Click Here for previous chapter
Chapter 9
Defiance and Departure
Tabitha lay on the floor.
The house slowly quieted as the servants left it, astonished at the turn of events that had taken place that night. None dared approach Roger the Butler and ask him the true account of why John the stable-boy had been banished from the house and grounds, for Roger stood near the door with a stern face and empty eyes (‘Like you was looking over the bottomless edge of th’ world,’ said one of the gardeners), an entirely forbidding presence that suppressed all curiosity. His back was straight and his posture as rigid as the Butler’s Guide to Butlery proscribed, and if one didn’t notice his clothes, one would have taken him for the grandest Butler that ever lived, a truly perfect servant of his Mistress. There were no more doubts in his heart, there was no regret for what had passed, it couldn’t even be said that there was any Roger left. Just The Butler. (It is a strange and sad fact that after this day, no one seemed to remember that The Butler had ever been called Roger. This day had broken him, shattered him like the bottle of laudanum in the attic room, leaving only one surviving piece—and that was The Butler)
All was quiet now. It seemed appropriate to Tabitha that the echoing emptiness of her heart was mimicked by the house around her. But although she felt empty, she was at the same time filled with the profoundest sorrow that ever touched man’s heart, a sorrow so deep and so great that it froze her limbs and forbade any movement—as if to move would break the last dam that held back the wild emotions that now lay frozen within her, as she lay frozen on the floor.
Cold seeped into her body, numbing her fingers and her arms, her feet and her legs, her side where it pressed against the floor, and her cheek as well. The only part of her that still felt warm was where Wulafric curled against her, trying to comfort her the only way he knew how. The memory of how Roger the Butler had kicked him replayed in Tabitha’s mind, and without thinking, she reached out to run her hand over Wulafric’s shoulder. He uncurled, whining a little at the discomfort of what was sure to be a magnificent bruise, and licked her face.
“Good dog,” she said softly. “Good Wulafric. Good—“ It was too much. Tabitha threw herself over Wulafric and sobbed her heartbreak into his fur. It had all gone so wrong, she told him between shudders. They had never meant for it to end this way. Destroying the laudanum had been the only thing to do, they couldn’t have left things as they were. They just couldn’t. And now John was gone, driven off by the man he had almost viewed as a father, a man who had become a petty tyrant. Where would John go? How would he live? With no family and no references and no money (John had five copper pence, but that wouldn’t get him more than a loaf of bread) and no way to get anywhere except by walking, Tabitha knew—she knew—she couldn’t continue thinking about it and instead gave herself up to the tears that wouldn’t stop and the gasping breaths that never seemed to give her enough air.
Months ago Tabitha had calculated the perils of running away and the likelihood of her survival. She hadn’t given herself very long, and she knew that John might not do much better even though he was a boy and a few years older. Death would come for him. Tabitha tried to tell herself it wouldn’t, but she couldn’t deceive herself. Death would come for him. And it was all her fault.
If only she hadn’t dropped that bottle. If only she hadn’t asked John to join her in her quest to find the laudanum. If only Great-Aunt Hilsida had never started drinking it. If only her parents had never sent her here. If only…
If onlys are perhaps the worst sort of comfort one can give oneself. They trap a mind in the past and blind it to all else, forcing it to live through its mistakes over and over and over again until you hate yourself and everyone around you for not stopping what has already happened. But the past is immutable and the passage of time unable to be reversed, and no amount of wishing will ever make it otherwise.
Tabitha did a lot of wishing, that long cold night. No servant came to light her fire, and she made no move to the tinderbox herself. Like their first night in this house, Tabitha and Wulafric slept on the floor, one curled around the other, choked with tears for what had been and what should be.
Dawn came slowly and reluctantly, guarded behind grey banks of clouds that jealously hid the light until it fell upon the land in pale patches. Tabitha’s tear-stained face was pressed into Wulafric’s fur, both of them in the same exact position they had fallen asleep in. When she woke, she did so all at once, jerking upright and startling Wulafric who jumped to his feet looking for something to defend his person from. Not finding anything, he turned back to her and licked her from chin to forehead. Tabitha didn’t seem to notice, her eyes staring wide as if in the moment before waking, something important had been decided, and she was trying to remember what it was. She cocked her head as if listening to the memory of a dream, and then she smiled.
