by Bree Verity
"My happily ever after." Diana suddenly recalled their strange late-night conversation.
"Yes." Fenella's eyes reopened, and Diana noticed they were of a very dark blue - darker even than indigo.
"It was you who did this to me?"
"Yes."
"Then I demand that you change me back this instant."
Fenella's smile chilled Diana coupled as it was with the ignition of the red chips in the depths of her eyes. "Oh, no. You'll be staying a housemaid until you get what you need. But there are some rules you must follow."
"Rules?"
"Rules." Fenella seemed to notice for the first time that Diana was dressed in only her thin nightgown and waved her hand at the bed. "Sit, sit," she said impatiently. "You might as well be warm for the rules."
Diana jumped on the bed and drew the covers around her. For all that they were rough, they were also warm, and she was grateful for Fenella's small courtesy.
"First of all, you must not tell anybody. Not a single soul."
Diana wrinkled her forehead and opened her mouth to protest, but Fenella continued, "Nobody would believe you anyway, and all that would happen is you would impede your own investigation. Second, don't look at yourself in any other reflective surfaces than glass."
"Why ever not?"
"Because metals will reflect your true form."
"Why?"
The sparks in Fenella's eyes grew a little hotter, and the room, Diana noticed, a little colder.
"I don't know why, that's just the way it is. Third. Do not try to contact yourself."
"Myself?"
Fenella sighed. "Yes. There is another version of you taking your place while you are in this guise. Leave that person alone."
"Who is it?"
"It's better for you not to know."
Diana was perturbed by this less than satisfactory answer. "And if they try to contact me?"
"They won't."
Her forehead had grown more and more crumpled until now, she felt as if her eyebrows were descending past her eyes. "Anything else?" she asked icily.
Fenella thought for a moment. "No, I believe that's all," she said.
"In that case, I do not accept the rules, and I wish to be changed back immediately."
Fenella was clearly irritated. "Can't you see how this could help you?" she said. "You can go into their rooms, rummage through their things, see the secrets they keep. The nobility doesn't even see the servants half the time. You're as good as invisible. You can observe them without them knowing and probably without them caring."
"And if I still can't make up my mind?"
"One day," Fenella wheedled. "Give it one day. I promise you will find something out that will sway you."
Diana regarded her fairy godmother speculatively for a moment, then said, "One day. This time tomorrow, I expect to be back in my own bed, in my own chambers."
"Consider it done," replied Fenella grandly, and disappeared.
Even as Diana blinked at the space Fenella had been occupying, Hattie, the head housemaid, stuck her head in the room.
"What are you doing just sitting there staring at nothing? There'll be hell for you to pay if you don't get dressed and come down to breakfast. Mrs. Fletcher will have your head."
As Hattie whisked away, Diana shed her nightgown and struggled into the unfamiliar clothes - the fabric of the dress was scratchy, the pinafore starched stiff. Thankfully, there were no difficult fastenings, so she did not require assistance to get into the clothes. She hurriedly unplaited her hair, and twirled it up again into a tight bun, which she secured with the ribbon from the end of her hair and a few plain pins she found on the tiny table under the mirror, and found stockings and shoes at the end of her bed that she put on. Strangely enough, the uniform fit her perfectly.
She glanced one more time at the unfamiliar reflection.
An extremely vivid dream indeed.
The corridor seemed dark and ominous and she crept along it, one hand on the wall and eyes darting from one place to another. The end of the corridor where the stairs went down seemed like a terrifying wide mouth, gloomy and foreboding.
With a quailing heart, Diana took the stairs one at a time, holding tightly to the stair rail until her hand slid along a particularly rough piece of rail and - "Ouch!" - she pulled her hand away with a sizable splinter embedded in the tender flesh.
She pressed at the injury, but the splinter would not be budged. It stung a little, but Diana knew she would not be able to remove the splinter until she had better light and a pair of fine forceps.
Can you even have pain in your dreams?
