Cogling (4 page)

The butler shoved Harrison toward her. “Why didn’t Harrison tell me? He looked as if he’d never seen me before.” Teddy’s gray mustache twitched.

Edna rubbed her prayer beads. If she explained Harrison didn’t feel well, Teddy might send him home, but if she said Teddy had spooked her brother, the butler might take offense.

From the stove, Cook flared her pug nostrils, shaking her rolling pin. Flour spattered her leathery flesh. Cook should know Harrison wasn’t the type to thieve, but a tomtar couldn’t talk back to a human butler.

Harrison stared, unblinking, at a copper pot hanging from the ceiling.

“Mum said you could wear it at home, not out.” When Edna reached for the pocket watch, Harrison jerked away. He blinked once, then his jaw dropped and a wail exploded from his mouth. The noise echoed off the white walls, reverberating through the room. Edna grabbed her brother by the shoulders.

“Stop it, please!” She slapped her hand over his mouth. His lips felt dry. He closed his eyes, the scream heightening.

She couldn’t feel his breath on her palm.

Teddy cringed. “In the name of our goodly king, make him cease.”

“Harrison!” Edna yanked him against her, and he stopped. As the sound faded, a pop came from a shelf by the stove.

“Never heard such a racket. Wouldn’t think the boy would ‘ave it in him.” Clucking her tongue, the cook lowered her hands from her ears. Her talons clicked as she crossed the room, picking up tiny pieces of metal with her thick fingers. “If that don’t beat all. The spyder broke.”

“Wasn’t our fault. Lord Waxman can’t make us pay for it.” Edna squeezed Harrison tighter. He held himself stiff and straight, less soft and warm.

Eardrops for an infection used to cost twenty-cents. Unless the hags raised the price, Edna could pay for them in four days, if she walked to work and saved her trolley fare.

“He’d best wise up, or we aren’t letting him stay.” Teddy removed the handkerchief from his suit coat pocket and wiped his brow. “We can’t have this goin’ on here, especially with the Lady’s gathering.”

Edna glanced at the tray for the party. “Harrison, you’re gonna snap out of whatever’s gotten your knickers tied up. Make sure you don’t lose that watch, either. Mum will box your ears for taking that, I swear.” That should sound realistic; the butler wouldn’t know their parents never raised a hands against Harrison.

“And make him clean his shoes,” Teddy said as he marched from the kitchen. “The boy left a wet spot on the floor.”

Harrison stared at the stove.

“I’ll take care of him,” Cook said. “Give him a second to shake his mind clear. Never knew a child t’ act like that.”

“Thank you,” Edna breathed. If he could make it through the day, she’d boil him tea at home and wrap him up in their blankets, hold him all night. He might feel better tomorrow.

Shaking her head, Edna grabbed the tray and hurried for the stairs. The rustic wood creaked as she ascended, leaving the basement kitchen behind for the upstairs world of gild. Green carpet covered the main hallway lined with china cabinets displaying gold-embossed porcelain.

Edna rounded the corner, the floor switching to the red velvet that carpeted the front stairs. She should take the back stairs, meant for servants, but she was already late. Tea sloshed in the blue pot and a drip slithered from the spout as she used her back to push open the door to Lady Rachel Waxman’s bedchamber. Sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, draped with white lace. The pink wallpaper matched the silk blankets on the canopy bed. An automation personal maid stood beside the wardrobe sorting gowns.

The automations looked like humans, except with shining copper bodies. Rachel’s wore a black dress and crimson apron to keep from appearing nude. Edna would’ve preferred it undressed. Machines couldn’t be naked, so it seemed a waste to clothe one.

Lord Waxman could only afford three. The other two he kept as his personal assistants. Edna had heard from Teddy that the king had replaced all his human servants with automations. Teddy had growled; how dare King Elias replace hard-working humans, who needed the pay, with machines?

Lady Rachel sat at her vanity, smoothing verbena cold cream across her brow. “These bumps just won’t go away. I look disgusting.”

Leave it to Rachel to make her feel dirty. Bumps covered Edna’s face, since she couldn’t afford strong soap or cream. Edna ground her teeth as she set the tray on the bedside table. The food smelled of a tomtar: earth scented with sage oil to make the stench less offensive.

“My lady, your tea.” Edna snickered, wondering what the Lady would say if she called it tomtar tea.

“Finally.” Rachel glared at Edna’s reflection in the vanity mirror. “Bring me the cup and a muffin, then I need you to prepare my hair. You have such beautiful hands, Ellie. You could be a pianist.”

Only the wealthy could become pianists. The poor didn’t have the money or time to practice. Edna stared at the cherub mural on the ceiling to refrain from scowling. Of course Rachel would have to remind her about something she could never do.

“Ellie,” Rachel snapped, “I want my food.”

The evil came again, biting against her ribs and clenching around her heart. Edna bit her tongue before reminding Rachel that her name wasn’t Ellie, again. Maybe the evil should burn her—no, not even Rachel deserved that. Edna poured the tea into the cup Cook provided and carried it to Rachel on its saucer. When she brought the muffin, balanced on a linen napkin, Rachel pushed her hand aside.

“I’m not hungry now.” The muffin tumbled off, the cake breaking in two. “You’ll have to clean it up later. You must do my hair before my guests arrive.”

