Ward of the White Worm

“It is a memory I have only spoken of a few times before,” Mrs Root said with one cup in hand. The tea inside was slowly swirled around, bouncing the elderly woman’s reflection.

“You do not need to tell us, if you do not want,” Henrietta said gently, her own cup left before her as she kept her hands in her lap. The elderly woman had invited them to sit for tea as a small meal before they continued the rest of their visits and Henrietta believed it would be good for Olli, a way to display her manners. But that was just what she told herself. Deep inside, she was curious. Like a bad carriage accident some shameful part of her could not help but desire the story, as terrible as it must be. For she knew the stories about the Goodly Folk, but never in her life had she met one person the victim of them.

For Henrietta, the Goodly Folk were only the shadows and bumps in the night that Mrs Greene would threaten her with or rarely in the tales she might hear from her Uncle or read to her wards. Also known as Neighbors, the Kind Ones, the Demure Nobility, and the Friendly People, there were many other names to describe them, each of which cast them with gregarious or noble characteristics.

“No, I do not mind at all,” Mrs Root said. “After all, if you know my brother it is only right for you to know what had happened. I understand he can be rather quaint at time; nervous, anxious… I know some may not be so patient with him. The Earl has been a positive gift from the heavens, he took in my brother and trusts him.”

“I like Mister Burke,” Olli said with her head in her hands, elbows digging into her flattened skirt. “He’s nice.”

Mrs Root smiled warmly, a glimmer of happy memories in her eyes. “Yes, Steven has always been a kind soul. Even when I was a very small child I remember he was always the first to help our other siblings with their shoes, or to help our mother get everyone seated. He was the one who would soothe our chilblains and would carry us if we hurt and fell. The village did not have a school at the time, so none of use could read. He would entertain us with clever little stories.” Her voice drifted then as the glimmer faded from her eyes.

Thus did her tale begin.

“At the time, there had been ten of us. Mother, Father, John, Jacob, Allen, Betty, Lucas, Steven, myself, and Bobby. I remember that it was quite cold. The frost had not come but we could see our breath in the air and our fingers and toes would quickly begin to blue if we did not wrap them tight quickly after we ate… oh, I remember. Earlier in the week the gentlewomen from Paeth and Takesea had done their rounds, and one had given us a sealed quart of pork fat, and another had given to our mother a half pound of pure white sugar. We were not allowed to touch it, but instead our mother and father decided to give us a treat. That morning our breakfast was of porridge with a half-spoon of the sugar in it for each of us, and the bread slices our mother had pressed upon a spoonful of fat she had on our only skillet.

I believe at the time I truly believed there would be no better meal in late autumn. Steven had been helping our mother feed little Bobby, oh, little Bobby… he did not make it that winter, I think Steven felt Bobby was too wan and thin for a three year old. He gave Bobby half of his own porridge.

After we had all eaten and had on our gloves, our socks, and our shoes-we were quite fortunate that we all had shoes, my uncle was a cobbler and gave my mother the shoes his apprentices made-after we had all gotten prepared our mother told us that the lord of the land had announced each person was allowed to carry as many sticks back to their house as they can comfortably carry under one arm, so while father was at work and she used the light for her piecework we would all be sent to collect as many sticks as we could. Scatherbone trees do not burn fiercely, but they smolder for a long time and keep heat well.”

“Are you from Watshire?” Olli interrupted in her querrolous little voice.

“Olivia!” Henrietta pinched the girl’s ear, making her wince.

Mrs Root chuckled, “no, I am from a village that was westwards. It bordered the forest, but was not quite in it like Watshire is. Although I have visited Watshire many times in my life, and each time it seems to become a new town. I believe they have brick buildings there now. Now where was I? Ah yes… gathering sticks. We all knew the laws, that we could only take sticks that had fallen on the ground. If we broke a branch off a tree, it would be thirty lashes in the village square at the first infraction, and then the second would be one hundred. A third crime would mean being sent to the navy for men, and being bolted to the mill for women. Nobody ever said what would become of us children so none of us wanted to think upon it. But besides the law… there were the rules. The rules that the Friendly People had. Few knew all the rules, but we all lived by them.

One rule we knew was that any stick that had fallen on a root could not be taken, nor any stick that still had a green leaf upon it. But the Friendly People had added a new rule, unbeknownst to us, or mayhaps simply decided to enforce this particular rule today.

I had found several sticks, as thick as my finger but of good length, and upon two of them were dead leaves. They were a bright red. I had picked them up and quickly felt th many eyes of them upon me. But I could not see them. I had lost sight of my path and had wandered into the forest. I remember being stuck there, standing in fear. I heard a soft voice behind me say ‘hello’, and when I turned to face it… I saw one of them…

They looked like a nice old woman wearing a jewel covered dress and shawl. It leaned upon a cane and asked me if I would mind giving it back the sticks. I did so, terrified as I was, and then it asked for a further payment in my bones for disturbing it.

I do not remember if I had screamed, but what I do recall clearly is Steven grabbing me. He pulled me away from the Friendly One and together we ran. But the path twisted around us, the trees leaned towards us and their branches reached for us like hands! And then he pushed me… I simply remember him pushing me forward and telling me to run. So I did so… I ran… and the path straightened. I was outside of the forest again but…”

Mrs Root sipped her tea.

“Steven was gone. They had taken him. It was only decades later, long after I had lost my childishness, my youth, my beauty, my first child, our father and mother, my siblings… only then did Steven return. The earl told me he had stumbled into Watshire a nearly grown man, rattled and left bare to the world…”

Henrietta reached out, gently taking the older woman’s hands in her own. Henrietta’s heart had become heavy with the sorrow of Mrs Root’s story, and the sympathy and pity for the man she knew as Mister Burke. “Oh, Mrs Root, it was very kind of you to tell us more about Mister Burke even though I am certain recounting such terrible events is unkind to yourself.”

“I thank you as well for listening to this old woman prattle,” Mrs Root replied with a weary smile. “It is not often I have guests for long… ah, speaking of which, you two were making a round of visits were you not?”

Henrietta gasped, taking Olli’s hand. “Goodness, I had completely forgotten. We gave you the card already, I believe?”

“Yes, it was a very pretty little card,” Mrs Root said. “Where will you two be going next?”

“To Knackbell.”

Mrs Root’s withered brows rose a little, “that is a bit of a long ride from here.”

“Well, we are just going in the order the earl wrote the names and the addresses,” Henrietta admitted with a slight touch of embarrassment as she gave the list to the older woman.

The old woman pulled out an eyeglass from her sleeve to look at the writing. “Mmmhmm, yes. As I thought. The earl was likely writing it based on his normal route, not at all suitable for a young lady and her charge to take. James! Fetch me my pen!”

The servant’s voice came out with a dutiful, “yes madam.”

“Thank you,” Henrietta said, wondering just how far out Knackbell was if it required a whole reordering of the schedule.