Longshadow

by Olivia Atwater

  “She is,” Mr Jubilee said. “She is taking tea with Lady Hollowvale right now—”

  But Mr Jubilee cut himself off suddenly, and Abigail saw that he had gone terribly pale, staring at something just over her shoulder. She turned, and saw that he had fixed his eyes upon Mercy.

  “You should not be here,” Mr Jubilee said worriedly. “Lady Hollowvale would not be pleased at all.”

  Mercy shrank down into herself very slightly. “I didn’t mean to walk into Hollowvale,” she said. “I thought I was walkin’ into Kensington Gardens. How was I to know she’d picked up all of Hollowvale and brought it here?”

  Abigail glanced between the two of them. “You know Mr Jubilee?” she asked Mercy.

  Mercy nodded minutely. “I’ve been to Blackthorn more’n once,” she said. “Mr Jubilee’s always been a real fine fellow.”

  Abigail looked back to Mr Jubilee, pressing her lips together. “I invited Mercy to come here with me,” she said. “I know Other Mum doesn’t want anyone from Longshadow here, but it’s my fault an’ not Mercy’s. She isn’t goin’ to abduct anyone.”

  Mr Jubilee continued staring at Mercy, still deeply anxious. “Oh,” he murmured. “And you have given Abigail your real first name. I had thought I should keep that to myself, but Lady Hollowvale will surely learn it now. In any case, I cannot help but think… well, it might still be best if you were to…”

  Mercy sighed. “I’m here already,” she said. “I promised I would come, an’ so I have. If Lady Hollowvale wants me gone, then I’ll leave the moment that she tells me to do it.”

  Mr Jubilee took a deep breath. “If you are… quite certain,” he said. “In which case—I suppose that I will show you back to the Hollow House.”

  Hugh glanced at Mercy warily. “Should I come with you?” he asked. “I can tell Other Mum how nice you’ve been.”

  Mercy shook her head. “Enjoy your game,” she said. “I can take care of myself.”

  “I won’t let Other Mum hurt Mercy,” Abigail assured Hugh. She took Mercy’s arm again, with perhaps a hint of possessiveness. “Lead on, Mr Jubilee. We could all use some tea, I expect.”

  Chapter 15

  The Round Pond should not have been big enough to contain the Hollow House. But somehow, as they walked through the mist for the centre of the pond, the old faerie mansion rose from the fog all the same.

  The Hollow House was much as Abigail remembered it: a huge grey manor in the style of an English country estate. Ivy covered much of the architecture—though since the Hollow House was suddenly sitting atop the surface of a lake, Abigail wasn’t now entirely certain where the ivy was growing from.

  Normally, the ever-present mists of Hollowvale stopped at the entryway of the Hollow House—but today, fog roiled through its corridors, leaving the marble floors dangerously slick. The piece of Hollowvale which Abigail carried within her twinged with confused delight, and she wondered if Hollowvale itself had any sense that it had been messily relocated to England.

  Though the Hollow House had several sitting rooms within its labyrinthine halls, Abigail was not at all surprised when Mr Jubilee led their small party towards the ballroom at the centre of the manor. Lady Hollowvale expected guests to meet her wherever she happened to be at the time of their visit, and she often frequented the ballroom.

  The great doors that led into the ballroom had been thrown open—indeed, they were rarely ever closed. Beyond them was an impossibly large room with a black-and-white chequered marble floor. The last bit of twilight outside diffused weakly through Hollowvale’s fog before trickling in through the upper windows; this twilight was not nearly enough to light the room, which was why hundreds of eerie blue-lit candles currently floated about the area. The flickering blue light reflected off the polished floor as though it were a mirror, highlighting the large pianoforte at the centre of the room.

  Lady Hollowvale currently sat upon the back of the piano, prim and proper, with a cup of tea in hand. She looked very much like Dora, even from a distance—but she kept her rusted red hair much longer, in a single braid down her back, and Abigail knew that Lady Hollowvale’s left eye was grey rather than her right one. Still, no one with any sense would ever have mistaken Lady Hollowvale for Lady Theodora Wilder: Lady Hollowvale’s features were always animated with one intense emotion or another, and while the ragged grey gown she wore was strangely dignified, it would have been utterly improper at any real society event. There was, as well, a wild and faintly predatory air to everything which Lady Hollowvale did. She was, in short, everything which a terrifying faerie lady ought to be.

