Chapter 12
“Tea is set in the mistress’s drawing room, and I’ve just settled your guests inside,” the maid, Anne, told Victoria. The mistress, Victoria thought, assuming the woman meant the previous mistress since it was not yet known that she was to marry Lord Reginald. And who was the previous mistress? Lord Reginald had been a bachelor all his life. It must be Elias’s mother whom Anne spoke of. Curiosity sparked in Victoria. She was interested in learning more about Elias and his upbringing—much more interested than she was in spending an afternoon with Lydia and Agnes.
“Thank you.” Victoria offered Anne a serene smile, but on the inside, she was screaming. Her mother had gone back to the capital, and thanks to Elias, she had to entertain these dullards for the next few hours. Victoria was typically a very good judge of character, and she read Lydia and Agnes to be self-serving and small-minded women. It would not be her ideal way to spend an afternoon. Still, perhaps some good could come of it. Such were the type of women who always had information and who were more than willing to part with it.
Victoria paused to take a deep breath just outside the drawing room door, then nodded to Anne, who opened it wide and let her in.
“Miss Pritchard, Miss Pembroke,” she said, extending her hand. “How wonderful of you to call on me. Thank you so very kindly.”
“It is the least we could do, Miss Victoria,” Lydia said, circumventing the propriety of using Victoria’s surname.
Victoria raised a questioning brow and Agnes was quick to respond. “We imagine you very lonely in this old house,” she told her. “And with hosts that are so…”
Lydia leaned in. “Lacking when it comes to the care of feminine houseguests.”
Victoria offered her guests seats, and Anne began serving the tea. “Lord Reginald has been exceptionally kind to both my mother and myself.”
“Yes, Lord Reginald would be. He is an old-fashioned gentleman, after all.”
“It was the other that we were speaking of. The nephew,” Agnes whispered. Her big, cow-like eyes shot to Anne, who maintained the unwavering decorum that every well-trained servant possessed.
Victoria stirred her tea and smiled softly. She would enjoy hearing what these women had to say about Elias.
“Lord Reginald is an absolute dear,” Lydia insisted. “If it weren’t for that nephew, things in Winstonshire would be quite different.”
“Different indeed,” Agnes echoed.
“But we did not come here to tell you about your hosts, whom I am sure you know all about,” Lydia said, but it was evident by the side-eyed glance she shot Victoria that she believed quite the opposite. It seemed more likely the case that she was very much looking forward to filling Victoria in—after the appropriate amount of inquiry, of course.
“Yes, do tell us more about you, Victoria! We are so excited to meet someone from the capital. Please say that you will be staying for a nice long while.”
“As a matter of fact, I will be.”
“How lovely!” the women exclaimed. “And your mother, too?”
“Yes, she will make her trips back to the capital now and again; she has so many friends there. But as things get settled, she should be in residence often.”
Lydia and Agnes exchanged a knowing look. “Would we be right in predicting that the town’s church bells might be ringing soon?”
Victoria gave them a smile, letting her eyes fall discreetly to her teacup. She did her best job feigning a blush. The women took this as their answer and Victoria delighted in the fact that she would soon shock them with the truth of it.
“I am so glad to hear that the wedding will be your mother’s!” Agnes blurted out. Lydia cast her a quick look of reprimand.
“Darling, we did not come here to gossip.”
Agnes touched her lips, seeming embarrassed. “Oh! I don’t mean to gossip. I just…I had my doubts about who the bride and groom might be.”
Lydia’s face adopted an expression of condescension. She leaned forward, “Agnes entertained the idea that the wedding might be between you and the young Mister Harrington.”
Victoria’s eyes widened, and a real blush touched her cheeks. She coughed and sputtered on her tea.
“I told her that was absurd!” Lydia insisted. “No woman in her right mind would marry Elias Harrington.” She spoke his name with a pinched disdain.
“Perhaps for the right amount of coin,” Agnes said thoughtfully.
Lydia shot her another nasty look. “Agnes, drink your tea.” And with that, she turned to Victoria and endeavored to steer the conversation.
“You really must excuse Agnes. She’s excited, is all. Really, anything happening at Edenbridge Hall is the biggest news in all of Winstonshire since…since…well, the death of Arabella Harrington.”
“That and the troll,” Agnes said again, her eyes darting furtively to Lydia. Obviously she was fearful of another reprimand, but she couldn’t resist sharing this gem of Winstonshire-approved information. Lydia allowed the transgression, for it seemed to be a point that she, too, wished to cover.