She worried the question in her mind as she completed the first set of stairs and started to descend the second set, down into the kitchen area. As she got closer, a cacophony of voices met her and she was surprised to see so many servants milling around, some she was familiar with, some she was not. As she entered, all eyes turned to her, and the conversation lulled. Diana gulped.
I should not be here.
Chapter Nine.
Almost immediately the chatter started back up, and Diana caught sight of her own lady's maid, Lily.
She grabbed Lily's arm, forgetting all of Fenella's rules in a single moment. "Lily, it's me, Diana."
Lily regarded her with a haughty look. "I've heard that's your name," she said with a sniff. "But you aren't Diana down here girl." Lily regarded her with a curl of the lip as if she were the merest speck of dust. Obviously, the servant had not understood what Diana said.
"No, I mean I'm Lady Diana. From upstairs."
Lily pulled her arm away and stared at her as if she was insane. "Is that so? If that is the case, who is sitting up in bed upstairs demanding hot chocolate like the spoiled brat that she is?"
Diana pulled back as if Lily had slapped her and, with a smirk, Lily continued on her way. Several of the other maids tittered, and Diana's face flamed.
Maisie caught her eye and with a grin, beckoned Diana over to sit beside her.
"Don't you worry about that Lily Smith," she said confidingly with a scowl in the direction of Lily's back. "That girl is so stuck up because she's a lady's maid, but only a few years ago, she was no better than us." With a sigh, Maisie continued, her voice getting louder as everyone else started to speak as well, "I'm working to become a lady's maid. I look at all the fashion journals before they're thrown away and keep up to date. Actually," she looked at Diana's hair appraisingly, "I could use you as a hair model if you have some time later. To try out the styles to see how to achieve 'em."
Diana nodded, although she was not quite sure what Maisie was talking about. The cacophony of voices was loud in the kitchen, although nobody was particularly noisome. Diana's hand with the splinter was starting to throb and she brought it up above the table. "Do you think you could do something about...?"
"Ouch, that looks like it hurts. Did you hold on to the rail? I should have warned you." Maisie examined Diana's hand for a moment, then reached into her apron to bring out a needle. "Your hands are so soft - this really is your first time as a housemaid, isn't it?"
"Yes." Diana wondered if she should tell Maisie who she really was, then remembered Fenella's cautions. Her face flamed again at Lily's curt dismissal of her as well. It seemed Fenella was right - people would not believe her. But then, what was she going to do when she had to actually start working?
Maisie commenced digging the splinter out with gusto, and Diana immediately wished she had asked someone else - actually, anyone else - to do the job. Maisie joyfully dug first this way and that with her wicked needle. But very shortly, the splinter was extracted, and the wound immediately felt better. "It's a beauty," Maisie said, showing Diana the prize. "You should find a plaster to stick over that until it closes up." Diana nodded, her head a little woozy.
"But for now, you should get in and have some breakfast. You don't want to miss out!"
So saying, Maisie reached over to a pot in the middle of the table and ladled
an enormous spoonful of sticky porridge into the bowl in front of Diana.
Diana couldn't help but shudder. Her senses were slowly becoming overwhelmed by the sheer number of people in the room, and the noise. She was used to quiet, cultured conversations, and certainly not first thing in the morning. The porridge looked like curdled custard, and Diana's head was starting to pound.
Maisie didn't seem to notice the noise. "So, where are you from. Originally, I mean?"
"London." That wasn't a lie.
"I thought so. You have that London polish about you. And so, why are you in service?" As she spoke, Maisie continued to spoon porridge into her mouth, washed down with gulps of tea.
"I'm not supposed to be. You see, I'm..."
Diana's answer was cut short by the arrival in the room of the butler, Masterson. To her surprise, conversation ceased, and everyone stood up. Maisie grabbed her by the sleeve and yanked her to her feet.
"Good morning," said the butler, and everyone else replied in unison, "Good morning, Mr. Masterson."
