Hazel: A Colorless Prequel

by Rita Stradling

  He gave me a look that might have been disappointment, or possibly sympathy, and then said, “I plan to directly.”

  I sniffed back emotion. “I hate you, Warren Klein.” The moment the words escaped me, I wanted to stuff them back in.

  The hurt that broke across his face was the opposite of satisfying and only made fighting the tears back harder to do.

  “In this moment only,” I added. “You’re going to make me cry at my own presentation.”

  “I think you would cry a lot more with a broken ankle.” He stopped before the chair, and I noticed Lady Bourges had cleared it and several others of occupants. As he helped me to sit, he leaned a little forward and said, “I hope your hatred of me has abated by the time I call on you two days hence.”

  “It would abate now if you stayed,” I said back.

  “I’ll have to take my chances with giving you time, then,” he said as he stepped away. To Lady Bourges, he said, “Should I go for a doctor?”

  “I’ve already sent for one,” she said with a nod.

  “Then I’ll take my leave of you.” He bowed to Lady Bourges and then to me.

  “Bye.” I said, looking away. If he was going to leave, I just wanted him to go now and not risk seeing me cry. I didn’t even hear him leave over the sound of the music, only knew he was gone.

  Lady Bourges took the seat beside mine and patted my hand. “Is the pain bad?” she asked as she studied my face.

  “Quite bad,” I admitted, but the pain wasn’t in my ankle.

  “Maybe it’s time to consider retiring, dear. I know your father wouldn’t want you to risk serious injury.”

  I glanced back, searching the crowd for Warren or Fauve. It took me a moment, but I spotted them across the ballroom. Perhaps sensing me looking at him, Fauve glanced up and met my gaze.

  “Stay,” I mouthed to him.

  His gaze moved down to my foot and then back up. A small, rueful smile crossed his lips, and he shook his head. Giving me a bow, he turned. Beside him, Warren turned back, and I quickly looked down to my lap.

  Lady Bourges must have followed my gaze and mistaken where I was looking, because she said, “Warren is quite a handsome boy, is he not? It’s too bad women like us aren’t allowed to marry second sons.” She said it with so much sympathy I wondered if perhaps she spoke from experience.

  “I didn’t want him to marry me, just dance with me,” I said.

  She smiled. “Enjoy these anni; you only get a few of them.”

  Her words only made me feel worse, because what if it was an entire annos until I was given the chance to see them again? One annos out of only three that I have, wasted. “I think you’re right; I should retire,” I mumbled. I wanted Judith, maybe a hot bath—but most of all, I just wanted this horrible evening to be over.

  “Of course, my dear, I’ll call for your servants and make sure the doctor is told when he arrives.”

  “You are too kind to me,” I said.

  With a nod, she left me alone to fight tears at a ball held in my honor.

  Chapter Four: Through the Hearth

  “It’s a sprain,” the doctor declared. He set my foot down on the footrest, stood up abruptly and stepped back, almost as if my sprain might be catching.

  I fought a smile. Even though a gloom had overtaken my entire evening, I couldn’t help it. I’d never seen a doctor so uncomfortable tending a patient before. His shock of dark hair proclaimed him from the West, maybe even Southern Domengrad. Likely, he was the personal doctor of some lord—definitely not a lady.

  As he backed away quickly, he continued, “You’ll need to ice it and keep off it for a couple days. Have your local physician bind it in the morning after a full night of icing.” Not looking where he was going, he almost walked into Judith.

  Judith stepped out of his path deftly and regarded me with a look that could almost be amusement, if it wasn’t Judith. She would never be so indecorous as to be entertained at the nervous doctor’s expense. “Thank you, Doctor. And thank you for leaving your rest to come tend to Hazel.”

  “It was nothing,” he said as he gathered up his kit on my father’s desk.

  Judith then turned to the other occupant in the room, Lady Bourges. “Thank goodness it’s only a sprain, Lady Bourges. I can easily see to that.”

