Read Snow White and Rose Red Online
Authors: Patricia Wrede
Snow White and Rose Red (12 page)
The Widow greeted her daughters with joy, and insisted that they have something to eat before they told their story. Rosamund and Blanche were nothing loath, though the meal was interrupted several times by the lamb, demanding food and attention. When the dishes were cleared away, the Widow finally allowed the girls to speak. She listened carefully, betraying none of the knowledge she had gained through her arcane labors of the previous night.
“And so we’re safely home at last,” Blanche concluded. She hesitated, then went on doubtfully, “Yet that . . . creature whom we saw so briefly on arising frets me still.”
“How should he fret thee?” Rosamund demanded. “He’s in Faerie; thou‘rt here.”
“Rosamund hath the right of it, I think,” the Widow said firmly. “‘Tis not surprising that Faerie folk should be curious at finding mortals in their midst, and thou hast said this creature offered thee no hurt.”
“And yet he frightened me a little,” Blanche said.
“He seemed familiar to me,” Rosamund said. “And he was sad, and his smile was very kind.”
“Familiar?” the Widow said sharply. “How should he be familiar?”
“I know not,” Rosamund said. “Only that he seemed so to me. I saw him but briefly; perhaps he resembled one of our neighbors. I cannot say for certain.”
“This is a strange coil,” the Widow murmured. She sat thinking for a moment, then looked up. “An you see this being again, in Faerie or out, do you both offer him some kindness. Methinks he hath watched over your slumbers, and belike kept harm from you.”
Blanche and Rosamund stared at their mother in astonishment, but the Widow would say nothing more. They were left to wonder, and to whisper to each other over their chores, while their mother began serenely sorting out the herbs they had brought home.
John’s absence from Faerie was not noticed for some time. Those who missed him thought at first that he was keeping to himself out of prudence; the Queen was not crossed with impunity. It was not until several days after his departure that a message was delivered to Madini in the flower garden where she sat with the Queen’s other ladies.
The message was brief: “The Queen’s eldest son hath broke the ban.” Madini’s lips curved in a cold smile. She glanced at the message again, and spoke a single word. The writing glittered, then vanished from the page. Madini crumpled the now blank sheet of paper and dropped it in a drift of pinks, then went swiftly to find the Chamberlain and request a private audience with the Queen. A short time later, the Chamberlain escorted Madini into the crystal-walled room where the white-robed Queen of Faerie sat.
“Madam,” Madini said, sinking into a graceful curtsy as the Chamberlain departed.
“Madini, my dear,” the Queen said. “Come nearer; sit and tell me what bringeth thee so urgently.”
“Ill news, I fear, Your Majesty,” Madini said. She rose from her curtsy and came forward as the Queen had bidden her.
“Then speak it straight, without circumspection,” the Queen said, frowning slightly.
“As Your Majesty wills,” Madini said. “Your eldest son hath set aside your wise commands and chosen his own counsels in their spite.”
“Doth this roundaboution of thine mean that John hath left the realm of Faerie?” the Queen demanded. Her fingers lay pale and motionless on the silk-smooth arms of the birchwood throne on which she sat.
“Even so.”
The Queen’s calm expression did not alter. “Who gave him aid?”
“No subject of your own,” Madini said. “More than that, I do not know. Yet if no one of Faerie aided him, some mortal must have been his help. Your son—”
“Leave us.”
Madini swallowed the remainder of her sentence, along with a large measure of chagrin. She had counted on a longer conversation to give her time to feign sympathy and to drop a few more hints regarding John. She was not sure what to make of the abrupt dismissal, but she was far too wise to protest it. Hiding her frustration, Madini curtsied and left the royal presence.
CHAPTER · SEVEN
“Snow White and Rose Red always kept their mother’s cottage neat and tidy. In summer, Rose Red took care of the house. Every morning she gathered flowers for her mother, and she always included some of the roses from the two rosebushes in the garden. In the winter it was Snow White who lit the fire and hung the copper kettle on the hob. ”
THE PUZZLING CONFINEMENT OF ROSAMUND AND Blanche in Faerie and their even more puzzling release troubled the Widow Arden more than she could bring herself to admit in the presence of her daughters. The unexpected results of her sorcerous vision only added to her fears. Something was happening in Faerie, and though it had brushed lightly by Rosamund and Blanche thus far, the Widow doubted that they would continue to be so lucky.
She, therefore, set herself to think out a way of discovering what lay behind these mysterious and intriguing occurrences, that she might be better prepared if the future brought more of them. She could hardly go to Faerie and ask, and she knew better than to make any further use of magic. What she needed more than anything, the Widow felt, was advice.
So, on the Wednesday following Rosamund and Blanche’s safe return from Faerie, the Widow Arden left the girls to take care of the house while she herself set off for Mortlak. The day was grey, cold and overcast, a foretaste of the rapidly approaching winter. By the time she reached the village the Widow was thoroughly chilled, despite her wool petticoat, and she was glad indeed to reach Mistress Hudson’s house near the edge of the village.
Mary Hudson was of about the same age as the Widow Arden, but where the Widow was tall, dark-haired, and well-figured, Mary was short, greying, and decidedly plump. Neither woman cared in the slightest for these differences, nor for the more important social discrepancy between a poor widow and the wife of a well-to-do gentleman with a large country house and an equally large income from the thriving trade in wines and wool. At their first meeting, the two women had become fast friends, and they had remained so for as long as the Widow had lived in Mortlak.
