“Wednesdaaaaaaaaaay!”
Wednesday’s cousins and
all her other relatives who had already arrived came out of the huge country
home hardly seconds after the carriage had halted near the front walk. Up close, the foliage was even more impressive,
as was the house. Wednesday spent quite
a while admiring the regal oak-and-glass front doors in their respective
patterns and the lovely patches of alternating light and dark that shaded the
winding way.
The large group of people,
headed by Desdemona, had poured out of the magnificent front doors, opened the
large gates that Wednesday somehow hadn’t seen earlier, and crowded in a
chatter around the carriage, helping them out, taking suitcases, and basically
taking care of everything and giving the carriage driver an extremely easy time,
as the hosts were doing everything that he should have done. Wednesday stepped out of the carriage,
beaming, as Desdemona threw her arms around her and they embraced tightly. She also heard cries of “Lei’Anne!” from her
two sisters and a rustling of skirts as they rushed to their older mature
cousin, and Mother and Father were talking pleasantly to the older folks.
In the midst of all the
babble, Des somehow made it quiet and calm right between Wednesday and her, as
Des drew back slightly just so they were looking at each other, heads tilted
slightly down to give themselves some privacy.
“It’s lovely to see you
again,” Des said sweetly. Her amber eye
gleamed as she shifted her head and her eyelashes caught the light and cast it
across her entire visage.
“Same here.” Wednesday was glad to see that there was no
trace of the cold version of Des she had met in that awful nightmare. “So you’re all right? Everything going well?”
“As well as it could be,”
Des said with a soft laugh. “Everyone’s
fussing over Lei’Anne. She and Mr.
Gilbert Gerdrane will be getting married any time now.”
It’s just like it was in the dream, Wednesday thought. Except less foreboding. She smiled brilliantly and threw her arms
around her older cousin again, burying her chin in Des’s long white-blonde hair
and breathing in the sweet flower scent Des always carried due to her
perfume. “I’m so glad that we’ll be here
together,” she said, her voice muffled by the streaming hair in her way.
Des gently detached
herself from Wednesday. “I’ve been here
for half a day, and it’s been wonderful.
This is my first time meeting the Corells—”
“Also mine—”
“—And they’re such a nice
folk.” Des turned and stood up on the
toes of her boots and surveyed the small throng of tightly knit, eagerly
chattering people. “Oh—look at
them.” She settled back down on her
feet. “They’re just hanging at the
edges—they’re quite shy until you get to know them, and then they’re so
familiar and friendly that you can’t help wondering if you’ve met them
before—or more like if you’ve been living with them for years even though it’s
only been a few hours! Not in a bad way, of course,” she amended quickly,
taking Wednesday’s arm. “Let’s see if I
can introduce you before there’s a formal introduction. They really believe in first impressions,”
she confided, while Wednesday nodded, absorbing all this information. “Hm…where’ve they gone? Oh, I think they’re taking all your things
inside. Well, you’ll meet them later,
then,” Des said, sounding disappointed.
“It’s all right. There’ll be plenty of time for that,”
Wednesday said. She was feeling
apprehensive about meeting these people, especially because of Father’s comment
in the carriage. “Anyhow,” she went on,
“this is a brilliant place. I had no
idea that such a grand dwelling existed in the countryside!”
“That’s what I had been
thinking when I came this morning,” Des said, opening her eyes wide. She smiled.
“This place is like a living dream.
I’ll take you on a quick tour if they don’t. The scenery is amazing, like something
straight out of an artist’s palette, and there are so many fun places inside
the farmhouse. I think it’s very lucky
that they live here!”
“Are the Corells nice?”
Wednesday was still worried, even though the landscape calmed her.
“Yes, of course!” Des paused.
“Well, more or less.” She moved
closer to Wednesday and bent slightly to breathe in her ear. “Mr. Damien—that’s Missus Reyna’s
husband—well, he can be obnoxious. But
really it’s Lancelot Corell who gets on my nerves all the time, and I’ve only
known him for half a day—”
“Desdemona!” Des’s mother
called. Des looked up and grimaced. Mrs. Cheri Fontana, one of Wednesday’s aunts,
was waving her daughter over.
“Sorry,” Des
apologized. “I’ll have to talk
later. You know how my mother is—”
“Desdemona!”
“Coming, Mother.” Des raised her eyebrows at Wednesday and
drifted off.
Wednesday couldn’t help
smiling as she watched Des leisurely make her way over to Mrs. Cheri
Fontana. Des acted all pouty and
rebellious, but she had a sweet, sweet heart.
She turned to survey her crowd of relatives, all of whom were talking
and laughing together. A few of the
people she didn’t know. Most of them she
had vague memories of; she recognized their faces, knew she had seen them
before, but knew little or no else. With
the Corells added to the rest of their families, Wednesday assumed they had
quite a large group. She thought about
how large their dining room had to be to fit all of these people; but with such
a grand house, it wasn’t that hard to imagine.
She grinned inwardly. The house
was probably some sort of old castle that had been refurbished. No country house that she had ever seen had
looked so…royal. It was staggering,
actually.
Wednesday walked about,
saying polite hellos to the older folks and greeting her younger relatives more
intimately. She still saw no sign of the
Corells. Des had said they had gone
inside to take their things up to the rooms, but Wednesday was half eager, half
uneager to meet them. Des had given her
some information that Wednesday wasn’t sure was good or bad. Apparently both Father and Des held this
Damien Corell in low opinion. Wednesday
wasn’t ready to meet Lancelot Corell either; Des made him sound like a wild
reincarnation of the devil. Anyone who
could get on Des’s nerves had special talent, and it wasn’t necessarily a good
one.
Lei’Anne, Des’s sister,
greeted Wednesday coolly, while Winter and Willow trotted after their glamorous
older cousin like guard dogs. “It’s nice
to see you again, Wednesday,” Lei’Anne said with her trademark detached tone.
“You’re looking well.”
“I have to say that I feel
much better. It must be the atmosphere,”
Wednesday said with a tight smile. It
wasn’t that she didn’t like Lei’Anne, but rather that she didn’t fawn over her
like Willow and Winter did. They
worshiped Lei’Anne with all their being.
Why, Wednesday didn’t know.
Lei’Anne was about as full of emotions as a gargoyle.
Speaking of Lei’Anne,
Wednesday hadn’t seen her fiancé Gilbert Gerdrane around. She supposed he must
have not been invited, and she had to suppress a laugh.
“So you’ve been feeling
better lately?” Lei’Anne said, cool as ever.
“Not so sick?”
“No.” Wednesday kept her sentences polite and
clipped.
Lei’Anne nodded, making loose
waves of her mousy brown hair flutter like ribbons, and swept off. Willow and Winter hastened to follow while
Wednesday stood alone, feeling foolishly triumphant for some reason.
She said her greetings,
accepted comments of “You look healthy!” from her older relatives, and
generally smiled politely and made small talk, every so often glancing over to
look at Des. She and her mother were
engaged in conversation.
“Look at you,” Wednesday’s
grandmother Lucia Fontana said, pinching Wednesday’s cheek. “My little darling, you’re still so pale. Like
a crescent moon. You need to eat more!”
Then she started going on and on about the rich dishes her cook could
make. Wednesday’s grandparents on her
father’s side were extremely rich. That
was fortunate, since they were so old they could hardly move, so they had
servants left and right.
Grandfather George, whom
Wednesday’s father was named after, smiled in his slow elderly way, with the
wrinkles and lines in his face creasing and his eyes squinting. “I’m glad that you’re here, Wednesday,” he
said, stiffly patting her shoulder. His
joints were probably hurting. Wednesday
gave him a gentle hug and he laughed in a wheeze. “Good young lady,” he commented to his wife
Lucia.
“Of course she is,” Lucia
agreed, smirking. The two of them gave
new meaning to “old married couple.”