Edna lifted the brush off the vanity, forcing herself to keep from frowning. Beggars would’ve done almost anything for a bite of that muffin. “Yes, my lady.”

The gold plated handle weighed heavy in her hand as she swiped the soft boar bristles through Rachel’s black hair, long enough to reach the noblewoman’s waist. As the Lady preferred, Edna counted the hundred strokes aloud. This time, she would make certain Rachel knew her name.

“Edna combs Lady Rachel’s hair
once
, Edna combs Lady Rachel’s hair
twice
….” At the end, Rachel wouldn’t doubt her name.

The evil slipped away with each stroke and her heart beat more evenly. Keep it at bay; no one needed to know about its presence. When Edna finished, she braided the straight tresses, fastening the end with an ebony ribbon. Weaving the braid into a bun, she secured it to Rachel’s scalp with bejeweled hairpins and stuck an ivory comb into the top.

Holding the hand mirror behind the Lady’s head, Edna tilted it so Rachel could see the reflection in her vanity mirror. “How does that look?”

“Excellent.” Rachel unstopped a crystal perfume bottle and dabbed a dot behind each of her ears before lifting her rouge brush. “How old are you?”

Edna drew a deep breath to avoid grinding her teeth. “Fifteen.”
Which you know.

“And today I turn eighteen. I feel so
very
old.” Rachel lifted a lemon-drop from a crystal bowl on her vanity and popped the candy into her mouth. “For my wedding, I’ll have you curl my hair. You’re the only one who uses the steam curling iron well. Once I’m wed, I’ll need someone just for preparing me. It’s so tiresome to marry a count. If only my mother were still alive to advise me, but then, she only married a duke.”

Rachel would marry the wealthy man her father chose. Edna would marry a fellow servant, or maybe a butcher. A working man who couldn’t do better than her, with no chance of altering their social status.

A man who could never know about the evil. Not even Harrison could discover it.

The automation brought Rachel her silk undergarments, then removed the Lady’s nightgown. Edna gathered the spilled muffin, stifling a chuckle as Rachel struggled into a corset. At least she was still young enough to go without one. Next year, Saints providing she still had a job, Lord Waxman would require her to wear one too, as befit her age.

“There’s going to be a cake with real rose petals,” Rachel said as the automation buttoned the back of her blue gown. She’d insisted her pre-wedding garb match her eyes. “I want the sunroom prepared for my guests.”

“Yes, my lady.” Edna wrapped the muffin in the napkin for disposal. Why did she have evil that clamped down on her heart while Rachel, self-centered and careless, could be free to live in the light of the Saints?

Rachel lifted her right foot so her maid could place the white silk stocking upon it. “Father’s hosting a foxkin hunt for my marriage celebration.”

Edna’s head snapped up. “What?” How could the king not declare that sport illegal? To hunt an innocent creature who could talk and have the decency to cover its body with clothes it sewed itself, left her with a sour taste. Simply because a foxkin resembled a fox in appearance made its life worthless. Bile rose in her throat and she steeled her nose against wrinkling.

That evil spiraled through her as though crawling from her fingertips to her heart.

“The foxkin is around somewhere. Down by the stables, I suppose. They’re so soft. I love foxkin shawls.”

Edna couldn’t allow the hunt to happen. She clenched the napkin. “If you’ll excuse me, I shall see to the sunroom.”

“Pity you can’t participate in the hunt. It’s so fun to chase after the little creatures on horseback.” Rachel extended her leg for the automation. “Fetch my slippers.”

Edna hurried from the room, shutting the door behind her.

A figure in a cloak rounded the top of the stairs.

“I beg your pardon….” Edna’s voice tapered off and her eyes widened.
A hag.

In the dreaming, I am seeing.

he plump hag stood outside Lady Rachel’s bedroom, licking her lips. Below a lace babushka, her wrinkled skin appeared blotchy around her puckered lips. A wart grew alongside her left nostril, with a hair poking from it. Her knobby hands clutched a basket covered by a green cloth. The scent of lavender, with an undertone of sandalwood, clung to her cloak.

“Mother Sambucus!” Edna crushed the muffin, crumbs dribbling, as goose bumps broke out across her arms. She’d never been so close to a hag before. The silver eyes seemed to burn her skin with their gaze. Edna willed herself not to gag at the sour taste in her mouth. To calm her nerves, she tugged on a curl and her bracelet of prayer beads slid down her arm.
May the seven Saints protect me.
Could she sense Edna’s likeness to the hags, that wretched darkness that refused to fade?

The hag nodded, air whistling through her nostrils. “You know me.”

Although taller than Edna by only a few inches, the woman’s demeanor made Edna shrink against the door. “Y-yes, ma’am. Everyone in the city knows about you.”

“Oh?” Mother Sambucus showed a crooked front tooth, blackened around the edges, when she spoke.

Edna bit her lower lip. “You’re…over two hundred years old. You… bless weddings and christenings.”
Of those who fill her pockets with gold.

“May the moon bless you,” Mother Sambucus rasped. “I’m here to bless Lady Waxman for her wedding.”

Did the hag know what Edna planned to do? She forced herself not to think about it, in case the hag could read her mind. The hag might not want the foxkin freed, or feel compelled to report Edna’s traitorous plan.