright. Her thin eyebrows arched in incredulity. She peered over Nettle’s shoulder through the store’s open door but couldn’t see anyone outside. Her gaze came back to Nettle, her eyes narrowed as sharply as her cheekbones. “The Crone, I’m assuming.”
Nettle’s own black eyebrows rose in astonishment. She supposed the old woman could be described as a crone, it was a little harsh, but entirely valid. Maybe I’m not the first person the old lady has bullied into buying her candy. “She didn’t tell me her name.”
Pippa was unobtrusively re-adjusting the glass canisters so they were perfectly aligned with one another. For some peculiar reason she gave Nettle a rather covert glance, her expression portraying trepidation. But before Nettle was able to wonder about it, Margot smiled - she really smiled, and Nettle felt the iciness thawing between them. “You are in luck, we have one or two.” She bent her tall frame down to retrieve a small vial beneath the countertop and handed it to her.
Nettle held the glass vial up to the sunlight, watching the purplish vapours swirl around inside. “This is Dryad’s Breath?” It looked intoxicating. “What’s it used for?”
Margot flicked the quill so it tickled the underside of her chin. “It’s an energy booster. A recharge if you will.”
“Like Berocca?” She supposed it made sense for the old lady to hanker for something to give her a jolt of energy, she looked positively ancient.
“Something like that,” Margot answered vaguely. She gave Pippa a look at which the girl nodded and retreated from the store ducking back into the dining room. Pippa cast a troubled glance at Nettle as she left.
Nettle dug her hand into her pocket, wondering why Pippa seemed so fretful. “How much do I owe?”
Margot waved her money away. “Nothing. This time it’s on the house.”
“Really? Thanks.” She beamed, stuffing her money back into her pocket, thinking, maybe Margot isn’t so bad after all.
Margot gave a wistful sigh, staring out the open door. “Sometimes, even I feel sorry for her.” She waved Nettle toward her, encouraging her to round the store’s counter. “Come, you can see your cousin upstairs.”
Nettle hesitated. “Shouldn’t I get this to the old woman.” She didn’t want to use the name Margot gave.
“The Crone can wait.”
Nettle stepped behind the counter, and just as she passed Margot, stopped to look up at the tall sleek sister. “
Who is she?”
Margot paused for a moment, her head slightly askew as she thoughtfully considered her. “We’re not exactly sure. She appeared early on when we were rebuilding the village. She’s always been here, skulking around in the shadows, harassing our guests,” Margot admonished, her ruby red lips twisted unpleasantly. “It’s going to get her into trouble.”
“What do you think she wants with the place?”
Margot gave a slight shrug of an elegant shoulder. “Who knows. We’ve not been able to catch her since she turned up.”
“Catch her?” Nettle caught the gasp before it escaped her lips. Margot made it sound like the old woman was merely vermin to be ensnared and dealt with, without feeling or mercy.
Margot’s bronze eyes flashed dangerously. “I’d be very careful of the Crone, if I were you.”
Nettle had a burst of fresh anxiousness. “What do you mean?”
“Claudine did say she’d been following you. She was worried.”
“Claudine told you?” A thrill ran through her. It gave Nettle pleasure to know Claudine was concerned with her welfare and even spoke about her to her sisters.
“The old woman’s obviously chosen you - for some reason I can’t fathom - to do her bidding.” Nettle didn’t like the way Margot said bidding, it wasn’t the word or the meaning behind it, but she pronounced the word as if she found the whole thing rather distasteful.
“Has she said anything?” Margot asked, looking slightly concerned.
“Like what?”
Margot was rolling her quill back and forth between her palms - the gold striped feather whirled - it was hypnotising to watch. Her voice had grown lower and softer and suggestive. “Oh, I wouldn’t know. Maybe something about... us...”
Nettle shook her head. She’d mentioned nothing.
She spoke slowly and carefully. “Just heed my warning, be wary around that old hag and her mumblings and absurd rants. She’s completely mad and possibly dangerous.”
Nettle nodded, not able to speak, her mouth bone-dry. Could the old woman really be that disturbed?
Margot stepped aside and held open the black swing-door that separated the store from the back of house. As soon as Margot pushed open the door, all thoughts of the Crone were vanquished as a thrum of excitement coursed through her - she was going to see where the Balfrey’s lived! She stepped forward into a stairwell where she could either go through a door to the right that led to the kitchen, or up the stairs to the living quarters. There was a hum of noise coming from behind the kitchen door, an industrious muffled clanging and shouting. Margot pointed up the staircase. “You’ll find Claudine in her bedroom with Jasmine.”
Nettle climbed the wooden staircase to the second floor and pushed open a heavy oak door to reveal a pristine kitchen with rustic charm. She wandered in, admiring the copper pots hanging above the wood-burning stove. On the heavily nicked wooden bench was a steel basket full of fresh farm eggs and lemons nestled amongst a collection of tea pots. A small dining table and four high-backed chairs were tucked into the corner of the kitchen.
It was eerily quiet in the living room, apart from the ticking of a grandfather-clock, which delighted Nettle with its thirteen hours - not the usual twelve. The furniture gathered in this room was an eclectic collection spanning centuries. Wingback armchairs and ottomans, striped cream and pastel peach; a differing pair of armoires displaying pottery and china plates; and art-deco side-tables. Decorative blue and white tiles, their motif a faded looping leaf pattern, trimmed the cast-iron fireplace. An oil painting hung above its oak mantle. Nettle stepped closer, her footsteps softened by the deep pile carpet, and a playful smile brightened her expression. The painting was of three children, girls – the Balfrey sisters in old fashioned dresses, much younger and carefree - lounging beneath a tree.
