Fiendish Grace

  Fiendish Grace

  By Emma Coal

  Published by Nine Tails Story Crafting, Amazon edition

  Copyright 2019 Emma Coal

  Cover art Copyright 2019 by Caitlan Burns using images from freeimages.com. Free Winter Fog Stock Photo, Dariusz Bargiel/Free Kew Gardens Manor Stock Photo, Alvaro Prieto/Free Rose 1 Stock Photo, Gabriel Ciprian Magda. Cover was created with GIMP 2.10

  This ebook is licensed for personal use. Please purchase any additional copies or at least send good vibes the authors’ way. Enthusiastic endorsement counts but not if everyone else also chooses to get the book for free. I do need to eat.

  Table of contents

  Chapter One: Grey

  Chapter Two: Tawny

  Chapter Three: Crimson

  Chapter Four: Purple

  Chapter Five: Seafoam Green

  Chapter Six: Greige

  Chapter Seven: Silver

  Chapter Eight: Orange

  Chapter Nine: Smaragdine

  Chapter Ten: Bronze

  Chapter Eleven: Gold

  Chapter Twelve: Stone

  Chapter Thirteen: Ruby

  Chapter Fourteen: Pearlescent

  Chapter Fifteen: Verdigris

  Chapter Sixteen: Argent

  Chapter Seventeen: Porcelain

  Chapter Eighteen: Saffron

  Chapter Nineteen: Emerald

  Chapter Twenty: Strawberry

  Chapter Twenty-One: Rose

  Chapter One: Grey

  Out on the moors, there’s a stretch where the mist falls thickly and then solidifies into fog. It hovers there year in and year out. If one were to walk into this area, first the mist would soak one through and then the fog would thicken and try to slip down one’s throat and choke one.

  This pea soup fog would then make it impossible to see one’s feet which is unfortunate in the best of times but catastrophic on this particular stretch of land. Those who cannot see their own feet near the cliffs above the shore tend to never see their feet again, except perhaps as disembodied spirits staring down at their contorted remains. No one walks into this grey expanse, not unless they desire to meet their maker.

  The inhabitants of the nearby town did not know that there was an estate within the leaden shroud because the mist wouldn’t allow it. It made no sense. Nothing was ever built there and not one local ever lived in that particular spot yet still it exists.

  Upon this estate there is a manor house, tall and dark for the most part and only a few steps away from being a real castle. Instead of a moat there are rose bushes which cling to the walls and make a nearly impenetrable barrier around most of the perimeter.

  It is like something out of a fairy story, as if a pale complexioned fourteen year old must to be sequestered somewhere deep within. The truth is very different in the specifics but very similar in essence. There are also a lot of different ways a person can be rescued, not just from an evil enchanter or forced imprisonment.

  The house is large and dark and grey, at least on the outside. It looks so much a part of the inhospitable countryside it might as well be a construct of the mind, crafted out of some desperation to see form and meaning when there is nothing but unfriendly cloud at every turn. There may be some truth to this perception of the house as insubstantial while it is at the same time quite corporeal.

  The grounds with their twisted trees and the gardens with their twisted vines and in fact the whole of the place with its unsteady grasp on the world and inconsistent status, was alone save for the one inhabitant and this one afforded the manor no love, barely having any for himself. Love is an anchor and without it no firm bond with the world could be maintained for either.

  Chapter Two: Tawny

  Grace waited until the chickens were distracted by their feed and then went into the coop to collect the eggs. It had been a shock when her family first had to come to the farm house that so many of the animals were reluctant to trust her. She had an ongoing feud with the hens who would warily watch her if she didn’t give them something to keep them busy, even then she needed to wait for them to settle. Sometimes they even mobbed her as if she was a fox trying to get at their babies.

  Well, she was trying to get the eggs, so she supposed they were half right. This never happened to her sisters when they tended to the hens, though that wasn’t often. It wasn’t as if Grace was left entirely with the outside chores, it was just both were fairer in complexion than she and tended to burn. Grace mostly didn’t mind, but for the chickens but at least they could be easily tricked into having her around. It was nice to be where the world could be made to fit her with such relative ease, unlike when they had lived in town.

  Grace stared at the one hen who still sat in her berth. The bird glared at her with a beady eye. She counted the eggs in her basket. There were seven. She wanted at least one more. Grace and the chicken stared each other down. The young woman quickly thrust her hand underneath the hen and grabbed two eggs before pointy beak could meet flesh. The chicken squawked angrily and puffed her feathers.

  Grace regarded the two eggs, sniffed one and put it back. The chicken, even more perturbed was unwilling to cooperate and she received a harsh peck for her troubles. Grace didn’t really care about the scratch, she didn’t want to confirm the chicken’s fears and take an egg with only a few weeks to hatch. Doing so felt monstrous and she didn’t want cruelty to taint her actions just yet.

  Grace left the basket of eggs just inside the kitchen door and gazed around the yard for something to do. She had an uneasy truce with the family’s one horse, a gelding called Alabaster, but her sisters usually took care of him anyway. In the city there hadn’t been any need to keep a horse and in town they’d left Alabaster at a local stable instead something Father couldn’t afford to do anymore. Somehow, the country and the fresh air and hardship of poverty, which should have made sense for Grace, seemed even more difficult to navigate successfully than life among people.

