Nettle Blackthorn and the Three Wicked Sisters (45 page)

Nettle
nervously fidgeted, shifting about on the balls of her feet, one
hand pulling at the cuff of her shirt. Who was this man? She had no
idea that Margot was engaged; and why did he call her Eliza? She
fleetingly remembered the man in the bookstore racing after
Claudine, calling her Alice. She suddenly felt angry. Was this some
sort of sick game the sisters played with visitors?

“
I’m not Eliza,” Margot replied firmly and shoved him back
through the doorway. He stumbled a little, but his dreamy
expression didn’t falter. He righted himself, his hands stretching
for her. “Come on sweetheart. Stop playing games and give me a
kiss.”

A start of recognition ran through Nettle, goose-bumps
rippled down her back. The man’s sleeves were rolled halfway up his
arm and she saw the same type of rash she encountered on the
strangely vacant man in O’Grady’s Bookstore. But this time, it was
the number twelve in raised welts on this man’s wrist. And her
father... the last time she saw him, he had the number thirteen...
Her heart skipped a beat,
this can’t possibly be coincidental...

The man
lurched forward, ensnaring Margot in an awkward embrace. Just
before he pressed his lips upon hers, she flicked the feathered
quill toward him and something made a loud cracking noise that
thumped the man right in the middle of his forehead. His head
jerked back and he staggered against the doorframe loosening his
grip on her.

He didn’t know
what hit him, and neither did Nettle.

Nettle’s
eyes flared wide. Her thin lips gaped as she tried to make sense of
what had just happened. She hadn’t even realised she’d taken a few
steps backward until her hipbone hit the edge of a bench. A small
shock of pain burst down her side. She hadn’t seen what the Balfrey
sister had struck him with. Margot had been far too quick for her.
It hadn’t sounded natural.

He shook
his head slowly as if he’d been stunned, and Nettle could see some
soot on his forehead where a bruise was blossoming. Margot’s sleek
features drooped with mock disappointment. “I told you to go back
to Madam Bawdsworth and stay there until we called for
you.”

The man dully
blinked as he hesitated briefly.

“
So go!” Margot said with an exasperated flick of her
fingers.

The
man’s dazed look gradually melted away as a dreamy goofy
expression, that reminded Nettle of her father, took its place.
“Yes, Eliza, whatever you wish.” He turned and walked out the door,
a stiffness to his gait.

Margot closed
the side-entrance door. She swivelled around, smoothing down her
skirt and adjusting her bodice. “Madam Bawdsworth is going to find
herself less one daughter if she doesn’t watch out,” she complained
to the sous-chef. When he didn’t reply she looked up and her gaze
slid in the direction he was looking and met Nettle’s bewildered
expression. Her sharp angular features became even more knife-like
as displeasure washed over her.

Before either
of them could speak, a sudden noise erupted from the back of the
kitchen. Several sounds - a high-pitched wailing and several
panicked screeches woven together in discord - assaulted Nettle’s
ears, like shards of glass stabbing into her eardrums. Her gaze
whipped from Margot’s to where the horrendous noise was coming
from: a door was opening.

The door looked out of place in the kitchen. It was a
bright shiny door, thickly lacquered in a blood-red paint.
Who is in there?
Who’s making those wretched sounds?
As Nettle looked on in horror, Dolcie,
dressed in a butchers apron slick with fresh blood, walked out
carrying a bucket. As the door closed behind her the shrieks and
wails were instantly cut off. Apart from the sounds of water
bubbling and spices sizzling, silence reigned in the
kitchen.

Dolcie lifted the heavy bucket onto the kitchen bench. Its
contents slopped about, but didn’t spill. She gave her sister a
curious glance, noticing everyone was looking in one direction. She
slowly turned. Nettle stood pressed against the bench just as
frozen as everyone else. Bafflement fleetingly slid over Dolcie’s
features and slipped quickly away to be replaced with an irked
expression. She said what everyone was thinking. “What are
you
doing in
here?”

