by Robin Trent
"Yes, everything is fine." Helen entered Elizabeth's bedroom with an air of impatience. "What on earth are you doing up here?"
"Just reading Mother, nothing more," Elizabeth said.
"Reading. That's what brought about your problems in the first place. Do you really think it is wise for you to read?" Helen now towered over Elizabeth, peering into her lap to see what book she was holding. "What is that?"
"Nothing. It's a journal, just a journal about someone's travels." Elizabeth tried to keep the tremble out of her voice. She hated being bullied by her mother. It always made her feel like she was a small child again.
"Let me see." Helen held out her hand.
"That's not necessary, is it, Mother?" Elizabeth stood up. "As I said, it is just a journal. Nothing to worry about."
"If it's nothing to worry about, then there is no need to hide it from me now is there?" Helen's eyes narrowed slightly as her suspicions started to grow.
Elizabeth stepped away from her mother. "This is utterly ridiculous. You are making a big deal out of nothing."
As Elizabeth turned, Helen saw her chance and snatched the journal out of Elizabeth's hand. She walked three steps back to be out of her daughter’s reach. For Elizabeth to come after her mother now would be most inappropriate.
Helen flipped the journal open to the first page. Then the next. Then she fanned the whole journal. "This isn't funny, Elizabeth. Do you think this is some sort of a game?"
"No, I can explain." Elizabeth didn't understand.
"Another one of your tricks. Trying to act insane now, are we? It won't stop it, you know. We will sell the house. You can't prevent this by acting like you are crazy." Helen thrust the journal back at Elizabeth.
"Mother, what are you talking about?"
"Pretending to read a blank journal. You don't think I know what you are up to, but I am not a fool. I know my own daughter and the tricks she plays," Helen said.
Elizabeth fanned the journal and saw all the writing. "Mother, the journal isn't blank. It is written in, see?" She pointed to a passage in the journal.
"Enough! I have had enough of your foolish games. I will not be mocked." And with that, she left the room, slamming the door behind her.
Elizabeth stood by her rocking chair, tears welling up in her eyes. She ran her hands over the soft, smooth leather of the journal as she tried to pull herself together. Once again, Elizabeth questioned in her mind, why did her mother hate her so?
Helen Barker considered herself a practical and sensible woman. She had never been given to flights of fancy. In fact, she possessed very little imagination at all. She didn't know where her daughter got it. Must be her father. Indeed, this mental illness couldn't come from her side of the family. She wasn't sure if Elizabeth was just play-acting, or severely mentally ill. But she knew her daughter feared the asylum. Helen had proof of that when Elizabeth came back from there the last time. She hadn't had one bit of a problem with her since then. Being in the asylum had taken all such foolish notions out of Elizabeth's head, and she had behaved as she was supposed to.
People were talking, and the family name was being tarnished. Whatever Elizabeth did, it was a reflection on her. Well, she wasn't going to be held hostage by anyone, let alone her eldest daughter. Nikolai was going to have to come home and take care of this. It was imperative that he do so.
Helen sat at the writing desk in her room, pen in hand, a bottle of India ink in the well, and a crisp sheet of paper in front of her. She didn't enjoy doing this, and she hated the hesitancy that she felt. Helen liked being in control and being decisive. It was not like her to waffle, and it was for her daughter's own good. She would not have Elizabeth making scenes all the time and having the servants run their mouths in town.
Obviously, that was what was happening. That maid and her husband must be telling tales in town. Well, there are ways to handle that too. She would put an end to it. There wasn't anything else to be done. Helen put pen to paper and began to write her earnest letter, beseeching Nikolai to come home.
18
Changelings replace a human child, so humans don't consider anything amiss and go looking for the child. A changeling can be anything, from a Sidhe that owes a debt to an enchanted log that looks like a human child. Sometimes an elder Sidhe will be used so that it can live out the rest of its days in comfort being taken care of by the humans. For whatever reason the child was taken, one thing is sure, the changeling is not supposed to remain. Eventually, this changeling will appear to grow sick and die, as no Sidhe intends to stay in the company of humans for very long.
