“Agreed,” Nessa murmured back.
Everything was still so warm and lovely. Nessa was sated, in love, and oh-so sleepy. She’d tell Elise to move back to the bed soon and go to sleep. Just a little more cuddling. Just one more minute.
Nessa woke to being kicked in the leg. She could hear laughter, hoarse but heartfelt laughter. Her eyes flew open, and she heard Elise gasp next to her. Nessa pulled the covers over them while trying to remember how to breathe properly. Then, steeling herself, she looked up.
Anja stood next to them with a cup of coffee in one hand and a snoozing Svarte squeezed between her chest and her prosthetic arm. “Ha! Someone didn’t make it back to their own bed last night, hm?”
“I am… s-so sorry. I…” Nessa trailed off.
Elise bailed her out. “We are dreadfully sorry that you had to see that. Even more sorry that we could not control ourselves while under your roof.”
Anja tutted. “Oh, for snow’s sake. As if I didn’t expect a young couple to have some horizontal refreshments once in a while. I’m only amusing myself. Look at your faces! Svarte, see how embarrassed humans can get. Silly, yes?”
The cat’s ears flicked at the mention of his name, but otherwise he didn’t move.
“You’re heavy when you sleep,” Anja said and put him down clumsily. “Anyway, you two clean up, stop blushing, and then light that fire before we all freeze to death. Porridge will be done soon.”
She walked away, chuckling while sipping coffee.
Nessa buried her face in her hands. “Gods-cursed oxen-shit.”
Elise blew out a breath. “Well, at least she is more cheerful these days.”
Nessa groaned and fell back onto the pillow.
Chapter 18
A Clarification, An Opportunity, and An Interview
Standing in the kitchen, Elise scrutinised the two scent bottles in her hands. Or rather, their labels, which stated what the oil was scented with and above that, the words Lady of Arclid in a swirling script. Her oils had been stocked in Sinclair’s Scents for a week now and these two were the only ones yet to sell, so she had taken them home again. They were without the ebony root and therefore less potent and less long-lasting.
Poor things. Oh well!
Elise sung a little under her breath as she thought of how the ones with ebony root had flown off the shelves. The experiment had paid off! Everyone asked her what her secret ingredient was. So far, only Nessa and Anja knew.
She ran her fingers over one of the bottle labels. “Nessa, do you mind the brand?”
Turning with a perplexed look, Nessa paused her conversation with Anja. “The brand?”
“Sorry to interrupt. I am somewhat… concerned about the brand name of my oils. Mr Sinclair thought they would sell better with this title, but I am aware that the one who taught me to make them was you, who in turn were taught by your mother.”
Nessa smiled. “Yes. So?”
Elise fidgeted with the bottles.
I wish she would be quicker to catch up so I did not have to spell everything out.
With a tight swallow, Elise replied, “So, I could not bear you feeling that I am taking credit for something that your mother taught us. Or that I am erasing the fact that a commoner, not a lady, came up with the recipe. It would vex me greatly to know that I hurt or offended anyone, especially your family.”
Nessa came closer. “Heartling, no. A lot of people make these oils. Mum doesn’t have some sort of patent on squeezing nut oil. Or sticking herbs and dried flora in it. Besides, you were the one who thought to add the ebony root.”
“Brilliant idea, by the way,” Anja added before having a sip of coffee.
Elise softened her taut jaw. “I am glad to hear it. If you do at all mind, though, rest assured that I shall clear up any misconceptions at any given opportunity. For example, Mr Sinclair asked where I learned to make these oils.”
Nessa tilted her head. “And what did you say?”
“I said I was taught the basic recipe by my mother-in-law and named her. Was that acceptable?”
Nessa gently took the bottles out of her hand and placed them on the table. “It was lovely. And I know Mum would be proud to be known as the mother-in-law of such a successful, charming woman.”
Elise looked down, trying to keep her bashful smile out of view.
“Hey, come here,” Nessa said and pulled her into a kiss.
