by T. M. Lakomy
“Earl Woodcraft at your service, my lady.” Woodcraft’s tone was polite and suave, but his face disinterested. Gwyneth was unused to being ignored by men. Besides Estella, she was generally considered the most eligible beauty in London. Her blue eyes turned cold and she swatted Woodcraft playfully with her fan.
“Always so polite and always so cold. Dear me, it must be hard work being betrothed to such a beast as Estella. Maybe you should have a bejeweled harness made for her, to tame her animal nature.” Gwyneth turned away toward the gaggle of women, laughing. Woodcraft stood still and clenched his teeth, then feigning disdain he picked up a necklace studded with fire opals, pretending to scrutinize the quality of work.
Without so much as looking at her, he responded, “Yes, I love the wild passion and fire of felines and their vicious ways. Fierce and alive, sanguine with a vivid love for life . . . This would suit her, this iridescent fiery gem, pure yet ablaze with a million fires.”
Putting the necklace down on the counter and beckoning for the goldsmith to wrap it for him, Woodcraft picked up a cheap bronze bangle that served as a charm for ailing adults with poor blood circulation. “Whereas some women are common, and though they be bedecked with jewels and fine garments, they have seen more ceilings than the painters of the Vatican.”
Lady Gwyneth gasped and blanched, while one of her friends sniggered. Gwyneth promptly slapped her across the face before storming out of the shop.
The earl ignored the ladies behind him and engaged in a conversation with the goldsmith. The remaining ladies, however, watched him with vindicated pride. Gwyneth was renowned for stealing the hearts of taken men, then tossing them away. Approaching tentatively, a shapely brunette with vivid green eyes tapped him on the shoulder. The earl swung around with thunder in his eyes and the brunette flinched.
“Sorry to disturb you, Lord Woodcraft, but I recognized you from Father’s ball. You must remember me, I am Jane Rood, Matthew Rood’s sister,” she said tentatively, biting her lip.
The earl relaxed and smiled benignly. Of course he remembered her, she was Matthew’s darling sister, and he was very, very fond of Matthew. Bowing and kissing her hand fondly, he gestured to the goldsmith.
“Pearl earrings for the lady. I must make amends for exposing her to such distasteful conversation.”
Jane gasped, blushing madly and covering her mouth with her gloved hand. The other girls made noises of disapproval as they left the store. Jane looked back and blushed more deeply, babbling apologetically to the earl, who was engrossed in studying a glass display of earrings, selecting from among them a fine pair of teardrop pearls.
“Ah, these are perfect. I’m sure your brother would approve of my choice.” He beckoned for Jane to come closer and she muffled a giggle with her hand.
“You are spoiling me too much, what would Matthew say?” She beamed as the goldsmith wrapped the pearls in taffeta and set them in a shiny wooden box, presenting them to her. Grinning from ear to ear, she stood on her toes and kissed the earl on the cheek. He stiffened with surprise, then smiled and led her to the door. After he had bid her farewell and watched her depart, he turned to the goldsmith with a bored expression.
“I need that fire opal necklace of course, or it might seem strange, entering here and buying nothing. I also need something else . . . that thing I asked of you, you recall it?” Woodcraft’s voice was pressing, and he now looked furtively left and right, beads of sweat beginning to appear on his brow.
The goldsmith fumbled with his beard and nodded irritably, disappearing into the back. The earl kept a watchful gaze at the shop’s entrance nervously. The goldsmith soon returned with a box covered in black velvet, which he set on his desk and nudged towards the earl suggestively.
“As you have already paid, there is nothing further to ask from you. There is no way this can be traced to me, and if you try to implicate me, there is no way in hell you will succeed.” The goldsmith refused to meet Woodcraft’s eyes, opting instead to stare fixedly at the counter. “Now remember, this will only work through repeated skin contact, and it will take three months to achieve its goal.”
The earl nodded and hurriedly took the box, stowing it beneath his cloak.
“And I cannot have you disappearing from here suddenly,” the goldsmith added. “Pay your regular visits, buy or pretend to buy, but don’t be so foolish as to disappear. People around her seem daft, but they really aren’t.” He looked the earl squarely in the eye now and the earl nodded impassively.