Mistress Hudson was in when the Widow arrived, and soon the Widow was gratefully warming her hands over a large brazier of sea-coal, while her kindhearted hostess fussed over her.
“Nay, Mary, thou‘rt surely kind, but truly I’ve no need of possets,” the Widow said at last, laughing.
“No need! Why, in God’s truth thou‘rt chilled to the very bone,” her hostess replied indignantly.
“I’m not so chilled as that,” the Widow said, though she was indeed quite cold. She had had enough of Mary Hudson’s heated brews to avoid them when she could. “‘Twould take more than a day so mild as this to discomfort me.”
“Or belike a better flavor to my drinks?” Mistress Hudson said in a mischievous tone. “Well, I’ll not press thee. Thou hast stayed away too long; I’ll not give thee cause for more neglect.”
“Wouldst have me disregard my autumn work?” the Widow shot back, unabashed.
“Nay, I did but jest. I know ‘tis a busy time for thee. So now I ask, what brings thee from thy duties to my doorstep this November day?”
“Great perplexity,” said the Widow, and hesitated. She trusted Mary more than she trusted anyone else in Mortlak, but she had never been able to bring herself to speak of the questionable knowledge of magic that added so much to the virtue of her powders, syrups, and potions.
Mistress Hudson gave the Widow a sharp look. “So? Come to my chambers above, and we’ll talk; ‘tis warmer there—and private.”
The Widow nodded, and Mistress Hudson led the way through the long hall and up the staircase with its ornate balusters and carved newel posts. They passed through a maze of interconnecting rooms, some paneled in oak, others hung with tapestries, and came at last to Mistress Hudson’s apartments.
The anteroom, where the women stopped, was spacious and comfortable-looking. A bay window, filled with small, square panes of glass, let in light and gave a somewhat distorted view of the fields and the road. On the opposite side of the room was a large fireplace. The elaborate chimneypiece above it bore the Hudson arms on one side and those of the Gilberts, Mistress Hudson’s family, on the other. The floor was strewn with sweet herbs that made a pleasant scent as the women’s feet crushed them. Loose cushions stuffed with straw lay atop three large, elaborately carved oak chests.
Mary Hudson seated herself on one of the chests and looked at the Widow. “Tell me straight,” she said as the Widow took a seat opposite her, “is’t money?”
“Nay, ‘tis not indeed. I’d never come to thee for such a thing!” the Widow said.
“Thou‘rt stubborn to say it, when I’ve so often told thee thou might,” Mistress Hudson replied calmly. “Well, and if ’tis not the state of thy purse that brings thee to me, ‘tis thy girls.”
“I fear thou hast it, at least in part,” the Widow said with a sigh. “Dost thou recall how they roam the woods to gather herbs for me? I have been less than easy about it these two months past, and have kept them close. Yet even so I fear they’ve come on that which may be a danger to them.”
“An thou would have advice, thou must tell me the whole,” Mistress Hudson said, settling herself more comfortably on her cushion. “Begin two months agone; what cause hadst thou for thy misgiving?”
So the Widow embarked on a somewhat edited account of her dealings of the previous two months. She began with Mistress Townsend’s visit, and the fear of witchcraft rumors that had led her to bar Rosamund and Blanche from the forest. She did not speak of Rosamund’s encounter with the supposed peddler, nor of Faerie, nor of her private magic-working, but she gave a detailed description of Joan Bowes’s request for a love potion, without actually mentioning the girl’s name. She went on to describe in even greater detail the spell-casting that Rosamund and Blanche had watched on the afternoon of All Hallows’ Eve.
“And now there seems a strangeness in the forest, and I fear that those wizards may, by their arts, have learned my daughters saw them,” the Widow finished. “Nor can I be easy knowing two such men have been at work so near my door. Yet I know not what action I may take, and so I come to thee for thy advice.”
“I think thou shouldst begin by paying less heed to Mistress Townsend,” Mary said. “Yes, I know ‘tis not the question thou hast asked me, yet I say it still. She’s like to trouble thee more than a thousand wizards, an thou allow her.”
“Belike I was wrong to take her words so much to heart,” the Widow said. “Yet I do not see how knowing that will help me now.”
“‘Twill give thee one less thing to fret about,” Mary Hudson replied tartly. “Now, as to the girl who sought a love charm of thee: she’ll have no great liking for thee, but she can do thee little harm. Joan Bowes is not much liked in Mortlak.”
“How didst thou guess—”
“That it was Joan who came to thee?” Mistress Hudson smiled. “‘Tis common gossip in the village that she’s smitten with her master. Then, too, I’ve seen such greedy, conscienceless girls before, and had to deal with them. ’Twas not difficult.”
“So thou sayest,” the Widow said, returning the smile. “For myself, I think thou‘rt uncommon shrewd.”
“That’s as may be,” Mary said. “Still, now thou mayest leave off worrying at that as well. As to thy wizards—”
Other books
Stone in Love by Cadence, Brook
Rhapsody on a Theme by Matthew J. Metzger
GHETTO SUPERSTAR by Nikki Turner
Chained (When Bondage Meets Innocence) by Sabrina Sexton
Moan For Uncle by Terry Towers
Secret Scorpio by Alan Burt Akers
The Eye of the Sheep by Sofie Laguna
On the Steamy Side by Louisa Edwards
False God of Rome by Robert Fabbri
Will's Rockie Way by Peggy Hunter