Wednesday grinned and pulled away from her grandparents.
She greeted Jerry and
Cheri Fontana, Des’s and Lei’Anne’s parents, with respect, and introduced
herself demurely to Elizabeth, Wednesday’s aunt on her father’s side. She had never met Mrs. Elizabeth before, and
pleased to greet the kind woman.
She didn’t see the Corells
anywhere, but decided that they must be shy, just like Des had said.
After a great deal of
introductions and talking, as the families started to drift towards the doors
of the huge house to go inside, Des caught up with Wednesday again.
“Know everybody now?” Des
teased Wednesday as she watched Mrs. Elizabeth walk away. She knew it was a lot to remember.
“Well,” Wednesday
admitted, “it helps that I studied my family tree.”
Des raised her brows. “Did you now?
I didn’t think of doing anything like that. No wonder you don’t look freaked. My head was completely buzzing from all the
names.” She shook her head
ruefully. “Still, I’m glad that you came
prepared.”
“Me too.” Wednesday looked around as a light breeze
picked up. The families were gathered at
the front doors, filing in and talking.
The sky was becoming rather cloudy, not soft clouds but more threatening,
dark clouds like a storm was approaching.
Wednesday was glad when they stepped over the threshold into the
spacious reception room of the Corells’ grandly furnished home. Rain made her hair fluffy if she wasn’t
careful, and it was a surprisingly unpleasant feeling for wisps of auburn to
tickle her neck and drive her to the edge of insanity.
Wednesday held Des’s hand
gratefully as she looked in delighted awe around the almost imposingly large
room they had just come to. Chandeliers,
modest ones, were everywhere, dripping with frosted glass. Soft armchairs, thin and easy carpeting, an area
with shelves for boots and a rack of satiny indoor slippers on one wall for the
women, rows of boots on the other wall for the men. Wednesday cautiously followed her cousin as
Des removed her modest boots and took a pair of slippers.
“The Corells designed the
system so no mud would get tracked in the house,” Des explained, picking up on
Wednesday’s confusion about the shoe-changing.
“Here—slip your boots off and this pair is for you—” She removed a silky pair of white slippers
and handed them to a baffled Wednesday.
Des stepped into her own comfortable footwear and visibly relaxed. “It’s odd at first to change shoes every time
you go in and out,” Des admitted, “but it’s much more comfortable this
way. The Corells are geniuses for coming
up with this. I wish I had that kind of
money at home….”
Wednesday agreed with Des
the second she had laced up her pair of shoes.
It felt almost as though she wasn’t wearing shoes, like walking on
feathers. She was almost tempted to look
down to see if she was even wearing shoes.
She walked around in circles to get used to the airy feeling. Around her, Willow and Winter were trying out
their new footwear as well while Lei’Anne patiently waited for them to get over
their awe.
“Come on, you haven’t even
seen the good part yet,” Des teased as Wednesday couldn’t help a smile
spreading over her face. She tugged on
Wednesday’s arm. “Let’s go through the
house, see if we can find the Corells.
It’s too bad they’re not here in the open waiting to greet you. Though I don’t miss Lance Corell at all.”
“Is he really terrible?”
Wednesday asked. She remembered Des
lamenting about Lance earlier.
“He’s only fourteen, well,
fourteen and a half as he likes to brag, but he has such an ego. And he cares nothing for manners,” Des said
fervently, rolling her eyes in disgust. “I
met him with the rest of his family and the first thing he said to me was,
‘What’s wrong with your eyes?’”
“How rude!” Wednesday
huffed. She had a deep-seated hatred for
people who poked fun at Des’s two-tone eye color.
“And that’s not the least
of it,” Des went on earnestly as she took Wednesday’s elbow and they drifted
away from the clog of people in the reception room. “He’s such a lady’s enemy. He told Lei’Anne quite frankly that her
décolletage was too low. She started
seething so badly I was afraid she was going to slap that cocky smile right off
his face—oh, I think he enjoys irritating us.
He’s grated my nerves to wit’s end even though I’ve only been here for a
few hours.”
“Oh.” Wednesday felt worried. All the comments Lance could make about
her! And they likely wouldn’t be very encouraging
ones, either, from what Des was saying.
“Don’t worry,” Des said
comfortingly, placing a placating hand on Wednesday’s shoulder. “We can stay away from him. And the rest of them are nice. Anna Corell—she was named after Grand-Aunt
Anna, whose birthday we’re celebrating—she’s nice. Brielle’s also nice, but I think she’s more
like a second Lei’Anne than anything. And Luka…he’s so shy. The second I looked away he was up the stairs
with a book in hand.”
“Oh,” Wednesday said
again. In her mind, she was already
thinking that Luka must be a lot like herself.
She wondered if there was a potential friend to be made here, but the
thought of befriending a boy in that sense made her shy and nervous.
“As for Mrs. Corell—I mean
Mrs. Reyna, as she asks me to call her—she’s quite nice, too, if not a little
indifferent. Mr. Damien is probably
second worst after Lance, but he’s not too bad to my face…” Des went on,
turning her head this way and that, going on in a ramble. She kept looking around as though she was
hoping to see someone.
“I still hope that I can
just avoid the influx of adults here,” Wednesday confessed as they passed
through a magnificent room with glimmering wallpaper that shone like
silver. She saw a grand piano and knew
instantly that Willow and Winter would want to claim it. She mentioned this to Des.
“They had better not,” Des
said with a little laugh. “That piano’s Brielle’s.
She wouldn’t be afraid to murder anyone who touched those ivory keys. You wouldn’t believe how protective she is,
but that piano was so expensive. And
she’s a good player, of course, but she doesn’t have that rhythm that she needs
to truly express herself. It’s always
this stiff sort of flowing…it’s not quite right.” She suddenly stopped, and Wednesday lurched
forward before settling back. “I forgot
something, Wednesday, I’d better go back and get it. I’ll have to catch up with you again later,
okay?”
“Okay,” Wednesday said,
slightly confused.
“Thanks. You’re the
best.” Des dashed off, brushstrokes of
hair coming loose.
Wednesday wandered about,
enjoying the beautiful structure of the house, leaving Des behind. The detail put into the home was frightening
almost, but mostly ethereal and beautiful.
One room was grand, full of swooping window-curtains trimmed in silk and
tulle and lace, rife with embroidery and preciously stained with fresh
colors. Another room was charming with
miniature belle epoch arches crossing like latticework overhead and pale,
beige-like paint. Wednesday had never
admired a house so much before. It
really was quite beautiful. Wednesday
wondered where Des had gone and what she needed to fetch. After her disappearing, Wednesday went on,
and ventured through four rooms before coming to an octahedronal wall corner and
pausing.
Wednesday sort of was
hoping she would run into one of the Corells, because she was interested in
meeting this Luka Corell, because he seemed to be most like her based on Des’s
description.
Her wish half came
true. She turned the corner, admiring
the octagonal paneling laid into the walls, and had to back up quickly so she
didn’t bump into a figure who was coming around on the other side.
To her chagrin, the figure
was not Luka Corell, but instead a slender but rather short young lady in an
expensive-looking dress, who could only be Brielle Corell, the younger Corell
daughter.
“Oh! I’m so sorry, I
didn’t see you there,” Brielle said. She
immediately struck Wednesday as very cool, very polite, and slightly
haughty. Brielle held herself in a way
that broadcasted her opinion: I am superior.
Bow your heads to me and I will not cut them off.
“No, it’s my fault,”
Wednesday apologized, feeling intimidated by Brielle’s strong, unwavering gaze.
Her gaze wasn’t a glare, but it was quite deliberate.
“It’s all right. I don’t hold grudges for small things like this,”
Brielle said sweetly. She held her chin
high up, and even though she was slightly short, Wednesday knew that Brielle
was the ruler here. She was the one with
the beautiful aura and regality. Brielle
studied Wednesday with her levelheaded gaze.