Nettle felt horribly ill. Her bottom lip wilted and she
shifted her weight from foot to foot. Everyone was staring at her.
Only two people weren’t - staring at her - was the violet eyed boy
standing at the sink with his hands lathered up to his elbows with
soapy bubbles, and Pippa. Jack’s gaze flitted from Dolcie to Margot
and back again, trying to gauge their reaction to the girl’s
presence. She could see Jack looked troubled, just as Pippa wore an
expression of ghastliness.
Oh, this isn’t going to go well, is it?

Margot swiftly approached, flanking her sister.
“
How
did you get in
here?!”

“Through
there...” she said, pointing to the black swinging doors. Dolcie
and Margot shared a look, as if what Nettle had said was utterly
preposterous.

Dolcie slid her wooden spoon from the pocket of her
butchers apron and levelled it at Nettle. “You just
walked
in?”

Nettle’s thoughts were fragmented between why the sisters
were being so threatening, why wasn’t the boy saying anything, and
why did she feel rooted to the spot, almost as if she’d been turned
to stone. She nodded, nervously rubbing her hands together as
anxiety erupted and coursed through her. She chastised
herself,
why
did I go and do such a stupid thoughtless thing?
She hadn’t thought,
that’s what. She just barged in when a more subtle way of
discovering what the sisters were up to would have been a far
smarter course of action.

The youngest sister stalked up to Nettle who involuntarily
shied away. Besides the fact Dolcie’s features had twisted into a
mean expression, she looked haggard, her brow deeply lined and she
noticed again the bristles of hair sprouting from her chin. Dolcie
flicked Nettle’s cap with a swift stroke of her wooden spoon,
knocking it from her head. It fell to the ground with a soft thump.
Nettle’s hair fell about her shoulders in heavy tangles. “What were
you
thinking
, just striding on in here?” Nettle almost physically
stumbled at the magnitude of rancour directed at her from Dolcie.
The atmosphere in the room was tense, to say the least. The
sisters’ response to her presence in the kitchen had caught her
completely off guard. She knew she would run the risk of offending
them by entering the kitchen uninvited, but they were livid. What
are they up to?

Then Nettle remembered what Jack had said yesterday
– nothing
good.
Was it
the Crone? Was she locked behind the red door? What were they doing
to her? Nettle gulped. Her throat felt like sandpaper and her
tongue went thick and sluggish as she tried to think of an
appropriate answer.
Why? Why?
She asked herself. Barging in here seemed such an
insignificant thing to do at the time, and now in hindsight she
realised she shouldn’t have presumed she could get away with having
preferential treatment just because she supposed Claudine had a
fondness for her father.

Margot
arrived alongside her younger sister as silently as mist creeping
across the surface of a lake. “Are you spying on us?”

Nettle shook her head mortified they were on to her.
Think,
think,
she
urged herself.
What possible reason would I have to just blindly stampede
into the kitchen without asking for permission?
The boy, Jack. Of course.
Surely they would understand her wanting to talk to their
kitchen-hand, if they thought she had a crush on him. She attempted
a shy-embarrassed kind of smile, hoping the sisters would buy her
act. “I’m sorry, I just came through to see...” and was just about
to let her gaze pointedly linger on their dishwasher when at that
precise moment she saw behind Margot, the boy with the wild hair
shaking his head, his sullen mouth silently mouthing,
“No.”

Nettle froze,
letting her words drift apart. She had no idea what to do now.

“
Well?” Margot barked. “Speak up.”

With no
response from Nettle except for a blank sort of gaze, Margot heaved
an exasperated sigh and pursed her dry wrinkled mouth together in
annoyance. Dolcie cracked her wooden spoon against her palm. “Let
me handle this.” She swept over to a metal shelf that held rows and
rows of small glass jars. She selected one that contained a
shocking-pink powder and shook a small amount into the palm of her
creased and worn hand. She approached Nettle with a gloating smile
as she raised the palm of her hand to her mouth.

“
What are you doing?” Nettle scrambled back but she was
against the bench and both sisters had penned her in.

