by Robin Trent
Helen moved closer to the bassinet. There was something on the floor, white flowers, strewn around the bassinet, encircling it. "Whatever for?" She felt her temper flare as she stared at what she felt was a deliberate mess. Helen marched out of the nursery and down the stairs to find the housekeeper. "Rebecca?"
Rebecca emerged from the kitchen wiping her hands on a towel. "Yes?"
"Why is there a mess in the nursery?"
"Mess mum?"
"Don't play stupid with me. There are flowers all over the floor in the nursery. I want that mess cleaned up straight away."
"Ants."
"Excuse me?"
"Ants mum. Meadowsweet is used to deter ants." Rebecca wasn't sure Helen was going to believe her but she needed the flowers to stay on the floor under the bassinet. "We can't put poison in the nursery. It wouldn't be right, but I needed to get rid of the ants."
"Ants. On the second floor? Really?" Helen looked incredulous.
Rebecca bobbed up and down. "Yes, mum. I will pick them up straight away as soon as the ants are gone." Rebecca emphasized the word ants.
Helen didn't know what to say. She wanted to argue with the housekeeper and make her clean up the mess. On the other hand, she didn't want poison in the nursery. Without another word, Helen turned around and went into the sitting room leaving Rebecca alone in foyer.
Rhys had been helping to catalog the entire collection. It seemed to be an endless parade of crates and boxes and straw. He found the work mind-numbing, wondering why humans needed to hold on so tightly to their past. With that thought, Rhys stood up straight and stared out over the room. For a brief moment, he felt that maybe he too needed to let go of the past and consign it all to ancient history. After all, wasn't he holding on just as tightly to events that could never be changed? A past that, painful as it was, could never be erased?
The loss of his wife and child put a hole in Rhys that could never be filled. He never looked twice at another human woman and never entertained the idea of a fae wife either. Instead, he let his rage and his fury drive him, becoming a ruthless warrior that felt no remorse over the lives that he took. Never the romantic, not one ounce of sentimentality, never weak as he saw it. He wanted revenge, but it didn't matter how many humans he killed, it didn't bring his wife or child back.
It was after centuries of killing that Rhys realized his anger had been focused on the wrong perpetrators. Yes, humans killed his wife and child. But, it was the queen who could have prevented it, Queen Oonagh, who did not raise a hand to help his wife after he begged and pleaded. The queen could have offered his wife sanctuary, could have saved her but chose not to. Yes, he should have been directing his anger toward the queen and the antiquated rules of the court.
As Rhys worked, the sun moved across the sky, and the light changed and shifted over the room. It was around three in the afternoon when Rhys was considering stopping that a glint of silver caught his eye from a large, ornate, Egyptian box decorated in gold, red enamel and lapis lazuli. The silver glowed with its unmistakable faery sheen as the sun shone down on the box and warmed it. The silver was definitely of Sidhe make. It gave off a vibration that any fae could sense. But what was it doing here? As Rhys moved closer to the box, his heart pounded in his chest. His eyes could not leave the amulet peaking over the rim, calling him to come and reclaim it.
"Ahem," came the sound of a throat clearing from behind him. Rhys stopped in his tracks. He knew this was going to have to wait for another day. Rhys turned to face Nikolai. "You seemed lost in thought. I didn't want to startle you." Nikolai smiled.
Rhys was able to hide his frustration and the urge just to slay the miserable mortal and be done with it. He showed chagrin in his smile as he was able to look completely human with his facial expressions and he turned to walk back toward Nikolai. "I think I must be tired. My mind drifted."
"Well, it's no wonder. You've been working like a machine. I just came in here to give you a break and ask you to join me for dinner."
"Of course." Rhys smiled again, this time showing his fatigue and able to appear completely harmless, masking the rage within. "Food would be good, and I believe it is much needed."
"Well, get yourself cleaned up. I am sure you want a bath after dealing with all of that dust. Join Henry and me, say around six o’clock?”
