Silver Hollow

by Jennifer Silverwood

  He took his tea in glass cups, wore an eggshell-tinted overcoat and breeches. Their mutually black locks stood out bold in a room absent of color.

  She had been debating for the better part of an hour whether to tell her uncle about the mysterious stranger in the halls or not. There wasn’t really any reason for her to be wandering the halls before dawn.

  What is it with bookish chicks and secret passages?

  Deciding silence was best, Amie listened to Henry’s latest tea-time lesson and tried to keep up.

  “Won’t you join me?” he said as he lifted the pot and inclined a sooty eyebrow her way.

  “Yeah, sorry, my mind’s not fully awake yet,” she replied and plopped into her ivory chair. Carefully, she took the cups and followed through with the time-old British tradition. It was much harder to be delicate than she had previously thought. For example, it was nearly impossible to drink with her saucer and stir the sugar cubes in without making a single sound. With her mind in a frazzle over the castle ghost she was in rare form today. She had been improving.

  Mid-sip, she caught Uncle Henry’s amused grin and set the cup back down. “What?” she asked.

  Chuckling and flashing an easy grin, he said, “You’re feeling a bit krumplekined this morning, I see.”

  “Not at all,” Amie countered, straightening her posture and attempting to focus on copying his fluid movements. Henry’s mouth quivered a moment longer before turning to face the morning light.

  “I hope you have favored your stay, dear one. It has been a very long time since we have housed visitors at Wenderdowne…” His voice trailed into silence toward the end, as he often did when he was lost in his thoughts. Amie thought of the shadow man and whether Henry knew of him or not.

  “Jessamiene, I’ve been thinking, now you’ve begun your riding lessons with Mr. Cutterworthy and begun to acquaint yourself with my staff, perhaps you might allow me a few days’ leave, to conduct some business.”

  Amie nearly snapped her teacup in two. “Leave? But I just got here and even you said there was so much I had to learn before I was ready.”

  Henry interrupted smoothly, turning her train of thought. “And that is why I have called upon the services of one who is just as qualified to train you as I, if not better.” Appraising her stunned reaction, he reached across the little round table. She flinched when he plucked the teacup from her hand, but was surprised when he took her hand in his. Softly, he added, “I’ve been neglecting my duties for you, my little gem. But time stands still for none of us and now you are here, they will want to see you.”

  “Who?”

  Standing to his full height, he looked surprised by her question, then frowned, remembering himself. “Oh epperchips, I’ve done it again, haven’t I? Dash it all, I forget you can’t recall everything.”

  Amie picked up her pace to follow him out of the Looking Room and into the main hall. “Recall what?”

  Keeping his expression carefully neutral he waved her question aside. “Nothing, nothing of consequence, I assure you. I only speak of the other three houses and their lesser kin. You didn’t think we were the sole inhabitants of Silver Hollow, now did you?” Laughing aloud, he never noticed when his white clothing instantly darkened to muddled browns and blacks. Amie blamed it on tricks of, or rather lack of, lighting.

  “Other families?” Amie echoed dumbly, because it was a lot to grasp, knowing there were other people in this backwards community.

  “Oh aye, one family is almost as old as ours, which brings me to my point of farewell.” They paused at the head of the grand hall, the tip top of the long stairwell. Here he took her hands in his and looked at her with such warm affection she missed him already. “I’m going to the Hogswillow estate, but a few leagues north of here. They are something akin to our allies, but one can never be too careful. With your presence in the estate, I want to be certain the families learn only what I want them to hear.”

  Shuffling her feet, she tried desperately not to whine. “Why can’t I come with you?”

  Chucking her chin, he smiled and the light of the sun still seemed to beam off his face. “If you knew what I know, ye would understand, lass. For now, trust that I’m leaving you in capable hands.” Releasing her grip, he took a step back, then returned with an afterthought, bringing her into another of his bear hugs. Into her ear he whispered, “Remember to fully trust no one besides myself, Underhill and perhaps Alastair. I can nay account for the others.”

