Siofra stretched in bed, luxuriating in the warm cocoon of her quilts. Did she have a reason to leave her bed this morning? She bolted upright. Lysander. Would he sate her curiosity today? Trolls. Changelings. Missing men. And that other world.
After she dressed in her trouser costume, she crept down the servants’ stairs toward the warm kitchen. Life had changed dramatically since she discovered the path through the Forbidden Wood. To think, not even a week ago, she’d been bemoaning the restrictions the ton placed on a lady. Now, she’d broken so many social mores, no man of quality would ever consider her…not if her secrets came out.
She couldn’t seem to care. After discovering Mr. Paorach was a troll, possibly preying on the young men and women of her village—she shivered—nothing could be as important as their freedom from that horrid creature. And if she never found a husband… Visions of a tall, dark-haired elf inclined to magic, filled her thoughts.
In the kitchen, Mrs. Sgot pared potatoes over the sink, and Maeve stirred something in a large black pot. Before they could urge her to break her fast, she spread her handkerchief and added the still-warm rolls from the basket in the center of the scarred oak table.
When she reached for the knife to carve off a chunk of cheese, Maeve grabbed her wrist. “Sorry, Miss. Lady Gretchen has left strict instructions. She says three months of mourning have passed, and you have to visit the shops today to pick out some fabrics for half-mourning.”
“I can attend that this afternoon.”
Mrs. Sgot shook her head and turned to face Siofra. “The seamstress is coming this afternoon. Today, you’ll have to give up your morning stroll. Sit. Eat. Maeve will accompany you.”
And just that quickly, Siofra found herself outmaneuvered and seated at the table. When Maeve slipped out of the kitchen to begin her morning duties, Siofra focused on Mrs. Sgot. “How long have you known Mr. Paorach is a troll? If you’re a brownie, why didn’t you tell the elves in the Forbidden Wood?” She took a bite of toast, but Mrs. Sgot continued to stir the porridge on the stove. “By the by, you should have seen how quickly that magic honey affected Lady Gretchen and Miss Dawd. One sip, and Lady Gretchen was completely against letting him in the house.”
The spoon in Mrs. Sgot’s hand stilled over the pot. “Honey isn’t magic. It was the hawthorn leaves in the tea. Just a pinch of dust is all it takes to relieve mind fog.” She set a bowl before Siofra. “You may have stopped him from coming here, but he’ll be even more dangerous now. Watch yourself in town today.”
Siofra nodded. In all the years she’d known Mrs. Sgot, the woman had probably spoken more in the last week than ever before. Was she really a brownie? She hadn’t answered Siofra’s question. Was it really her place to question such a faithful servant?
Siofra finished her porridge and shoved away from the table. After depositing her bowl in the sink, she wrapped her arms around Mrs. Sgot. “For all the times I never said it…thank you.”
Mrs. Sgot stilled then shrugged out of Siofra’s embrace. “For future reference, if you think someone’s a brownie, don’t thank them. For some reason, that irritates them, and they leave.”
“Are…are you leaving?”
“Whoever said I’m a brownie? Go upstairs, put on a day dress, and get your gloves. If you wish to avoid Mr. Paorach, you should be at the shops as soon as they open.”
Thirty minutes later, Siofra and Maeve walked toward the thick of town. Maeve kept up a dizzying monologue about all the fabrics Siofra would need for her attire. “Morning gowns, visiting gowns, walking gowns, promenade dresses, carriage dresses, perhaps even a riding habit.”
“I don’t need a new riding habit, and I don’t want new dresses.” Siofra sighed. She was rather bored with all the black. “Perhaps two for morning, maybe some visiting gowns because the neighbors will assuredly begin to call again. But—”
“Miss Blàrach? How lovely to see you!” DESCRIBE ROB
“Now, Rob, if you call me Miss Blàrach, I will be forced to call you Mister Redgrave.”
“Never that.” He bowed at the waist then held out his arm. “Rob, at your service. Are you headed to the shops?”
“I am in need of fabrics for half-mourning.”
“Ah, Siofra, has it been that long already? I am so sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you, Rob. What brings you out?”
“Mr. Paorach has offered to speak with me this morning. Perhaps a career in banking…”
Siofra gasped, squeezing his arm. “Why? Rob, please don’t.”
Rob paused in their walk to face her, his expression twisted with concern. “As a third son, I must find a means of supporting myself. I’m not exactly well-inlaid. What troubles you so?”
Siofra glanced at the ground. How did she relate her fears without expounding on the information she’d recently discovered? He would think her bound for Bedlam. She raised her eyes to meet his. “Rob, I can’t explain, but trust me when I say he is not all he appears. His dealings with me have not been aboveboard.”