“You must be…?”
“I’m Wednesday Fontana,
daughter of Esthetique and George Fontana,” Wednesday recited. “My sisters are Winter and Willow. I don’t
suppose you’ve met them yet?”
“Oh, Lei’Anne has told me
a lot about your sisters,” Brielle said, smiling with her lips pressed
together. It looked slightly painful, ad
Wednesday unconsciously found herself trying to copy her without even knowing
it. It made her lips hurt, and she quickly
relaxed her mouth, hoping Brielle hadn’t noticed. “Your cousins Lei’Anne and Desdemona are
precious,” Brielle went on. “And from
what I’ve heard, you lot are lovely as well.”
“And you must be Brielle.”
“Oh, yes. I’m terribly sorry we haven’t been
introduced,” Brielle said, still smiling that unusual smile. It made her lips pale from rich red to faint
pink. “Mother was planning to formally
introduce at supper.”
“It’s fine. I love your
house,” Wednesday said politely.
“That’s sweet of you. I feel as though it can be sort
of…ah…pressurized. I do rather like to
hang outside. The honeysuckles have a
delightful scent, but I’m afraid they’re not in season yet,” Brielle said,
raising her eyebrows. Her paternal tone
made Wednesday’s fingers tense of their own accord. “We do have quite a mansion, and I might add
that we built it ourselves. And of
course my sister Anne Corell gets to inherit it, but I do have a share in the
income, I believe.” Brielle started
going on and on, which made Wednesday nervous for no apparent reason. She hadn’t imagined that Brielle would talk
about her inheritance before even explaining her family.
“And I think even Luka
receives a bit of land,” Brielle finished.
She was still smiling pleasantly, unaware of Wednesday’s discomfort. “Oh…forgive me for keeping you. You must have some things you need to do
before supper.” She started to turn
away.
“Actually—” Wednesday hesitated, and Brielle paused, her
expensive skirts swirling around her legs before they settled. “Actually, I’m not sure where my—where my
family’s things are. I feel awful having
to ask you, but—”
“Oh, hush. Don’t bother with formalities,” Brielle said,
turning back around. “We took your
family’s things up to the third floor, by the south side. I hope you’ll be comfortable there. Follow me.”
Wednesday hurried off as Brielle set off at a brisk pace, trying to keep
up with her cousin. “The third floor
isn’t the nicest floor, I’m afraid, but it’s plenty nice. You see, Anna created the design for the
third floor, so it’s not amazing, but I did plan out the designs for the fourth
floor. There’s quite a beauty up there
and you can go visit the floor if you have time, assuming you don’t get lost.” They passed through a tiny room so
exquisitely hung with tapestries that Wednesday almost stopped in the middle of
the floor. Brielle kept going to a
gilded spiral staircase that looped regally above the other floors. “Now we can go up this case. Lance and Luka designed the pattern and
layout of the second floor.” She sniffed
in disdain. “Boys. They have no sense of
style!”
“Well, I’ve heard some
about Luka,” Wednesday ventured out bravely.
Brielle stopped. Wednesday almost ran into her and grabbed the
rail so she wouldn’t fall down the stairs.
She blinked, but Brielle just gave her another thin, sweet smile, and
said with deliberate insouciance, “Well, of course you have. And you’ve probably heard more about Luka
then the rest of us, right? He is quite
a fellow.”
“Of course not,” Wednesday
said carefully, realizing she was walking through a minefield. “I’ve heard about you, of course. How you play the piano like an angel.”
“I do,” Brielle said,
continuing back up the stairs. “I
should, anyhow. I’ve been playing for
seven years and from the beginning I had a natural talent.”
“Yes, of course,”
Wednesday said, mentally thanking Des for mentioning Brielle’s piano. They reached the top of the staircase, where
another continued. She wanted to see the
second floor, but she only caught the rich carpeting and smoothly carved wooden
tables on the landing before she had to hustle after the quickly moving
Brielle.
It wasn’t that she didn’t
like Brielle. Brielle was nice, if not a
little prideful, but she seemed a bit like a second Lei’Anne like Des had
said. Brielle’s brio was intoxicating
almost, and her cool manner paired with her supersweet chattery personality
made her a different sort of personality than Wednesday had expected. And Des didn’t seem very sincere or genuine
about any of her actions or what she said.
Not to mention she was hugely ambitious.
“Lance wants to run for
Parliament,” Brielle kept talking, perpetually speaking. “He’s ridiculous. I’m surprised Lance has any friends, that
attitude of his is so annoying. I want
to give him such a slap that he’d fly right out of the window! Lei’Anne doesn’t
hold a very high opinion of him, either, I can tell that—”
Oh, great, Wednesday thought dully.
Yet another girl who idolizes
Lei’Anne.
“—but when you have to
live with him, you sort of get used to it,” Brielle chattered, climbing the
staircase so fast Wednesday wondered if she was going to hyperventilate. She felt light-headed from the speedy
circular climbs. “I just tune out his
incessant complaining. One day a few
years ago, I counted how many times he complained in one day. The total was some twenty-one times! That’s incredible. I say, is it even possible to complain more than
that? Well, no, of course….”
“Willow can,” Wednesday
puffed out as she went up the stairs with Brielle. They reached the landing, and Wednesday had
never been more thankful to reach flat flooring. Brielle started leading her down the hall at
a rather slower pace. Wednesday already
knew that every time she and her sisters attempted to find their way to bed,
Wednesday would be hopelessly lost. “Willow complains about everything under
the sun. She’s not like a real lady,
naturally, but she’s so defiant. I think
every other word that comes from her lips is a complaint.”
“She complains more than
Lance?” Brielle’s pace slowed
drastically so she could see Wednesday eye-to-eye. Her plucked, thin eyebrows were arched
incredulously high on her forehead. Her indefatigable speech suddenly became
clipped off on each word.
“Maybe,” Wednesday
answered, thinking she would have to be more careful when she defied Brielle in
the future. She had to tread carefully
again. “You’re probably right, of
course. I’m probably just…making Willow
seem worse than she really is.”
“Lance complains the
most,” Brielle said firmly. She turned a
right and opened a beautifully carved and polished wood door, pushing it open
and displaying a huge room with interior wall segments, a room so large it
looked almost like a small house in its own.
“In you go. We put all your
things in the bathroom. Enjoy, all
right? I need to run. Supper’s at
eight!” She closed the door behind
Wednesday, leaving her befuddled in her temporary home.
“I can’t believe
this.” Wednesday looked around. She really needed somewhere to sit down, but
she wasn’t sure where. She was standing
on a large, luxurious rug so soft she could feel it through her indoors satin
shoes. There was a wall facing her, on the left wall was a small room, across
from that closed-off room was a wall section with what looked like a miniature
kitchen by it. And in the middle of the
room was a dainty circular table with chairs. She had no idea where to go,
especially since the room was so huge.
Was it really just a room, or was it an entire floor by itself?
She peeked into a few
other “rooms,” reveling in the beauty of the house. Despite the discouraging facts and remarks
Brielle had made about the second floor, it was as stunning as anything
Wednesday had ever seen. She made a
mental note to go and see the fourth floor, apparently Brielle’s pride and
joy. She wondered if she could convince
Father and Mother to let her design a floor, too. They had plenty of extra space available.
Wednesday was touring the
bathroom, marveling at its glamour, when she heard a tap on the hallway
door. She quickly ducked out of the
bathroom and opened the door a slit, her eyes meeting both the rich carpet and
a pink-cheeked Willow, whose hair was coming loose and her breath in little
puffs, with her sparkling eye and flushed cheek, smiling broadly, her pretty
little dimples showing on either side.
Despite the fact that she looked rather tired, Willow looked like a
little porcelain doll. Wednesday opened
the door wider and beckoned her in.