  “I’d hope that you could,” the Lady replied. “Come, Doctor, I’ll escort you out as I head back to the ball.”

  Nearly an hour ago, when Lady Bourges had returned with seven liveried servants to help me from the ballroom, she’d insisted upon accompanying me herself. All of the servants had seemed urgent to help me in some way, and we’d ended up moving through the space like an oversized, nine-headed sea-monster. Judith had ended the foolishness just beyond the entrance to the east wing; she’d even succeeded in sending everyone away but Lady Bourges. That was when the two women, who were both used to ruling those around them without question, went head to head.

  According to Judith, she could tend me herself. If the injury was past her ability to heal, which it almost certainly wasn’t, we would rouse our doctor. No strange man would be allowed into my bedchamber at this hour.

  While I teetered precariously like a clumsy stork with one leg up, Lady Bourges explained it was imperative that I see a doctor right away. She’d threatened, “You wouldn’t want anyone to believe you neglectful in your care of the heir to the Hampton seat.”

  “If anyone ever did, it would be because they were not very educated in the ways of proper care.”

  The arguments had continued on in polite tones as my other ankle now complained under me. To Lady Bourges’s advantage, she was immeasurably higher in rank and wealth. To Judith’s advantage—well, she was Judith. In the entirety of my life, I’d never seen her relent once she’d chosen to argue with anyone, except on the rare occasion, as tonight, when she did so to my wishes—though usually it was because she’d disagreed with the orders given to her in the first place.

  When they’d argued so long that the doctor had arrived, Judith finally consented to have him tend me in my father’s private study—which, according to her, was the only appropriate room in the east wing for me to be seen in.

  My guess was that the man’s nervousness had everything to do with having Judith leaning over his shoulder. Whether it was that or another reason, after Lady Bourges said goodbye to me and headed for the door, the doctor literally ran to catch up to her.

  “We better get you to bed,” Judith said on a sigh as soon as we were alone. “Are you warm enough, or should I light a fire for you while you wait for me to summon enough servants to carry you to your room?”

  “I think I remember you sending the servants away,” I teased her. “Weren’t your words that you were all the help I needed?”

  She regarded me levelly. “Under Lady Bourges’s direction, they were more likely to hurt you than get you to safety. Furthermore, they were a group of strange men. I’ll bring some Hampton Manor women to ferry you to bed.”

  “All right. And no, I need no fire.”

  She nodded. “No moving from that spot.” She pointed at me as if I was making to jump up and dance a jig. Standing at the door as she was, she was nearly hit as it swung open. Judith just managed to jump out of the way as my father rushed in with my Uncle Oscar behind him.

  There was a moment of silence in which we all looked at each other, Judith and I at my father, whose gaze had fixed on me. And then both of our gazes moved to Oscar, and then to the small pistol he held in his hand. He didn’t hold it up. He barely seemed to have hold of it at all, his hand was shaking so much. His gaze darted between us, and then he grabbed the study door and slammed it shut.

  “Hazel,” my father whispered. It was a quiet sound, yet it seemed to echo around the study. His gaze had turned from me. He whispered the word again, but he whispered it to Judith, “Hazel.” The second time, it was a plea before he turned from us both, blocking my view of Uncle Oscar.

  “Why did you have to
bring it to this, Hugh? You’ve betrayed me. You would send me to prison when it is by no fault of my own that I was born the second son.” He teetered a little as he spoke, as if he was in his cups. His other hand gripped the hem of his crimson coat before stretching his fingers, again and again.

  “This is a business matter, Oscar. I’d rather my daughter not be exposed to such conversations—”

  “The business of my life!” Oscar yelled.

  A tap on my arm had me look up to Judith. I hadn’t even seen her move, but she stood over me. Her finger pressed to her lips as her other hand stretched out toward me, obviously to aid in me standing. As I slipped my hand in hers, I realized, beneath my glove, my hand was both sweaty and shaking. My whole body was shaking.

  I had always known she was a strong woman, but she seemed to have the strength of ten as she pulled me off the chair and onto her.