  Mrs Euphemia Jubilee had settled herself onto the piano bench with her own cup of tea. Euphemia was nearly as plain and nondescript as Lady Hollowvale was wild and dangerous: her brown hair was kept back in a neat working bun, and she was dressed only slightly better than Mercy, in a faded, cast-off gown. Euphemia had a warm smile on her face, however, and Abigail heard Mr Jubilee heave a heavy, love struck sigh as he saw her.

  As they entered the ballroom, Lady Hollowvale glanced their way. A broad, overly joyous grin lit up her features, and she leapt from the back of the piano, tossing her teacup aside to shatter against the marble floor. Lady Hollowvale sprinted for the doorway, shooing candles hurriedly out of her way as she went. Eventually, she reached Abigail, sweeping her up into an excited embrace.

  “My lovely daughter!” Lady Hollowvale cried. “I’ve missed you so much—and here you are again! The other children have missed you terribly as well, you know. We shall have a feast, now that you are here!” Her voice should have been utterly identical to Dora’s—but the manic emotion within it changed its tenor so much that she might as well have been another woman.

  Abigail embraced her Other Mum back with a wry smile. “I’m not sure we need a feast, Mum,” she said. “There’s already tea, an’ that’ll do just fine.”

  Euphemia set down her own teacup much more calmly, stepping over broken crockery to join them. “Careful what you say in front of all those faeries outside,” she advised Lady Hollowvale. “First you mention feasts, an’ then one of ‘em will decide there ought to be a tournament, an’ you won’t find even five minutes to talk with your daughter.”

  Mr Jubilee’s green eyes lit up with excitement. “A tournament!” he said. “Why, that’s a marvellous idea, darling. The delphiniums are excellent jousters, I can go and speak with them now—”

  “You’re a governess tonight, Mr Jubilee,” Euphemia reminded him, with bemused patience. “Governesses don’t set up tournaments.”

  Mr Jubilee’s excitement wilted into a frown. “Er… not even tournaments for children?” he asked hopefully.

  “Certainly not tournaments for children,” Euphemia confirmed. She stepped forward and leaned up onto her toes to press a fond kiss to his cheek, all the same. “There’s still tea on the piano, though. Why don’t we all sit down and have a cup?”

  Lady Hollowvale had released Abigail from her embrace, however—and as Abigail’s Other Mum turned her uncanny gaze to Mercy, a sudden, chilling fury overcame her joy, like a black cloud passing before the sun.

  “You.”

  The word was dark and cold, in more ways than one. Blue flames flickered frenetically, casting angry shadows across the marble floor. Frost crackled at Lady Hollowvale’s feet, spiralling out from her figure to climb the surrounding walls.

  “You are barred from my realm,” Lady Hollowvale hissed. Alien rage danced within her mismatched eyes. “How dare you walk where you are not wanted?”

  Abigail stepped instinctively between Mercy and her Other Mum, holding up her hands. Had Abigail been anyone else, she was sure that she would have cowered beneath Lady Hollowvale’s gaze—but the piece of Hollowvale that Abigail carried reassured her that no power born from this faerie realm would ever harm her.

  “An’ here I thought I was goin’ to have to introduce you,” Abigail said softly. Her breath misted in front of her, in the sudden cold of the room.
>
  “Ah,” Mr Jubilee mumbled, a few feet to Abigail’s right. “No, introductions are unnecessary. I keep forgetting that humans cannot see souls as we faeries can do.”

  “I’ve got Longshadow all over my soul,” Mercy agreed quietly. “Lady Hollowvale might have half an English soul… but she’s more faerie than not, these days. She can see the Longshadow in me just fine.” Somehow, Mercy had not bowed beneath the weight of that otherworldly fury… but she did wear a faintly apologetic expression upon her face.

  “You know what she is?” Lady Hollowvale asked Abigail incredulously. “And you still brought her to Hollowvale?”

  “I invited Mercy to come with me to Kensington Gardens, Mum,” Abigail sighed. “We didn’t know you’d brought all of Hollowvale with you. I wouldn’t have put everyone in such an awful position if I had known.”

  Mercy pressed her lips together. “I’m aware that I’ve trespassed, Lady Hollowvale,” she said. “An’ I apologise for it. But on my word, I’m not here to cause any trouble.”