This wasn’t the small slow shy smile that John the stable-boy fell in love with. This wasn’t even the mischievous smirk that she allowed herself after a triumph (although she never allowed anyone to see it). This smile was hard and resolute—a smile that lacks all vestiges of humor, except perhaps a macabre irony.
You see, somewhere between her dreams last night, Tabitha had realized that she had nothing worth caring about except Wulafric and John. One would never leave her side, and the other was banished into the world to suffer any number of fates. So what was left for her to care about?
Nothing.
And once she realized that, Tabitha became the most dangerous, the most crafty, and the most selfish that she had ever been in her life. For now that she cared for nothing, what was left to harm her in this place? What was left to stay for? A few meals a day and a dry bed were not worth the price of tip-toeing around her Great-Aunt Hilsida (and she defiantly named her in her thoughts for the first time in months) and The Butler, subject to their implacable whims and harmful desires. John, her only friend in the world, was gone. And she meant to follow him.
But first—she must plan.
Insomuch as Tabitha had now decided to run away, it would be far better to run away well-provisioned with food and other items than to leap out her bedroom window with only the clothes on her back. But how to go about it?
There are very few obstacles to a truly determined mind, and Tabitha had probably the most determined mind in the past century, if not longer. There might be some debate about this; citing of this world leader, and that dictator, of this politician, and that philanthropist, but none of these men (or women) could match Tabitha for her determination in achieving a goal. For when Tabitha had decided something, she did it, or got it, or made it happen. Always. It could almost be assumed that reality itself was overawed by her and so as not to upset her, made sure things always went her way.
Tabitha was not to be trifled with. Especially not now.
Poor maid who had the unfortunate privilege of bringing up Tabitha’s breakfast (with a few extra sausages for Wulafric, courtesy of the cook). She was expecting the girl either to be asleep, or else so overwhelmed by the situation that she was sitting numb as a post. Tabitha was neither.
The maid entered the room quietly enough and even had a sympathetic smile ready for strategic use should Tabitha so need it—but that was not to be. She was instead greeted by the sight of Tabitha sitting upright and fully clothed on the edge of her bed, Wulafric crouched by her feet.
“Coward that he is, I suppose the Butler could not bring himself to face me in the morning’s light?” (the maid could only stare at her and make confused noises). “Since it is you at my door instead of him, I am indubitably correct in labeling him such, and must proceed to plan number two.” Tabitha took a deep breath before continuing: the maid felt like backing up a step and had no idea why (although she was about to find out).
“I have found the Butler to be lacking in all common decency and it is no surprise that he should be ashamed of his egregious behavior last night—but where I am most surprised is that he dared to do it in the first place. In overstepping his bounds he has demonstrated a very low sort of behavior that only marks the very worst of society. His callous treatment of you—his fellow servants and John in particular—reveals a fundamentally flawed mind that cannot be allowed to make any more mischief in my Great-Aunt Hilsida’s home.” The maid flinched at her name. Tabitha did not.
“You will now go tell him that I order him to come to me this instant, and only a swift obedience will perhaps ameliorate his inevitable punishment and dismissal.”
The maid was absolutely speechless. She didn’t know anything about these matters (or half of the words coming out of Tabitha’s mouth) and in a flustered state she bobbed a terrible curtsey and left to find The Butler, forgetting to lock the door behind her.
Tabitha wasted no time in marching out of her room and making for the front stairway and Great-Aunt Hilsida’s parlor. Wulafric followed faithfully, although he had cast one mournful look back at the sausages on the breakfast tray. They boldly strode down the halls, drawing astonished looks from the servants scurrying back and forth—an unusual sight, really, as none of the servants had had to scurry in an awfully long time, not since she had been her normal self—cleaning this and cleaning that, all ordered about by The Butler as if he was expecting a parade of high class visitors to come through the front door at any moment and would be disgusted by the state of the house. Used to a life of semi-indolence, none of the servants took well to being ordered about again at high speeds, but none of them dared to go against The Butler.