  As far as everyone but a few knew, there was only one exit to the room, the exit that Oscar stood in front of. But I had discovered every inch of this manor from the time I could walk until about an annos ago, I had decided every passage must be discovered. I still looked. In the manor, there was a web of secret passages. My father said it must be some vestige of ancient times before the Congregation, when there was still war in Domengrad, though specific accounts of those times were lost to the histories. One of these passages led directly into my father’s hearth. As we headed that direction, Judith must have remembered it as well—she’d often been a bend behind me on my explorations, her admonishments and threats of withholding dessert making me laugh and speed up.

  As we inched our way across the room, a sour, astringent smell overtook the usual pipe-tobacco smell of my father’s study, burning my nose. One step further, my uncle for a moment came into my vision. A sheen of sweat coated his skin. He looked even sicklier than I had originally thought him. His hair stuck out about his head as if he’d had his fists gripping it. A strange, desperate madness consumed every line of his face, making him almost unrecognizable as the uncle I had, until recently, adored.

  Compared to the many other punishments I’d heard of the Congregation doling out, the Congregational debtor’s prison had seemed very light when I’d heard them discussing it—but, from my uncle’s expression, it must have been far worse than I had assumed.

  It was in that moment I realized the truth of the situation we were in. It wasn’t that I didn’t know there was a threat of violence, but it was my uncle holding the gun—the world had changed so completely in just a matter of moments. I knew I was heading for the trap door, but as my father shifted and again blocked my uncle’s view of us, it occurred to me my father and Judith were conspiring my escape from the room, though I had no idea of their plan for their own. The trap door only accommodated a single person; I knew it for a fact. After it’d swung me into safety, Judith would have to wait for all the gears to settle and turn again before escaping herself.

  Two of the four people I loved most in this world would be in this room with Oscar and his gun while I fell to my safety.

  “No, I will not leave you,” I whispered.

  She did nothing to acknowledge my words, her pace slow but unyielding.

  I tried to root my feet to the floor, but my ankle screamed in pain and, as Judith kept pulling, I knew that I must either go with her or risk falling.

  “I should stay by your side.” Tears splashed onto my cheeks, hot, as terror turned my body cold.

  She only tightened her grip around my side.

  “Squeeze in with me,” I whispered desperately as the hearth was only feet away now. “There’s enough room for us both.”

  Her expression only hardened. The lines of her almost-regal beauty sharpened. I knew her thoughts; there was a chance that neither of us would slip through or that we would be stuck—but she was wrong, we were small enough. My father would have to fight his way out, but without us here to protect, he could easily overtake my uncle. He was strong and fast, and I had absolute confidence he would win.

  I thought of a plea that might work and whispered, “But, I can’t walk without you. I’ll need you.”

  She wouldn’t listen, just pushed me into the hearth.

  A sob escaped me, and I shook my head violently.

  My uncle, who’d been talking in the background—though my mind had been incapable of following what he was saying, yelled, “Stop there, servant! I know where you are taking her!”

  As if she hadn‘t heard him, she turned to face me, a second body between me and my uncle. Her chin rose, and she pushed me again toward the back of the hearth.

  I tried to grab onto her. “No! You’ll come with me.”

  “Stop her from going or I’ll shoot you, Hugh,” Oscar yelled.

  “I’ve agreed to give you the money, Oscar. What does it matter if my daughter leaves?” my father asked; his voice was almost calm as he said it.

  “She needs to stay here,” Oscar said. “Order her to stay, Hugh!”

  I could only see the back of my father’s head, and I wanted so much for him to look back.

  “There’s only one reason why you’d want her to stay, Oscar. I would not order that for all the riches in the world.”

  There was a loud crack of gunshot, and I was shoved into the wall.

  “Father!” I screamed as he fell to reveal my uncle with a gun pointed in his hand.

  Judith hit a brick, and the ground dropped out from under me. I fell.