The reason for taking a child can be because the Sidhe need breeding stock, as sometimes the well of life for the fae needs to be renewed. Other reasons could be that a mother Sidhe had a sick child that would die soon, and she wanted a healthy one, to an actual dictate of some kind. In this particular case, the exchange will happen because of a prophecy. It is unfortunate, but the queen desires the prophecy fulfilled, and so it shall be. But which generation will produce the Emissary is yet to be seen. I am obliged to conduct these tests for as long as I must, for it is the queen's command.
So, that was why the fae abducted Euphemia. Elizabeth sat in her room with the journal in her lap, staring out the window. To know that her child wasn't coming home and that this was to fulfill some stupid prophecy gave Elizabeth no comfort. She wanted her child back. Was there a way? She had yet to read an answer to that question. The changeling was meant to die or at least appear to. That meant Elizabeth had only a short amount of time to figure out how to get her child back before it was too late.
Elizabeth flipped through the journal some more. More lists of failed tests. Occasionally, there were notes to break up the monotony. January 12, 1609, tested Jacob Pendleton, a child born to seemingly foolish parents. One wonders if they have any Sidhe blood in them at all, given that they display no intelligence whatsoever. Watched the family from afar as they let the cow out of the barn, and it went wandering to the neighbor's field. They searched for hours, passing by the very location where the cow stood, under a copse of trees, as if it were glamoured to be invisible. Finally, the neighbor rescued the cow and gave it back. He, too, must have grown tired of watching them traipse about without seeing the cow. Poor eyesight, maybe?
Elizabeth giggled. Well, at least the anecdotes made the reading a little easier. Some of her ancestors were prosperous, and some were poor. The notes gave brief glimpses into her family history. Her mother pretended that the family was always well to do, but this was, of course, not the case. According to the journal, some members of her family had also had the Sight, and they had seen the faery who owned the journal. Of course, this alarmed him immensely. He didn't like being seen. He dealt with those families and then quickly disappeared. The only thing that he seemed to confirm was that the Sight showed the Sidhe blood was still present, and the bloodlines were still worth pursuing.
At least Elizabeth now knew why she had always been able to see things other people could not. She wasn't crazy after all. And what she had seen as a child, and even now as an adult, had been real. Elizabeth was so used to denying these things about herself, that she sat with the journal as often as she could, as proof that it was real. It allowed her to hold onto this new reality.
"It's suspicious, that's all." Abigail nodded her head emphatically as if she agreed with herself.
Erna Cook was Abigail's unwitting victim for this morning's barrage of complaints. All she wanted to do was get some flour and tea. Abigail had spied her in the general store and cornered her almost immediately. Erna was never one to cause a stir or have a confrontation with someone, so she stood in silence and listened to what she had heard for the umpteenth time already. Abigail thought something was going on in the Merkova household, and yet she wouldn't say just what that something was.
What neither woman saw was the Sidhe that was standing right beside Abigail. He was whispering in her ear, saying some of the vilest things, which exte
nded to Abigail's own person. "You really are a horrible, fat pig. Why would anyone want to listen to you? You really should just die and make everyone else exceedingly happy," Merritt sneered.
Merritt was an Unseelie Sidhe and royalty, being Maeve's son. But he was not behaving as a royal should. Then again, he felt he could do whatever he liked. Maeve had her favorites, Rhys Bryhana being one of them, something Merritt was jealous about, even though he would never admit it. If Rhys could torment humans, well then so could he. He had been out looking for trouble on the Earth plane one day when he spotted this unhappy sow of a human. After studying her for a while, Merritt could see the ugliness inside of her. He found her a perfect target with which to practice upon. Being of low intelligence, he could whisper in her ears, and it would sink into her mind almost immediately. It was a sport, of course, and eventually he would tire of his game. But for now, it was fun.