“What’s the story,
Willow? You look absolutely exhausted,”
Wednesday said, stepping back as Willow swept in. She glanced out the beveled glass
windows. A brilliant sun, framed by the
trees and glinting[m1] through
the diaphanous shrubbery, snuck a peek back at her as it started sinking slowly. She turned back to Willow, who was thoroughly
investigating and making a brisk inventory of their quarters.
“This entire place is
breathtaking, isn’t it?” Willow said, lovingly running her hand along the beds
in the “bedroom,” which was really a set of beds and bureaus set off behind a
half wall partition. “And these slippers
are so comfortable.”
“Slippers…? Oh.” Wednesday had almost forgotten about the
different shoes she was wearing. They
were so light she didn’t understand what they were made of. Surely it was silk,
blended together with air. She had never
felt so fine a material before.
“Lei’Anne’s been taking me
and Winter around, but Winter went off somewhere, and Aunt Cheri called
Lei’Anne and Desdemona back, so it was just me.
But I did meet Brielle. She’s
such a darling, don’t you think?” Willow said, in a dreamy mood as she sat down
on one of the bedspreads and turned her eyes down so her lashes were covering
her eyes.
“Brielle? I do suppose,” Wednesday said
doubtfully. “She is sweet.”
Willow hopped up, back
onto her feet, and headed to the window.
Wednesday trailed after. “I also
met Aunt Elizabeth. I’ve never met her
before, you know; she’s Father’s sister.”
Willow gazed out the window, then unlatched it and pushed it up and
out. A fresh and startlingly brackish
breeze whistled past them, ruffling the girls’ hair and making their dress
skirts billow like sails. “Have you met
her?”
Wednesday stared out the
window, captivated by the view.
“Hm? Oh, I met her earlier.” She tore her gaze away from the scenery and
set about exploring their quarters again.
“I have such a hard time thinking of this as a room. It’s almost like a flat. A small one, of course, but really, I could
live in this one room if I had all the supplies.”
“If you were willing to
cook and do your clothes and all that yourself, of course, hm?” Willow said
indifferently, striding over.
Wednesday winced. “I meant in size,” she said stubbornly as Willow looked at her skeptically.
“Mmm. Of course.”
“Anyhow,” Wednesday said,
willing to change the subject, “how did you find your way up here without
getting lost? Did Brielle direct you?”
“Well, yes,” Willow
admitted, “but I think I know the route now.
It’s just a quick turn up the stairs, down the hall, left and then straight
and then left again, and then skip the next right and up the stairs, turn to
the right at first opportunity—”
“No, that can’t be right,”
Wednesday said, having remembered something different, despite her lack of
understanding of the house layout.
“Oh, it doesn’t matter
what you think,” Willow said, brushing the comment aside. “By the way, dear sister, have you explored
downstairs? Our little room here is
truly exquisite, but down on the lower floors there’s much more to see. Brielle didn’t lead me very far, only
directing me up here, but Lei’Anne took me for a quick go-by of her favorite
places earlier, and she has good taste. If
you want, I can try and lead you around, since I’ve nothing else to do but
snooze.”
“That’s comfortingly, as
well as a lovely suggestion on your part, but Des already claimed that right,”
Wednesday said lightly, hoping her response wouldn’t agitate Willow. Willow shrugged, fingering the stems of the
assorted flowers arranged in a vase on the windowsill.
“Whatever you please, Your
Majesty,” she said, grinning as she snapped an iris clean under the calyx. “I might suggest that you go see the
atelier. It’s Luka’s, you know, the
youngest one, but granted, he has some degree of talent.”
Wednesday perked up at the
thought of Luka Corell. The younger
child was still a mysterious and quiet figure to her, and she saw him as a
potential friend, sharing the same interests as her, after all. Willow slightly
tilted her head to one side, studying Wednesday’s face.
“You haven’t met him
yet? What’s that look on your face? You don’t fancy him, right?” Willow teased
lightly, grabbing a pillow off of one of the beds in the bedroom section and
tossing it at Wednesday’s head.
Wednesday flinched as the
pillow glanced off her shoulder. “Stop
it! And no, I don’t fancy him. I’m just curious since he’s so closed off.”
“You can say that again,”
Willow said. “Are you sure you don’t
want me to take you? I’m so bored and I
need a task….”
“No thanks. Supper’s at eight, by the way, if Brielle
didn’t tell you,” Wednesday added, diverting the subject before Willow could
grab onto the topic of touring again.
She was curious, though;
curious about the Corells and their odd family, especially mysterious Luka, not
to mention the ones she hadn’t met yet; and curious about the atelier Willow
had been talking about. Yet she was
reluctant to press her sister for more details in fear that Willow might again
take up the idea of leading Wednesday around like a little dog. She seated herself on a wicker chair and
reclined back in contentment.
“Come on, aren’t you going to do anything interesting?” Willow
wheedled. “I might as well go back
downstairs if there’s nothing to do here.”
“If you move that table
you can practice dancing on the main floor,” Wednesday suggested, nodding her
head at the dainty round table and chairs set up in the middle of their
enormous quarters.
Willow wrinkled her
nose. “I don’t want to. It’s so hot, even inside. Dancing will just make me perspire, and I
absolutely hate perspiring.” She was altogether as gauche as Wednesday had
ever seen, but the heat seemed to have made Willow weary and irritated at the
same time, and Wednesday did not feel inclined to be in the vicinity of a crabby
Willow.
“All right. You can go and see Lei’Anne,” Wednesday
suggested politely.
“She’s busy. As is Desdemona,” Willow added just as the
question arose on Wednesday’s tongue.
“And even if I wanted to, I don’t know where she went. Off with her mother, somewhere.”
“Well, I don’t know then,”
Wednesday decided. She wandered into the
bedroom past the wall partition and sat down lightly on one of the beds,
hugging a pillow to her chest. Finally
she lay back down, staring at the ceiling.
“Go back downstairs. Are you
willing to call me when there’s supper?”
“No,” Willow said
stoutly. Wednesday heard a creak and a
swish of skirts as Willow rose and headed for the door. “You have to come yourself.”
“Fine, fine.” Wednesday
waved a hand vaguely.
She drifted off in a half
doze after she heard Willow leave. The
bed was so comfortable, nicer than the ones at home. She was starting to think this was her home,
this enormous mansion farmhouse in this charming agrestic land. Truly she’d only been here less than half a
day, but she was rapidly growing accustomed to the scenery outside, and the
soft coziness of the house that didn’t seem to exist in their gloomy and grayer
home.
Some time later, as
Wednesday sank through layers of silky dreams, she was startled awake by a tap
on the door, and nearly lurched off the bed.
Opening the door to a slit, she peeked out, looking into a bright blue
eye framed by impossibly long lashes. Brielle’s
eye.
“Oh! It’s you, Brielle.” Wednesday leaned away from the door.
“Yes. I came up to fetch you for supper. Is everything okay? Why are you holding the door shut?” Brielle
asked through the tiny crack.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Wednesday quickly opened the door wider. Brielle was standing there, and she looked
Wednesday up and down. “Brielle, is it
already suppertime? Did I miss
something?”
“Oh, don’t fret, you
aren’t late,” Brielle reassured her.
“But you will be if you don’t hurry.
Come on, I’ll take you. What do
you think of your room?”
“It’s delightful,”
Wednesday admitted, following Brielle out into the hall and closing the door
behind her. “I just hadn’t expected it
to be so large. The room could be a
miniature house all on its own.”
“That’s good,” Brielle
said with a touch of relief. “We were
thinking we’d maybe missed something. We
were trying to make it as close to a little home as possible, because I do know
that this grand place can be rather—stifling.
It’s a lot to take in.”