“I’m sorry, did you say troll?” Victoria asked.
“Indeed. There is a troll in Winstonshire,” Lydia confirmed.
Victoria tried not to laugh. “I’m sorry, I just don’t believe in such a thing.”
“Well, being from the capital, you likely wouldn’t. I don’t suppose they have anything like what we have here—so near to the Perished Woods.”
Victoria didn’t bother explaining that she had traveled the world far and wide and never encountered a character out of a children’s storybook.
“No, I imagine the capital is so opulent and refined,” Agnes said wistfully.
Victoria thought of the capital as insincere and lacking in all meaningful authenticity. Who cared if there were gold and marble palaces? She certainly didn’t. Not when the people were as polished as the floors and about as interesting. “If the capital has anything at all, it is the type of beauty only money can buy.” It was hardly a complimentary description, but the women took it as such.
“Oh, if I could leave this place for the capital,” Lydia said, matching Agnes’s wistful tone.
“If only to be rid of the troll problem?” Victoria asked.
“You tease us,” Lydia replied, her voice earnest. “But it is true enough. And with Edenbridge Hall being right on the border of the wood, it is best that you exert caution.
“I wouldn’t walk these grounds without an armed companion,” Agnes proclaimed.
Lydia considered. “Perhaps the gardens might be acceptable since they are on the other side of the house?—”
“You would not find me there,” Agnes insisted.
“Is the threat so serious? You must be quite brave to venture a visit.”
The women exchanged a look. Apparently, the temptation of gossip outweighed the threat of monsters from the woods.
“My father sent with us two men for the carriage.”
“Armed, of course?” Victoria was teasing still, but Lydia and Agnes were unaware.
“Yes, of course.”
“Besides, it is our duty to come here and tell you these things, things that the Harringtons might not be quick to announce…considering the circumstances.”
“The circumstances?”
“The marriage. I’ve always known the real reason Lord Harrington has remained a bachelor for so long.”
“I’ve heard he is a career-driven man, absorbed entirely by his work,” Victoria answered.
“That is what they say, but I think the real reason is that no woman would want to stay so close to the cursed forest.”
Victoria nodded to Anne. “And the servants? Anne has been in residence since Ms. Harrington’s days at Edenbridge. I believe the cook has been with Lord Reginald for over twenty years. Is that right, Anne?”
She gave a slight curtsy. “Yes, ma’am, that is true.”
Victoria looked to the women as if to say, explain that.
“I have heard there is certain”—Lydia cleared her throat—“compensation added to the wages of the staff here.”
“Hazard pay?” It really was hard for Victoria to keep her laughter at bay. She couldn’t believe it. The superstition of these people amazed her.
Again, she turned to Anne. “In all the years that you’ve been at Edenbridge, has there been any sort of magical activity?”
Anne shifted on her feet.
Victoria encouraged her. “Please, I’d like to know the truth of it if Edenbridge is to be my home.”
Anne started carefully. “When I first came here, I was quite scared…”
“Understandably so,” Lydia affirmed. Agnes nodded vigorously, again threatening to loosen her elaborate curls.
“At first, I jumped at the slightest sound. A creaking door, an owl in the night sky, occasionally one hears wolves howling deep in the woods. I made up stories in my head about ghosts and wolfmen. They weren’t even stories anyone had ever told me. I told myself, in my head, and they kept me up at night—trembling with fear. But after a time, nothing happened. The owls started to sound more like owls, and it is natural for there to be wolves in the woods, isn’t it?”
“Of course it is,” Victoria agreed.
“Every once in a while, the fear takes me again. I won’t be able to put my finger on why, but it will stay for some time before I feel things are right again.”
Lydia and Agnes turned to Victoria as if this was proof of their point.
“But have you ever seen anything that might be magical or otherworldly in nature?” Victoria pressed.
“Not here, no. But I was in the village when the troll was chased out.”
“A troll?” Victoria was exasperated. “I am sure you are mistaken.”
“No,” Agnes insisted, moving to the edge of her seat. “We all saw the troll. Nearly the whole town did.”
All three women were nodding.
“It was last year at the Spring Bloom festival?—”
“Spring Bloom festival?”
“It is when we honor the day of Verdania—so that the season might be fertile and abundant for us all.”