Anja had her back to them, refilling her coffee. “Your oils are popular. When people find out what’s in them, where the recipe’s from, and how nice the original sugar pumpkin oil is – the Clays could do well for themselves. They grow sugar pumpkins, have dammon nuts growing on their grounds, and make the original oils… They could rake in a fortune.”
Through the kiss, Elise heard Anja sigh, snigger, and add, “But I see I’m talking to myself now. Young love is rude. You two enjoy your kissing and I’ll take my coffee and join the cat by the fireplace.”
As time passed, Elise found herself busier than ever. Her oils had been requested long after her first batch had been sold out. After that, it was a matter of waiting for the second batch to finish infusing. Thus, the following weeks rushed past in a happy blur of dictation, oil-making, and acclimatising to her new home.
After around a month of Elise using the cable car to deliver her oils in bags only to have them sell out so fast that she must hurry to make the trip again, it was decided that she should increase production. A horse and cart came for the next double-sized batch. She was frantically busy. And adoring it.
It was about midday on a day when the snow had just begun falling. Anja and Elise had finished dictating and were discussing lunch when there was a forceful knock on the door. Elisandrine went to open it and was faced with Carlton Sinclair, dressed in black fur and a velvet top hat.
“Hello, Mrs Glass. I trust I am not disturbing? I meant to pay you a visit earlier in the day, but I fear work intervened.”
“Oh, not at all. Please come in, Mr Sinclair.”
She offered him a seat on the sofa, which he took while brushing snowflakes off of his hat. “Thank you. I shall not be detaining you for long. I merely wanted to give you some good news and discuss an exciting idea. Well, two ideas.”
“I shall be glad to hear them. May I offer you water or coffee before we start? Some leaf tea perhaps?”
“No, thank you. After this I am meeting a supplier over lunch.”
Elise smoothed her skirt underneath her and sat down on the other side of the sofa. “I see. Well then, what was it you wished to discuss?”
He adjusted his sitting position so they were facing each other. “I should like to start by telling you that your oils are now outselling our other scented oils. You have even enticed some of the alcohol-based fragrance crowd to try your products.”
Elise had no doubt her smile was ridiculously big. “I am thrilled to hear it! Thank you.”
“No need to thank me for the truth, Mrs Glass. It seems that secret ingredient of yours has intrigued and won over the customers. Will you still not tell me what it is?”
Elise clasped her hands in her lap. “Afraid not, Mr Sinclair. I must protect my unique selling point. Let me just say that it is a mix of ingredients. Perfectly harmless but quite complicated.”
Elise was facing the kitchen while Sinclair was not. Therefore, it was only she who saw Anja hold up the almost empty ebony root spice jar and make a theatrically sad face. That was the second jar Anja had needed to buy because her lodger used it all for her scented oils. Elise shot her a glare. She didn’t want Sinclair seeing the jar and connecting the dots. Although she doubted anyone would believe that such a mundane article like ebony root could be her big secret.
“Ah. Well, as you please, Mrs Glass. The next step is to keep your customers while also continuing to attract new ones. One way to achieve that is to expand the range. Keep the oils you have, but add some new exotic ones as well? What do you say?”
“That sounds marvellous
! Did you have any scents in mind?”
Sinclair jerked his head back. “Me? No, not at all. I am a business man, not a creator. My brain sees only opportunities and numbers. You could, however, speak to Genia. She has worked with fragrances for near thirty years.”
Elise hesitated. “There are a few scents I had considered. Arclidian sugar pumpkins being one of them.”
“Ah, from the original recipe, I seem to recall? How I miss having sunberry tarts with sugar pumpkin sauce. The taste of home. Do you miss the Midlands?”
Elise had a mental image of Highmere, blindingly white and pink in the sharp sun. “Some of it,” she replied, clasping her hands painfully tight in her lap.
He searched her face for a moment and then cleared his throat. “Ah. Well. Yes, let us return to business.”
“Yes,” Elise said, faking a smile.
The wrinkle between his eyes smoothed as he sat forward. “Oh! I almost forgot the best piece of news. I have been contacted by the Skarhult Chronicle. Do you know that publication?”