“You can say that again,”
Wednesday joked, picking up her skirts slightly as the ruffled edges caught on
the carpet. Her steps made no sound on
the floor. “I’ve never thought that
there would be such a nice place in the countryside. Before coming here, I had rather expected a
charming but sizable cottage with lots of grassy field space.”
“Oh. Well, you were mistaken,” Brielle
laughed. “I’m telling you, you’ll have a
jolly good time here all the same. And
we do have a great deal of empty space.
Good for having tea or riding horses.
Do you enjoy riding?”
“Somewhat,” Wednesday
said, recalling her last time riding, which had resulted in her falling off a
horse and having to stay in bed for over a week.
“We have a few horses,”
Brielle said as they descended sets of stairs.
Wednesday didn’t focus on the decorations anymore. She could always explore the manor more
thoroughly when Des took her around.
“And I do love riding. I’ve met some
amazing horses here, especially the mares, who are just so beautiful and
sweet. So, you feel like you can go
riding later? I’d love to get to know
you better. Especially since we’ve had
only a brief meeting with each other.”
“It seems fine with me,”
Wednesday replied, only slightly uneasily.
She was intrigued by Brielle’s unusual personality. At first she had come across as not only
unusual, but domineering, but she could see through Brielle’s pompous outlook
and saw a fine little lass inside. “But
really, with such a grand house, do you really have need to pay attention to
your lawns?”
Brielle smiled. “The fields are the best part, because
they’re completely natural.”
“So, you have an
appreciation for wildlife?” Wednesday inquired.
“Most definitely,” Brielle
said, looking at Wednesday sideways.
“From your tone, I suppose you do also.”
“That’s exactly right,”
Wednesday agreed. “Finally, something we
have in common.” She felt a little bit
plain wearing her homely skirts while Brielle had donned that incredibly rich
and beautiful swooping silk and satin work of art. “I love roses, mostly, but I also have an
affinity for other flowers and water.”
“Mmm. Roses?”
Brielle took her arm to help Wednesday down a tricky spiral
staircase. “I love snowdrops. And crocuses.
Usually I can’t decide which ones I like better…but, of course, bodies
of water are beautiful. We have this
crystal clear stream running through our land and it’s just so lovely,
especially in the summer when Anna and I go out together over there and dip our
toes in the water when no gentlemen are around.”
“Des—cousin, you know—she
has some pools of water on her family’s land.
They live farther south than we do, so they have more land space,”
Wednesday explained. “But not as far
south as you and your family do.”
“I’d love to take a look
there,” Brielle said. “But I’d rather
take you to the stream. I know it’s
deathly hot here, while up north where you live it’s cold to a degree I can’t
imagine—but usually it’s not so hot
down here. We’ve just gotten a terrible
heat wave recently, and I don’t know why, but all of us are suffering.” She smoothed down her skirts as they reached
a landing and began making their way down winding halls, with Wednesday
mindlessly trailing after.
“It sounds beautiful,”
Wednesday said wistfully, thinking of the shimmering heat outside.
“It is,” Brielle said with
a childish grin that reminded Wednesday of Willow’s.
“Well, then you’d better
take me there soon,” Wednesday teased, poking a finger at Brielle’s hair. Brielle grinned and batted back at
Wednesday.
They reached a very nice
pair of French doors outlined in mahogany-color wood and filled with panes of
engraved opaque glass. Brielle pushed
them open without a second thought, and Wednesday trailed after inside.
“Oh, my dear girl!”
Wednesday barely had time
to take in the people gathered around the table before someone swept her into a
tight hug. Startled, she staggered back,
and the woman held her at arm’s length, beaming into Wednesday’s face.
“Oh—dear,” Wednesday
stammered.
An olive-skinned woman
with shiny dark brown hair tied up in spilling swirls was smiling widely at her
with slightly distant, light blue eyes.
She affectionately patted Wednesday’s cheek while all the people at the
tables flocked around her and Brielle, starting to chatter.
“Umm—oh. Might I ask—?” Wednesday began in confusion.
“Wednesday, meet my mother
Reyna,” Brielle said, taking Wednesday’s shoulder possessively and gesturing at
the older woman. “Mother, meet
Wednesday.”
“Ah.” So this was Mrs. Reyna Corell, Brielle’s
mother. Wednesday smiled
apologetically. “I’m so sorry, Mrs.
Corell. I didn’t recognize you—it’s a
pleasure to meet you—”
“Please, don’t apologize,”
Mrs. Corell laughed. “It is I who has
been avoiding you, rather—I’m afraid I can be slightly nervous about first
encounters—and please, just call me Miss Reyna.
‘Mrs.’ is just too old for me.”
“Oh. Well, thank you,” Wednesday said rather
awkwardly, glancing at Brielle.
“Don’t be overwhelmed,”
Brielle murmured as she steered Wednesday past Miss Reyna. “Mother’s a real homely woman, and she’s
awfully chuffed about meeting you and your family, so she can be a
little—engulfing, if you would say.”
“Hmmm.” Wednesday searched the sea of faces for a
familiar one. She spotted Winter and
Willow chattering with Lei’Anne, who was looking politely bored as she drifted
back to the dining table. Des was
sitting rigidly next to Lei’Anne, but when she spotted Wednesday, her eyes lit
up, especially the amber one. Des’s
mother and father were holding each other’s hands and softly murmuring to one
another.
Wednesday’s parents were
seated together at the table near the head, where there was an empty seat that
was presumably for Miss Reyna and her husband.
(All the younger ones were seated near the other end of the table to
show them their place, of course.)
Miss Reyna hovered behind
Wednesday like an overprotective hen.
“Ah—Wednesday, my dear, I suppose you already know Brielle—down there at
the other end of the table is my eldest daughter, Anna, named after your Grand-Aunt
Anna Fontana, of course. And then over
there’s my eldest son, Lance—don’t mind him.
He’s a little—er—arrogant, and I apologize for his behaviors—”
Wednesday caught Des’s
eye, who gave her an “I told you so” look.
“—Of course you already
know Brielle, or so it seems—and over there is my youngest, Luka—Luka, stop
hiding and lift your head—” Miss Reyna
swept past Wednesday in a swoop of rich silky skirts and started fussing over her
son.
Wednesday craned her neck
to see if she could catch a glimpse of her potential new friend, but all she
could see was a shock of pale brown hair peeking out from behind Lei’Anne’s
neck and shoulder.
“Come and sit down,
Wednesday,” Brielle said, pushing Wednesday towards an empty chair that was
probably for her. “We can introduce you
later. I’m starving, and it’s almost
five past eight.”
“On time, aren’t you?”
Wednesday teased lightly. She took the
seat next to Des, and Brielle sat on her other side.
“So, you’ve found a new
friend, haven’t you?” Des said, bumping Wednesday’s arm with her shoulder. A strand of her wispy blonde hair slipped
from her tightly woven hairstyle and onto Wednesday’s arm.
“Oh, yes indeed,”
Wednesday grinned, pressing her lips together wryly as Des gave Brielle a shy
wave. “You know, that’s a nice hairdo,”
she added, gesturing vaguely at the twisted-up sleek swirls and buns of Des’s
pale blonde locks. “Did you have that
earlier? I didn’t notice.”
“No…Lei’Anne forced me
into a chair and made me sit still while she did it. She said my previous one wasn’t fit for such
an occasion.” Des shook her head in mock
disgust, casting Lei’Anne an amused look over the table. Lei’Anne appeared to not notice, but
Wednesday wasn’t sure.
“Mmm.” Wednesday looked around, studying the formal
dining room. She was more than
impressed, as she was with the rest of the country manor. While Brielle started up a conversation with
Des, Wednesday tuned them out to survey their supper spot.