As they sat back down again and conversations were continued, Maisie confided, "That's Mr. Masterson, the butler. He can be a little over-friendly when he's in his cups, but he's not a bad sort."
Diana didn't know whether to be shocked or amused, both at the news that Masterson imbibed, and that he chased the housemaids when he did.
No sooner had they settled back down than everyone jumped up again.
"Good morning Mrs. Fletcher."
Mrs. Fletcher, the housekeeper, scowled at everyone around the table. "It is far too noisy in here," she informed them all. Immediately, a chastised hush fell over the servants, only interrupted by the scrape of spoons against bowls and the pushing back of chairs. All the joviality in the room seemed to dissolve in the wake of Mrs. Fletcher's frown.
The erstwhile lady's hard eyes landed on Diana.
"I didn't know we had a new housemaid." She turned to Masterson. "Since when have you started to hire household staff without my consent?"
Masterton shrugged. "I didn't hire her," he said, eating a piece of toast in three enormous bites. "I just let 'em in when they show up on the door."
"Well, I didn't hire her either."
Mrs. Fletcher's piercing tone echoed above all the other hesitant, quiet conversations, and the room was silent again. Diana's heart was in her throat. Perhaps her adventure would finish before it had even started.
"Where are you from, girl?"
"The... the agency sent me."
"You should say, 'The agency sent me, Mrs. Fletcher,'"
Diana nodded, knowing that the eyes of everyone in the room were on her.
"What agency?"
Diana searched her memory desperately, knowing that she knew the name of the local agency that provided her godmother with staff. "It's uh... the... " Relief flooded her features. "Mrs. Botham's Household Services."
"Hmph." Mrs. Fletcher seemed mollified. "Well, I've a good mind to send you back, only it so happens that we need another housemaid. Just for the house party, mind?"
Diana nodded, her heartbeat slowing.
"What's your name, girl?"
"Diana."
"Oh, ho, so high and mighty," Mrs. Fletcher scoffed, and the maids around the table giggled. "Well, we can't have you sporting the same name as the young mistress, so it's Annie for you."
"Annie?"
Mrs. Fletcher must have heard the dissatisfied tone in her voice, for she narrowed her eyes at Diana and said, "Annie is a perfectly acceptable name for the likes of you, miss. I won't have any hoity-toity airs in my house, do you understand?"
Diana gulped and nodded.
"You will say, 'Yes, Mrs. Fletcher,' and curtsy." The housekeeper turned her eyes heavenward. "Where on earth do these girls learn their manners?"
"Annie's never been in service before," offered Maisie. "But it's alright, Mrs. Fletcher. I can show her the ropes, get her acquainted."
"Please do, Maisie, and the sooner the better." She stared for a long moment at Diana before pointing one long, bony finger at her and warning, "I shall have my eye on you Annie."
With one last scowl at the assembled company, Mrs. Fletcher strode away. Maisie rolled her eyes.
"She's always a bit hard on the new help," she explained, "but when she gets used to having you around, she softens off. Especially if you work hard and cause no trouble."
"When do we get to work?" Diana asked, not allowing the trepidation she felt to show in her features.
Maisie raised one eyebrow. "Impatient to get started, are we? Well, that'll wear off. Anyways, we have to finish breakfast first."
Diana looked at the congealing porridge in her bowl and shook her head. Her stomach was already churning. "I simply do not think I can eat that this early in the morning."
Maisie looked at her pityingly. "It's not a surprise. First day on the job and all. Bound to give you the jitters. Tell you what." She looked around furtively, then when she was sure nobody was watching, she grabbed two pieces of buttered toast, dropped them in her napkin and folded it up. "Put this somewhere so you can eat it later."
Maisie dropped the package into Diana's hand. She stowed it in the large pocket in her dress.
"I think I'll just have a cup of tea," she said faintly, and Maisie, already having filled another plate and having started eating, indicated a large, heavy teapot on the other side of the table surrounded by rough mugs.
The tea was hot and strong and heavenly, and it worked to restore some of Diana's wits and to settle her roiling stomach.