  She wandered around the house and grounds aimlessly. Amelie, the barn cat sauntered over and sat beside her so they could survey the countryside together. There was little of interest. The birds were singing and in the distance they could hear farm animals, cows, sheep and the occasional goat. Grace leaned down to pet the ginger cat and then they both went to give Abba, the goat, some attention.

  The goat was the only animal other than the cat who could stand Grace. They’d bonded over the daily milking. Grace gave the goat a lot of attention. Brushing her white and brown flank was soothing. Finally, the nanny bleated and went to pull some weeds through the fence, apparently done with receiving affection for the time being.

  Grace scratched Amelie on the head. The cat yowled in response, seeming to protest her continued presence. Grace took a deep breath and frowned, tensing in preparation for going in doors. She hated being inside. It was so stifling in there, especially with the company she had to keep.

  Chapter Three: Crimson

  The interior of the house was mostly shaded but shafts of light came in through the windows, making the dust motes glow golden. Not that the house wasn’t kept as clean as possible but it was the country and the farm yard did stir up plenty of loose debris.

  Only a few steps inside and Grace was already beginning to feel uncomfortable. She needed something to do. She looked around the kitchen, saw a pile of potatoes freshly washed and considered peeling them. They might not need peeling depending on the recipe and she would get scolded regardless of what she did with them, as someone else, probably the cook, had washed them. Grace looked around at the supplies laid out and smiled. She began to cut.

  “Grace! Why in the world do you do things like this!” the cook said, exasperated, as she stood in the door way. Grace looked up from cleaning the table off.


  “What?” she asked impassively.

  The cook came forward and checked the simmering stew on the stove. She waved at it in frustration.

  “This! You’ve gone and made the stew already. What am I supposed to do, pray tell?”

  The young woman suppressed a sigh and turned her pale blue eyes on the woman.

  “I was being useful.”

  The cook sat down at the table. She was a decent enough woman of middle age, softened around the edges by time, children and her own preferences. She was quite cheerful with guests, people in town and the rest of the family, especially the two other girls, but her face always took on a hard edge when dealing with the eldest daughter of the house.

  “You’ve got to be aware of your place, my girl. You have your chores and I have mine and part of mine is cooking dinner. How am I going to take a wage with you doing all the work, hm? I certainly won’t do your chores for you.”

  Grace blinked slowly. She finished wiping down the table and left the room heedless of the cook who, used to her antics, only sighed at her departure. Grace didn’t do things for the cook, she liked to stay busy. She also liked her own stew better than the cooks’. The woman put far too much salt and too many spices.

  The sitting room was brightly lit from the large picture window. It was a nice spring day so the sun did little but light the room with a cheerful golden glow. Grace want over to sit on the hearth rug. She pulled her sewing basket from beside the hearth and took out her current project. She was sewing arms and legs out of muslin for her latest batch of dolls. Father needed help with the family finances and dolls sold well.

  Animals were her preferences, cats and dogs and goats and whatever struck her fancy. They required less work on the faces and no time on clothes. Besides that she could make different shapes and avoid the boredom brought on by the same thing over and over again. In any case, stitching quietly gave her something to do until dinner. I’d be an hour or so, time for the cook to make bread which Grace didn’t particularly care for.

  The sound of laughter rang out and Grace’s manipulation of the needle and thread through the thin fabric stopped. She tilted her head to better hear. Three voices. Since there were only five members of the household she knew immediately who it was and that her father and sisters had just emerged from his office.

  No wonder, Grace reflected. She couldn’t sneak up on them or interfere with their light hearted chatter in there. She set her work back in her sewing basket and clasped her hands as she watched the doorway, waiting. The three other members of the family soon appeared and stepped into the room. It was quite bright still so no surprise that they didn’t see her at first.

  “And it was just so pretty, papa!” said Elsbeth

  “The music was quite wonderful, as well, and the food!” said Louise.

  Jahan Marcos, the man of the house, scanned the room only half listening to his daughter’s gushing. His eyes fastened upon Graces’ own, green to her pale china blue and he coughed in surprise. The girls fell silent as Grace rose.

  “I’ll go make bread with cook,” said Louise with a sharp about turn so smooth her skirts, a demure dove grey, barely stirred. Louise was like that, put together and practical.

  “I’ll join you,” said Elsbeth haughtily, swinging around like a china ballerina on a music box, her rosy pink skirts flouncing with agitation.

  “Well, a good afternoon to you too!” Grace yelled after them, bristling.

  “Don’t yell at your sisters!” Johan bellowed and Grace cowed, bowing her head in contrition. Her father came further into the room and settled into his chair by the hearth, a grand old seat decorated in great big red poppies on a cream background. Grace immediately came to sit on the floor in front of him and laid one hand on his knee.

  “Hello father,” she said, fondly, gazing up at him. He was the only member of her family whose company she appreciated, most of the time.