“I am afraid not.”
“It is our biggest magazine. A messenger brought me the letter from them this morning, in which they asked if the mysterious ‘Arclidian Lady’ of scented oil fame would be willing to do a quick interview. They have never asked to interview any of my other suppliers, so this is a tremendous honour.”
Elise’s stomach was all aflutter. “Really? They are interested in me?”
Have I truly achieved something more than charming people or getting into trouble?
He pointed at her with his top hat, all smiles. “Yes! They have yet to fill the edition which comes out the day after tomorrow and so wish to devote a small column to your oils.”
Elise adjusted her hair. “Oh! Oh my. I… do not know what to say.”
“Say you are interested! It would be a golden opportunity to spread the news about your new range of scents. This is how you get your oils into every home in Skarhult.”
There was no denying it. Confidence was taking root in her chest and slowly blossoming, spreading little tendrils of pride throughout her.
“Yes. I shall gladly do the interview.”
“Splendid!” He stood up and replaced his hat. “I shall leave you to ponder new scents while I take the cable car to my luncheon. Do contact Genia if you need advice, she has grown quite fond of you.”
“I will. May I ask when the reporter will come to speak to me? And where?”
“Oh, of course. Pardon my haste. I shall tell her to come here. Unless you wish to meet at a coffeehouse or tea parlour in town? The Chronicle’s dreary offices are not fit for outsiders, they rarely do interviews there.”
“Either will be fine.”
He walked towards the door. “Right. I shall contact her today and send a messenger to you as soon as I know.”
“Excellent. I hope your luncheon goes well.”
“Thank you. And I wish you a splendid day, Mrs Glass.”
“Same to you, Mr Sinclair.” She closed the door after him and looked towards the kitchen where she could just make out Anja crouching on the floor, tickling Svarte’s chin.
Elise joined them. “Did you hear all that?”
“It’s not in my nature to eavesdrop,” Anja replied, still scratching the cat’s chin.
“But you may have picked up that I am to be in the papers?”
Anja looked up with a smile. “Yes. Congratulations! You deserve it. Seems like I might be losing my assistant soon. Not to mention all my ebony root.”
Elise rolled her eyes. “I still have time to take dictation. Furthermore, I shall buy you a whole shelf of jars of ebony root. And a cake as a thank-you.”
Anja scoffed. “The ebony root will do nicely. Now, food. Sandwiches or fried porridge?”
“Oh, sandwiches. Absolutely sandwiches,” Elise said with a grimace which made her hostess laugh.
The next day, Elise was perched on the edge of the sofa, waiting for her interview. She had physically prepared as best she could in Anja's small mirror. Her eyes were now lined in black, cheeks blushed, and her mouth tinted a subtle red. Her hair had been combed to perfection and scented with her watermint and winter cherry oil.
She had practised her answers regarding herself and her oils, putting extra focus on how not to divulge the secret ingredient or how she was discovered by Sinclair. Not to mention the important lie about coming to Storsund with her wife for an adventure and a change of scenery. The secrecy made her head swim.
Perhaps this was a bad idea. Is it too late to cancel? Perhaps I can say I have contracted some ailment. Have I had the measles? Wait… is that an illness or a small furry animal?
She kept blinking at the door while her mind whirred. From upstairs she heard Anja pacing, as she often did when she was pondering a new chapter or trying to remember a fact from some old tome. Usually Elise found the sound soothing. Now the steps sounded like seconds ticking away until the reporter would arrive.
A knock on the door nearly gave her a heart attack. She smoothed down her dress, breathed deep to quell her nerves, and opened the door with what she hoped was a charming smile.
A woman of her own colouring and height returned the smile. She was wearing spectacles and a simple wool coat in darkest green. “Hello. Mrs Glass, yes? My name is Sara Kvist. I’m with the Skarhult Chronicle. May I come in?”
“Well met. Yes, I am Elise Glass.” Elise recalled her manners and stepped aside. “Naturally. Come in.”