Dolcie blew a
short sharp breath at her palm. The current of air picked up the
pink powder and it soared in a cloud of roiling dust right at
Nettle. It happened so quickly Nettle didn’t have time to react. A
second later she sneezed.

She scrabbled at her nose, pawing at the tip of it with her
fingertips. Her nostrils itched and burned, not like fire, but like
an ice-burn. What had they done?
What is this... some kind of drug?
Had she stumbled
into some sort of drug cartel?

Suddenly every part of Nettle’s body felt heavy, her
thoughts grew more and more muddled. The room began to swirl around
her. Strange, she thought distantly, almost outside of herself, it
felt as if cool fingers sifted through her mind, pulling her
thoughts apart so she couldn’t think clearly. Then an almighty
crushing pain bore down on her brain. It felt like slivers of ice
had pierced her head and glacial water poured into her skull. She
staggered, her hands reflectively cradling her head.
What was happening
to her?
The
two sisters had crowded together and were looking at her like she
was a science experiment.

Claudine’s
shrill voice, cut through the pain. “What is going on here?”

Nettle
instantly felt the sensation of bitterly cold fingers squeezing her
brain, retreat. She shook her muddled head and her thoughts
unscrambled. The pain subsided, but she felt weakened with the
onslaught. She swayed, dazedly blinking, and almost fell but for
Claudine’s firm grip on her arm. The spinning room stilled and
Claudine’s worried expression came into focus. Nettle couldn’t help
but gasp. Claudine had aged considerably. Her neck was crinkled
like crepe paper and the skin hung off her cheek bones and jowls
like a gathered curtain.

Claudine gave
Nettle a piercing look, scrutinized her intently as she led her to
a small stool near the kitchen bench and sat her down. Nettle was
deathly pale, her lips pinched blue and she felt weary as if her
bones had turned to lead. She pressed a trembling hand to her
forehead. “I don’t feel well.” She found it laborious to speak.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t think to ask, I just came in here. I didn’t
mean to cause any trouble.” It took what little strength she had
left to offer a weak smile, hoping to cover her reaction to
Claudine’s appearance.

Claudine smiled reassuringly. “Of course not.” She knelt
down beside the girl, patting her hand. “Please forgive my sisters’
earlier rudeness. You see, no one is allowed back here,
ever.
” She gave a delicate trill of her fingers, indicating the
kitchen. “This is where all the magic happens, the tea house’s
trade secrets we fiercely protect.”

“
Sure, I understand. Sorry.”

“No harm
done.” But Nettle knew there was, at least with the two younger
sisters. They hadn’t seemed pleased with her walking into the
kitchen at all. And Nettle knew that if Claudine was honest, she
was also unsettled by her presence.

A
snort
came from across the room. Margot was glaring stonily at
Claudine. “Are you completely mad? She just walked
right-”

“
Margot!” Claudine snapped, rounding on her sister with a
thunderous expression. The children had drawn together in worried
clusters, their duties forgotten as they warily watched the
sisters. Even the sous-chef had come to a stand-still, blatantly
gawking.

Margot shook her head in disbelief, her mouth puckering.
The air near-crackled with hostility between the two sisters as
they stared one another down. Finally Margot relinquished, though
her caramel eyes remained narrow. Between thinned lips she ground
out, “As you
appear
to have this all in hand, I’d better tend to our
guests.”

“Yes,
you should.” Nettle shivered as Claudine spoke. The woman had
replied quietly, but each word was enounced with a tone that
promised swift retribution if it was not carried out.

Margot softly
huffed
and swept by, casting a wintry glance at Nettle,
who kept her head down but caught her spiky look through downcast
lashes. She snapped, “Pippa, Pip, come, there is much to gather and
little time!”

Pippa
cast a sad glance Nettle’s way before she disappeared into the
dining room. When the swinging doors had finally shut on their
departure, Claudine turned back to Nettle. She felt Nettle’s clammy
forehead. “Oh you poor wee thing. Quick Dolcie, we need something
to perk her up with. Make her that little concoction mother used to
give us as children. You know the kind, the tea that made the world
a brighter place and loosened our lips.”