The room was long and
fairly wide, spanning a generous amount of space. Most of the room was taken up by the polished
dark-wooded rectangular table that extended to nearly both ends of the room,
rounded on the ends. The table was set
with engraved crystal plates with glass flowers imprinted on the edges, and
linen ivory napkins were set out with silver cutlery. There were enough settings for all of the
guests—that was, to say, all twenty of them.
As Miss Reyna calmed down and took her spot, everyone who had still been
hovering around the French doors came drifting back to their spots. The chairs were luxurious gold-lined
creations with clawed feet, the seats made of soft maroon velvet.
Around the table
Wednesday’s gaze traveled, from herself to Des on her left, then to Lei’Anne,
Luka, Willow, Winter, Missus Elizabeth, Wednesday’s father George II, her
mother Esthetique, Mr. Damien Corell near the head of the table, Miss Reyna,
Grand-Aunt Anna, her husband Gordon, Grandfather George I and his wife Lucia,
Des’s parents Mr. Jerry and Mrs. Cheri, Anna Corell (the oldest Corell
daughter), Lance, and Brielle at the foot of the table on Wednesday’s
right.
Wednesday found herself
staring curiously at the Corells, since except for Brielle and now Miss Reyna,
she had not seen any of them before. Mr.
Damien, Miss Reyna’s husband, was tall and rather strapping, somewhat
middle-aged with sandy trimmed hair and cold blue eyes. He was talking to Miss Reyna with a touch of
a smirk in his smile showing from underneath his thin mustache.
Anna Corell, the eldest
Corell daughter, looked to be in late marrying age and was considerably less
attractive than her father or even her mother, having inherited Miss Reyna’s
chocolate hair but her father’s eyes, though more subdued than Mr.
Damien’s. She had a pair of spectacles
perched on the bridge of her nose and was staring lost in thought out a window.
Second eldest was Lance,
looking almost uncannily like his father but with brown hair that was slightly
lighter than his mother’s, about the same color as Brielle’s hair. He also had the sharp cold blue eyes and the
unmistakable trace of smirk on his lips as Mr. Damien’s, though seeing an
adult’s expression on the fourteen year-old’s face was rather
disconcerting.
Of course, Brielle was
very pretty, with her flowing brown curls and long eyelashes framing blue
eyes. Wednesday sent her a smile and
received a sunny grin in return.
The youngest was Luka
Corell, somewhat of a mystery to Wednesday still. He was sitting quite still, staring down at
his crystal plate with his head slightly ducked. His pale brown hair, lighter than Brielle’s
or Lance’s, spilled over his forehead, rather looser than his brother’s. His blue eyes matched Miss Reyna’s, a little
bit distant, as though he were conjuring up a fantastic dream in his mind.
“Wednesday? Wednesday, are you listening to me?”
Wednesday became suddenly
aware of Des tapping her repeatedly on the shoulder. Starting, she glanced at her friend. “Sorry?”
“Is something wrong?” Des followed Wednesday’s gaze until she found
its end. A grin spread across her
face. “Oh, I see. Ogling Luka Corell like a peasant lass, are
you? I don’t suppose you’ve found
someone who suits your fancy, eh?”
“Don’t speak like
that!” Wednesday playfully slapped Des
on the shoulder. “No, I don’t! Why does everyone think that I fancy Luka? Goodness sakes, he’s only twelve, isn’t
he? Still a while to go?”
“Ah, well, you do keep staring at him, you can’t deny
that,” Des said with a very posh manner.
“You have no shame,”
Wednesday teased.
“Coming
from you, I don’t know what to expect,” Des returned with equal verve.
“I’m oh so sorry to
interrupt your lovely conversation,” Lei’Anne snapped waspishly from Des’s
other side, automatically cutting off the conversation, “but could you please quiet down! A few of us are trying to be civilized here.” She glared pointedly at the two of them and
subtly moved her shoulder to indicate Luka, who was sitting next to her.
“Ah—yes, of course,”
Wednesday said awkwardly as Luka cast her a curious look. “I’m sorry, Lei’Anne—we should’ve been a
little quieter.”
“A
little?” Lei’Ane huffed. From behind Luka, Willow made a face at
Wednesday that clearly indicated her opinion of Wednesday had plunged even
further. Winter was sitting haughtily in
a way that made Wednesday feel she was held in very low regard at this moment.
“Oh,
stuff it, Lei’Anne,” Des said good-spiritedly.
“Silly
girl.” Lei’Anne turned away with a
huff.
Wednesday
leaned in to Des. “You don’t suppose he
knew we were talking about him, do you? Luka, I mean? That’s mighty embarrassing.”
“You could’ve thought it
prudent to keep your voice down,” Des said, stifling a laugh at Wednesday’s
expression. “Honestly, Wednesday,
someone in Paris could’ve heard you. I’m
sure he did.”
“Oh, dear. I hope he doesn’t get the wrong idea of me,”
Wednesday said, pushing her lower lip up into a pout.
“Don’t worry about it,” Des
said distractedly, checking a clock that was situated neatly in one corner of
the room. “My, it’s almost past eight
now! What in the world are the Corells
thinking? I’m starving to death in my
corset, and feeling faint besides.”
“Now, now,” Wednesday
consoled her. “I’m sure Miss Reyna and
Mr. Damien are just late diners.”
“Call it that if you
must,” Des said.
Wednesday nodded,
satisfied. “That I do.”
“Now, Wednesday, you
aren’t in the place to voice your opinion—”
“Des, you are quite the
lady!” Wednesday laughed. “So much for
the great Desdemona Fontana—”
“Ha!” Des declared aloud. The amber in her eye flared as she grinned at
Wednesday.
“Girls, hush,” Lei’Anne
said irritably for the second time. “I’m
losing my patience, now.”
“Yes, exactly,” simpered
Willow from three seats down from Wednesday’s, lifting her chin and staring
Wednesday down. “Please, shut your
trap.”
“Willow!” Winter
admonished.
“Why exactly are you angry
at me, now?” Willow glared.
Wednesday rolled her
eyes. “Willow, that should be an
unspeakably easy answer. Now just mind
me for now. Hopefully you’ll be in a
more decent mood after supper…?”
“Wednesday, you too,”
Winter said, clicking her tongue at both of them. “Lei’Anne’s wiser than all of us as well, so
you’d do well to heed her words.” She
glanced at the head of the table, where most of the adults were seated. “Though I do wonder how long supper will
take….”
The French doors swung
open and a number of maids with platters and carts emerged into the room amid
clouds of steam, heads bowed demurely.
Mr. Damien looked up, and Miss Reyna waved the maids over to start
dishing out the appetizers.
“Speak of the devil, and
he shall appear,” Des grumbled. “It’s
about time. My stomach must be touching
my spine now.”
“Don’t say that; it gives
me the shivershakes,” Wednesday reprimanded, having just experienced a mild
shiver.
“Do forgive me.”
There were enough settings
for at least six courses, and the platters of appetizers appeared meager upon
the vast tableclothed surface of the oblong dining table. Wednesday stared in surprised delight at the
tiny rolls wrapped in delicate spring leaves, and the delectable light
bruschetta drizzled in sweet sauce. It
smelled delicious and inviting, and it was only then Wednesday truly
appreciated the art of food.
“So! May I have everyone’s attention?”
Everyone’s heads swiveled
as Mr. Damien stood up, clasping his hands together. He smiled around at the all, but the touch of
smirk in his face became more pronounced, so it rather appeared that he was
smiling evilly. Wednesday had to avert her
eyes to keep from laughing aloud. Des
glanced at her sideways and Wednesday subtly shook her head, biting her lower
lip hard.
“I must apologize for the
lack of timing,” he said pompously.
“However, it is with pleasure that I invite the family to share supper
with our family, so that we may all bond together. I do know that there have been several
first-time meetings, and that you all are probably anxious to celebrate Mrs.