  Lady Hollowvale flexed her fingers with agitation, staring past Abigail at Mercy. It was clear that she was struggling with the problem of how best to attack Mercy with her own daughter in the way. Abigail was taken aback by the sheer hatred in Lady Hollowvale’s mismatched gaze. She should have expected as much, given that Lady Hollowvale’s half a soul did not possess much patience or moderation—those attributes had mostly gone to Dora—but Abigail had so rarely seen her Other Mum truly angry at anything before.

  “I dreamed that Longshadow had snared my daughter,” Lady Hollowvale said to Mercy, with a hint of soft menace. “I saw her walking in your shadow, didn’t I? Well, you will not have her. You must have believed that I could not leave Hollowvale in order to protect her, but I have outsmarted you.”

  Abigail shifted uneasily. “You came here to protect me from Longshadow?” she asked her Other Mum. “But I don’t need protectin’ from Mercy, Mum. She hasn’t snared me. She’s been helpin’ me.”

  Lady Hollowvale narrowed her eyes. “You would believe that, of course,” she said. “Lord Longshadow helped your father once—but payment came due, Abigail. It will come due again.”

  Mercy winced and pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose. Shame and embarrassment showed on her features. “That is… well, much of that is true, I’m sad to say,” she mumbled. “But the last part isn’t true, Lady Hollowvale. There won’t be payment this time—because as much as I’m helpin’ Abigail, she’s also helpin’ me. The Lord Sorcier is obliged to solve this matter, but so am I. It’s my friends that are missin’. As such, there’s no debts to be had on either side.”

  Lady Hollowvale’s anger and suspicion did not cool—but Mr Jubilee cleared his throat delicately. “I am… very fond of everyone here,” he said, with a hint of apology. “I know that I am a governess today, but perhaps I might still help with a solution?” Mr Jubilee pulled his handkerchief from his jacket, looking down at it with an expression of deep concentration. “You have every right to be angry with Longshadow, Lady Hollowvale. But… we must think about how our decisions today will affect things tomorrow, must we not?”

  Mr Jubilee glanced at Lady Hollowvale with a questioning expression as he said this, as though searching for her approval. Lady Hollowvale looked back at Mr Jubilee—and all at once, she sighed heavily, slumping her shoulders.

  “I wish you wouldn’t remember my advice sometimes, Mr Jubilee,” Lady Hollowvale muttered. “Don’t you forget most everything else that I say?”

  Mr Jubilee did not seem at all insulted by this statement—instead, he proudly held out his handkerchief for Lady Hollowvale to see. Upon the handkerchief was embroidered the words: Think about tomorrow.

  “I knew that I would forget your advice,” Mr Jubilee assured Lady Hollowvale. “That is why I tucked it away in my pocket, so that I could carry it around with me all of the time.”

  “Ah,” Lady Hollowvale said simply. “I see. Very clever of you, Mr Jubilee.” She crossed her arms—and while the frost on the walls had yet to fade, the chill in the air at least grew less oppressive. “Well. Speak your piece, Mr Jubilee. I am listening.”

  Mr Jubilee cast his gaze across the tense gathering. There was fresh worry in his manner, as he realised that he had indeed been offered the opportunity to help solve the issue. Mr Jubilee had a terrible history of making problems worse whenever he tried to solve them—a fact of which he was painfully well aware. “Well, I…” Mr Jubilee took a deep breath and glanced at his wife. Euphemia smiled wryly at him, and nodded in encouragement.

  Mr Jubilee straightened. “If it is potential debts which worry you, Lady Hollowvale,” he said, “then Mercy can simply swear before us all that Abigail shall owe nothing for her help until they are finished working together.”

  “I would swear that if it would make you feel better, Lady Hollowvale,” Mercy assured her.

  It was a sensible suggestion; in fact, Lady Hollowvale now seemed upset at how sensible the suggestion was, since she could find little fault with it. She tapped her foot on the chequered marble, fighting against her obvious hatred of Longshadow.

  “I know all about what’s happened with Longshadow up until now, Mum,” Abigail said softly. “But I like Mercy, an’ so does Hugh. We’re friends, an’ I like to think that at least we’ll talk things out from now on.” It took most of Abigail’s willpower just to hold her Other Mum’s eyes—but somehow, she managed it. “I’d like it if you both could get along. I know that’s a bit of an ask.”