“Now remember our arrangements. Once she is sick and nearing her end, I have a friend who knows another friend who is friends with someone very friendly higher up the ladder who fakes her death for you and buys her off you. He’s interested in her kind, let’s say he ‘experiments’ on them. This way we both get what we want.” Woodcraft shook the goldsmith’s hand as he turned to the door with relief and left.
The goldsmith watched him enter his carriage with an expression of intense disgust. “He’s going ahead with it, old man,” he whispered so softly it seemed as though he were talking to himself. Behind the counter’s back door an elderly man in white robes hummed in approval, well hidden in the gloom. All that could be descried of him were his bandaged eyes.
The earl reentered his waiting carriage. Now that his heavy duty was taken care of, he was back to lighthearted musings and looking forward to the ball. Estella would be resplendent as usual, the envy of both men and women, and he was much pleased at that. Tonight he would make an extra effort to show his love for her—before going off to seek his real pleasure.
The carriage, after following many winding paths, eventually found its way to Red Fern Manor. The manor, though sumptuously decorated, always made him uneasy. The children repulsed him, a fact he hid of course. His instinctive disgust may have been seen as unnatural for a man expected to produce progeny in the coming future.
The carriage stopped and he descended gracefully only to be greeted by a horde of well-kept, smiling children. The children clapped their hands and tugged at his dark green, silver-threaded cloak as he smiled uneasily. Then suddenly Estella stood at the door beaming. Her dark hair in thick curls was pinned beneath a cluster of ruby and pearl hairpins, and upon her brow she wore a circlet of intricate gold filigree forming stems that held white diamonds and jet. It was unusual for her taste, but then Estella was always the talk of the court with her unusual penchant for strange designs. She was wearing a satin white dress embroidered with pearls and opals and above it a heavy cloak of velvet trimmed with ermine. The clasp at her throat was a star-shaped diamond. She ran towards him and he caught her lovingly, holding her high, then kissing her brow.
“Where have you been hiding, my little princess?” he asked, taking her hand in his and leading her into the house.
“I have your favorite room set up for you already,” she said, touching his cheek affectionately.
“Many thanks, my dove. And if you wouldn’t mind having some white wine brought up to the room?” He made for the staircase and disappeared upstairs while Estella fetched the wine herself, choosing a vintage she knew he preferred. With the bottle in hand, she headed for his room.
As she walked she scanned the air around her, catching the strands of thought that the earl had left behind him in his wake. She pitied those whose thoughts were open books, but she relished her ability to read them so easily. Knocking at the door, she entered to see him half naked changing clothing. He smiled and turned away as Estella laid the silver platter with the wine goblet and bottle on the dresser.
“I want you to look your best tonight, my rose,” he said as he chose a dressing gown. His nude body was slim and perfect like a dancer’s.
“Oh, I will. I know how you love our little games together, and tonight I have a great idea for an entrance.” Her eyes gleamed with an incandescent light that frightened most men.
Woodcraft smiled, turning around and making for the dresser. Estella took a step back as he passed her and frowned. Her
eyes darted to the cloak thrown over a chair. Too engrossed in filling his glass, the earl did not see the rapid change of color in Estella’s face as she read through the thoughts that lingered around the black box in one of the cloak’s pockets. She blanched, then reddened, her eyes changing from ale brown to blood red. Turning away quickly so he wouldn’t catch a glimpse of her countenance, she reached out and plundered his mind in rapid strokes.
She left no crevice or corner empty, then she smiled and said, “Would you like me to bring your favorite scented soaps, my prince? Surely you must smell perfect for tonight?” Her smile seemed genuine, but he was too foolish to see the embers in her eyes.
“Oh yes, I would love that.”
Estella left the room and closed the door behind her, pensive and alert, rethinking how she might position her pieces on the chessboard adequately to win with a bitter bite.
