Ward of the White Worm

She was dreaming of a large ballroom. It was like the one in Theodore’s house. Grand with painted walls covered in molded plinth-shapes, with tall expansive windows to allow the sun in. The polished wooden floors did not creak as she walked on it.

In the center was a tall shadow, with multiple arms that swayed and moved as though holding an invisible partner as it carefully waltzed alone. She wanted to get closer to the dancer, who seemed familiar. Had she not seen it before? She felt wind, gently pulling at her hair.

A roar filled the ballroom, the windows shattered, the shadow turned into a thousand pieces of ash.

Olli almost leapt from her bed as thunder rocked through her room, rattling the window. Lightning flashed again, illuminating half the room a stark white and plunging other furniture into deepest black before another cannon of thunder was released. Rain pelted the window more like the stones thrown by a mob than a friendly drizzle. “Motzy!” Olli yelled, flailing in her thick bedcovers as she stumbled away from her bed towards the door. Her mind was conjuring serpent necked shadows and reptilian heads, pieced together from the story Motzy told her before bed.

The door opened and Motzy came forward, holding a rushlight in one hand and her working bonnet in the other. “Goodness, child!”

“Is it a dragon?” She asked, still half-tucked into dreamland.

“Oh dear, no. Dragons are extinct. This is just your regular ol’ thunderstorm!” Motzy laughed, patting her head. “Miss Marsh and sir are in one of the study rooms and there’s a good fire going, lets get you down there and then I’ll bring some tea, hm?” The wind moaned after her words as if it too wished to have some tea.

The thunder continued to angrily rattle through the house, making the creaking floorboards shiver with each strike as the two went down the hall and further down the stairs. Occasionally as they passed a window, a bolt of lightning would strike and illuminate everything in a strange stark white.

When they reached the door to the drawing room, Olli was enveloped in a pleasant warmth and a strong smell of lemon. On a little tray atop a small three-legged table, something was burning with the scent. Meanwhile, the inviting orange light of the fire seemed cheerful with its crackling vitality. Theodore sat at one chair with a book in his hand although his spectacles were left on his lap so it Olli doubted he was reading much unless he was going to shove his face into the book. Miss Marsh sat at a couch near a wall adorned with too many portraits of severe yet melancholic pale people in increasingly fancy and strange outfits, she paid no attention to them and was instead busy sewing the sleeves of a small frock coat. Olli’s fingers felt the phantom pain of hours of needling.

But it was not just Theodore and Miss Marsh in the room, Mister Burke was there too, nervously lifting up a muffin from a low table covered in plates of simple pastries and a large tea set, and taking the smallest nibble from it before a muffled thud of thunder made him nearly drop it. Also with him was a surly faced man with dark hair and a patchy dark almost-facial-hair, which made him seem like he was trying to hide a more boyish face. Then there was Jane, the quiet maid who was playing cards with two older women in old stained aprons and simple dresses. Further on was another man, also in plain clothes, who sat in one chair with his fingers laced together in his lap and his hat on his face as he slept utterly unbothered by the thunder.

Motzy had, in her Motzy way, already managed to stroll forward to the table with the food to make a small cup of tea and pick up a plate with a muffin on it with a small smear of jam that she presented to Olli.

“Thank you,” Olli said, taking the offered nourishment and sitting down on a divan.

“I am always happy to help, dear,” Motzy said with a smile. Then she took her own seat, which was a plush if somewhat faded red one, and picked up knitting needles, yarn, and an unfinished scarf from a small wicker basket beside it.

Outside of the sound of cards shuffling, the crackling of the fire, and the distant boombs of thunder, it was very quiet in the room. Olli silently ate her muffin and finished her tea, grateful for a change from her usual diet of bread and milk with an occasional sliver of jam or butter. Theodore stirred from his still position on the chair, setting down his book. “Olli, come here.”

Olli heaved a sigh but walked over to Theodore, who sat up in his chair to address her.

“We are going to be leaving to Stowell in some time, so I have enlisted Miss Marsh to teach you to dance.”

Olli made a face. “Dance?”

“It’s a rhythmic form of movement to music,” Theodore defined.

“I know what it means!”

“Remember to speak respectfully to the master of the house, Miss Olivia,” Miss Marsh’s cold voice came from across the room.

“We are going to visit my friend in Stowell before the Season begins, and he-” Theodore seemed to struggle for a moment to find the right words. His face was a mix of irritation, guilt, and loyalty. “Well, the Baron enjoys a good dance or five, and every time before the Season begins he invites people to his home in Stowell for a nice lovely dance. He and his wife are very considerate for all guests, and even host a children’s ball at the same time. He has three children around your age. Rosa, Liliana, and Lucy.”

“...I’m not good at dancing,” Olli said, not finding anything particularly exciting suddenly. The last journey they took had resulted in her feeling ill from whatever the Greenes had served that day, and the idea of being in a room with other children her age who were all likely to be stuffy people like Theodore or Miss Marsh only made her want to go back to bed.

“That is why Miss Marsh will be teaching you.”

Miss Marsh had gotten up, still holding her sewing in hand as she approached Theodore with a bowed head, “sir, I ask that you reconsider.” She said the words quickly, but crisply.

“I agree,” Olli nodded.

“Miss Olivia.”

“I have already decided you will teach her, Miss Marsh,” Theodore said firmly. “She is dancing with other children, not being presented to the Queen, for Rot’s sake.”

“I would not wish to cause your ward undue embarrassment, sir,” Miss Marsh replied with equal but very polite firmness.

“Oh that is perfectly fine, I do not mind causing her undue embarrassment. It’s the only time she looks like she has warm blood in her body, she’s so pale.”

Olli struggled momentously to avoid snorting, given Theodore’s own paleness made him look like a ghost. Or a corpse.

Miss Marsh seemed to have no prepared response for this statement and simply bowed her head. “I understand, sir.”

“I am glad you do,” he replied softly. “I will be helping you of course, so do not worry you will not be alone with her.”

The woman’s pale face turned slightly pink and she bowed her head once more, retreating back to her seat to return to sewing with slightly unsteady fingers. Olli however began to think up ways to escape the inevitable dance lessons.

“I don’t think I can dance, Uncle Theodore,” Olli said in her sweetest voice. “I told Motzy I would listen to those prayers.”

“There will be time for prayer.” He replied, putting his spectacles back on.

“I have lumps on my feet.”

“A penknife should help.”

“Uh, I’m really clumsy.”

“That’s why we have lessons,” he picked up his book, returning to his page.

“Please can I just stay home?”

“No.”