“There is a morning and evening service at the church?—”
“And food and dancing in between. Women wear flowers in their hair and there is music in the streets.”
“Men are encouraged to ask women to dance. It’s magical, it really is. Three of my sisters were engaged at a Spring Bloom Festival.”
“Oh my,” Victoria replied, not sure how else to greet this information.
“It was after the second service?—”
“We were all leaving the church?—”
“I will never forget what I saw,” Lydia was near tears and her eyes took on a faraway loo as if she was transported back to the very moment. “We were just coming out of the church and Agnes was at my side?—”
“I was.” Agnes nodded.
“I was just saying to her that I might like Eugene Brown to ask me for the next dance?—”
“And I did think very much that he would have?—”
“When my eyes went past the fountain, the one that lies just beyond the gates of the church?—”
“It had been decorated for the festival.”
“That’s right, it had been. And at first I thought it was some of the garland come loose…it had caught my eye and when I looked—there it was. It was as if it had been crouching on the ground?—”
“Like an animal!”
“But it wasn’t an animal. It stood up, just like a man.”
“Perhaps it was a man?” Victoria offered, still unimpressed.
“No, indeed it was not. It was a good two?—”
“Maybe even three?—”
“Feet taller than any man in this town.”
“Maybe it was a giant.” Victoria couldn’t help herself.
“It very well could have been, now that you mention it. We always considered it a troll because of the color.”
“Everyone knows orcs are grey,” Agnes added. Victoria had not known that orcs were grey. She did not even know what an orc was.
“Yes, he was this mossy color of green. It was monstrous!” Lydia shivered.
“What happened?”
“Everyone sort of stopped in place—frozen.”
“It was as if time stood still.” Agnes’s voice was breathy.
“And then, I screamed. Many of us did. The men were not frightened by the beast. They took action.”
“Right away, they went after it. Jumping on horses, sharing carriages.”
“They took pitchforks and torches?—”
“Let me guess, the troll got away.”
“He made it to the edge of the wood. But the men tangled with him there.”
“More than a dozen took on that beast.”
“Did they slay it? Bring the body back to Winstonshire?” Victoria was yet to be convinced.
“No. He managed to slip away. But my father assures me, that creature was beaten so badly, he must have died shortly after.”
“Thank goodness for that,” Victoria said dryly, but her sarcasm was lost on the women.
“I used to not worry so very much about the cursed wood before that,” Lydia told her. “There were stories, of course. And every now and again something will happen.”
“Like that child who went missing,” Agnes suggested.
“Or there will be women who take to the wood and later you find they have taken up the practice of witchcraft.”
“What do you do when that happens? Burn them at the stake?”
“Well, it certainly doesn’t happen often. Not in a town like Winstonshire. There are good people in this town.”
“But it does happen,” Agnes said.
“I’ve only known it to happen twice. I think I was about 10 years old the first time.”
“And the next wasn’t more than a year after, don’t you remember, Lydia?”
“Yes, I remember. Beatrice Miller…and I can’t recall the other woman’s name…”
“They’d been sisters.”
“No, no. They were neighbors. They lived about beyond the Thompson farm. It’s quite a ways from town, though neither house is standing.”
“I suppose the town burned them down.”
“Absolutely,” Lydia assured. “The good and decent folk of Winstonshire would not hold homage to witches.”
“Is an old cottage considered homage?” Victoria questioned. “Seems like someone else might have been able to use a house.”
“Who would?” Lydia exclaimed, shaken by the suggestion.
“Someone in need…”
“No. No family would have taken them. They stood abandoned and unused.”
“And just standing there like that… Imagine the children get the wrong idea,” Agnes put in.
“That was my first thought,” Lydia agreed. “Some impressionable children might go exploring and get an idea about what we do and don’t accept in Winstonshire.”
Victoria took note of this, for she happened to be the type of young lady that people had a hard time accepting. “What an exciting history this town has,” she said, diplomatically.
“It’s important for you to know—for your safety. Particularly being this close to the woods.”
“I have been warned more than once about the dangers of the woods here,” Victoria told them.
“No doubt Lord Harrington has issued those warnings.”
“Actually, young Mister Harrington has been the most adamant about me staying well away from the woods.”
Lydia raised her eyebrows, and Agnes made a point to stare into her tea.
“On my first afternoon at Edenbridge Hall, I thought to do a little exploring and Mister Harrington took it upon himself to stop me.”