In her room, she reflected over the situation with Woodcraft as she readied herself for the night. She had chosen a golden yellow dress sewn with citrine gems and a deep plunging neckline. Over it she draped a royal red velvet cloak spangled with rubies and garnets in star cluster patterns trimmed with black fur and gold tassels. Her girdle was wrought of Saxon gold with garnets in the eyes of the snakes and dragons holding her waist, and the clasp was two curved fangs. A black velvet choker covered her neck with small citrines and diamonds sewn in delicately. Her earrings were yellow diamonds dangling on gold threads, and instead of a diadem she wore a heavy gold circlet. Each temple was flanked by an eagle, one wing deployed slightly covering her ear while the other reached for her brow. Their jet eyes sparkled in the light, and a single white diamond was set in the middle, dazzling, pure, and multifaceted.
She applied face paint with an artist’s hand. The kohl lent her eyes an even more feline and seductive shape, and she defined her cheekbones with crushed gold leaf powder. She was ready, but her heart was heavy. It had been months since she had seen the count, and though she had banished him from her heart, he was still there in her mind. The horde of demons that usually afflicted her had ceased their daily attacks, and she knew it was because of him. She was grateful and yet irritated that the count could access her from so far away. But the further she pushed him away in her mind, the deeper the feeling grew, till in her dreams she would find him, leaving a kiss upon his brow.
“My lady are you ready?” A page boy was at the door waiting. She stood up, wrapping her furs around her and seizing her gloves.
“Let’s go,” she said coldly. She suddenly felt alone, venturing forth into the vast masquerade of human society—another ball held in honor of yet another saint.
ESTELLA AND WOODCRAFT traveled to the ball together in a beautiful carriage from the Woodcraft estates. The silence was occasionally broken by the earl, who rambled on about his voyages and how happy he was to be back in town and how faithful women like her were so scarce. She smiled indulgently, nodding along and supplying the adequate “hmm” and “ahh” in the right places. Meanwhile her mind was busy seeking out the count, but he was beyond her reach.
The dusk was deepening into a midnight blue spangled with burning white stars. Estella looked out, her mind wandering to the campfires of her childhood. They had sung songs to the Devas, who had smiled down at them from the stars. The nights had been warm and the moon danced with its train of clouds, beaming down upon its chosen people. They had felt safe and loved by the goddesses of the night—and they had been. They had seen her form in her three incarnations. They adored her. Of all the devoted, Estella was the most loving, for she felt something within her stirred by the three-faced goddess, and offered her heart fully to her.
A jolt of the carriage interrupted her musings—they had arrived. As they descended from the carriage, velvet carpets met their feet. Estella and the earl walked arm in arm, greeting those they passed. The bluest bloods were all congregated together, their laughter and the scent of many perfumes permeating the air.
Estella despised the fake and distasteful dance one must perform to accomplish things in these social circles. She was constantly conflicted between shocking them and playing their game, and toyed with both according to her ever shifting moods. The steps to the palace were heavily guarded by soldiers in royal purple attire, their swords and mail bearing the emblems of the king. Estella and Woodcraft mounted the steps, Estella with her head held high and eyes aloof, and the blood red jewels on her cloak dazzling in the fiery torches before the manor. The laughter and chatter was silenced as she entered. Some nobles smiled sourly as she drifted past, her winged circlet lending her the air of an exotic queen.
No one dared to speak to her, and whoever had the inclination to mock her was silenced. She laughed and held the earl’s hand as they danced beneath the great hanging chandeliers, which scintillated with the fires of a million gems. The other guests took to the dance too, but Estella took the central part and beneath her feet the amber and gold floor took life and glowed, and out of her poured wisps of dreams.
As the waiters circulated with the wine, Estella detached herself from Woodcraft with a graceful twirl and seized a heavy goblet. She seated herself on a golden chair with a bouffant silk cushion and drank deeply. She was feverish with a simmering rage that only drink could assuage. She was bitter towards Woodcraft. For such a simpleton to deceive her was unthinkable. Disturbed from her reverie by a looming shadow, she set down her goblet to stare at the footman in royal armor who approached her.
