Those Who Dwell in the Thorns

by Nicolette Andrews

  Catherine cursed her foolishness for letting a golden opportunity to get to the bottom of this neighborhood slip through her fingers. She should have met the woman as promised rather than joining Edward. Catherine colored as she reflected on the night’s event after the dinner party.

  She headed downstairs for breakfast and ran across Mrs. Moira lecturing a pair of housemaids, who lowered their gazes as Catherine approached.

  Mrs. Moira turned to her. She rested one hand on a ring of keys at her hip as if to say she had more important things to do than speak with Catherine.

  Catherine ignored the action, however, and said, “Mrs. Moira, have you seen Miss Smith? I wanted to speak with her.”

  Mrs. Moira scowled and folded her arms over her ample chest. “I am not sure I know to whom you refer, mistress, there is no Miss Smith in this household.” She raised a brow, and Catherine was given the impression that Mrs. Moira did not think Catherine capable of remembering a servant’s name.

  “I am certain she called herself Miss Smith,” Catherine replied. Over Mrs. Moira’s shoulder she spotted the maids whispering to one another. She wondered if those were the same two she had heard gossiping. They caught her staring and straightened up and avoided meeting her eyes.

  “I am sorry, mistress, you must be mistaken.”

  Catherine sighed. It was possible she had heard the girl’s name wrong. She considered describing the girl to Mrs. Moira, but from her forbidding expression, she doubted she would humor such a notion.

  “I am glad I found you, however, the master is set on holding a ball,” Mrs. Moira added. “I would be much in your debt if you could run into town to Mr. Brown’s shop and pick out the linens for the event. Your husband is adamant that everything be to your specifications.”

  Another pointless task to keep me from underfoot, Catherine thought sullenly. “Will Mr. Thornton be joining me?” she asked, hoping she could spend some more time with Edward, outside the bedchamber. Catherine colored, recalling their first official night as husband and wife.

  “Oh no, mistress, he has matters of estate to attend to.”

  “Oh.” She deflated. Is this married life? Running about making petty decisions while my husband works on more important things?

  “The shop is just down the road. I can have Mr. Price take you in the carriage.”

  The thought of the carriage brought the trip to Thornwood Manor back in stark clarity, and Catherine paled at the thought. “No, that will not be necessary. The walk will do me well.”

  Mrs. Moira pulled a face as if to say she disapproved, but being a loyal servant, she did not disregard her mistress’ strange wishes. She said simply, “Very well, mistress.”

  After a quick breakfast, Catherine readied herself and headed out towards the road via a garden path that wended through a kitchen garden behind the house. A man stooped over in the garden swung a hoe into the ground, and the muscles on his back coiled beneath his shirt. The hoe thudded each time it met the earth. The rhythmic action was mesmerizing. She did not realize she had been staring until the gardener stood and, when wiping his brow, turned his dark gaze towards her. He straightened and hailed her.

  “Mrs. Thornton, to what do I owe the pleasure?” The gypsy smiled at her and leaned against his hoe.

  “What are you doing in my husband’s garden?” Her reply came out tartly, and she clamped her hand over her mouth, surprised at her forward behavior. She had hoped she had seen the last of him.

  “Working, mistress, this is my job.”

  She clenched her mouth shut to keep it from hanging open. Of course he was the gardener, that’s why he hung about. He’d even had a rake the last time they had spoken! He stared at her with a crooked smile as she came to her final conclusion. As before she felt the need to flee from him but was compelled to learn more. He had been there the night of the attack, and yet unlike Miss Smith –wherever she was—he did not allude to it. However, he did seem to know about these Thorn Dwellers.

  She realized she had stood without speaking for far too long. “Oh. Well, very good, carry on,” she said in a rush and hurried down the path. As much as she wanted answers, she equally feared the truth. It was much easier to run away. The creak of the gate and the padding of booted feet followed her, and she tried to quicken her pace to escape him.

  She stopped where the path ended and met the road and turned to face him. The moment’s delay gave her the confidence to address him. “Can I help you, Mr. Thorn?”

  “Not at all, I am on my way to town to pick up some supplies. I am not bothering you, am I?”