A strange noise startled her. It came from above, the third floor. A scuttling and scratching and clicking noise that surged directly above her, across the ceiling from one side to the other, then ebbed away. A ripple of unease ran down her spine. The noise sounded weirdly odd, like a roomful of typewriters being softly tapped at once. She flicked her hair over her shoulder as she looked upward at the white ceiling in consternation, what is up there?
She’d reached the sisters’ living quarters by way of the staircase that ended at the second floor, and as there wasn’t another flight of stairs, she’d assumed there would be another staircase somewhere inside the apartment. But there was nothing besides the hallway which opened up from the living room.
Nettle approached the hallway and called, “Hello?” When no one replied she ventured into the small passageway. It wasn’t very long and there were four wooden doors. She guessed each door led to each of the Balfrey sisters’ bedroom, and one might be to the bathroom, as so far she hadn’t seen one. As to which of the doors belonged to Claudine, she wasn’t sure. She was just about to call out again when Claudine left a room through a fifth door she hadn’t noticed. “Oh, hello,” she called out, happy to finally have found Claudine.
Claudine started, seeming incredibly surprised to see her there, and stood for a moment caught-off-guard, while Nettle blatantly peered around her to see what was behind the door. Nettle caught a glimpse of a wall of books. Her eyes lit up with curiosity. “What’s in there?”
Claudine leaned against the door and it closed with a snap of finality. “It leads to our Atelier.”
Atelier, sounded foreign and intriguing. “Huh, what’s that?”
“An Atelier is a workroom,” explained Claudine. “It’s where we experiment with new ideas for the tea house.”
Nettle’s mouth formed a silently impressed ‘O’, and when Claudine walked down the hallway beckoning to her, she followed.
Claudine’s bedroom was everything Nettle had imagined. It was luxurious and decorated in soft muted greens and pale gold. A sumptuous four poster bed with gauzy curtains took a regal position near the window and a gold-striped chaise stood at the foot of the bed. A duchess with a large gilded mirror reflected the light that flooded in from the window.
Jazz sat in front of the duchess mirror and a beautiful white dress sheathed a dressmakers dummy nearby. Jazz didn’t acknowledge Nettle when she entered, too enrapt with her reflection. She’d scribbled something down her inner arm with a black pen. Probably something she didn’t want to forget, Nettle thought, like don’t forget to ask the mirror who’s the fairest of them all, then quickly chided herself for her meanness.
Claudine smiled, patting her bed. “Sit here while I finish Jasmine’s hair.”
Nettle sat on the bed, she ran her fingers over the luxurious quilt. It was very old, perhaps a family heirloom, and was a mixture of different fabrics - silks and cotton, linen and taffeta, all in different shades of pale green.
Claudine poured a cup of tea and handed it to Nettle, refilled Jazz’s cup, then her own. The smell of fresh lemon and ginger and something that Nettle didn’t recognise wafted through the room. Nettle was thirsty and finished her cup quickly. Only too late did she think, how unladylike, and wondered if Claudine had marked that against her. She adjusted her position on the bed, attempting to sit a little more primly, and wished she’d worn something more girlish like a skirt.
Claudine looked weary. In fact as Nettle furtively studied her reflection she realised there were fresh wrinkles at the sides of her mouth and her lips were puckered with creases, and squint lines ran from the corners of her eyes. The sisters must be running themselves to exhaustion, ensuring Halloween was going to plan.
Jazz wore a wig, a thick mane of dark red hair that reached her waist. Claudine ran her fingers through the hair, loosely teasing out the locks.
Now was the time to take Bram’s advice and ask. “Er, I saw you with a man the other day.”
“Hmmm,” Claudine replied, lifting locks of hair and imagining what sort of hair-do she could create.
“Well, I was wondering, since you seemed quite intimate with him. If you were involved, you
know, like boyfriend and girlfriend.”
Claudine gave Nettle a quick perplexed look, before a realisation dawned on her. “Oh. That man.” She gave a light-hearted titter. “No. There’s nothing between he and I.” She shook her head a little as if not quite sure how to explain. “He’s not quite right, if you know what I mean. He thinks I’m someone else.”
“Alice?” Nettle said, offering the name the man called her.
“Yes. That’s it.” She sighed as if saddened by the man and his problems. She gave Nettle an intuitive glance. “Did it worry you? That I might have been involved with another man?”
Nettle began to shake her head, and changed her mind half way through and nodded instead. She pulled a disparaging face. “I kind of have high-hopes for you and my Dad.”
“If it makes you feel better. I do like your father, a lot.”
Nettle’s smile began to widen to a maddening grin. She felt immense relief. It had troubled her to think Claudine was involved with someone else and it had hurt to think the elder sister might have misled her on purpose. Bram was right. She was glad she’d taken his advice and cleared up the misunderstanding.
Claudine gave Nettle a sideways look, her gaze intense. “You’re a little different, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question. Nettle felt her cheeks warm slightly. Does that mean she’s found something disagreeable about me? Instead, Claudine completely blindsided her with, “You’ve never told me about your mother.”
Nettle glanced away, her lips pinching tight. How am I going to worm my way out of answering that?
Claudine started backcombing the wig, creating a puff of volume at the crown. “Who is she? What happened to her?”
Nettle didn’t reply. She just didn’t know what to say. I mean, where do I begin, what do I say? She ran away? It would be so easy to spill everything she felt about Briar to Claudine. But right now, for some reason something held her back. A sense of loyalty? No... surely not…
Nettle Blackthorn and the Three Wicked Sisters Page 27