Abigail felt immediate self-loathing but quickly corrected herself by continuing to focus on Elizabeth Merkova. "I've heard she may be mentally ill. Or worse yet, completely unstable. They even say she's a witch." Merritt stopped speaking. That didn't come from him. Well, this was interesting.
Erna was tired of the gossip. She had her own experiences with strange dreams as of late. God forbid Abigail ever discovered her secret. Witches. Well, that would explain a lot, strange dreams, in some ways almost nightmares. It all started when Abigail started gossiping about Elizabeth. Or did it start before then? Erna was prattling on in her head, barely giving the constant barrage from Abigail much attention.
"We need to do something to protect the parish. We are God's children, and we must not let the devil's work destroy our peaceful village." Abigail was drawing a lot of attention in the store. Other people were standing around listening. Some rolled their eyes, and some looked scandalized. Abigail, puffed up with her own self-importance, was basking in the attention.
That last thought sunk into Erna's reverie. She stared at Abigail like she was looking at some circus oddity. "Maybe she's just worn out and tired from being a new mother. You know childbirth can take a lot out of a woman. Why do you hate her so? Just leave her alone." Erna wasn't sure she was talking about Elizabeth or herself.
Abigail tutted. "Oh Erna, how can someone of your years be so naive?"
Erna was taken aback. "My years?"
Abigail busied herself, sorting through some fabric samples. "Why yes, dear. You are certainly old enough to know better." She chuckled to herself.
Erna wasn't sure if she was being insulted or not. It certainly felt like an insult. It wasn't unusual for Abigail to react that way to being told in so many words to shut up. If someone defended her intended target, the result was never pleasant. "I'm not naive. I'm just not mean."
This show of spine from Erna was not what Abigail expected. It should be squashed. "No dear, you have so many children to take care of, I doubt you have any time to be aware of what is going on around you. So how could you possibly be mean? Hmmm?" Abigail patted Erna's arm. "No worries. It's always up to the town's leaders to have the foresight to protect the community."
Erna almost laughed at the idea that Abigail considered herself a town leader. It allowed her to overlook the insinuation about her having so many children. Erna was too tired to bother with Abigail's conspiracies.
"Excuse me, Abigail, but I am going over to the bakery for some refreshment. I will have to take your leave as I will just about faint if I don't get to sit down." Erna was ready to exit the store when she heard Abigail call out.
"Wait, dear, and I will come with you! Why, some tea sounds just wonderful."
Erna blanched. She had no escape. Well, at least she would be able to sit while she listened to the rest of Abigail's tirade.
Helen had decided it was time for her daughter to emerge from her room. Feeling remorse for having been harsh, Helen decided to make up. She approached her daughter's bedroom door and gently knocked.
Elizabeth barely heard the rapping on her door. The journal was fascinating, and she was greedily devouring it. There was so much history about her own family. The tale she never knew, and no one had ever discussed. She had no idea how old her family was, but the journal confirmed it went back at least as far as the dark ages. However, she did not know why every child since then had been tested. She only knew that there had been failure after failure.
This time the rapping was more insistent, and it was accompanied by her mother's voice. "Elizabeth? Please unlock the door and let me in."
Elizabeth blinked as she came back to the everyday world with a sense of urgency. She needed to hide the journal. "One moment please, Mother." She rose from her chair while scanning the room. Where to put it? "Elizabeth, please, there is no need to stay angry with me is there?" Her mother was sounding more and more anxious. "Just a minute, Mother." She finally decided the best place was under the mattress, and she lifted the bedding and placed it there, quickly rearranging everything.
Elizabeth schooled her face to hide her annoyance and opened the door. "I wasn't ignoring you; I was taking a nap."
Helen scanned Elizabeth's tired face. "Yes, I see you are still in your nightgown, and it is mid-morning. I think some fresh air will do you some good and I have come to fetch you to go shopping in town. I will give you some time to freshen up and get dressed. Meet me downstairs in say half an hour?" The look on Helen's face told Elizabeth there was to be no argument on the matter.
