by Lani Lenore
THE NUTCRACKER BLEEDS
LANI LENORE
Text © Lani Lenore 2007–2014
All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be produced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Table of Contents
Prologue: A Living Doll
Chapter One: Snow Globe Drama
Chapter Two: Ghost of Past
Chapter Three: Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing
Chapter Four: Hickory–Dickory–Dock
Chapter Five: Mary’s Little Lamb
Chapter Six: Sing a Song of Six Pence
Chapter Seven: …So Long as Children are Innocent and Heartless
Chapter Eight: Crayon Kama Sutra
Chapter Nine: To Each, His Own
Chapter Ten: Shadowboxer
Chapter Eleven: Chimera’s Lullaby
Chapter Twelve: Bloody Pawn
Chapter Thirteen: Bite Over Bark
Chapter Fourteen: The Smell of Greed
Chapter Fifteen: To Spite the Father
Chapter Sixteen: New Eyes
Chapter Seventeen: The Way of the Guardian
Chapter Eighteen: Moth to a Flame
Chapter Nineteen: Deadly Sins
Chapter Twenty: Gentle, Gentle
Chapter Twenty–One: Kerosene Stockings; Open Fire
Chapter Twenty–Two: Naked Truth
Chapter Twenty–Three: The Gift
Chapter Twenty–Four: Snake in the Grass
Chapter Twenty–Five: Retribution
Chapter Twenty–Six: Loved Most; Most Loved
Chapter Twenty–Seven: The Reaper
Chapter Twenty–Eight: Ruined Plans
Chapter Twenty–Nine: Belly of the Beast
Chapter Thirty: Schande.
Chapter Thirty–One: The Toad Princess
Chapter Thirty–Two: Man’s Vexation
Chapter Thirty–Three: Leech Wife
Chapter Thirty–Four: That Little Drop of Poison
Chapter Thirty–Five: Sweet Sorrow
Chapter Thirty–Six: An Old Game
Chapter Thirty–Seven: The Blade’s Edge
Chapter Thirty–Eight: Wisdom in the Fire
Chapter Thirty–Nine: London Bridge is Falling Down
Chapter Forty: My Fair Lady
About the Author
Prologue: A Living Doll
In the attic room, dimly lit by flickering bulbs of gaslight, the girl sat atop her bed. Beneath her was a quilt, covered in squares that presented colorful dolls–her favorite blanket. She wore a blue dinner dress that she had spread out around her like a blooming flower; all the better to keep the wrinkles out.
No one had come for her yet, and time was slipping by into the evening, but Olivia didn’t complain. She enjoyed this solitude, but she was never truly alone. No; there were always so many friends to play with.
She hummed quietly to herself, ignoring the snowflakes that gently kissed at her window, only to be shunned by the selfish heat within. The girl was unaware of her simple beauty–completely oblivious of her ripe young body and her soft skin. She had no need for concern over those things, for she would never grow up. She would never be like them, and somehow, she knew that.
Putting down the toy soldier she’d been marching across the quilt, Olivia picked up a pretty doll whose name was Madeline, her ringlets and painted lips perfect. She’d been a gift from the one who loved Olivia most.
“If you want to marry her, you’ll have to go to war, Edmond,” Olivia said, always very forthright. “Every girl wants a strong soldier to protect her.”
There was silence in the room for a few moments as Olivia balanced the soldier on his feet, making Madeline prance around him beautifully.
“You can make your claims all you want,” she scolded as if the soldier had responded to her, “but she won’t believe you unless you go to war.”
Continuing quiet followed her insistence, and Olivia–very much a child trapped in a young woman’s body–set Madeline down carefully and held the soldier up close to her face. She looked straight into his painted eyes and gave him a look of disapproval.
“What do you mean, you’re afraid? You should have thought of that before you became a soldier! If you don’t fight, you will be looked upon as a traitor by your country, and you’ll be executed. I’d hate to see that happen to you, Edmond.”
Olivia looked at the soldier harshly, and after a few seconds had ticked away in the stillness, she closed her eyes and a little smile spread across her lips.
“I’m glad you made that decision. Madeline is glad, too.” Olivia pulled the soldier and doll against her chest so tightly that they might have heard the beating of her heart against their own hollow bodies.
The voices were silent. Within the wall, a rat was scratching.
Chapter One: Snow Globe Drama
1
The winter was upon London harshly that year, the snowflakes coming down in hundreds at once like confetti, with occasional streamers blowing past. All this, and even with Christmas swiftly approaching, the toymaker’s room was neglected–abandoned for almost two months now.
The room was locked, just as it always was when he was away. Euan Ellington was a man who liked order, and wouldn’t tolerate his belongings being disturbed by anyone but himself. Therefore, his tools and projects sat alone, silent and unbothered in the cold room on the second floor of the English home.
Downstairs, the fireplace mantle was decorated with trinkets of the holiday season and lined with stockings, named for the children of the household. In the dining room, a long table of polished rosewood was spread with plates of a great number. Carefully–polished silver rested on napkins of lace, the crystal glasses cleaned to sparkling perfection in order to reflect the chandelier above.