  Had she been a brasher girl, as she often secretly wished she was, she would have told him clearly he was.

  “No, I am also going into town.” She folded her hands over her chest.

  “What a delightful coincidence, perhaps we can keep one another company, then?” He smiled once more and motioned with his arm towards the path.

  “I am not sure that would be appropriate.” She faltered. At home—her old home—she never travelled alone with a man without a chaperone, not until Edward, that is.

  “You’re a married woman, Mrs. Thornton, and I, your servant. I do not see anything wrong with us walking together on a public road.”

  His wit was quick, and she had no rebuttal, so she remained silent. Better to bite your tongue than to have it loose, her mother often said. He took her silence for agreement, and they journeyed without a word shared for quite some time. Catherine amused herself and attempted to ignore Mr. Thorn by admiring the neat cottages nestled between the trees and wooded places surrounding Thornwood. Many of her neighbors had charming gardens surrounded by stone walls covered in moss and climbing vines. She decided she liked her new neighborhood. On second glance, it was quiet endearing.

  Mr. Thorn whistled and drew Catherine’s eye. His olive skin and obscenely long hair seemed foreign among the tiny cottages and trimmed lawns. Why would someone like Edward hire such a man to maintain his property? she wondered.

  “Can I help with something, Mrs. Thornton?” He tilted his head to the side

  He had caught her staring! She looked away and hid her blush. “Oh, I was wondering about that tune you are humming,” she lied.

  “It’s an old one, native to this village.”

  “Oh?” She peeked at him from the corner of her eye.

  “Yes, it’s about Those Who Dwell in the Thorns.”

  A shiver crept up her spine, and gooseflesh sprinkled her arm. The colonel, too, had mentioned the Thorn Dwellers. They could only be one and the same, but what were they exactly? She longed to ask him about the creature but feared the answer as well. A part of her was unwilling to suspend disbelief and embrace the fact that there could be more to this world than she had previously thought.

  The heavy clop of hooves permeated the stillness, and wood creaked. Catherine looked over her shoulder and spotted a black, covered carriage pulled by a dark horse. They hurried out of the way of the carriage and onto the side of the road. Mr. Thorn and Catherine lowered their heads as the funeral cart passed.

  Catherine watched them depart and then wondered aloud, “I wonder who died. Perhaps I should send flowers.”

  “Her name was Evelyn Smith,” Mr. Thorn replied.

  Catherine blanched. Most likely it was a coincidence or perhaps a relative of her Miss Smith. “Any relation to Miss Smith who works at Thornwood Manor?”

  “You knew her, then?” Mr. Thorn stepped out onto the road. A fog had crept in once more and swirled about his ankles.

  “The deceased? I do not believe so. I have only met the McCraes and the colonel, but I think I have met her sister or maybe a cousin who works for my husband.”

  Mr. Thorn rested his chin in between his thumb and forefinger. “Very strange, indeed, because the Smiths had one daughter, Miss Evelyn Smith, and she worked at Thornwood Manor before her death over a week ago.”

  Catherine’s world tilted. Had she gone mad? Her chest, suddenly tight, restricted her breat
hing, and she clutched it, gasping for a breath. “How can that be? I met Miss Smith last night.”

  “That’s not possible, Mrs. Thornton. By your account, she died before you arrived.”

  Catherine stared wide eyed at Mr. Thorn. The revelation was a bit overwhelming. She had either spoken to a dead woman, or she was going mad.

  “Mrs. Thornton, are you well? You seem pale.” Mr. Thorn reached out a long-fingered hand to steady Catherine. She stepped out of his grasp; she felt as if she were going to be ill. “Pardon me. I forgot something at home that I cannot be without.” She curtsied and hurried back towards the house. No matter how far she ran, however, she could not escape the truth.

  Rai watched her go, a smirk dancing over his lips. The bushes on the side of the road rustled, and a casual observer would not have noticed beyond the slowly growing fog. Rai Thorn, however, was no mere observer. He tilted his head towards the sound but did not take his eyes off of Catherine’s retreating form.