“Thank you.” The reporter stomped snow off her boots before entering. “So, Glass. That name is not common, I think?”
“It is rather common in Arclid, where my wife and I hail from.”
Sara’s eyes twinkled. “Ah, my editor mentioned that you were from the little green continent, yes? Finally, a chance to practice my Arclidian!”
“I am relieved you do not wish to conduct the interview in Sundish. I have begun studying your language. Thus far I am fairly decent at understanding it but frightful at speaking it.”
Sara waved the notion away. “Worry not. I need to practice my languages if I’m to fulfil my plan of travelling the orb, bringing back reports from distant lands, yes?”
“Good for you! Travelling washes the eyes and grows the soul. It will suit you.” Elise breathed in, feeling some confidence settle with the air in her lungs.
You know how to play the social game, especially if you can use flirtation to oil the wheels. Only remember to keep the secrets and not flirt too much.
“I think so, too. May I sit?”
“Oh! Where are my manners? Of course. Please sit,” Elise said, indicating the sofa. “Would you like any refreshments? Drinks or something to nibble on, perhaps?”
Sara was fetching a notepad and pencil from her satchel bag. “Maybe a glass of water, yes? Long conversations go better if you keep your throat from going dry, I think.”
“Agreed. I shall return with two glasses of water.”
Walking to the kitchen, Elise noted more of her confidence now in place. What had she been so worried about? She really had to get back into talking to people again. Her skillset was growing rusty.
When she handed Sara her glass of water, the reporter smiled. “Many thanks. You’ve been told that this is only a short interview, yes? Only a little column space in this edition, I’m afraid.”
Elisandrine sipped her water and placed the glass on a side table. “Yes, that is fine. I am not all that fascinating anyway.”
“Oh, I’m sure that’s not true.”
“Well, it all depends on what you find interesting, Miss Kvist.” Elise noted the low flirtatious tone in her own voice and bit her tongue.
No! Not too much. You could hurt Nessa.
Sara didn’t seem to have noticed. “Where did you learn to make these oils, Mrs Glass? Mr Sinclair told me that it involves your… what’s the expression … mother-in-law?”
Elise wanted to clap with joy. Such a perfect opportunity to set the record straight. Perha
ps we can send a copy of the article by ship to Arclid? Reading it, the Clays might think better of the Noble brat who took their Nessa away. Perhaps they may even like me once I have given credit where it is due.
“Correct! My mother-in-law, Carryanne Clay, instructed Nessa, who in turn taught me. Carryanne makes the most amazing dammon nut and sugar pumpkin oil. I simply tried it with different fragrances and added the secret ingredient to increase its scent and longevity.”
Sara was frantically taking notes. Elise tried to read them, but they were in Sundish and in near illegible handwriting.
Above them she heard Anja pacing again and Svarte meowing, probably wanting to be let into the study. Elise frowned at the distraction.
Sara looked up from her notebook. “I assume we’re not to be told of the secret ingredient?”
Elise gave her best attempt at a wink, managing, as usual, to close both eyes. “No, I fear that must remain a secret.”
Sara laughed. “Ah, no big reveal for me. Never mind, some things are better left as mysteries, yes?”
Another meow came from upstairs, they both looked to the ceiling.
“I hear you live with cats?” Sara asked with a chuckle.
“A cat. It belongs to our hostess, Anja Ahlgren. You may have heard of her, she is a famous and brilliant historian. She is writing a book at the moment. One I suggest everyone purchase when it is published,” Elise threw in. Perhaps she could get into Anja's good graces as well as the Clays’ with this interview.
Sara sat back. “Fine compliments, yes? Could help with sales, hm?” She gave Elise a conspiratorial grin.
Elise laughed. “Anja deserves it. Not only because it is true but because she is a good friend and landlady. We shall probably have to find a more permanent place to live, you know. However, as we always have pressing reasons to keep moving, who knows how long we will stay.
The ease the interview had lulled Elise into suddenly broke. She fidgeted with her hair.
Tinderbox Under Winter Stars Page 18