Elizabeth was busy going over this turn of events in her mind looking for an excuse to bow out, but her mother broke into her thoughts. "Do I need to call the doctor again? You are pale, my dear, and you do not look well. Maybe we shouldn't go out. Dr. Barrett said he would be here immediately if we should need him." Helen was only voicing concern as she stood there, taking in her daughter's disheveled appearance, but Elizabeth heard a threat. She knew how her mother felt about her "gifts" and that it would take nothing at all for her mother to call the good doctor again. Elizabeth's shoulders sagged in defeat as she realized she wasn't going to be able to get out of it. "No, I'm fine. I'll get dressed, Mother." Elizabeth sighed as she shut the door in her mother's face.
It was a beautiful late summer morning, as Helen and Elizabeth strolled down the main street of the sleepy village. Both women had a black pram in front of them, purchased by Nikolai before he left. The prams had large wheels that allowed the baby to be higher up off the ground. Usually, the servants would be pushing the prams, but Helen had decided it would be an excellent form of exercise for the two of them. Of course, Helen should have considered that this would be the children's first outing into society and that they were going to attract attention.
Pastor Poole was the first to spot the two women as he was out taking his daily constitutional. He also spied Abigail Young walking with Erna Cook and moved quickly to avoid the inevitable conversation that would ruin the rest of his morning. He stopped in front of the prams and tilted his wide-brimmed hat in salute. "Good morning Mrs. Merkova, Mrs. Barker. How fine to see you out this morning." He began to make cooing noises at the babies showing mock delight.
"Good morning Pastor Poole," said Elizabeth. She watched the minister making a fuss over the babies, and all of a sudden, it dawned on her why her mother had been so insistent on taking the babies with them. The children were providing a social buffer where the two women could be guaranteed to proceed through town unmolested by the curious. Or so she thought.
"Absolutely delightful. Children are such a gift, are they not?" the minister gushed. The two women nodded in agreement. "And how are you recovering, Mrs. Merkova? You look to be in fine spirits this morning?" The question was hanging there, and Elizabeth knew she had to give a polite response.
"I am doing well this morning, Pastor. I am much recovered, thank you for inquiring."
A sly look quickly passed over the minister's face and then was gone. "I hope we will see you soon in church? Now that you are, as you said, much recovered. It will be positively wonderful to hav
e you join our little flock." The pastor was way too chipper and too manipulative for Elizabeth's tastes.
"Yes, Pastor Poole, we will see. I do believe our own church would require attendance from us first." Elizabeth smiled sweetly.
"Oh, well, yes, is there another church around here?" Pastor Poole was good at the cat and mouse game, and Elizabeth was starting to feel annoyed. That was why she breathed a sigh of relief when she heard "Oh Pastor Poooolllle," as Abigail Young hailed the minister. Elizabeth felt a small sense of satisfaction as she watched the pastor blanch.
Abigail Young crossed the street at a frantic pace with poor Erna Cook trailing in her wake. When she finally reached the two women and the minister, Abigail needed to catch her breath. She stood there red-faced, taking in large gulps of air, looking like a fish on dry land gasping for its last breath. Erna had time to catch up before Abigail began her diatribe.
"Pastor Poole," she said with too much force. "I am so glad to see you out today. I was hoping we would be able to speak in private concerning matters in the parish?" With this, Abigail gave Elizabeth a pointed glare. Elizabeth's cheeks turned pink.
"Mrs. Young, I don't know what you mean," said the minister as he began to fumble his words. "We have no such business to discuss that I can recall."
"Why we most certainly do, Pastor Poole. We need to discuss the health and well-being of this parish and the ouster of certain evil elements." Abigail now stared at Elizabeth as if she were the devil incarnate.
"Uhm," was all the good pastor could manage.
Helen drew up her shoulders and leveled her gaze. She had been expecting this all along. In a low voice, she said, "Be very careful with what you are about to say, Mrs. Young."
A self-satisfied smirk came over Abigail's face. She had been labeled the town busy-body and treated like a pariah in her own parish for years. It was time someone else got their comeuppance.