“Siofra and young Redgrave!” The loud, grim voice of Mr. Paorach sent tremors up Siofra’s frame.
“Siofra, what has he done?” Rob whispered, his eyes narrowing as he took in her discomfort.
“Just promise me you won’t work for him.”
His lips twisted in a grimace. “But my father…”
And then Mr. Paorach was upon them, his stench even more overpowering than usual, and his glare a fearsome sight. Maeve hurried from behind Siofra. “We need to hurry, Miss. Lady Gretchen will be waiting.”
“Yes, of course. You’ll have to excuse me, Mr. Paorach. I have a prior engagement. Rob, do not forget that Lady Gretchen wished you to bring us that…that uh…”
“Horse liniment,” Maeve muttered.
“Yes, the horse liniment. Your father’s head groom is simply famous for it, a top-sawyer. We may only have the two horses now, but it’s even more important to care for their health.”
For a moment, Rob’s face remained clouded in confusion, then he nodded. “I promise. Please tell Lady Gretchen I will serve her at my earliest convenience.”
Mr. Paorach’s face jerked from one to the other as if he weren’t sure who should receive the focus of his ire. Siofra used the moment to take Maeve’s hand and walk briskly away.
After about ten steps, Maeve squeezed her hand. “You’re shaking, Miss.”
“Oh Maeve, I don’t know what I would have said if you hadn’t been there. Very quick thinking.”
“Miss, you were ever so brave, but I don’t know why ye’d turn that poor boy against a good paying job. Mr. Paorach may smell, and he definitely goes through the wives, but young Mr. Redgrave…”
Siofra jerked back. Maeve didn’t know? Should she warn her? Siofra smiled at the ladies who entered the notions shop just before them. “Lady Grannd. Miss Susan. How lovely to see you.”
Susan lifted a gloved hand. “Miss Siofra, it’s been simply ages. Are you coming inside?”
“Oh, yes. Just a moment.”
The ladies disappeared, and Siofra tugged at Maeve. “Wait until the door closes. Now, Maeve, this is going to sound as if I’ve lost my senses, but…Mr. Paorach is a troll.”
“That he is, Miss. A right nasty brute.”
“No, I mean he’s really a troll, like a creature from the Forbidden Wood.”
“Aye. And here’s me thinking ye’d never see it. Ye got a brownie for a cook, and Lord knows what else wandering these streets. Magic permeates this town, and folk go on about their daily business as if—”
“Maeve,” Siofra glanced around them, “We should go inside. Lady Grannd is a horrific gossip and will wonder why we dawdle at the door. But, so you know, I have reason to suspect that not all the young men who’ve left the village ended up in London.”
Maeve gasped, and her hand covered her mouth as Siofra pulled her through the doorway into the shop.
By the time they left, Siofra’s nerves were stretched so tight she thought she might snap at the slightest provocation. Not only had she been forced to consider bolt after bolt of fabrics, but Lady Grannd and Susan had probed her constantly about her plans for the future.
Would she and Lady Gretchen return to London? Did Siofra have plans to renew her acquaintances with the gentry in the area? Had Mr. Paorach been secretly courting Siofra? She had nearly lost her accounts at that, so completely loathsome did she consider the idea. Maeve’s outrageous snort seemed to have put paid to the ludicrous supposition, but who knew with Lady Grannd? She wasn’t above making her own version of the conversation and spreading it about as truth.
What Siofra wanted was a quiet afternoon in the Forbidden Wood, but she probably wouldn’t make it there at all. She fumed as one boot-clad foot followed another down the cobbled side of the lane.
All afternoon, through endless fittings, poking, and prodding, she questioned her boldness in warning Rob Redgrave. What if he mentioned her words to Mr. Paorach? What if he didn’t, but Mr. Paorach somehow divined their topic of conversation? It wasn’t as if she’d actually told Rob that a troll would eat him if he kept the appointment.
Her eyes continuously wandered to the Ormolu clock on the mantle. Please come, Rob. Please, come.
With the measurements taken, any possibility of acceptable visiting hours long passed, much less a foray into the Forbidden Wood, Siofra acknowledged that Rob would not be making an appearance this day.
Dear Lord, please tell me what to do.
When no words of comfort or illumination came, either silent or audible, she changed her dress and wandered in to dinner. No amount of coaxing from Lady Gretchen could draw her out, and she finally climbed the stairs, glum and down-hearted. If anything happened to Rob, she didn’t know what she’d do.