"What exactly is our job?" she asked, sitting back down next to Maisie. She noticed that now, the room was emptying quickly - obviously it was time for the staff to go to work.
"Bedrooms, mainly. We keep an eye out for when the various guests leave their rooms, then quickly hop in and out and tidy them. Make up the bed, take away the night soil, that kind of thing."
"Night soil?"
Maisie smiled sympathetically, as did some of the other staff who were still there. "It's not as bad as it sounds. At my last house, they had open pots. At least here, they are covered."
Any gains that Diana had made over her errant stomach were instantly lost.
Chapter Ten.
"Psst. Fenella."
Fenella looked up from her display, a transparent, multicolored clipboard that showed a flickering display of Diana, and also had columns of numbers and symbols that continued to roll through.
"Is that light fae with you?"
Fenella looked back down, dismissing her brother. Here at fairy godmother headquarters, her dragonfly-like wings didn't have to be hidden, and their increasing tempo spoke of her increasing irritation.
"I need to talk to you, Fen. Please. Just for a few minutes."
"What do you want, Phineas? I have a job to do." Phineas, ignoring her obvious dismissal, came into the room and sat on the other side of her desk, stretching out his long legs and letting out a sigh of contentment. He looked around the room, which was filled with paperwork and rubbish. Cobwebs hung from the windows, and a layer of dust lay over everything that hadn't been touched for a while, making the room appear a little dull. In an organization where most of the rooms were pure white, this one was just a tiny bit gray.
"I can tell this is your office," Phineas said.
Fenella glared at him. "What do you want, Phineas?"
He leaned forward over the desk; his blue eyes bright. "I want you to come with me."
Fenella laughed without humor. "You must be joking."
"I'm not."
"There is no way in this world or any of the others that I would go anywhere with you, Phineas O'Flaherty, and you know it. Why do you continue to pester me?"
"You don't trust me."
He said the words matter-of-factly.
"Indeed, and why do you think that might be?"
To her surprise, she saw a flush darken his cheeks and he rubbed his nose. "Ah, Fen, I never meant to leave you. But it all happen
ed so fast."
"What happened?" she demanded.
"Others."
"Others?"
"With blackdark. They found me."
* * *
Fenella had stood up and shoved Phineas out the door ahead of her, striding alongside him until they reached the outside of the headquarters building. And then she kept walking into the dense gardens that surrounded the structure. Her face was a mask of fury, and she left a trail of dark grey smoke behind her.
Once Fenella thought they were in a private enough space, she stopped and faced Phineas, arms crossed over her chest, eyes literally blazing.
"There are others?"
Phineas nodded slowly.
"How many?"
"Not a lot."
His flippant answer infuriated her. "How. Many?"
"I dunno. Maybe a hundred?"
"A hundred?"
"I'm not sure. We're broken up into cells. It could be fifty. Or it could be two thousand. I just don't know, Fen."
"Okay. How many do you know?"
"Ten - yes, round about ten."
"Ten other blackdarks?"
He nodded.
Fenella put a hand to her head and walked in a tight circle, creating a ring of smoke on the ground. "This is... this is unbelievable, Phineas," she said, stopping in front of him again. "Who are they?"
He seemed uncomfortable. "I'm not actually allowed to tell you."
She goggled at him. "Seriously?"
He ran a hand across the back of his neck. "We have to be careful."
"Do you really think I'm going to go running to the authorities?"
He shrugged a shoulder. "You've got your fairy godmother code thing."
With an effort, Fenella pulled her temper back under control. "So, why are you telling me this?"
"Because I need you to come with me."
"That's not going to happen."
Suddenly, Phineas was in front of her, holding both of her arms. The earnestness poured out of his voice. "If you don't, someone is going to die."
Fenella's anger flared, this time the lightning made its way into her hair, drawing it out into a dark, waving halo around her head, Medusa-like. She stood up, flinging herself out of his grasp.