  “I love you,” Judith called, a tear shining under her eye, and then blackness swallowed everything as a clanking signified the closing of the hatch over me.

  Chapter Five: The Sorceress

  The chute was pitch-black.

  My dress flew up as I shot down. I’d taken this chute into the subterranean layer of the manor more than once; each time, the weightless feeling of my stomach dropping and the air whistling by had made me laugh for joy. This time, as I descended, I sobbed.

  It must have been an automatic reaction to curl up, for when I hit the mat beneath, I did it on my back. Dust exploded out around me and then settled down, coating me. I didn’t even cough it away; I only lay there and cried.

  I was no stranger to pain. By the age of fifteen, I’d already fallen down a well and out of a second story window. I’d broken bones several times, bled from the head, been kicked by a horse, and that was to say nothing of the emotions that overwhelmed me on nearly a daily basis at that time.

  Nothing compared to that moment.

  I could not move. What I had seen had literally paralyzed me for those minutes.

  That crack of bullet, the sight of my father’s silver-white hair flying around him as he fell back, the tear on Judith’s eye as she told me in words that she loved me for the first time ever—each ran through my head in the blackness of the underground, consuming me whole.

  When I heard the whoosh of the trap door opening above me, I barely dragged my mind back into compliance enough to roll off the mat and onto the stone floor. Jagged, broken stones stabbed my palms as I broke my fall.

  It is impossible to put words to the feeling that overtook me in that moment. It was as if a cold chill had passed through my body while, at the same time, thick sweat ran from every part of me. The sorrow that reined over my every thought remained, and yet my mind cleared a little. It was as if a light lit in the blackness, but yet the light was inside of me instead of without.

  There was a rustling around me, a shushing of fabric against fabric, and then the thud of shoes hitting stone. With a hiss, a flame sprung to life only feet from where I lay. That lick of flame was set to a lantern before a glass cover was set in place and the underground filled with a ghostly glow. My Uncle Oscar’s features illuminated.

  The moment I saw his face, I knew I had expected him to be the one to come down the chute. The dust that had coated him only made him paler, like a specter, as the light flickered over his face.

  Only feet away, I knew he would see me if only he looked down. The candle ligh
t cast severe hollows into his cheeks. A great shadow cast behind him, reflecting against the mossy stone walls. Water trickled down, causing long lime stains against the dirty stone, and when I saw the water, I realized I’d been hearing the trickle.

  I knew I should be afraid of my uncle, but as my gaze returned to him, there was no fear within me. Even as I saw the gun squeezed in his hand, I felt no fear.

  He, however, looked terrified. His gaze darted around the cavernous space as if he wasn’t quite sure why he found himself in it. When his gaze roved the ground, I knew I could neither run nor hide. The mat was far too heavy to crawl under, and even putting the least amount of weight on my ankle sent a scream of pain through it. I could perhaps stand and hop or crawl.

  I knew that I should be panicking and that I would die at any moment. Yet all I did was glare up at the pathetic excuse for a man who I had once loved as my uncle. His gaze fell, landing directly on me, and then slid away.

  Gaze fixed only inches past me, he whispered, “I was never here. No one saw me here . . . Phoebe would say I never left her today. She’d testify to the Congregation that I was at home the whole night.” He shook his head and turned away. “No one saw me but Hugh and that maid—or did they see me in the stables?”

  Grabbing onto the mat, my gloves slipped against the dusty material until I could grasp handfuls enough to gain purchase. I pulled myself up to stand balancing on one foot. And then I turned back to my uncle.

  He did not look at me, just stared off at the wall. “Only that one stable boy would recognize me—Peter or Pietro—I’d offer him a handsome reward for loyalty—no, that might not work, and it’s not worth it. He could keep the information against me for the rest of his life,” he mumbled. Nodding slowly, he whispered, “He sleeps in the hayloft.”

  Peder, he was talking of Peder, the thirteen-annos-old son of the stable master who helped when his father was shorthanded. Thinking of him going after Peder only made me more furious.