They all knew Tabitha had been confined to her room—although not why—and seeing her walking the halls without a care stirred strange emotions in their hearts that defied description. She walked like a queen through a palace, followed by her faithful hound, and deserving of all courtesies. But since their bows were rusty and their curtseys disgraceful, they merely stared at her until she passed, and then whispered amongst themselves about what this might mean. Life had changed so much in the past day that no one had any idea of what to think, and this was a crowning cherry.
Tabitha did stop one of the maids and gave her instructions in a low voice, and although she might have wanted to object, the maid was given no choice and she hurried off to do as Tabitha asked.
But Tabitha was not to proceed entirely unimpeded. Before reaching the parlor she was confronted with the sight of The Butler, rising up from the kitchen stairs like a vengeful demon out of hell who sees its prey standing before it and is supremely confident that it is more than adequate to the task of handling it. And last night, he had been. But last night he had been more, and Tabitha had been less. Today, Tabitha was more, but The Butler did not know it yet.
(To be completely honest—as it is always best to be—The Butler actually looked quite magnificent. From somewhere about his belongings he had rescued an old but finely cut suit of clothes that he must have worn in the hey-day of the house. They had been cleaned and ironed and starched until they shone in the reflected glory of by-gone days. The Butler had trimmed his hair and shaved his chin—during a very lengthy and thorough bath—and now he stood resplendent as he was always meant to be, as any Butler should be, except for the troubling lack of anything resembling human mercy behind his eyes.)
“Out of your room? I had thought I had made myself clear. You are not to leave your room, you are not to do anything I do not tell you to do, and if you do not obey me, I will have you tied to your bed at all hours.” It was a truly intimidating speech, more so as he advanced upon Tabitha with every moment. But it failed to hit its mark. Wulafric stepped between the two, half crouched and growling low in his throat as he stared down The Butler. The Butler stopped, as most men will when confronted by an angry dog. Tabitha merely smiled a cool smile at him (this one said that she thought him entirely disagreeable and very much beneath her notice, as he was only a servant, and therefore must do exactly as she said), very much undeterred by his harsh words.
“Your restrictions are intolerable, Butler, and your manners lacking. You have taken too much upon yourself as a servant of this household, and therefore must be reprimanded. You have no authority over me, Butler, you never have, and you never will. Too long have you run this household with impunity, but that is sure to end today. I am going to my Great-Aunt’s parlor, and—if she is not there—when you find her, please tell her I wish to speak to her about a great many things. Including your general unkemptness, your lack of dedication to your duties, and your upstart manner which is most unbecoming. That is all.” Tabitha walked past him, Wulafric still keeping a wary barrier in-between the two. The Butler had been swelling with indignation for the entirety of her speech, but lacking an appropriate moment to insert his own ire he was forced to swallow it instead.
This is really the best way to deal with someone who believes they can overpower you. Don’t give them a moment to gather steam, don’t linger if at all possible, and act as if you have all the power in the world. Those who act as if they have power, will be perceived to have it.
Tabitha entered the parlor, found it empty, and settled into the chair her Great-Aunt favored. The maid she had talked to in the hall brought down her breakfast tray and both she and Wulafric enjoyed their meal for quite some time before they were disturbed. It was The Butler who entered first, announcing his Mistress as if this was a grand occasion of state:
“My Lady Hilsida of Despart.”
At the moment, however, she looked like nothing so much as a ditch digger (remember, all last night she had been digging in the cellar trying to find the gnomes that lived there). Her clothes were dirt stained and all her visible skin was filthy. She stumped along behind her cane as if there was nothing so important as making as much noise as possible, but when she caught sight of Tabitha in her chair she stood stock still, shocked to her core.
“Get out of my chair, girl.”
Tabitha cocked her head in polite confusion. Great-Aunt Hilsida repeated herself, assured that repeating the phrase again and in a louder tone would bring results. (there are many people in the world who live by this rule, and it is astonishing how many other people give in to them. Does repeating oneself in a louder voice really change the argument? Does the fellow arguer go ‘Aha, I see your point now that you are shouting very loudly after repeating yourself ten times. I will concede the issue.” It must be a wish to avoid violent confrontations that causes a person to give in to this tactic. But Tabitha had no such wish).
