Page 77 of A Sorceress Comes to Call
The path for the horses snaked through the woods that circled Evermore’s house. Even on an overcast day like today, it blazed with green, as the new growth of spring erupted around them. Water dripped between the leaves, and insects hummed through the air.
“It’s like a jungle,” said Cordelia wonderingly, looking around her. The path was lined with ferns, and the enormous leaves of catalpa blotted out the sun.
“My grandfather’s head gardener was a genius,” said Evermore. “We have spent the last two generations simply trying to keep up what he created. Fortunately, I am told he left detailed notes—ah, here we are. Evermore House, in all its glory.”
Hester had visited any number of times, but the sudden revelation of Evermore House after the thick wood still delighted her. The junglelike wood suddenly broke into low, lush ferns, bordering a broad lawn that rolled downward, with the manor house squarely in the center. It was barely half the size of Chatham House, but built entirely of tan stone, with two round towers reflected in a small lake. Where the Squire’s manor had multiple wings, Evermore House was all one piece and generations of descendants had, quite sensibly, avoided sticking on extra architectural bits. This had required the addition of a number of outbuildings, but preserved the overall impression that one had just encountered a fairy castle dropped into the middle of the countryside.
So far as Hester was concerned, however, the best feature of the property was even now emerging from the lake, waddling rapidly toward them and honking loudly.
“Geese, milord?” said Evangeline, trying to sound haughty and amused, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the large number of geese that immediately swarmed around Falada’s feet, some of them hissing like serpents.
“I’m allergic to dogs,” said Richard. “Nevertheless, I must have something to raise an alarm if prowlers come calling. And they lay quite impressive eggs.”
“Historically geese are wards against misfortune and evil magic,” said Hester mildly.
“No one believes that old wives’ tale anymore, surely,” said Evangeline sharply.
“No, of course not, my dear,” said the Squire hastily, shooting Hester a look.
“Merely an old story,” agreed Richard pleasantly. “I suspect they may dislike your horse. I’ve never had a white horse here, now that I think of it. Perhaps they think he’s a swan.”
The white horse pawed the ground. The geese drew back to give him an inch or two, then immediately regrouped, hissing.
“They look very healthy,” said Hester happily. “And that is a very fine gander there, and that one looks fit to grow up the same. Oh dear… no, that one over there needs to be culled, I expect. He’s awfully short. Now how did you turn out like that, my lad?”
“You may take up all discussion of goose breeding with my master of fowl,” said Richard.
“You have a master of fowl?” Doom sounded incredulous, then apparently caught herself and flashed Richard a smile. “Very sensible, of course. I can see they would require a dedicated… err… hand.”
“He is mostly the second gardener,” Richard admitted, “but as he is the primary keeper of the geese, we call him the master of fowl. Hester, I am not letting you get off that horse and take out that gander right now, so stop looking like that.”
Hester harrumphed. Cordelia was clearly fighting back laughter. Imogene didn’t even try to fight it back.
At the door of the manor, they slid off their horses—in Hester’s case, a sturdy groom stepped forward to assist her, to her mild chagrin—and the doors of Evermore House opened before them.
Cordelia loved Evermore House immediately.
Despite its imposing appearance, the interior was very plain. The walls were covered with whitewash instead of wallpaper, and the floor was made of ancient oak planks, dark stained and rock-hard with age. Her bedroom lay in one of the towers and had a window seat that overlooked the grounds. The light from the window rippled off the coverlet in the way that only very expensive silk can ripple, but the rag rug on the floor was much like the one that had adorned the floor of Cordelia’s bedroom in Little Haw, only cleaner and (apparently) rather newer.
This room doesn’t make me feel like someone’s poor relation, even though I am. Not that anyone at Chatham House ever tried to make me feel that way, but everything was so… so carelessly wealthy.
It reminded her of Penelope’s lecture on style, and why she had refused to wear ruffles and saved a great deal of money and dignity in the process. This was a house that refused ruffles.
The bed had spindle posts, turned into elaborate knobbly pillars. Cordelia ran her hand up one, delighted by the way the shapes bulged out and tucked back in again.
“Don’t rub the bed like that, dear, it looks vulgar.” Her mother sailed in, looked around the room, and made a small huffing sound. “I see that you’ll have your hands full redecorating this place. It looks like a convent.”
“I rather like it,” said Cordelia quietly.
“Don’t be absurd. Evermore can afford not to live like a peasant. I’ll be here to assist you, though, so you needn’t worry.” She went to the window seat and looked down. “The grounds, at least, are quite elegant, except for those wretched geese. I thought they were going to pursue him clear into the stables.”
“Can they tell he’s a familiar?”
“It seems likely. I can’t say that I ever bothered spending much time among waterfowl, so perhaps they’re all like that, though. Dreadful things. You’ll have them turned into feather beds, naturally.”
“Yes, Mother.”
“Such a lot of work to be done. Still, we shall make a start on it as soon as I return.” She sat down on the bed and patted the mattress beside her. Cordelia sat obediently.
