Page 19 of A Sorceress Comes to Call
Parker. Cordelia felt the world begin to go gray around the edges. Parker of Little Haw. There was a terrible ringing in her ears, but it did not drown out the sound of the Squire’s voice, still reading in a litany of fascinated horror.
“‘Coroner George Keeling made an examination of eight people and pronounced life extinct, giving his opinion that they had been brutally murdered. The doors were locked and in the opinion of the police constable, no entry had been forced. The deceased include three servants and five members of the Parker clan. Most astonishing is the behavior of Edward Parker himself, who opened the door for the police, stating that “A terrible thing has occurred, gentlemen.” He has been taken into custody. Two survivors have suffered grave injury but have stated that it was Parker who attacked them. For his part, he has made no denial of these charges.’” He folded the paper back. “Now what do you say to that, old girl?”
“Monstrous, the things people do these days,” said Hester. “That poor family. I wonder if they’ll ever know why he did it.”
I know why he did it, thought Cordelia, but that was the last coherent thought she had, before the world dissolved into gray and black.
“Really, Samuel,” said Hester, annoyed. “You should know better than to read such things at the breakfast table when there’s a young girl present.” She waved the smelling salts under Cordelia’s nose, waiting for her to come out of her swoon.
Swoon was perhaps too mild a term. Hester had seen her share of artful swoons practiced by artful temptresses. They tended to involve the back of the hand pressed against the forehead, an exclamation—“Oh! I feel faint!”—and then a graceful crumpling to the floor, carefully conducted so as to miss any inconvenient furniture.
Cordelia had turned bone white, her eyes had rolled up in her head, and she had slumped over sideways and fallen out of the chair, hitting another one on the way down.
“Didn’t even think of it,” said the Squire anxiously. “You never balk at any story, old girl. Clean forgot other ladies might not like it. Is the chit alive?”
Cordelia proved that she was alive by coughing and sitting up, pushing away the smelling salts. “What… what am I…?” She blinked up at Hester. “Why am I on the floor?”
“You fainted,” said Hester, softening the words with a smile. “And no wonder. You’d hardly touched your food yet, and my brother was reading a hair-raiser of a tale over breakfast.”
“I’m so sorry,” said Cordelia. She scrambled to her feet, started to sway, and Hester caught her arm to steady it before she went over again. “I…” She swallowed and Hester saw her pupils suddenly dilate. “Oh,” she said, in a much smaller voice, and sat down.
“Don’t pay any mind to me,” said the Squire earnestly. “So terribly sorry. I’m an old fool, that’s all, and forget how to behave around a gently bred young lady. I should never have read such a thing out for your ears.”
Cordelia picked up her teacup and wrapped her fingers around it. “It’s all right,” she whispered. Hester thought she might be fighting back tears. “I’d rather know.”
A terrible thought struck Hester. “You didn’t know the family, did you?”
The vein in the girl’s throat began to pulse. “Little Haw,” she stammered. “We’re from Little Haw.”
The door to the breakfast room opened and Evangeline breezed in, dressed in an extravagant dressing gown that Hester recognized as having come from her own wardrobe about twenty years earlier. Her brother must have offered some of her clothing to replace what Evangeline had lost in the oh-so-convenient carriage accident.
In another situation, Hester would not have minded. She had plenty of clothing that she was never going to wear and she understood genteel poverty and the stories that one might tell to cover the fact that one had only one or two gowns to one’s name. But it did strike her as a bit much that Doom had come to her home, and that in addition to making conversation and waiting for the inevitable, she was expected to furnish Doom’s wardrobe as well.
“How is everyone this fine morning?” Evangeline trilled. She squeezed Cordelia’s shoulder and Hester saw the girl’s knuckles go even whiter on the teacup.
“I’m afraid poor Cordelia’s taken faint,” said the Squire. “All my fault, really. I was reading a regular hair-raiser of a story and I didn’t know that you were from that neck of the woods. Damn poor manners of me, and I make my apology to you, young lady.”
“It’s fine,” said Cordelia, as her mother’s fingers dug into her shoulder. “I’m sorry for making a fuss.” She shot a nervous glance behind her. “I… uh… I think I should go lie down.”
“Probably for the best,” said Evangeline, in a glittering voice. The Squire murmured another apology as Cordelia bolted for the door. A footman removed her plate, and Hester made a mental note to send up a tray in a few minutes.
“Please forgive her,” Evangeline said. “I think she is still quite fatigued from our journey, and this is the first time she has traveled so far from home.”
“No, no.” The Squire’s mustache quivered with his sincerity. “All my fault, my dear, truly all mine. I forget that most well-bred ladies have nerves. Hester hasn’t any at all, you see.”
“None whatsoever,” said Hester dryly. “Otherwise people might get on them.” She turned to Doom. “There was a terrible murder in Little Haw, you see, and your daughter was overset by the thought that she might know the victims.”
Was there an imperceptible pause? It was hard to tell. But Evangeline’s voice was quite casual. “Little Haw? I can’t imagine why she’d think that.”
“She said that you were from there,” Hester said, genuinely curious as to what the response would be.
The pause lasted a fraction longer this time. “I suppose we’re from near there,” said Evangeline. “I doubt we’ve gone into the town more than a handful of times. It’s not the closest.” She smiled at the Squire. “I must beg your pardon for my daughter again, sir. You know how young girls are, giving themselves die-away airs about how close terrible events have come. They think it makes them interesting at that age.”
“Think nothing of it,” said the Squire. “And it was a terrible tale, I own, so I think no less of her. Sensitive little soul.”
“So many girls are at that age,” said Evangeline.
“How old is she again?” asked Hester.