"Yes, of course. Bath. Excellent thought." Rhys stared at Nikolai for a few heartbeats thinking the man would leave. He didn't budge. "Ah, yes. I am coming." Rhys moved through the door and made a mental note to come back later after he could ditch the archaeologist.
16
It was a rainy morning as tiny drops of water rhythmically pelted the glass of the conservatory ceiling, lulling Elizabeth to sleep. The conservatory was small and straightforward and boasted ferns, orchids, several small lemon and orange trees and a few exotic plants Elizabeth couldn't name that Nikolai had brought home from his trips abroad. The wicker furniture was sparse but arranged in a pleasing fashion that was conducive to entertaining. It wasn't in the plants that Elizabeth was genuinely interested. It was the seclusion from the rest of the house and the quiet that drew her here.
Finally recovering from the effects of the laudanum, she sat with her legs outstretched on the chaise lounge, a blanket covering her lap, and a small pillow resting under her head. It was peaceful, and for a brief moment, Elizabeth closed her eyes and started to relax, allowing exhaustion to overcome her. It seemed like days since she had felt like herself. She drifted in and out of consciousness, barely aware of her surroundings. She could occasionally hear the flutter of wings and a soft chirping sound. More than likely, a small sparrow had found its way inside. Hazy images of a faery contingent stealing her baby and a little man living in her attic encroached on her dreams.
As Elizabeth began to doze off, she was unaware of another presence nearby. Helen watched her daughter unobserved from the doorway to the house. She felt sorry for Elizabeth in a way because she knew her daughter was not resting. However, Elizabeth brought this on herself and her children needed tending to. Helen was convinced her daughter's hysterics were just another way to avoid her duties as a mother. She had always considered her daughter to be a selfish child. In her arms, Helen carried the changeling. She looked down at the baby and all she saw was her granddaughter Euphemia. The baby had its fist in its mouth and was sucking on it ferociously. It grew frustrated when its fist did not provide any nourishment, and the babe began to flail its arms and cry.
Elizabeth was chasing the small man, running through the woods, calling after him. He always seemed to be just out of reach. The cry of a baby sounded in the distance. "Euphemia!" Elizabeth cried.
Helen was surprised to hear her daughter call out the child's name. Maybe there was hope after all. She moved closer to Elizabeth with the fussing baby until she was standing over the back of the chaise. Helen could see that her daughter needed to nurse from the wet front of her bodice. Sensing she was not alone, Elizabeth finally started awake, nearly jumping out of her skin at the sight of her mother standing so close.
"Elizabeth, dear, I have brought you, Euphemia. See? There's no reason to cry out, your daughter is right here." Helen spoke a little too brightly as she placed the baby in her sleepy daughter's arms.
Elizabeth looked down in horror to see the changeling grinning back up at her. "Mother, I'm not ready to do this right now," Elizabeth said as she tried to hand the baby back to Helen.
Helen's demeanor changed as her smile vanished, and her civility melted. "Nonsense," she stated with obvious disgust. "Elizabeth, as a mother, you are responsible for the care and feeding of your children. That baby is starving and it needs to be fed. Now!"
Elizabeth sat with the changeling in her lap. Her skin crawled, and she wanted to run. The changeling's appearance was absurd. It sat on her lap with a baby bonnet on its head and a lace dress covering it from neck to toe, but the changeling's face was old and grizzled. The changeling smiled its crooked grin and leered at Elizabeth's b
reasts, making obscene sucking noises.
Helen watched her daughter holding the baby away from her and leaning back as if she were trying to prevent the baby from touching her. The rejection was heartbreaking. The baby needed to eat. Helen switched back into coaxing mode again. "This is not natural, Elizabeth. You are a mother now. Your child needs to nurse. If you don't know what to do, I can help you."
Elizabeth looked up at her mother with a mixture of queasiness and dismay as she couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Mother. I know what to do. Please!" And then growing softer and quieter, "You just don't understand. I will never, never feed this... thing.” With that pronouncement, the changeling stuck out its tongue and raspberried Elizabeth.
