Ward of the White Worm

Guests staying for any length of time longer than thirty minutes were rarely moments of jubilation for servants. Last second sweeps were done of the hall, a portrait frame was polished, the grandfather clock checked, and someone had carefully and swiftly hidden pressed and dried bundles of violet and lavender to allow the subtle floral aromas to permeate through the halls. The fancy black-stained mahogany dining table was covered by a soft white linen as pale as a cloud. The plate, the good plate of polished silver and ash porcelain, was hurriedly laid out as the door into the Cherryhouse was opened.

Theodore stood at the threshold, politely doffing off his hat as Mrs Greene and her husband bounded up to him in excitement. Olli stood behind him, as quiet as stone as she had been when they left Paeth. “Good day, Mister and Mrs Greene,” he said to his hosts as he allowed a somewhat squat and anxious looking servant girl take his hat and coat and passed her a shilling.

Mrs Greene had dressed herself in an abundance of green and white, like some large bogwater fish caught in weeds. Her greying hair was done up into a bun ringed with netting, and some rather stiff curls framed her face. “Welcome! Welcome to the Cherryhouse, my lord. I had prayed for your safe journey since the day you sent back your letter saying you accepted our invitation!”

“Yes, yes, she was quite profuse in the prayers,” Mister Greene agreed. He was in the staunch black and dull blue of an older gentleman, less ostentatious than his wife although his beard was tinted a chestnut brown that had remained somewhat clumped around its edges. “When she offered a public prayer she addressed it to Saint Angus the Wanderer,” he nodded. “My lord, I have some business-”

“Now now, we must get to the table, dearie! Business can be spoken of afterwards! And what about this little waif?” She asked, bending slightly to look down at Olli. “What was her name again?”

“Olivia,” Theodore said, moving forward a step even though it brought him closer to Mrs Greene. “Your letter had said I may bring her with me, and she is frail of soul. I feared what might happen if I left her home, and I would not stress my staff by making them care for a child I took under my wing as I leave for dinners in such….” he glanced around. His eyesight was naturally poor even with his spectacles on, but he caught the glint of a tray with small cards within it, the blurred shape of a large clock, and the coloring of the wall suggested wallpaper rather than just paint. “...salubrious settings.”

Mrs Greene’s ears reddened, “oh ho, our humble home is hardly such!”

“Aye, good decision to bring the child with you when she is still in such a state! After I brought Henrietta in, I made sure she was never alone for longer than minute! T’was my wife, our housekeeper of the time may the gods rest her gentle bones, and myself who kept watch over her!” Mister Greene nodded solemnly.

Mrs Greene coughed, “now, our dinner is waiting dears. Lord Brynebourne, would you like to follow me into the dining room?”

Theodore seriously considered asking for his coat back, but gave Mrs Greene a smile. “I would be honored,” he lied pleasantly as the woman’s ears reddened further.

An ugly epergne was stationed in the middle of the table, the iron painted a paler grey to attempt to disguise it as silver. Standing on either side of it was a small candelabra, also in iron molded to resemble some sort of floral item, which shed light on the linen and the vegetable-marrow stew that sat within bowls before each of the diners at the table. There had also been a glass of sherry served to each, even Olli who was still mute and staring at nothing. She had been automatically eating her food in a wooden observation of manners that Theodore was thankful the Greenes were too self-absorbed to notice.

“The soup is exquisite, is it not Lord Brynebourne?” Mrs Greene prodded, setting her spoon down in her empty bowl. “You know, our cooks came from the Capital. Highly recommended in the paper.”

“Lovely,” Theodore said, “is excluding salt part of the fashion in the Capital at the moment? I will confess, I hardly have time to keep up on the newest trends, you seem much wiser to it than I.”

“Yes!” Mrs Greene replied without a single space of silence between Theodore’s words and hers.

Mister Greene made a phlegmy cough after finishing his own soup. “Have you seen the news journals, sir?” He asked. “I have heard about a highwayman-”

“Harold, conversation at the table should be polite and light,” Mrs Greene gently admonished. She picked up a small bell beside her bowl and rung it in rapid tinkle-noise that was more than a little grating. Maids came to take the bowls away from them, shortly after returning with a beef roast on a large serving platter. Theodore squinted at it, wondering why it looked more akin to a charred wooden post. The vegetables accompanying had not fared much better. “Harold, cut the roast please.”