“Get out of my chair, girl! Out of my chair! Out of my chair this instant!”
“What, this chair?”
Great-Aunt Hilsida nearly solved many problems by having an apoplexy. Her face flushed a lobster red and her veins were pulsing in her forehead. But it was not to be. Nearly speechless with rage, she still managed to spew a series of swear-words that made The Butler do his best imitation of a deaf stone. Tabitha merely filed them away for future reference.
“Now, Great-Aunt Hilsida, it is entirely proper that I have this chair at the moment. For one, I entered the room first. For two, you have forfeited the rights that age and relation and infirmity have bestowed upon you. And for three, I feel the need to annoy you. So no, I will not get up from this chair, and if you wish to sit, I suggest that The Butler get you a stool.” Tabitha was watching her Great-Aunt intently. Many things depended on this conversation and Tabitha wanted to make sure it went where she wanted it to.
Great-Aunt Hilsida swelled with anger and her mouth moved for a few moments before sound came out. “You ungrateful horrible wretch of a dissolute child. You sit in my chair, in my house, after months of eating my food and think you can give me orders?” She swooped forward toward Tabitha and tried to grab her arm and haul her up out of the chair but Wulafric bounded to his feet and growled at her. Great-Aunt Hilsida was suddenly across the room clutching at the wallpaper (a rather faded blue rose with green stripes, it tore beneath her fingers and made a bare patch that looked awfully like a palm tree, although only Tabitha would have recognized it as such, given her love of foreign botany. Everyone else thought it looked like a dandelion). She hadn’t noticed the dog before and having it jump up and growl had the same effect on her as if he had tried to tear out her throat. Not that Wulafric did any such thing, but when someone is afraid of a dog, even innocuous actions appear sinister, and Wulafric certainly did not appear innocuous. He had grown much since he was a tiny puppy, and although he could not be called full grown, he was fully as large as some dogs, and larger than most. His shaggy hair had turned a dark grey with brushed silver tips, and when angry he was a thoroughly intimidating sight.
“Get that—you can’t—get it away from me—why—“
“Be calm, Great-Aunt. You’ll frighten Wulafric, and I really don’t think you want to upset him. Please, have a seat.” The Butler helped her into a small chair near the door. Tabitha and Wulafric were at least six feet away but Hilsida showed every evidence of desiring them to be miles away.
“Butler, I think this discussion would go better with tea. Please have Cook send some up.” Tabitha ordered the Butler. Forced by his nature and the situation, The Butler bowed and left the room. Tabitha thought it best to wait in silence for the next move of the board, letting her Great-Aunt suffer just a bit longer before springing the rest of it on her. The Butler returned with a tray and served Great-Aunt Hilsida her tea before setting it conveniently out of reach of Tabitha. She smiled inwardly to herself. She hadn’t really wanted tea anyway, not for herself. She watch closely as her Great-Aunt tried to discreetly unscrew a bottle and dump the contents into her tea, but before she could pour more than a drop, Tabitha interrupted her.
“I would really be more sparing of that if I were you.” Great-Aunt Hilsida looked up suspiciously. “There really isn’t that much left,” Tabitha continued helpfully. Still no sign of understanding. “Oh dear. Has The Butler not told you? That—my much afflicted Great-Aunt—is the very last of your laudanum to be found on the premises. Last night your entire stock was destroyed—poured out onto the ground. Really, Butler,” Tabitha chided as her Great-Aunt struggled with the concept of what she had been told, “You should keep your mistress apprised of these things. Imagine what would have happened when she used up that bottle and had to be told that there was no more laudanum.” At long last the idea penetrated.
“What—you!”
“Yes,” Tabitha said calmly. “Me. I did have a little help but your ever-faithful servant threw him out without a penny to his name and no chance to say goodbye, a very large mistake you see, as it has made me very angry.”
“You, angry? Angry? Angry? You poxy-ridden trollop, you sap-skulled fornicating pig—“
“Yes, I am angry! I’ve been angry ever since I was sent by my parents to live here with you, although I highly doubt they know about the treatment I have suffered through while here. You neglect your duties, you ruin your house and lands, you beat your servants if you find them in the house after dark—you nearly beat me if not for a stout wooden door—you dig in the cellar for gnomes and smash all the furniture so it can’t kill you, and why?” Tabitha fixed her gaze on the bottle clutched in Great-Aunt Hilsida’s hands.