Anna Fontana’s birthday—” He nodded
respectfully at the placing near the head of the table where old Great-Aunt Anna
was sitting hunched over with wrinkled hands, smiling placidly as Mr. Damien
inclined his head towards her. “But just
in the spirit of showing off, I hope that you will enjoy your stay of our house
and of course, meeting our family. We
Corells are generally hospitable, so do not hesitate to ask us of anything if
you need something. My daughters Anna
and Brielle and my sons Lance and Luka will be all too happy to help you, I
assume,” and here he sent them all a pointedly withering look, “and of course for
more serious matters, Reyna and myself will most likely be around.
“Now, with all that
business done with, I would like you to enjoy supper, starting with our
appetizers. Please, serve yourself, and
don’t be shy to take anything.” Mr.
Damien smiled charmingly, though the smirk ruined it slightly. “After all, there are obviously no manners in
this house, judging from our ridiculously spoiled children.”
“Now that’s a little
unfair,” Brielle murmured. “Though he’s
right on the mark with Lance.”
“Ooh, I know, right?” Des
chimed in as Mr. Damien sat back down and there was a general hustle and bustle
as the guests were all exclamations as they tried the light foods the Corells’
cook had prepared. Wednesday smiled,
glad that shy Des was finding a new friend.
It was about time.
“You eat this sort of
feast every day, Brielle?” Wednesday asked Brielle as Wednesday and Des stared
at the enormous platters of appetizers in front of them.
“Why yes, I’ve gotten
quite used to it,” Brielle said indifferently, filling her plate with small
appetizers that looked like paintings.
Wednesday supposed rich people like the Corells could afford to have
their food made to be pretty. She
watched curiously as Brielle also took some strange kind of roll cut in the
shape of a blooming lotus.
“You sound so casual when
you say that,” Des said from Wednesday’s other side as she blinked at the
overwhelming choices in front of her.
“And these are just for starters!”
Brielle shrugged. Wednesday didn’t think it was affectation
that was making Brielle so casual, but she couldn’t be sure.
Des leaned over to murmur
in Wednesday’s ear. “So many
choices. I don’t know what to try!”
“Just take a little bit of
everything, then,” Wednesday said, laughing nervously. She felt exactly the same way as Des
did.
All in all, it was a
lovely meal. Wednesday did her best to
try everything, but with all the variety the Corells offered, there was no way
she would be able to fit even a teaspoon full of each dish into her stomach, especially
since her corset limited her ability to stretch. Winter and Willow had a faint row, which
thankfully went unnoticed by the adults, and the entire time Lei’Anne was
glaring daggers at Lance for making the comment about her décolletage, but
Wednesday was able to enjoy herself despite the fact her stomach was feeling
altogether far too tight.
“Say,” Des mentioned to
Brielle as dessert was served out, “that’s a handsome dress right there,
cousin.”
“I do suppose it is,”
Brielle said, flattered as she looked down at the swooping floaty layers of
purple that seemed to hover like mist over her full crinolines, seemingly
imbued with hundreds of tiny crystalline mirrors, for the chatoyant colors
appeared to swim and gloss in front of Wednesday’s eyes. It was a marvel, Wednesday thought, that Brielle
could move around in that ruffled floofy contraption. Even with the comfortable shoes on, there was
no explanation how Brielle could carry such a load under her corset without
dropping it all. Brielle seemed perfectly content, which only made Wednesday
more discomfited. She was starting to feel slightly faint, and frantically
fanned herself under the table with one hand, tempted to lift her skirts just a
tad so her legs could breathe, but that wasn’t acceptable with so many guests
around, and she didn’t dare. Instead she
just fluttered her palm about her waist, hoping not to be noticed.
Brielle went on. “Father had it specially designed. He and
Mother usually do such things for all of us—that is, to say, me and my
siblings. Oh, sometimes I get jealous, I’ll admit—there’s this absolutely
gorgeous gold one that my elder sister Anna has, silly girl, that dress puts her to shame instead of the other way
around….”
Des’s eyebrows rose at
this mention. Wednesday held back a grimace; so was Brielle’s pride. It was
something she had already masterfully learned to deal with, and she prayed Des
wouldn’t incite the flare in Brielle.
Thankfully, Des just
nodded. “I do understand you,
Brielle…you see, I’m sure you know my sister Lei’Anne…”
“A marvelous girl, by the
way,” Brielle put in.
“You might think so,” Des
said with a charming smile, as the amber in her eye glinted mischievously. “But you may not think so after I tell you
the scandalous incident that happened in the washroom two days before we
arrived here at your house….”
The two girls lapsed in
conversation while Wednesday eased her presence away from the conversation. Up
near the front of the table, Miss Reyna and Mr. Damien were welcomingly
engaging the others in earnest conversation; Des’s father Mr. Jerry was
passionately defending a certain political act that had recently been
committed, and Aunt Elizabeth was making somewhat more mansuete replies in the
doleful but kind way that she spoke. Several of the more elderly guests at the
head of the table, not willing to keep up with modern politics, told stories to
each other. Anna Corell was arguing over some paltry issue with her brother
Lance a few seats away, as were Winter and Willow. Next to them, Luka Corell
had his face turned down so he looked at his plate, solitarily eating and
quietly avoiding everyone’s gaze.
Brielle turned away to
join the argument between Lance and Anna, distracted, and Wednesday turned to
Des.
“Quite an evening, don’t
you think?” Des said mildly, feeling her stomach gently.
“I have to agree with
you,” Wednesday said. “I’m feeling bloated at this point in time….” She glanced up at the head of the table. “Des,” she said, lowering her voice, “how
come none of the family from Mr. Damien’s side came?”
“Say again?” Des said,
equally quietly.
“Miss Reyna’s maiden name
is Ebenezer,” Wednesday said, mentally referring to her study of the family
tree. She could not help but feel something was out of place. “Her father is Mr. Gordon Ebenezer up there
at the table, who is married to Grand-Aunt Anna, and she’s from the Fontana
side of the family. You and I and our families stem from Fontana roots, mostly.
But how come none of Mr. Damien’s family is here? The other Corells, the ones
to which we are not acquainted?”
Des leaned over
conspiratorially. “Truthfully, I’m not sure,” she confessed in a low tone,
glancing at Brielle, “but I did hear some gossip about Mr. Damien’s family.
They say he’s a sly man, a trickster, and he does seem awfully proud, I’ll tell
you—and that his family disowned him, of sorts. He consequently has severed all
ties with them, and lives among Miss Reyna’s side of the family…I suppose he
tries to hide his past.” Des giggled,
lightening up. “But they’re all just
stories, I’m sure. Idle tales that pop up around such figures. After all, Miss
Reyna did marry him, so he can’t be all that bad. But you do know who is bad?”
“Lance?” Wednesday
guessed.
“Exactly,” Des said, her
blue eye darkening. “He’s a mangy dog,
that one.” She sent him a scathing look
across the table, but Lance was too busy arguing with Anna to pay
attention. “I had the misfortune to end
up in conversation with him while the rest of the supper guests were gathering
round the table. He made some
extraordinarily uncivilized comments about my dress, and my speech.”
“Your speech?” Wednesday was befuddled. “What, exactly, is wrong with your speech?”
“I’m not sure,” Des said
darkly, “but I don’t like him. Lei’Anne’s already declared war on him, and it
seems that Anna is not succeeding in arguing him down, nor is Brielle…”
The rest of the dinner
passed pleasantly, mingled with idle chat and gossip, and a few declarations on
politics. Wednesday did not care for
politics, and spent most of her time talking with Des and Brielle when the
latter wasn’t distracted. After the
guests had started to clear, Wednesday and Des went for a light walk on the
Corells’ property, as many of the others were.
The supper had penetrated late into the evening, and it was past eleven
before Wednesday had changed her comfortable slippers out for her old boots and
walked into the steamy night air. Neither girl minded what their mothers would
have to say on not having an escort, but it hardly counted as most of the
guests were out for a stroll.