In the grand hall–just as one opened the door to the large townhouse–stood a fur tree. The tree reached heights, extending toward the high ceiling with its entire self, tiny branches trimmed and adorned with ornaments and ribbons of color.
The Ellington family prided themselves in their preparation for the Christmas season. Everything was perfected down to the smallest detail. Windows and doors were hung with wreaths and the house was liberally decorated with holly and mistletoe. If they’d known of the mice in the house, those mice would have worn slippers. Every year, the decorations were not taken for granted, for this season was a regal occasion.
The house accommodated more than a few of the Ellingtons’ relatives and their anxious children. William and Agatha Ellington themselves had four children, but among those gathered on this holiday were older relatives, not forgetting each of William’s five brothers and their children. There would be no less than thirty occupants including servants, and that was not counting the happy children who would fill the house with excited laughter.
For this occasion, Agatha Ellington supervised the kitchen herself, watching the servants scurry with a scrutinizing eye. She observed the table now, making a mental checklist of the place settings. There was an additional chair this year, and as Agatha stared at it, she wondered over her decision to allow Olivia at the table with the adults. There were so many worries; so many concerns…
“Is this centerpiece how you would like it, mistress?”
Agatha looked toward the table, watching a pair of servants in matching uniforms position the assembled centerpiece of candles and greenery. She was about to open her mouth and instruct them that it should be placed a bit more to the right, but a sudden w
ave of dizziness came over her instead, scattering her thoughts.
Not now, Agatha thought, feeling a streak of panic. No, not now.
These feelings of sickness had been more frequent lately, but despite how powerful they were, Agatha was insistent that the help should not know of her distress. If they sensed her weakness, they would talk. It was difficult enough to keep them from gossiping on other matters, as she’d learned.
“Mistress?”
Agatha looked up, suddenly remembering herself when one of the maids called her back.
“I… Just put it there. That will be fine,” she said dismissively, and at that, she turned. She tried to keep her pace steady, but found herself walking faster in order to escape. Her unease was growing.
Agatha ducked out of the dining room as a cold sweat broke over her skin. She passed into the hallway, away from so many prying eyes, and moved into a corner near the frosted window, bracing herself on the frame.
Closing her eyes, she tried to will her head to stop spinning. The effort seemed to help. She seized her handkerchief and put it to her mouth, breathing through it to block out the smells of the food drifting through the house. Her stomach rolled as she stared out at the falling snow, which was good enough to distract her for the moment.
No more blood, she wished. Just no more blood.
“Are you alright, Mrs. Ellington?”
The voice led Agatha to draw back and pull herself upright, fully embarrassed. That, at least, might have returned some of the color to her pale cheeks.
Agatha turned to see Anne, her daughter Olivia’s nanny, in the doorway of the dining room, peering at her. To look upon this young woman, one was immediately stricken by her natural, fair beauty, and her plain gray dress did not hide the fact. Agatha was not oblivious to it either, but that did not concern her now. Anne knew her place. By all appearances, she was a decent, God–fearing girl who never spoke out of turn, and more importantly, she did her job of keeping Olivia in line, and that was what mattered most.
Still. Agatha did not like the idea that even Anne had witnessed her trouble. She waited for the pain to subside before she was finally able to raise herself back up.
“I assure you, I’m fine,” Mrs. Ellington said, taking a deep breath. “What is it you want, Anne?”
The young woman did not seem fazed by Agatha’s snapping, and the woman knew she had her moments. Instead, the nurse smiled warmly.
“I thought to ask you when you wanted me to bring Olivia down, ma’am. Should I wait until all the other guests have arrived?”
Agatha froze then, looking at Anne with even more worry in her pale eyes than what she had for her own health.
“Where is she now?” Agatha inquired. Sometimes she thought that it was odd how the very mention of the girl–her own daughter–could cause her so much grief.
“She’s secure in her room,” Anne informed her. “Playing with dolls. I’m sure she’ll be happy with that until I come to collect her.”
Agatha simply nodded, once again wondering over her decision to allow Olivia to join the rest of the family for dinner this year. The girl could be so difficult, well–behaved one moment and throwing a tantrum the next.
“I worry,” Agatha said wearily. “I fear that someday I’ll become terribly disappointed in her. She keeps herself composed, but perhaps she will embarrass me horribly? I wonder if I made the right choice about what should be done with her.”
Anne smiled, keeping her hands still and her back straight as she spoke.
“That’s why you have me,” she said. Agatha knew Anne was trying to reassure her, but still, she had her doubts.
“Yes, I suppose we should wait to bring her down,” Agatha sighed. “Don’t want her too overstimulated before dinner.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Anne agreed, bowing her head reverently as she turned to go.
Agatha’s pain having lessened, she was free to turn her mind back to the tasks at hand, when suddenly she thought of another matter.