  Lady Hollowvale knitted her brow with obvious distress. Abigail suspected that her Other Mum still thought they were all being tricked. But Mercy stepped out carefully from behind Abigail, placing a hand on her shoulder.

  “You’re the injured party,” Mercy told Lady Hollowvale quietly. “It’s on me to fix things, an’ not on you. So I’ll swear this: Abigail won’t pick up any debts to me until we’ve saved my friends. An’ I’ll swear this too, Lady Hollowvale: I will never try an’ take any ghosts from you, even if the piece of Longshadow I’ve got disagrees with me on that. That’s what I really wanted to tell you while I’m here.”

  Lady Hollowvale stared at Mercy, as though reluctant to believe what she was hearing. “You will disagree with Longshadow itself?” Lady Hollowvale asked slowly.

  Mercy shrugged ruefully. “I hear you don’t always do what Hollowvale tells you to do,” she pointed out.

  “Well yes,” Lady Hollowvale said. “But I pride myself on being very contrary.”

  Mercy chuckled. “Well, maybe Longshadow will get sick of me,” she said. “I know at least one sluagh who’d be real happy about that.” She looked away. “You’ll have no trouble from me, at least. I can’t promise anything more’n that, I’m afraid. I know there’s still sluagh out there who feel different.”

  Lady Hollowvale smiled abruptly—and all at once, the ominous weight upon the air vanished. Her mood had shifted jarringly, so that she was suddenly a joyful, gracious host once more. “You are a guest here, then!” Lady Hollowvale said. “How wonderful! We must all sit down to tea together.”

  Euphemia coughed with amusement. “I’m afraid we’ve only got one teacup left,” she said. “You broke the other one, Lady Hollowvale.”

  “Oh,” Lady Hollowvale said absently. “Yes, I did do that. Do you mind if we all share your tea cup, Mrs Jubilee?”

  “I was prepared to offer,” Euphemia agreed. They started back towards the piano—but Euphemia frowned back at Mercy as they walked. “Mr Jubilee knows you,” she said, “but I can’t seem to place you. Have we met?”

  Mercy let out a long breath. It was clear now that she’d been far more anxious than she’d appeared, while facing Lady Hollowvale’s fury. She reached out for Abigail’s arm, clinging to it with relief, and glanced at Euphemia. “I went to your weddin’ in Blackthorn, Mrs Jubilee,” Mercy said. “But that was years ago, before I was even a bit of a laundress, so you might not recognise me.”

  “The cap s
uits you wonderfully,” Mr Jubilee offered agreeably.

  Mercy smiled shyly. “I am very fond of it,” she said. “Did you notice I even smell like lye?”

  Mr Jubilee seemed suitably impressed by this. “How delightful!” he declared. “You know, I have yet to try being a laundress. Have you done any real laundry?”

  “I tried,” Mercy said, “but I think I ruined it.”

  Abigail shot her a bemused look. “You want to learn to do laundry?” she asked Mercy. “I’m sure you can help next laundry day at the House, if you really want.”

  Mercy blushed. “I would like that, actually,” she mumbled. “It was so much more difficult than I thought it’d be.”

  It took more than a bit of doing for them to situate themselves around the piano for tea, as there was not nearly enough room for four people to sit upon it. Lady Hollowvale picked up Abigail by the waist, settling her upon the top, while Euphemia took back up her spot on the piano bench. Abigail helped Mercy onto the piano next to her, but Mr Jubilee insisted on standing, as he was a governess today.

  Lady Hollowvale took up the teapot from the back of the piano and refilled Euphemia’s cup, passing it to Mercy. “My goodness,” Lady Hollowvale observed, as she saw the fraying bandages around Mercy’s fingers. “Your hands! Whatever happened to them?”

  Mercy took a long sip of tea. “I tried to magic some iron,” she said. “I can’t recommend it.”

  Both Lady Hollowvale and Mr Jubilee shuddered at the idea. Mercy passed the teacup to Abigail, who lingered over it for a long moment.

  “Mum,” Abigail said slowly, “I meant to ask you while I was here—I don’t suppose you know how to protect someone from bein’ poisoned with nightshade?”

  Lady Hollowvale frowned. “I fear I do not know,” she said. “But even if Mr Jubilee is not Lord Blackthorn anymore, I believe that the realm Blackthorn still owns him, and Blackthorn grows flowers of all kinds. Do you have any advice regarding nightshade, Mr Jubilee?”