“Don’t you just feel at
home?” Des murmured as they walked beneath the sprawling stars. The moon, semi-formed, sprinkled generous
light from overhead, so it was rather like walking beneath a web of candles. “This house…it doesn’t have the stately feel
my home does.”
“I agree,” Wednesday
said. “But you live farther in the
countryside also, Des…I would have thought that you would be accustomed to this
sort of landscape and atmosphere.”
“It is not the physical
form,” Des amended. “It’s the aura. The
relaxation here is relieving compared to the tense thoughts of home. Especially
with Lei’Anne engaged….”
“Oh, yes.” Wednesday smiled. “Tell me more about the absolutely dashing
young master Gilbert Gerdrane.”
Des stifled a giggle. “Oh, can you imagine that? Being called with
such a surname as that?” She adopted a
pompous voice. “‘Mrs. Lei’Anne Gerdrane!’
Oh, the horror!” She and Wednesday
lapsed into laughter. “Can you imagine
that, Wednesday? Call my sister that!”
“We’ll see,” Wednesday
said, smiling amusedly. “Oh, we shall
see.”
The starlight glimmered overhead, dazzlingly bright like nothing Willow had
ever seen. She trailed among the willow
trees of a purchase of rolling land close to the side of the Corells’ house,
not minding the fact that her crinolines were catching every miniscule twig on
the ground and every sharp-tongued leaf.
She hadn’t had this kind of peace in quite a while, walking by herself
while she mused revelation-style thoughts under her breath. It wasn’t often she
got these urges, these—things that came over her and shut the irritable side of
her down; but when it came, her swallowed her completely.
It was refreshing in a
way, Willow thought as she let a strand of weeping willow’s hair play across
her flat gloved palm. None of the hotheaded personality she usually had
remained. And yet it was so dull. So
unsatisfactory and unfulfilling…just as the delicate and dull tree she was
named after.
Willow pondered this as
she walked about the trees, their countless eyebrow leaves dancing fancifully
through the air like a line of ballroom dancers. Ballroom dancing…her mind drifted to the New
Year’s Festival, nearly a month past now, but still crisp and clear in her
mind. Cassius and she had been dancing,
and it had lit up Willow’s heart as certainly as one striking a match to spark
a flame going on an oil lamp candle. A warm, mellow glow as gentle as Cassius’s
smile.
She would rather not be a
princess. The restrictive social way of
living among prestige and class. She hadn’t the richest family, yet her status
was implied, simply because of her title,
never mind how much wealth her father owned or how large a dowry she
would have if she were to be married off—which she supposed would never happen. Being a princess, her father would only allow
suitors to come to her, not the other way around. Oh, Cassius, it pained her
deeply to think that he would not come for her; and that notion made Willow’s
lip curl, and her face darken considerably.
She had once caught her reflection in a rain puddle while having these
thoughts, and her face was stormy, matched with the cool calmness of someone in
control.
She was not satisfied with
this way of living, even among the certain degree of luxury she unconsciously
expected. Willow ripped off a tree tress
and held the long waterfall of tapered foxtails draped over her palm. Rich and beautiful and pristine, that was
what she was, and wasn’t yet content.
What more could she want?
And yet her fondest wishes
came in dreams at night, of dressing in plain coarse clothes and sneaking into
the village to become a thread spinner like Cassius Wickerworth. So simple a life, earning shillings by the
work of one’s hand—and yet, why was she so nostalgic for it, something she,
after all, had never known? It was
cruelly ironic, how she wanted to surround herself with commoners with their
pidgin dialects and their rough outdoor work turning brown as a bread loaf
under the baking sun.
If only Cassius could see
her now, see her desires—for he had a way of looking at her that pierced her
through—he, surely, would understand.
Willow threw the branch away in disgust.
She wanted nothing to do with that kind of elegance. It was a different kind of elegance she
wanted; the poise and posture, the tousled chestnut hair and the green eyes
glimmering with barely suppressed mischief and mirth. The elegance that led to
stir Willow’s heart and turn her astray. The elegance of a certain thread
spinner who Willow adored above all compare.
How was it that he, a
plain peasant (or so he had said), could have so much dignity, when Willow—a
princess, no less!—was steeped in shame and disappointment?
It was interesting to have
these philosophical thoughts, Willow said to herself, as she ripped off another
willow branch with one great tug. She
threw it aside and watched bitterly as the leaves fluttered in a weaving,
taunting dance as they fell. Even
destroyed, they maintained a semblance of beauty. That was all Willow know, she realized,
watching the branch fall. Failure with
dignity. Style. But what good was that
unless you had a true heart of gold?
Willow resumed her
pedantic, methodical weaving circles about the tree trunks, and meandered her
way towards the back-side gardens of the Corells’ house. And what a grand house it was, she
thought. Another remarkable work of
architecture that she couldn’t have cared less about.
She came to a facet of the
house, seeing that there was a thriving horde of ivy attempting to claw its way
to the roof. Underneath the ivy, rather
unkempt garden no larger than twice Willow’s bed. Among the cucumber-frames and overgrown grape
espaliers was very little product, besides clumps of vines and the occasional
cluster of wildflowers. A lonely
cucumber was growing at the base of a frame.
What a sad little garden,
she thought sympathetically. She was debating whether or not to pluck the
cucumber and put it out of its misery when she realized she could no longer
hear the birds’ incessant chirping about the trees, nor the irritating chaffing
cacophony of the cicadas that seemed to frequent here. In fact, all was almost eerily silent, and she
felt her mind being drawn a certain direction.
Willow turned, somehow
expecting to see someone there—or, at least, a very particular someone with
green eyes. Yet no one she could see was
standing in front of her. However, she
did hear the tiny trickle of a stream that seemed a short ways away. Long enough distance for a good five minutes’
stroll, but no less and certainly no more. Willow set off, her mind drawn towards it,
following her ears, not minding that her dress train was picking up bushelfuls
of stray leaves and grass. A strand of tree hair fell from its scalp past her,
and she let it drop. The sounds of the
stream were getting louder, so surely she was nearing her destination. The steamy air of the country terrain made her
work up a mild heat; and she wished, not for the first time, that she had
brought her reticule with her on this walk, so that she might put her fan to
good use. Of course, being the lazy,
incredibly stupid idiot that she was, she had foolishly left it behind at the
house; never mind what Mother would say about not being ladylike. She wasn’t a real lady yet, anyhow, seeing as
she had not had her coming-of yet, but there were no excuses with Mother.
There was a thick purchase
of willow trees ahead, and Willow could hear and faintly see the rushing stream
from between the swaying locks of tightly bunched hair. She pushed her way
through, absently brushing leaves off, and found that she was standing near the
mouth of a small brook, which tumbled and bubbled and tripped its way over
dislodged stones and dirt, banging itself up into tiny white foam pools. The stream curved away from Willow in a
gleaming black horseshoe, through another, less thick section of willows, and
appeared to empty out into a small marshy pond of sorts.
But Willow wasn’t watching
the pond. Her eyes had alit on an
unearthly, beautiful flower sprouting unnaturally from the side of the
riverbank, its roots plunging straight into the water. For some strange reason it drew Willow’s eye,
the same way it drew her mind, an amphitheater of oddly black petals fanning
out, seeming shimmer and bend the night air. As she came closer, she found it
had no leaves; a pure black rose, somehow able to survive half-submerged in the
river current. Willow didn’t know why it
captivated her so, but she approached the black rose, which shone in the night.
She stood in front of it, her will
rested at last, bathed in moonlight and marveling at the flickering beauty of
nature.
A black rose….
Suddenly, a flaring, intense
thought bolted through her mind:
Shadow King.
Right then, a calm young man’s
voice from right behind her said, “Don’t move, Princess.”