  Amie held on tightly and was surprised by the tears she squeezed from the corners of her eyes. She wasn’t used to feeling this much for anyone besides her best friends. Henry had quickly filled in the gap her family had left behind, until she felt like she was home all along. Now he was leaving, who would she turn to, if she could trust no one? Underhill, in Amie’s opinion, was too flighty to be relied upon.

  “When will you come back?”

  Holding her back by the shoulders, he beamed down on her. “Sooner than the blink of a wight’s eye!”

  Shaking her head after him, she watched as he descended the steps, listened to the front doors creak open. Only then did she understand he was leaving immediately. He had given her no warning, and suddenly a rush of things unsaid came to rest at the tip of her tongue. Could she really let him leave without telling her the things weighing so heavily in her chest? The dreams were regular and more detailed with each passing night. The library hidden in the burnt West Wing demanded explanation in her mind. The strange ghost-like stranger in their midst, was he the one Henry had summoned, or one of the enemies he had warned her about?

  Trust no one.

  “Henry, wait!” Amie jumped down the steps, nearly stumbled as she raced to reach him before he walked through those bright double doors. The carriage was waiting beyond, she could tell. Slaine watched them from his perch with a curious grin on his craggy face. Eddie the stable hand paused after hoisting the last trunk atop the carriage, stunned by her sudden appearance.

  Reggie, the fuzzy white-haired butler, handed the Master his jacket. It was halfway over his shoulders when she reached him and steadied herself on his arms, gasping for breath.

  “What in blithering toadstools has got your beard, lass?” Henry exclaimed, checking over her with worry in his eyes. “Perhaps I ought to postpone my journey?”

  Amie ducked her head then, catching sight of the silver chain about to come loose from her dress. All at once she remembered Henry didn’t know she had this ring.

  The same ring you saw in your dream.

  Instantly she knew she couldn’t tell him anything, couldn’t make him stay so she would feel safer, couldn’t change the realization that Henry was keeping secrets of his own from her. So she quickly tucked her necklace back between her breasts and flipped her head to meet his gaze. Pasting on a false smile, she joked. “No! Don’t cancel your trip. I was just going to ask you what I should do until you get back.” She kept her smile steady until the worry lines smoothed over his handsome face.

  “I believe the gardens are waiting for another visit. Do look after the new buds until my return. And keep a steady eye out for flobbergidits.” Winking at her, he donned his top hat and embarked down the stone steps to the carriage.

  Amie watched, clutching the ring’s shape beneath her dress, and bit her lip as he leapt into the rosewood box. His smile filled the window almost immediately after Eddie shut the door and stepped back to give them space. Amie forced the smile back on her face and lifted her other hand to wave goodbye.

  “Get on with ye, laddies!” Slaine growled at the horses and cracked the reins. As the carriage wheels turned and climbed back onto the main road, Eddie the stable hand shoved his cap further over his head. He moved to walk back to the stables, but not before glancing back at the Lady Wenderdowne over his shoulder.

  Amie met his blue eyes, and then clutched her ring tighter when his gaze trailed to rest on her clenched fist. And she had the strangest sensation he knew what she was hiding.
/>   Chapter 17

  Dinners and Dalliances

  Amie spent the day scouring the books Henry had left behind in her bookshelf, avoiding the knocks at her door the morning hours after he left. One of Underhill’s underlings, a pale, sallow maid called Dani, was usually sent first. Her long blonde hair was always perfectly braided under her fluffy white cap, round blue eyes always silently observing. She could be a jumpy little thing at times, and wasn’t nearly as frustrating as Underhill. But because she worked for the head of the household, it was inevitable she be sent to pester Amie as well.

  The next knock was harsher, a quick succession of tight raps on wood she recognized.

  “Go away, Underhill! I’m busy!” Amie called out from the hearth rug.

  “Lady Wenderdowne!” Underhill burst through the door, uninvited, of course. “Could ye mind giving the telling of why you’ve been ignoring poor Dani this past six hours? Poor lassie was beside herself to the point she tried braiding my hair. Now I’ll not be having any spoiled ladies under my watch…what the frazzleging is all this?” Spreading her hands wide, she arched on her green-shod toes.