Helen took a step back from Elizabeth, refusing to take the child away. She was going to at least force Elizabeth to hold her baby while she figured out what to do. Helen turned and walked out of the conservatory and straight into the kitchen. The housekeeper was there cleaning vegetables for dinner. "Rebecca?"
"Yes, mum."
"You've had children." It was more of a statement than a question.
Rebecca didn't like the sound of that and was quick to correct the missus. "No, mum. I do not have children."
"What? Truly? Why I find that amazing." Helen was non-plussed.
Rebecca kept her mouth shut, and her lips pursed into a thin line. She would not say what she was thinking.
"Do you know what the local women do with a child that won't nurse? Or rather a child that can't get its mother to nurse?"
"Why mum, we usually use a false teat filled with goat's milk."
"Goat's milk? The baby will drink that?"
"Yes, mum. Most do anyway." Rebecca resisted the strong urge to roll her eyes and kept her vision downcast instead. Mrs. Barker lacked common sense as most people with money do, which was what Rebecca had figured. She never met a rich woman that knew how to take care of anything.
"Good. I need you to prepare one of those, what did you call it? A false teat? Yes, we need one of those."
"It will take a moment, mum. We don't have a goat. I will have to run over to the Wilson's to see if they would kindly give us some milk.”
"Oh, don't worry about that. Take some of the money from the pantry fund and pay them for it. We do not have to rely on their kindness, we can pay for whatever we need. Now be a good girl and run along and don't doddle. That baby is starving in there.” Helen felt better now that she had taken charge. This would be taken care of one way or another.
Elizabeth wanted to get rid of the changeling, but there was nothing she could do at the moment. As her mother left the room, things quickly changed between Elizabeth and the changeling. It stood up on Elizabeth's lap and reached out for her breast while saying, "Yummy." Elizabeth slapped its hand away. "You would strike your child?"
"You are no child of mine, imp. Stay away from me," Elizabeth hissed.
The changeling laughed.
Elizabeth paid it no mind. "Why do you stay? You should go away and never return."
"You don't know much about Sidhe hospitality rules now, do ye?" The changeling shook his finger in Elizabeth's face. "I get fed. You have to treat me right. Whatever you do to me, your child shall receive the same treatment in Elphame."
"Why should I believe you, you filthy little troll?"
"Troll? Me? Trolls big, I'm small." Every time the changeling grinned, it looked more like a grimace. The effect was unsettling. "Believe me, don't believe me. Why would you risk it?" Then the changeling's face lit up with an idea. "I know! You actually hate your child. Changeling did you a favor. That's right, hmm, hmm."
"Oh, you are a cheat and a liar. I do not hate my child. I want her back. Where is she?" By the time the changeling realized that Elizabeth had snapped, it was all too late. She had him by the neck; had grabbed the blanket and started shoving it down the changeling's mouth. "You will shut up, you filthy beast. Shut up!"
"Elizabeth!" Helen practically screamed. She could not believe what she was witnessing. Helen swooped up the changeling out of Elizabeth's arms and took several steps back. At first, the changeling was too shocked to do much of anything. It knew Elizabeth meant to kill it. Then it decided it wanted some revenge and pretended to pass out.
Helen looked at the baby. It was turning blue. What had Elizabeth done? Helen bounced the baby in her arms hoping to revive it. Then she put her finger in the baby's mouth to look for an obstruction. She lifted the baby onto her shoulder and patted its back vigorously. The changeling decided it had had enough of Helen's tender ministrations, and it began to scream. Not knowing she had been holding her breath, Helen released a huge sigh and sucked in air through gritted teeth.
"Elizabeth, what were you thinking? You almost killed your baby!" Helen sounded hysterical to her ears as she bounced and rocked back and forth with the baby.
"Oh, pish posh. That thing is fine."
"Well, if that's your attitude, you won't have to worry about it any longer. I have sent Rebecca to get some goat's milk to make a teat. You will not have to try and nurse your babies anymore."
"There is nothing wrong with Ophelia. I can nurse her just fine. But I will not nurse that thing.” Elizabeth pointed emphatically at the changeling.