“Would you do me one more favor, Anne?” she spoke up, calling after the young woman. “Could you make sure my husband knows that it’s getting late? He’s in his study, I’m sure. Tell him to come down soon.”
“Of course,” Anne agreed amiably. “I’ll summon him for you.”
“Thank you, dear,” Agatha said with a forced smile, but as soon as Anne left, she clenched her side again.
Though Agatha continually dismissed the pain as stress for her daughter and the strain of the holiday, she was beginning to worry over this ailment that she’d been content to ignore thus far. The pains were becoming much more common. She had seen a doctor in secret, but he had failed to diagnose her trouble.
But I will be alright, she told herself. I have far too much to do.
As the first carriage pulled up in the flurry of snow outside, she knew that now was not the time to focus on such minor ailments. Agatha would put herself second. The family was starting to arrive.
2
Anne took herself upstairs to the second floor of the sprawling house, aiming to do just as her mistress had instructed. She placed soft steps down the narrow hallway, listening to the sounds around her, considering the atmosphere of the familiar house.
There were always creaks and groans from the floor, an occasional flicker of light at a hallway lamp. She could hear the muted hiss and whirl of the gas–powered heating system inside the walls, but those things were commonplace. In the distant nursery, she heard the voices of the three youngest Ellington children as they played together, but that was not Anne’s concern. The others had their own nanny.
Navigating through the house that she knew so well, Anne found her way to William Ellington’s study, first glancing about to see if she was being observed before she smoothed her dress a bit and raised her fist to knock on the study door.
“Who is it?” came the deep, uninterested voice from within. It was very much like him to be so stern when he was trying to be alone.
“It’s Anne, Mr. Ellington,” she said carefully, trying to keep the smile from her mouth as she said it.
She was not a bit nervous to stand before the master of the house. Like a king with his scepter–which held the power of life and death–he would grant her an audience. There was silence for only a moment on the other side of the door.
“Well, come in then,” he allowed finally, and Anne did just that. She went into the study as if she had every right to be there, closing the door quietly behind her.
William was sitting behind his desk as he often did, though whether or not he was actually engaged in his bookwork, Anne could not tell. When he was not out of the house, he spent much of his time here in this room which smelled of pipe smoke and scotch. It was his only retreat from his wife and children, and he took that seriously. Anne liked that side of him.
He did not take his eyes off of her as she approached his desk–did not avert his eyes even after she stopped in the middle of the room, holding her posture.
“Your wife sent me to summon you,” she said informally. “She wants you to remember that you should come down and greet the family as they arrive.”
“And she sent you for this task, did she?” he asked, rising up from his chair to step around the desk.
William was quite a few years her senior, and Anne found that he had a dominating presence. He was a tall, well–built man with an appeal that she could not quite deny, and from the first time he had made an advance toward her, she had not turned him away. They had been carrying on together for nearly two years now–for as long as Anne had been under their roof–and she counted their secret tryst as an added measure of job security.
No convent for me, she thought now as she smiled up at him. Sorry, Auntie.
“What business does a nurse have in the master’s study?” he asked her teasingly. Anne only looked back at him with eager eyes, tracing his features.
Alone in the room, William slid his hand along her arm and pulled her against him. He tou
ched her with the same hand that bore his gold ring–the promise to his wife.
Anne could not deny the excitement that pulsed within her at each deliberate step he took, until he was standing in front of her, looking down with a knowing smirk.
“What business do I have? Well what business do you have for me?” she asked leadingly, knowing her role with him as well as she knew it with his wife.
“Plenty,” he said lowly, kissing her mouth. Anne’s body was lit with heat from the fire in her belly. She did not protest to his kisses. She’d had plenty of them before and more of him than that, but she didn’t consider their exchange anything more than what was required for her to stay in his favor. Anne giggled as his lips became greedily, seeking more of her in the dim office.
“Oh, stop,” she scolded lightly, pretending to resist his advance. “There are too many people moving about in the house. We’ll get caught.”
“We’ll be quiet,” he whispered huskily in her ear as his lips passed along her neck. “Quiet as mice.”
Anne smiled, sighing with pleasure as his lips fell across her skin. She gave up resistance. She could play her role as she needed to–to whatever extent she needed–in order to make her own way. She closed her eyes as William’s kisses continued, imagining a day when she might be wearing a golden ring, and this house would be her own.
3
The warm smells of freshly–baked bread and the aroma of turkey flanked with cranberry drifted through the large house. It floated through the hollow spaces in the walls, past the locked room on the second floor and went straight on to the third. On this third floor was a single room, adjacent to a large attic, kept far from the rest of the family for caution’s sake, for inside dwelled a certain Ellington daughter who was often ignored by those of her own blood.
Olivia’s childhood hadn’t been filled with nurturing and preparation for adulthood, as most young women. Instead of learning to cross–stitch and care for a husband, she was given whatever she desired. The pride of her life was the army of dolls that lined the shelves of her spacious room. There were all shapes and sizes, all types, with hair that was straight and glistening locks that were in curls, all with different eyes to make them individuals in their lifeless society.