  Amie stopped following the trail of jumbled letters with her finger. The books weren’t nearly so hard to read this time around. The harder she concentrated the easier they were to understand. Logic insisted she must have been recovering from jetlag the last time she had opened the dusty tomes. Shutting the book with more force than needed, she sank back to rest on her palms.

  “Well, that got us nowhere…”

  “Got who what?”

  Amie’s eyes flickered to her maid, and felt increasingly agitated by the minute. “None of your beeswax, Underhill. Now what’s all the commotion about again?”

  Underhill’s mouth silently worked as she talked to herself over the “madness” of all Wenderdownes. Amie waited patiently for her to finish her inner monologue. “Oh aye!” she came to at last, then said, “I’ve come to fetch ye to join us in the kitchens for dinner. ’Tis well past high noon and Master told me to look after ye and be certain ye be of a social mind.”

  Amie had not forgotten her research, but talking about her uncle made her sad and curious at once. “He said he was visiting the Hogswillows. Who are they and why couldn’t he wait a few more days? It’s not like I visit every summer, you know…” She played with the bear’s fur beneath her fingers.

  Underhill huffed and puffed until she was quite red in the face, silently grumbling before she nearly exploded, from the moment Amie had said the name Hogswillow. “Ooh, them meddling dickleweeds! She couldn’t stand to give the Master peace out of spite! Wicked, wicked creature!”

  “Whoa, slow down!” Amie laughed when Underhill had to make an effort to do so. “Okay, you good? Are you breathing? Let’s try this again. Who is this Lady Hogswillow and what does she want with Uncle Henry?”

  Underhill blew a stray hair out of her line of sight then leaned in conspiratorially, then said, “They call Morcant the Black Widow. Been married thrice before, she has, each to an ever bigger fool than the last. She’s a land monger and she’s had her sights on Wenderdowne from the first!”

  “And she must be powerful,” Amie said, “otherwise Henry wouldn’t bother with visiting her first.”

  Underhill remembered herself as soon as her Mistress spoke, it seemed. Bringing her hand to cover her mouth, her eyes widened and she scrambled to her feet. “Fool of a Harbuckle, ye are, Elisedd. Forgetting your place! How could you?” Throwing open Amie’s wardrobe she dug out a fresh dress. Amie followed her trek across the room, more than a little confused, but used to Underhill’s outbursts by now.

  Am I ever going to get to wear pants again?

  Underhill was clearly miffed, tidying up the room with sharp precision. “The Master would nay want me to speak badly of the Miss Hogswillow. They were children together once, and there is much not even I know of her tale.”

  “But it’s obvious she’s a threat,” Amie added while buttoning her shirtwaist. Underhill’s round features squared into a formidable glare.

  “Aye…yet perhaps it is from you he needs to hear sense.” She was rushing to the pile of books laid out on the bear rug.

  “No!” Amie cried, stumbling to block her with an outstretched hand. Underhill scrunched up her nose and laughed, her mood instantly changed.

  “Well, hullaballoo! To think ye did nay even like those dusty old things.”

  Amie shrugged, avoiding eye contact, and said, “I’m allowed to change my mind, aren’t I?” The maid glanced back and forth between the books and her charge, then smiled in her slow strange way.

  “Oh filsh buckets, we’re late! Come! We mustn’t delay!” Snatching Amie’s hand, she pulled her out of the room and slammed the door behind them. For the second time in a day Amie found herself running through the castle’s labyrinth of halls.

  …

  “Goosey! Elisedd! Bout time you sampled my twist on Turkish delight!” Cook called to them from ahead.

  Amie frowned at him. “But we’re eating dinner, not breakfast.”

  Cook was setting the table with a mouthwatering flourish. “Aye and wouldn’t our days begin much sweeter with dessert in our bellies?” To Underhill he turned and jabbed a thick finger, saying, “Elisedd, wipe that frown away before you step foot in me kitchen! I’ll have no sour pussywillows on my watch!”

  “Hmph…nothing shall please me until Master comes home. Here is where he belongs, not gallivanting off to please her,” she grumbled when Cook reached over to swat her backside with his spoon.

  “Oh hogswallup, Rachel!” His harsh reprimand was rewarded by one of her rare icy stares.