“Yes, of course,” Mister Greene got up, holding one large knife and a stake that he dug into the meat which cracked painfully under his hands.

What was set on everyone’s plate was a bone dry chunk of what had formerly been meat. Theodore remembered reading in a book this was called ‘carbonization’ by the men at the Royal Science Academy.

Olli was still silent, and Theodore glanced over to see what her expression was. They sat close enough that he could see it almost clearly. She was still blank faced, she could see, but her eyes saw nothing. She was as an automaton. He looked around. There were no shifting shadows upon the wall, or the stuffy subtle feeling of being under the distant eyes of something greater than mortality.

Mister Greene and Mrs Greene were discussing something quietly among each other, so Theodore took this moment to lean over to Olli and whisper into her ear, “Olli? Are you well?”

“I’m thinking,” she replied softly.

She did not answer him again for the rest of the meal.

After a raspberry pudding where one could taste no raspberry but plenty of soap, and a ‘coffee cake’ that was more gritty soup that cake, Theodore was grateful to have an excuse to leave the table to discuss business with Mister Greene.

“Are you bringing her too?” Mister Greene asked, looking down at Olli.

“Yes, as I said, I prefer not leaving her alone. I do not mean to sound dismissive, but I also do not wish to leave her in the care of strangers.”

“Understandable!” Mister Greene nodded, “very much so. Follow me!”

They went into a sideroom, which had the appearance of a decent private library with a round oak table in the middle along with plush if sagging seating. Theodore had set Olli down on one seat which would allow him to keep an eye on her while also allowing some distance between himself and the apparently important discussion of business Mister Greene had.

“Do you enjoy my study?” Mister Greene asked. “Two hundred volumes, started with my grandfather and I have added ten more since I have inherited the Cherryhouse!”

“Very nice,” Theodore sighed. He looked over them again, and thought he caught the sign of dust and mildew on a few of them but without getting closer he could not tell, and he did not want to increase the length of the stay anymore than necessary.

“Well, to business,” Mister Greene reached into his vest’s pocket to pull out a tidy stack of letters. “Do you know of Sarah Marsh and her husband Roger Marsh? You may have only heard of them in passing,” he asked.

“I have, the Marshes were a gentry family, closer to Stowell, yes?” Theodore remembered the name, although not very well. He did recall his mother making mourning veils to send to Stowell, years ago.

“Indeed, Sarah was my sister,” Mister Greene spoke. “Roger was a very good friend of mine. They unfortunately passed away in a fire over… by the gods, it really has been almost twenty years, has it not?” He mumbled, suddenly within his own thoughts. “Twenty years, on this very day…” A pale ghastly expression came to his face, a mixture of shock and grief. Theodore was rather shocked himself to see such on Mister Greene’s face. “Excuse me, I was lost in thought. Ahem. My niece survived, her name is Henrietta. Have you found a governess for your ward yet, sir?”

“No,” Theodore replied.

“Ah, excellent then. Henrietta comes highly recommended I assure you!” He held out the letters to Theodore. “Here are recommendations from her prior employers. My Beth had suggested she become a governess after she reached sixteen. I said ‘no no, that is much too young, we should wait until she is twenty’. We settled on eighteen then, so she has had close to a decade of experience! Her latest charge is now moving on to academy, so she will be coming back to the Cherryhouse soon,” the man smiled beneath his beard. “We would have much to keep up with, but she does not enjoy tarrying here long. She usually finds a new family to stay with within a month.”

What Theodore understood, going through the letters, was that Henrietta was considered a ‘model of her profession’. What he understood from Mister Greene’s words however was that Mrs Greene did not like Henrietta, and Henrietta did not like Mrs Greene.

Such an offer was quite tempting. “Very well, when she arrives, send me a message and I will send a coach for her,” he said. “But if she does not meet my standards-”

“Oh, I guarantee you she will, but if not I will pay all expenses!” Mister Greene said with such assurance that Theodore felt no urge to further press the issue.