  Johan peered down at her and sighed. “Dear, dear Grace. What am I going to do with you? Your sisters say the town notes your absence every time you miss a get together. They ask about you and it’s making Elsbeth quite out of sorts. Louise doesn’t understand why you’ve withdrawn so.”

  Grace stood on her knees and kissed her father on the cheek, stroking his hand reassuringly. “You know why I do these things. It’s necessary.” She arched one slender, russet eyebrow. “You three had such a talk about me? When did the accounts of party dresses and food come into it? They certainly don’t sound as if they think of me that often.”

  Johan shook his head. “I-I think you could try harder. Keeping to yourself is only making it worse. I’ll be leaving soon on another trip and you won’t have anyone to talk to if this keeps up. Why don’t you try spending more time with your sisters?”

  “All right.” Grace stood in one swift movement and turned away from her father.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m going to make bread with my sisters and cook. Surely that’s enough?”

  “I suppose…”

  Grace grimaced. He knew as well as she did that four women in a kitchen when one didn’t fit in was a recipe for conflict. Grace reflected that he was probably right and she was making more trouble for herself but she was too stubborn to change now. It would be refreshing if they came to her, if they made the effort, instead of the other way around. She felt as if her sisters considered her nothing more than a problem, an issue to discuss with their father.

  She paused in the kitchen doorway when the scream rang out. She stepped forward and saw the bowl at the table awash with blood and yolk.

  Elsbeth turned to regard her in horror and dashed out of the room crying. Grace moved to the side and stared after the girl in annoyance. Cook shrugged and Louise emptied the bowl into the slop bucket then followed after her sister, presumably to give comfort. She passed by Grace without a second glance.

  Cook smiled reassuringly.

  “Don’t blame yourself, girl. Sometimes things like that just happen”

  Grace didn’t blame herself. She knew it happened. She went around the cook and swiftly fetched the ingredients for the brioche they’d been about to make, standard fare for breakfast each morning. The plain dinner rolls were already rising, covered by a towel near the kitchen window. Despite that she didn’t like the stuff, she was more than capable of making it.

  She went through the mixing and lurked in the kitchen while cook did the kneading. At least the kitchen would be without that little harpy for a while. While she waited, she tasted the stew and confirmed that cook had seasoned it yet again to the taste of the other members of the family.

  “Oh, don’t you worry.”

  She looked over at cook who’d finished and was sitting at the table resting her feet. The woman nodded to the counter and a cloth covered bowl.

  “There’s your stew.”

  Grace took a small taste and broke into a rare sly smile. Perhaps she wasn’t forgotten as much as she liked to think. The stew within the bowl was from her earlier, unadulterated batch. With a nod of thanks, Grace stayed to help cook set the table and bring out dinner.

  There were the usual goings on at the evening table, mostly Grace sitting in silence, Elsbeth chattering about any old thing and Louise contributing to whatever either Elsbeth or their father said. Finally, the girl’s father looked around at his children.

  “As you know, I’m going off once again to try and remake our fortune. Dear Elsbeth, I know you want a new dress, for preference, one with the latest cut and the most in vogue color.” Elsbeth nodded happily. Johan turned to his middle daughter. “Louise, my dear practical Louise, what small thing will you request this time? You know you may ask for more than you do,” he smiled indulgently.

  Louise smiled back. “Oh, papa, all I need is some ribbons to freshen up my frocks and bring a little color. Perhaps also some chocolate for our pot or boiled sweets as well, for colds.”

  Johan turned to his eldest daughter. “And you my de
ar, what do you want as a present from my trip?”

  The air felt heavy. Grace knew exactly what she needed from the trip and so did her father but she knew that was not what he meant.

  “Oh, ribbon, perhaps some feathers. Things to decorate the dolls with, I suppose,” she said offhandedly.

  The other two sisters had watched this exchange in silence and, at Graces’ response looked away, knowing there was more to it.

  Johan regarded his daughters sadly and then with some effort, got up from his chair and patted his swollen stomach.

  “Well, now that I’ve had a full meal I shall be off to bed. I’m off at first light. The early bird catches the worm, as you know.”

  Chapter Four: Purple

  True to his word, Johan woke quite early and so did Grace. Together they sat on the kitchen steps and watched the sun begin to tint the sky violet as they had their breakfast, hot chocolate and a sweet roll for the father and a cup of broth for the daughter. They finished and Grace took in their breakfast things.

  When she’d rinsed them and come back out her father was already astride one of the two horses. The creature snorted and took a few steps back and forth as Grace approached but Alabaster knew how this went, he’d been party to it enough times before and grudgingly calmed down. She held out one hand palm out and her father held out his right hand palm down. They clasped hands.

  “Will you bring me a token within the week to bind my form to this household?” asked Grace.

  “Yes.”

  “Will you promise to protect me until the token is disillusioned?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then the bargain is set and I will stay part of your household for another passage through the seasons.”

  “The bargain is set,” papa squeezed Graces hand and then let go, easing Alabaster into a trot. The horse whinnied in relief and Grace watched, melancholia beginning to grip at her heart as her father left.

  She could feel the bond weakening. This would be the last time, the last year, if the bargain stuck for that long.