Chapter 3
The Locals Call it Desperation Manor
(Because to want to stay there, you must be desperate)
Tabitha looked up at her Great-Aunt Hilsida’s Butler, the man sneering down at her—for that was his main expression, although his face had been known to exhibit anger, shock, and on one memorable occurrence, a smile (but that was only when Hilsida fell into the pigpen after her cup of afternoon tea). Even when he was asleep he sneered, as if his dreams were really nothing remarkable and he’d seen it all before. He jerked his head to the side and walked into the gloom of the front hall, either expecting Tabitha to follow him, or not caring what she did. She followed, Wulafric trotting at her heels, up carpeted stairs and down carpeted halls, though all the carpeting could have stood some washing and beating, and possibly could have stood some new carpeting, as it appeared as if a horde of angry barbarians with dirty feet had stormed down the halls and then stormed right back, doing this several times with possible intervals to dip their feet in a mud hole. They passed rooms with doors that sagged open, looking like the aforementioned barbarians had opened them with a battering ram, while other rooms seemed to be locked tight and undisturbed.
The Butler finally stopped in front of an intact door at the back corner of the Manor house. He dug around in his pocket for a key which, when found, creakingly protested being used for its original purpose. But the door opened onto a room that was sparsely appointed and a little worn, but not as bad as some of the rooms Tabitha had glanced into on the way down the hall. All the furniture was intact (instead of in various sized pieces like a giant’s toothpicks), the rugs and wall hangings were old (but not shredded as if by giant rats) and the windows were small (but not broken, for Tabitha had heard the wind whistling around shattered edges from every direction in the house). All in all it was not a bad room. The puppy immediately tried to jump onto the bed and missed, only jumping as high as the bed skirt. Tabitha crossed to him and picked him up to put him on the bed. He yipped to himself in excitement.
An awful noise caused Tabitha to turn around: Great-Aunt Hilsida’s Butler was clearing his throat in his imitation of the normally polite gesture. But where the Bushfield’s Butler had a quiet rumble of a polite cough, Great Aunt Hilsida’s Butler sounded like he was hacking an avalanche, which was against rule number 86 of the Butler’s Guide to Butlery which stated ‘If you really must interrupt your Master or his guests, do so in a way that is loud enough to be heard, but not quite soft enough to be ignored.’ Although it must be said that perhaps Great-Aunt Hilsida’s Butler was not breaking the rule—he was just overused to Great-Aunt Hilsida. The Butler motioned again for Tabitha to follow him. She left her satchel on the bed next to the puppy but when she would have picked him up, there was another horrendous throat clearing behind her combined with a shaking of the Butler’s head. Tabitha’s eyes narrowed. She had only just gotten her pet, and she had no desire to leave him behind. She continued her motion to pick Wulafric up, but the Butler surprised her by grabbing her arm and yanking her away from the bed and out the door, closing it before she could gather her wits to object. Once out in the hall, he swung her around to face him, gripped her shoulders hard and leaned down close. “You feed him, clean up after him, and we don’t tell her you have him, all right?”
Tabitha forced a “Wh-what?” through her mouth.
“She doesn’t like dogs,” was the reply that was tossed over the Butler’s shoulder as he sway-stepped at a remarkable speed down the hall. Tabitha clenched her fists. Fine. All the more reason to make Great-Aunt Hilsida want to send her back as soon as possible.
Great-Aunt Hilsida was sitting in the second best parlor in a grey dress with burgundy trim that fanned out from her chair like a bloodstained shroud. (Actually, it really was the best parlor at the moment, and had been for quite some time since Great-Aunt Hilsida had mistaken an armchair for Napoleon Bonaparte and the other furniture for his secret police, and then proceeded to hack away at everything using an old sword that had been displayed over the mantel of the fireplace. Even the walls had not escaped hacking, but then, Great-Aunt Hilsida’s afternoon tea had been particularly strong that day) Her eyes were surrounded by sagging wrinkled flesh, while her mouth was as puckered and tight as a raisin stuffed inside a lemon. She gripped a sturdy cane that was almost completely encased in metal, (it would be wise to remark that the metal was extremely dented) and she raised it to point at Tabitha.
“Your mother wants me to make sure you learn your lessons. She has asked me to keep a close eye on you, and she has said that I may do anything I please if you should disobey me. Are you thinking of disobeying me girl?” Great-Aunt Hilsida leaned forward, settling her cane with a decided thump on the floor (the ground was pockmarked from many such thumps), “Because I know your mother is as softhearted and as softheaded as they come, but she knows I am not, oh, she knows I am not. And I can form you into a Lady as she knows she cannot. How does that make you feel, girl? Are you angry now that I’ve insulted your mother, the inestimably weak Lady Bushfield?” Tabitha stayed silent. She wasn’t insulted, because everything Great-Aunt Hilsida said was correct. In fact, it hadn’t even occurred to her to be insulted until Great-Aunt Hilsida said so, and even then, it didn’t seem to matter.