  “Are you enjoying yourself?” a figure crouched in the bush gurgled.

  Rai chuckled. “Perhaps a bit. She is nothing as I imagined she would be. She’s very—human,” he said with contempt.

  “What did you expect?” A humanoid figure poked its head out from within the bushes, his mouth wide and curled at the corners, and his bulbous eyes were reminiscent of a toad’s.

  “I don’t know, really, just more, I suppose.” Rai shrugged as Catherine disappeared from view behind the fog. He turned his full attention to his visitor.

  “Well, do not dally. The shadows are growing, and if we are to save him, you must lead her to the forest before it’s too late.”

  “I know what I am supposed to do. I don’t need a little toad reminding me.”

  The figure croaked. “I resent that.”

  “I expect you would. Run along back to the forest, and tell the others I will have the girl in the woods before the next dance.”

  The creature croaked something akin to a scoff. “Very well, see to it that you fulfill your grandiose promises. This is your last chance, remember.”

  “Is that a cat I hear?” Rai tilted his head as if listening for said feline.

  The creature shrieked and ducked under the cover of the bushes. “Do not delay!” the creature called out.

  The bushes along the road rustled, indicating the creature’s passing. Rai laughed to himself once again. The fog grew denser around him, swirling about him like a cloak. “Just wait, Mrs. Thornton, just wait.”

  Chapter Five

  When Catherine returned sooner than expected, she anticipated Mrs. Moira would be upset. She did huff and mumble a bit as she took Catherine’s coat and slung it over her forearm. Then she said, “You have visitors waiting in the parlor, mistress. I was going to send them away, but since you’ve returned, perhaps you should meet with them.”

  “Oh!” Catherine checked her reflection in a mirror hung above a table set with flowers and a dish of candies. Despite her hurried pace back home, she looked as much of a lady as she should. She wondered who would visit unannounced liked this but was thankful for the distraction. Mrs. Moira hovered, waiting for Catherine to ready herself.

  “Mistress?” she asked with an impatient tone as Catherine straightened a loose curl.

  “Please, show me the way.” Catherine colored, realizing too late she must have appeared like a petty simpleton.

  Mrs. Moira showed her to the parlor and opened the door. A pair of women sat chatting as if at ease in their own home and not a guest in Catherine’s. Edward was with them, smiling and charming as ever. Catherine felt a small pang of jealousy at seeing him with the two handsome women.

  “Mrs. Thornton!” The blonde stood and rushed over to her. “How delightful to meet you at last!” She grabbed Catherine’s hands and kissed her on both cheeks in the French manner, and Catherine pulled away, blinking at her, unsure of how to respond. “What a charming creature you are! Edward, you never told me how beautiful she was!”

  Edward? Catherine thought. Are they so familiar with him to address him so informally?

  Edward came over to her and squeezed her shoulder. “Darling, this is my sister, Mrs. Emma Caldwell.” His sister, of course, he had mentioned her in passing. It discomfited her to realize how little she knew of her husband.

  “And such a pleasure to meet you!” Mrs. Caldwell said, then, motioning to the second woman, added, “This is our friend, Miss Norton. Come, sit and relax.” Emma showed her over to the couch and wedged her between herself and Miss Norton.

  “Mrs. Thornton,” the brunette, whom Mrs. Caldwell had introduced as Miss Norton, said, “I love your gown. Is it muslin?”

  Catherine looked down at her plain, peach-colored gown and her simple walking shoes. “I believe so.”

  “I love your hair, such a charming style. Is that how they wear their hair in your neighborhood? You’re not from far out of town, are you? Did you often go into town,” Mrs. Caldwell asked.

  “I’ll leave you ladies.” Edward stood.

  Catherine resisted the urge to plead with her eyes for him to stay. She was a rotten conversationalist, and the local girls from her old neighborhood had never paid any attention to her. It had always been her momma and poppa.

  “Yes, run along, Edward,” Mrs. Caldwell said with a wave of her wrist. “We must chat with your bride.”

  He chuckled as he closed the parlor door after him. Once he left, the two continued with their litany of questions, hardly pausing to take a breath. Catherine only managed to squeak out a few answers when Emma, as she insisted Catherine call her, or Miss Norton took a breath.