“Had you met him before?” Agnes asked eagerly.
“No. I had not. I actually mistook him for a groundskeeper.”
Lydia laughed uncharitably. “Of course you did. He doesn’t exactly look like a gentleman.”
Agnes’s expression showed concern. “You must have been so frightened coming upon him all alone.”
“Frightened? Why would I be frightened?” Victoria asked.
“Well…he is so very…” Agnes blushed.
“Ugly,” Lydia answered. “He’s monstrously ugly. Elias Harrington used to give me nightmares as a child.” She shivered.
“He’s big too,” Agnes added. “Bigger than any man in town.”
“There are many big men where I come from. I am not intimidated by size,” Victoria explained.
“Size is beside the point. It’s his face that bothers me so.” Lydia spoke plainly.
“I have noticed his scars. Do either of you know how those came to happen?”
“Scars?” Lydia’s brows furrowed.
“Yes,” Agnes said. “I’ve seen the scars. Bad ones, on his neck and face.”
“I suppose I try not to look at him,” Lydia reasoned.
Agnes thought back in her mind. “He doesn’t come to the village much… It’s hard to say.”
“And frankly, we try to stay well away from him when he does,” Lydia added.
“Did he have the scars as a child?”
“No, but he was always ugly,” Lydia assured.
Victoria could hardly stand the way these women spoke of Elias, and in front of a servant of his own house. They didn’t blush, nor temper their opinions. It was offensive.
“I don’t think he’s ugly at all,” Victoria told them.
Lydia gave her a placating smile. “There’s no need to be generous when the subject of our discussion is not within earshot. Besides, I’m sure Elias Harrington knows his lot well enough.”
“I do hope he does,” Victoria replied coldly. “There are women who value big, strong, rugged men, men who can protect them, care for them, who can defend their families. Some women find those qualities attractive—I happen to be one of those women.”
Lydia snorted and chuckled and when she looked to Agnes, her friend did the same. “Are you trying to tell us that you find Elias Harrington attractive?”
“To each their own, my father used to say.”
Lydia and Agnes laughed heartily at that.
“This is generosity and nothing more,” Lydia told Agnes before turning back to Victoria. “It is in the truest spirit of the church in which you speak.”
“It is my opinion, not my kindness, that I share.” There was something about the coolness of Victoria’s tone that truncated Lydia’s laughter.
“There is no accounting for taste—that’s something my father often says and it seems to be quite true.”
Agnes could sense the tension. Her eyes bounced nervously from one woman to the other. “You say…you say he stopped you from nearing the woods. That’s how you were introduced?”
“Yes. It was quite an unwelcome introduction, but not because I found Elias unappealing. I simply didn’t like my walk to be interrupted.”
“Well, I can see how that might shape your opinion of him,” Agnes ventured, pleading eyes on Lydia. It was as if she were silently begging her to relent on the point. “He was protecting you. He…he saved you from the cursed woods.”
Lydia did soften. “I suppose if a person were to favor gallantry or heroic deeds…”
“I hardly needed saving and I hardly found it heroic. It was a nuisance.” Victoria considered. “But I do value a strong backbone. He didn’t cow to me.”
“I’ve always thought the man looked part animal. I suppose he might have a little bovine blood in his veins.”
Victoria set down her cup.
“Perhaps you were right,” Lydia told Agnes. “Perhaps there will be church bells ringing for Victoria and Elias.” There was mocking in Lydia’s tone.
“If there were, I wouldn’t find it an unfavorable match—but I assure you that will not be the case,” Victoria added as an afterthought, remembering that any church bells were to be for her and Lord Harrington.
Lydia nodded to Agnes. “See, just as I suspected. It is charity our Victoria offers Elias. No one could find such a hideous beast appealing.”
Victoria was seething. Were her circumstances different, she would have Lydia Pritchard on her ass in the dirt before the woman could blink. But Victoria no longer had the freedom she possessed when her father was alive. Her mother depended on her, her own future depended on her—and she didn’t think Lord Harrington could forgive an attack on a woman in his own home, no matter how justifiable she found it to be.
“Tell me, Miss Pritchard, what sort of men do you favor? Is Eugene Brown a strong man? A tall man? Does he work for his living? Or are his hands soft and his shoulders delicate?” Victoria laughed, openly mocking. “For that matter, could he save you if one of those nasty trolls came back to Winstonshire? Or would he be as impotent as you…in a fight, that is?”