Disappointed at the lack of response, Great-Aunt Hilsida leaned back in her chair. “Yes, your mother is the silliest woman to be born in our family in three generations,” (not quite correct, as there is some room for argument about Neridell the Novice, a woman who was nearly famous for the amount of time she almost became a nun. By the time of her death, the total was up to 35, a number only eclipsed by Beatrice of Bothon, who became a novice 58 times, but actually did make it to being a nun), “and I believe you take after her, yes indeed you do, I can see it on your face, her face—“ Great-Aunt Hilsida’s voice was rising, “and I will not have you defying me! Do you hear me? You will not defy me! You will not—“ at this point she coughed scratchily and had to reach for a cup of cold tea on a table at her elbow. She downed what was left of it and subsided into sullen murmurs and a dark glare at Tabitha who decided that it was a good thing she wasn’t planning to stay here. The rumors had always said being near to Great-Aunt Hilsida might not be good for your health, and they appeared to be right. (although one must wonder about how Great-Aunt Hilsida has managed to live so long being near to herself, but that is one of the great mysteries of life). Great-Aunt Hilsida jerked her head toward the Butler who hadn’t left the room and the man cleared his throat loudly and turned to lead Tabitha back to her room. But before she made it more than two steps, Great-Aunt Hilsida spoke again out of the depths of deepening darkness by the fireside, her voice sounding like the passage of a running man who shouts; the sound is loud at first, then trails off quickly.
“Girl, I understand your name is Lori. Are you properly honored to carry it? My own mother was named Lori, and I have seen no one to match her. No one…”
That just about did it for Tabitha. She had been willing to say nothing up until now, but on the subject of her name she could not remain silent.
Tabitha turned back to her. “I have always disliked the name of Lori, Great-Aunt Hilsida, no matter who carried it before I did. I much prefer the weight of Tabitha.”
Great-Aunt Hilsida swelled (rather like a frog, actually, but the sound that came out of her throat was much less attractive than a bullfrog’s croak). Her eyes flamed red in the reflected glare of the fire, her hands clenched at her cane and when she spoke, her voice cracked and boomed as if a wayward thundershower had found its way indoors.
“You will be grateful for your name or I will make you so! You wretch! You festering pest of a worm! You miserable maggot’s droppings! You simpering stupid asinine hole of a puking dung-heap’s daughter! That is your name now, girl! Hear me? That is your name now!”
It was perhaps an unfortunate time for Tabitha’s mind to wander, but she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to actually be named ‘you simpering stupid asinine hole of a puking dung-heap’s daughter.’ It would take quite a bit of time to say, and Tabitha had a hunch that it would never catch on with parents. Who would want to take the time to say ‘You simpering stupid asinine hole of a puking dung-heap’s daughter, come here,’ when all they really wanted to say was, ‘Rachel, come here,’ or, ‘Jack dearest, don’t pick your nose,’ or, ‘Earnest, it’s time to go to sleep.’ No parent wanted their child’s name to be longer than the orders they gave them. The orders might get ignored (more than usual, anyway).
What was so unfortunate about the timing of Tabitha’s mental abstraction was that she missed what her Great-Aunt Hilsida’s Butler was doing, which was this: as soon as Great-Aunt Hilsida started swelling and shouting, he bowed (quite commendably) and abruptly turned and ran down the hallway as if he expected the house to come crashing down around his ears. If Tabitha had noticed this, she might also have left, but she was too busy being distracted by the thought of actually being named ‘you simpering stupid asinine hole of a puking dung-heap’s daughter.’
Great-Aunt Hilsida arose. Mountains have fallen down and oceans dried up with less force than the sight of Great-Aunt Hilsida standing up in a rage. Despite what anyone who did not know her well might think, and despite all the appearances to the contrary, when Great-Aunt Hilsida moved, she moved like lightning, and what she moved toward now was Tabitha.
Tabitha, who had recovered from her distraction just in time to jump back from Great-Aunt Hilsida’s snarling lunge and race down the hallway after the fleeing Butler, Great-Aunt Hilsida close behind, her hand almost snagging the ribbons of Tabitha’s gown. They ran down the dark hallway (for the sun had finally set), up the dark stairs, down the long corridor that led to Tabitha’s room and just before Great-Aunt Hilsida managed to insert an arm or a foot through the doorway, Tabitha shut it as fast as she could and locked it.
The door shuddered on its hinges. Tabitha shuddered in her shoes. The door banged again, reminding Tabitha of half the rooms on the corridor with their doors shattered and rooms destroyed. She had wondered what could have caused such destruction (ravening hordes of barbarians aside) and now that she knew, she could scarcely believe it. Great-Aunt Hilsida, that old woman, was as strong as any two young men you could find, and as fast. The door juddered and the lock clattered. Tabitha supposed she should be grateful she had made it into her room, but the condition of the other rooms left her little hope that given time, Great-Aunt Hilsida wouldn’t get in. She ran to her two small windows. She was at least 10 feet off the ground. Whirling around, she realized she had not seen her puppy since she came in. Desperation made her search everywhere, but she found him at last under the bed, growling fiercely but tucked miserably into the farthest tightest corner he could find.
“Wulafric, Wulafric,” Tabitha whispered as she crawled under the bed with him. He licked her face and cuddled up against her, still facing the door and still growling softly. Tabitha, overwrought and desperately unhappy, began to cry. She had never imagined that it would be like this, that Great-Aunt Hilsida would in fact be a monster, an ogre as terrible as could be imagined, even by someone who hated faerie tales with ogres in them. She had imagined an awful old lady, set in her ways and disagreeable, not this fiend in an old woman’s body. No wonder there seemed to be no servants, that the Butler was no true Butler and everyone spoke of Great-Aunt Hilsida with a shudder. No wonder.
And as Tabitha cried herself to sleep, Wulafric kept tiny guard over her, and although she never noticed when the door stopped its shaking and Great-Aunt Hilsida left to find other easier prey, Wulafric noticed, and sighed in relief. For although he might one day be a large and fearsome protector, right now he was still a puppy, and even puppies who will grow up to be large and fearsome protectors can be afraid.
Chapter 4
Chapter 4
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