  “Now, tell us, Catherine,” as Emma had taken it upon herself to call her new sister, “I must know your and my brother’s torrid love story.”

  Catherine fidgeted uncomfortably beneath their combined scrutiny. She preferred it when they were speaking at her, but being center stage had never been something she was comfortable with.

  “We met at a dinner party of one of my father’s friends. The hostess, Mrs. Wilson, asked if I would sit with him since he had no escort for the evening.”

  “And I am sure he was charmed by your exceptional conversational skills,” Emma said.

  Catherine colored, unsure if it was an intentional dig at her quiet nature or an unwarranted compliment. She decided to give her husband’s sister the benefit of the doubt.

  “No, we actually spoke not a word that night. However, the next day we ran into one another while I was walking with my mother. He strolled with us down the street and then took his leave.”

  “Just like Edward, always a gentleman,” Emma said to Miss Norton, who nodded.

  “The day after that, he came to call. We sat in my parlor, exchanged a few words, and then he left.”

  Catherine frowned at this next part. After this it became a bit muddled. Recounting their courtship sounded strange to her own ears. It had been a brief courtship, to say the least. It spanned a total of a month, including preparations for the wedding.

  “Oh, go on!” Miss Norton urged.

  “At the end of the following week, he asked Poppa for my hand, and he agreed, and then he asked me, and I agreed,” Catherine said in a rush, hoping that once the story was revealed, Emma would change the topic.

  “How romantic,” Emma said with a tilted smile. “I must say, it came as a bit of shock to us all back at home. Why before he left, Edward could talk of nothing but Henrietta Jones. I thought for sure he would marry her.”

  Catherine sat up a bit straighter and looked at Emma for the first time since she had begun her string of questions. Edward had never mentioned a Miss Jones or a Henrietta. If he had been taken with her before coming to her neighborhood, why ask her to marry him? What changed? A chill crept up her spine. Catherine tried to recall a glance or a gesture before his proposal that showed Edward had an interest in her, but she could not think of a single one. What if he had chosen her because this woman had scorned him? Was her marriage a charade?
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br />   Emma continued, ignoring Catherine’s discomfort. “A charming girl, Henrietta, plays the pianoforte and sings like an angel. Do you play, Catherine?”

  “Not really, we had a pianoforte, but I was never very good at it.” Catherine felt sick to her stomach. She wished she could excuse herself but feared she’d insult her guests.

  “That is what every lady says when she is secretly quite brilliant at playing.” She smiled in a way that gave Catherine the impression that Emma was assessing her and she did not measure up to the standards of Henrietta Jones.

  “Henrietta is a wit as well,” Miss Norton added. “I was out to dinner with her before she left for town, and she told me the most delightful joke.”

  “Oh, do share!” Emma enthused.

  Miss Norton leaned in and whispered in Emma’s ear. Catherine stood and pretended she needed to stretch. She could see the two of them from the corner of her eye, smirking as they giggled at the joke.

  “Yes, Henrietta is a delight. I had often wished we could be sisters. She grew up in the house down the lane,” she said for Catherine’s benefit.

  “Oh?” Catherine said with half an ear. She had moved towards the window and looked out across the lawn. From this side of the house, she could see the woods. A mist clung to it still, and she almost thought she saw figures darting about between the tangled oaks. She shook her head. There could not be anyone out in those woods, not in this weather.

  “We should take tea together when Henrietta returns!” Emma said.

  Catherine gripped the sill of the window to keep from swaying on her feet. She bit her tongue from shouting an emphatic “no!” The very idea of meeting her husband’s former sweetheart was the most distasteful thing in the world.

  The purposeful stride of a man grabbed her interest, however. Emma continued listing Henrietta’s admiral attributes, ignoring Catherine’s lack of response. Meanwhile, Mr. Thorn strode across the lawn, swinging his arms. He stepped beyond the line of trees that bordered the tame part of the garden and separated it from the wilderness. The mist rose, and he was swallowed up by it, and she could no longer track his progress, though she felt certain he was headed for the woods.