  Amie was still in shock over the change in her maid. Underhill finally broke her foul mood after Alastair drew her frustrations easily to him.

  “You’re a foshimminey cad, Alastair Dearborne!”

  His chuckle filled the room, surprising both women and the other staff partaking in the afternoon meal.

  While eating a hearty lunch of Turkish delight and gooseyjuice, Amie wondered what could keep Uncle Henry away from the home he adored. She wasn’t so sure a few weeks being hounded by Underhill was good for her sanity. Mostly she wanted to know who this Hogswillow lady was and why the maid hated her.

  Even Cook seemed privy to something beyond Amie’s knowledge and trod carefully through their conversation. After a wild tale of tracking gryphons on a dark and stormy night Cook finally had Underhill laughing again. The part about the sea trolls dancing in the moonlit puddles seemed to do the trick. Something Amie would be eternally grateful for was Alastair’s gift of the gab. The other servants weren’t so amused and left soon as he began with identical expressions of disgust on their faces.

  Seriously? What about trolls could be offensive?

  Almost immediately after, Underhill stood and checked Amie’s expression nervously before smoothing over her apron and saying, “If I may take my leave, milady, I have a few chores to attend before I bring up your tea tray. Must be certain our guest is made to feel at home.”

  Amie’s eyes widened. “What guest?”

  “Be seeing ye shortly, Alastair!” Underhill called in parting.

  “Fair be the fillies!” Cook saluted her with his favorite wooden spoon. Rounding on him, Amie stared until the burly man grew nervous. Shifting in his seat, he bumbled ahead. “What’s on your mind, gooseberry?”

  Meeting his eyes, Amie couldn’t help but blurt it out. “Who is Morcant Hogswillow and why does Underhill hate her so much?”

  Alastair, ever gregarious and charming as a champion pro-wrestler, paled and sat back in his seat. He waited, perhaps in the hopes milady would forget her question and remove his duty to answer. When it was clear she had no intention of letting the matter rest, he told her what she had already suspected and a few things she wished she didn’t know.

  “A wicked sort, she is. Perhaps she weren’t always wicked. Bad blood isn’t always passed down. Her family was scant poor, though notorious for
breeding particularly powerful and meddlesome children. The old Master took pity on her and invited her to live here those first years. She was plum pink with love over your dad.” His smirk made Amie cringe.

  “I’m guessing he didn’t think so much of her?”

  Cook laughed. “Oh, he thought of her a good deal, I suspect. A wicked villainess Morcant may be, yet she was the fairest maiden in the land. As to Underhill’s trouble with the wench, it be her story to tell. Let’s just say Underhill isn’t in the habit of forgetting another’s wrong. Being a servant means you’re the eyes and ears of a house, and sometimes, we see things we wish we never had.” He watched the Lady as she turned his words over in her head, then added, “Enough gossip, love. Have another biscuit and go visit the garden for a bit, aye? I expect they’re waiting for ye.”

  “Who?” Amie lifted her head and crossed her brow. Waving her away with his spoon he began the process of cleaning up, yet his eyes twitched to hers as if he were waiting on something.

  “You won’t know until ye go see now, will ye?”

  Chapter 18

  Midsummer Nightmare

  Cool air swirled around her the instant she closed the kitchen door behind her and entered the path, carrying early evening scents with it. Flowers she had yet to learn the names of bent to kiss her hair and arms as she passed. Not even three steps in and Amie was immensely glad Cook had convinced her to come. She had been half wishing to anyway. Dinner had made her miss eating with Uncle Henry in his cozy study, and she recalled her promise to look after the garden while he was away.

  She looked for the gnome statue as she came to the beginning of the hedge and frowned to find the spot bare. A creeping feeling lifted the hairs at the back of her neck, as though she were being watched. But when she turned around only the chilled wind stirring the green underbrush met her sight.

  “Come on, girl, it’s all in your head. And if everyone else in this family is crazy, one of us has got to stay sane.” Smiling to herself, Amie followed the maze until she reached the circular garden and rested upon the flower-studded hilltop. The purple blooms she and Henry had miraculously planted were twice the size they had been the other night.