“The king imparts to you his greetings and is impressed with your entrance, but is however disappointed that you did not greet him. After all, aren’t all precious things to be presented to him, my lady?” The footman’s voice was monotonous, as all their servants were trained to be, and she understood he was merely the mouthpiece of the king.
Gifting him with her emptied goblet, she obliged him with her most charming smile as she sprang to her feet, leading the way to the far end of the hall. There, upon a heavy dais, the king’s mighty throne stood. It was wrought of gold and encrusted with gems, and ensconced in the wall behind it was the world’s largest ruby. It was embedded in the marble wall with sunrays of gold radiating from it. Turning her attention to the king, Estella bowed profusely before capriciously taking a step back and biting her lip, revealing the dimples in her cheeks.
“Always so humble, yet always so aloof. What is the riddle with you, little one?” King Wulfric’s voice was hoarse with liquor, but his sharp blue eyes were not fogged by age and he still held a vigor that more youthful men lacked. Though his hair was white and an iron crown sat heavily upon his head, his swift movements were agile and even alarming. He eyed Estella with a calculating look while she beamed at him.
“One could never be aloof in your presence, O king,” she said, her suave voice soft and breathy, and she bit her lip suggestively. “But forgive my ill manners for not greeting you more promptly,” she pled, bowing again. The king chuckled, satisfied.
“Come closer, Estella,” his voice rent the air sharply and Estella paused, nonplussed, reaching into his mind questioningly. He was simply inebriated and jesting, to test her. Estella approached the throne with a gentle sway of her hips, meekly averting her eyes. “Kneel before me,” he commanded, the sparkle in his blue eyes becoming hard.
Estella became aware of many gazes converging around her, for everyone had stopped dancing and was watching her with morbid fascination. They were curious to see what the king wanted of the duchess. Earl Woodcraft himself was uncertain and pale, rooted to the spot in a circle of his friends, unable to intervene. The music that had started to play was now the only sound, the violins sounding almost ominous. Estella knelt before the king, lifting her head to meet his eyes.
Though King Wulfric was old, he was not yet tired of his mistresses. And now his attentions had turned to Estella. But first he had to see whether he could break or humiliate her. Her ale brown eyes changed, the incandescent light veering to a subtle red as she smiled. The king was visibly unsettled.
Estella’s composure remained equanimous, and her eyes burned into his, carefully blank. Wetting her lips with her tongue and watching him, she reached for his right foot and pulled it gently towards her.
“It is always an honor to kiss the feet of your sovereign,” she said, her smile fading and her eyes burning like two embers. The king returned her glare while reaching for the heavy cross at his neck. “I am sure the queen would approve of the Christian tradition of kissing the feet of the poor, but never have I had the honor of kissing the feet of those above my station.” She started to untie his ribboned slipper, deliberately slow, as the king’s breathing became forced. Estella summoned from her mind a vision and wove it together, channeling it onto the foot of the king.
“I thank you for taking it upon yourself to humble me, O king,” she said smoothly as she removed the slipper. At the sight of his bare foot the king gasped and Estella innocently feigned shock, covering her mouth as though scandalized.
The king’s face reddened with wrath and shame and he withdrew his foot stammering, “Guards, summon my physician now!”
“My liege, forgive me,” Estella said earnestly, “I should not have reacted in such a way.” She crossed herself devoutly and bowed her head while the king struggled to regain his stoic composure, all the while observing his foot; a malodorous, gangrenous mess of green and black.
The closest courtiers to the king had gathered around at Estella’s cry and they averted their eyes from the foot that the king could not hide fast enough. With admirable swiftness, a physician arrived. He set about bandaging the foot with ointments while mumbling about contaminated old slippers and infectious airborne diseases. He bowed and scraped a lot, beseeching the king to follow him into his royal bedchamber, to further his examinations. The king, disguising his dismay, stared from his foot to the faces of all his gathered courtiers and nobles in astonishment. Coldly dismissing them, he made for the exit behind the throne where his physician waited obediently. He shot a suspicious look at Estella as he passed, before his physician began to fuss over him again and he was forced to make his exit.