"Oh, Elizabeth. What is wrong with you?" And with that, Helen swiftly headed toward the nursery, still trying to quiet the distraught child.
Elizabeth sat back in the lounge chair. She was going to be punished for this, she knew it. It wasn't her fault no one else could see what the baby was. Elizabeth felt a little bit of hysteria moving up her throat as she started to laugh. It was all so insane. Maybe she was mad. No one else could see what she could see and why was that?
Wanting to escape her mother and everyone else in the household, Elizabeth returned to her room. She sat on the edge of her bed and slumped forward. The gloom of the day and the pitter-patter of rain on the roof only added to her loneliness. She had been racking her brain for days, trying to figure out what to do. She was out of her depth, and she knew it. The taunting of that creature was more than she could bear, and she kept losing her temper. Tears welled up in Elizabeth's eyes as she let the frustration she felt wash over her. She was all alone, had no one to turn to, and had a problem she didn't know how to solve.
A sound from the corner of the room brought her head up. It had been a shuffling sound, like someone rearranging their position. Elizabeth peered across the apartment where the damask chair sat. Its mahogany wood made the rose-colored fabric stand out. There was a shadow behind the chair. Elizabeth stared at it and wondered if the shadow was usually there, and she didn't pay attention to it, or was this something new? She got her answer when the shadow moved.
Elizabeth figured it was the small man from the attic. So he was spying on her, was he? Somehow, right at that moment, she realized she didn't care. Maybe she was crazy, or maybe things were happening beyond her control. Either way, there was no one else around, so what would it hurt? "If you're there, you can come out. I'm not going to hurt you, and you certainly can't be any worse than that thing in my child's crib." She spoke softly so no one else could hear.
Elizabeth waited for a response. Disappointingly, she didn't get one. "I don't suppose you could tell me what happened to my child? Do you know where she is?"
Silence. "I don't understand what I did to deserve this. Am I being punished? Because if you are punishing me, you should know that I am completely miserable. Does that make you happy?"
Titwell slouched his shoulders as he stood behind the chair. No, he wasn't happy. He was sick of watching the torturing of this woman.
"Can you at least answer me this? Is she ok? Is Euphemia safe? Is she happy? Or is she cold, starving, and scared? How is my little one?" A tear ran down her cheek unabated as emotion filled her voice.
The silence was deafening as she listened for an answer. She felt so hopeless. Finally, a knock on the door broke the quiet. "Mistress? It's Rebecca. Dinner is ready. Do you want me to b
ring it up to your room?"
Feeling a little foolish, Elizabeth straightened up on her bed, wiped the tears from her face, and tried to smile as she answered. "No, Rebecca. I will be down shortly." She then heard the servant make her retreat down the stairs.
Elizabeth stood to leave the room. "I am truly losing my mind," she muttered to herself. But as she grabbed the doorknob, she heard a small, distinct voice. "She's fine. She's safe." Elizabeth took comfort in that response and left Titwell standing alone behind the chair in her room.
Titwell could no longer take the situation. He had enough. He knew he was under a geas with the queen not to tell, but he could not stand the goings-on and nightmares whispering their deadly poison in Elizabeth's ears. He had to help. If not for Elizabeth's sake, then at least for Ophelia's. He knew what he must do. One of the tales in his book was the story of the changeling. He couldn't tell her directly, that would break his geas, but a storybook with the truth in it, well, that was another matter.
Titwell had been laboring over the red leather journal for many years. He started keeping the journal when the search for the Emissary began. Initially, it was supposed to be his way of keeping track of every child he had visited and the tests he had conducted. He drew pictures to illustrate it and maps even. It was comprehensive. There was more information in the journal than what needed to be there. He also recorded his personal thoughts, some of which would not be looked upon with favor by the royals. He wrote everything in story form, not as a direct journal entry. That way, if it ever were discovered or fell into the wrong hands, the reader would think it was a collection of fantastical tales. No one knew about the journal, not even the queen.