“Why, I do believe it is because of that poison you are holding so close to your heart. It has poisoned your mind and seeped its unhealthy influence all over this benighted and bedeviled place. The townspeople won’t come within a mile of this place, did you know? The shepherds as well. The night I was dropped at your doorstep the coachman wasted no time in hustling himself away and at the time I didn’t understand but now I do, oh yes, now I understand many things, my deluded Great-Aunt. You think that bottle will help you, that it keeps the nightmares at bay. Well, wake up!”
Tabitha rose from the chair, Wulafric staying by her side, slowly approaching the cowering figure of Great-Aunt Hilsida. “You have been asleep, and your nightmare has been ruling in your stead. Look around you—see for the first time in who knows how long what you have done to yourself and your servants. Because Great-Aunt? I think you will find me a worse enemy than that laudanum has ever been your friend.”
And this was the moment Tabitha had been waiting for, the moment when her Great-Aunt’s mind was full of chaos and shadows, the moment when she would be most vulnerable, the moment when Tabitha could force her to her will.
And her will was fear.
Tabitha dropped her hand to Wulafric’s back, and he let out such a howl that Great-Aunt Hilsida shrieked in terror, jumped three feet up in the air and whisked herself out of the parlor door so quickly her feet never touched the floor.
(It took five days for the servants to find her. The search would have gone much faster if the locals had been willing to form search parties, but strangely enough, the thought of coming across Hilsida at any time of day on an empty moor did not appeal to anyone. It was only because The Butler bullied the servants into searching that they did so, and it was poor Ustin again who found her, crawling along the moor like a dumb beast, unable to walk yet unable to remain still. She hadn’t slept in those five days, constantly moving away from that originating howl of Wulafric’s, convinced that it was following her. In fact, she never slept easily again for the rest of her life, and even in the daytime would often start and turn around to look for the dog she knew was coming for her. She once confided to The Butler that she had known ever since her injury that a dog had been released from Hell to find her and kill her, whereupon originated her fear of them. She was, however, mistaken as to the cause of her death. She lived for three years after Tabitha left her house, and when out walking one day a bird dropped a poisonous snake on her head, which then bit her. It is safe to say she never saw it coming).
The Butler struggled between chastising Tabitha and running after his Mistress to see that she was all right, and his indecision resulted in the five day disappearance of Great-Aunt Hilsida, who left the house at a run and didn’t stop until she collapsed from exhaustion. He did eventually decide to chase after Great-Aunt Hilsida (after making awful faces at Tabitha that would have gotten him expelled from the Butler’s School for Butlery—an off-shoot of the Butler’s Guide to Butlery—and attempting to say words that his nature would not allow, thereby closing his throat and giving him the appearance of an angry plum) allowing Tabitha to move on to part two of her plan.
Unsure of how long she had until The Butler and Great-Aunt Hilsida returned, Tabitha went to the stables where her satchel awaited her (she had packed it with everything she thought she would need last night—mostly books—and this morning while talking to the maid about her breakfast she had also ordered her to take the satchel to the stables). Tabitha then went up into the loft to gather a few of her books that had taken up permanent residence there, and once there found it hard to tear herself away from a room where she had been so happy. There were so many memories tucked into that little loft, all the more sweet because they were shared memories, even if the one they were shared with had disappeared without a trace. Tabitha’s roving eye fell on a cap of John’s that he had left behind in his confused escape. She picked it up and stowed it in her satchel with unwarranted tenderness for the baseness of the object, though fully justified when taking her love for John into consideration.
Then, deciding that it was safe enough, Tabitha made for the kitchen and asked the cook very politely for a sack of food that would keep well for traveling on. The cook (just as politely, for she had always liked Tabitha and Wulafric and besides, who would go against this girl who had just overthrown both her and The Butler?) packed everything Tabitha could have wished, including a large amount of sausages for Wulafric and even a hot berry pie that had just finished baking. Thanking the cook, Tabitha hoisted the bag over one shoulder and left the house, never to return.
No comments:
Post a Comment