Lydia’s back was straight, and her features tight. “I’m sure that I have offended you, Miss Fairfax. The Harringtons are your hosts, and I was not aware of your intimate acquaintance with them.”
Victoria smiled broadly. “This conversation has brought me no offense, only clarity.”
Lydia shifted in her seat, trying to decipher Victoria’s meaning. “I spoke too freely. I fear we won’t be invited back to Edenbridge Hall…”
“I hold no grudges. If you can brave the nearness of the Perished Woods and Mister Harrington’s appearance, I see no reason why you should not be invited back to Edenbridge Hall. Besides, as you say, there will be wedding bells soon enough and a celebration to follow. I wouldn’t dream of denying you the pleasure of attendance.”
Lydia wanted to say something spiteful but held her tongue—for the thought of being excluded from the wedding celebration was more than she could bear.
Agnes giggled nervously, trying very hard to change the subject. “I suspect this will be the start of a new state of affairs at Edenbridge Hall—now that two cultured women from the capital will be in residence.”
“Edenbridge Hall has always been the center of Winstonshire’s social life,” Lydia said. Her tone was flat now. The reprimand had sunk in.
Victoria reflected on this. “Lord Harrington doesn’t seem exceptionally conscious of sociability.”
“He wasn’t so very bad at it,” Agnes said carefully.
“It was Elias who changed things,” Lydia said. “Since he came of age, the doors to Edenbridge have been virtually barred.”
“It makes it hard for young women,” Agnes added, “who are of marrying age.”
“My older sisters attended many dances held here, but that was before I was old enough to join them. And they are all married.”
The pieces began to fit together. Elias, looked upon and treated as a monster, avoids the company of the women of Winstonshire. He doesn’t venture to town often and doesn’t welcome the typical parties a lord might host for the people of his village and so he gains no favor.
“Do you like parties?” Agnes asked. It was the eagerness in her voice and the pleading in her eyes that caught Victoria’s notice. “Surely your mother does.”
“To be completely honest with you, I haven’t thought much of them. The social season just concluded in the capital, and I was a guest at more parties than I care to count.”
The look of envy on Lydia’s and Agnes’s faces was palpable.
“That being said, I can see the value in them. And while parties are not necessarily my pastime of choice, my mother insists on hosting them regularly.”
Hope blossomed in Lydia and Agnes.
Agnes clutched her hands to her breast. “Do you think…do you think the Harringtons will welcome the return of social events?” It wasn’t so much that she was asking about Lord and Mister Harrington. Agnes wanted to know if the sour dispositioned Elias would condone a change in the order of things.
“With Charlotte Fairfax in residence, they won’t have a choice.” And if Elias Harrington has anything to say about it, well, then Victoria wouldn’t mind talking it out.
Shortly after, Lydia and Agnes made their departure. And while neither woman felt any particular kinship with Victoria, they were hopeful that the state of local social affairs was soon to change. And for that, they could pretend to be friends with just about anyone.
“You know who I thoroughly enjoyed?” Lydia asked Agnes once in the carriage. “Charlotte Fairfax.”
“Charlotte Fairfax was exceptionally lovely, wasn’t she?”
“In nature, manners, beauty?—”
“I did like her so much.”
“As did I.”
And Victoria was left in the pink-hued drawing room, staring contemplatively out the window, wondering at what hour Elias returned last night.
Anne was clearing the tea service when she cleared her throat. “Miss Fairfax?” she spoke cautiously.
“Yes?”
“I wanted to thank you for what you said about Mister Elias.”
“Oh…” Victoria blushed. “You needn’t…”
“I want to, Miss. Mister Elias is a good young man and I agree with every word that you spoke. He’s got all the qualities a woman should look for when courting, and the ladies of this town…well, the way they treat him ain’t right. He’s developed a sour disposition because of it. But he wasn’t always so moody. Before Mistress Arabella died…he was a very different boy. He was a sweet, good-natured, happy little thing. But his mother died too soon. I suspect that changes people.”
“I suspect it does.” She was a grown woman when her father passed, but it had changed her too, hadn’t it? Wasn’t she harder now? More cross?
“I think he’s still sweet and good-natured in his heart,” Anne went on. “He just needs someone to bring it out of him.” She made a quick curtsy and hurried from the room. Victoria was left alone to think.