The Fairy Godmother (6 page)

“I certainly had plenty of opportunity to go that route myself,” the old woman continued, as if musing aloud. “It wasn't as if I had a terror of a stepmother dogging my footsteps every waking moment of the day. I merely had two spoiled older sisters, and it wasn't that I was their slave, it was just that they were too bone-lazy to take the task of housekeeper, so I did. I had plenty of time for myself, and I was the only one who decided what I would do and when I did it. My sisters had plenty of beaus haunting our house; I suppose I could have had, too, if I'd been in the least interested, but there wasn't one of them that I cared to exchange more than a few words with.”

“What about—” Elena hesitated “—after?”

“
After
I became a Godmother?” Bella laughed. “Heavens, child, when would I have found the time to look out for a young man? I had so much work on my hands I hardly found the time to sleep! Ah—look! Down there! We're almost home.”

The old woman pointed down and ahead of them; Elena couldn't see much; just a faint light, that seemed to be hidden among trees. But as soon as she spotted it, she realized that the light was getting closer, and the treetops nearer,
very
quickly indeed! She could
see
what was below them now, instead of it being a vague darkness, and all her fear came back. She clutched at the side and the seat of the cart convulsively, as they skimmed over the top branches, tiny twigs hitting the underside and the wheels, and then, while her stomach lurched with fear, they were above a
clearing, in the center of which was a cottage with lights in every window and what was surely a garden surrounding it.

Then as her breath came short and her heart pounded, they were no longer above it, they were dropping down quickly.

Too quickly!

She wanted to scream, but nothing came out of her paralyzed throat, and a moment later, the little horse's hooves touched the ground in front of the cottage. Then the wheels set down with a
bump
, the horse halted, the cart rolled to a gentle stop, and there they were.

Elena felt limp with relief; Madame Bella patted her hand. “There you are, my dear. Safe on the ground.” She laughed. “I know you don't think it now, but one day you will let Sergei pull you across the sky without even thinking about it.”

Oh, no I won't!
Elena thought, as her heart slowly calmed.

Madame Bella climbed down off the seat, and it was obvious as she moved that although she
sounded
as lively as a much younger woman, she certainly moved like an old one whose joints pained her. Not excessively, just enough to slow her down a bit, and make life—difficult for her.

She opened the garden gate, and the little horse drew the cart inside and up the garden path without being asked. But when he stopped at the front door of the cottage, Elena also jumped down from her perch on the seat. Dream or no dream, she wasn't about to sit about while poor Madame Bella struggled with harnesses and straps.

“Where is the stable, Madame?” she asked, coming to the little horse's head.

“Around to the side—will you lift your bundle down for me?” the old woman asked.

“I'll bring it myself,” Elena said firmly. “And I will unharness the little horse.” Dream or no dream, she wasn't about to show so little respect for a good old woman like Madame Bella as to make
her
do work that Elena was better suited to.

Madame Bella smiled. “Bless you child; I am pleased to see you wishing to take up your duties already. Sergei won't stay the night, but the cart should be put away. Sergei?”

The horse whickered and trotted off, going around the side of the cottage and taking the cart skillfully with him. When Elena followed she discovered a neat little stable, into which Sergei had already backed the cart. She had him un-harnessed in a few moments; though he insisted on keeping the hat. She looked for and found a currycomb, but the horse shook his head at her merrily, and with a leap, vanished—upward.

Yes, this was surely a dream. Bemusedly, and wondering when it would end, she picked her bundle out of the back of the cart, and for good measure, the basket of dishes and leftovers from under the front seat, and carried both of them around the corner and in at the front door.

And there she got yet another surprise, for although the cottage looked small on the outside—cozy for one, but perhaps a little confining for two—on the inside, well, although it was no palace, it was
certainly
far larger than it appeared.

Ah. This could be nothing but a dream. What she was looking at was simply not possible.

Before her was a modest antechamber, with a pair of benches flanking the door. Beyond that, was apparently a fine sitting-room, with furniture the equal of anything that the Klovis household had boasted. It was all of that older, heavier style, and had been so well-polished that it glowed in the candlelight. There were two doors beyond that within Elena's vision, and a bit of a staircase. From all appearances, this place was about the size of the Klovis house.

On the inside. On the outside, it looked to be a two-room cottage.

I had no idea that I had such a good imagination.

Madame Bella was talking to two peculiar little creatures. They were about the height of children—coming to just about Elena's waist—but their hair was silver, and they looked like a pair of gnarled and wizened old men, dressed in leather trousers, immaculate linen shirts, and red vests. Both of them wore soft, pointed brown caps, and both were barefoot.

“Ah, Elena! This is Hob, and this is Robin,” she said as Elena paused on the threshold. “Hob is in charge of anything to do with mending in my household, and Robin is in charge of anything to do with making.” The little old fellows turned grave, dark eyes on her and bowed solemnly. She curtsied in return, and her mind belatedly caught up with what she was seeing. These must be Brownies, or House-Elves; one of the lesser branches of the Faerie Folk.

And they were, evidently, serving Madame Bella.
Mending and making? An odd way to divide the duties.
Still, if it suited the Brownies, who was she to criticize? “Is working
in the garden mending or making?” she asked both of them. “What I saw of it is lovely.”

“Ah. That'd be
tending
, and that'd be Lily, Mistress,” said Hob, with a finger laid aside his nose and a nod. “She be gone to bed anow. 'Tis Robin's Lily as does the tending, and my lass Rosie who does the cleaning.”

“And when Robin lets me, I have been known to do the cooking,” Madame said with a silvery chuckle. “They'll be staying on to help you when you are Godmother here.”

Elena noticed immediately that Madame did not say,
serving
. So, the Brownies were not servants; given what little she knew from nursery tales, to call them servants or treat them as such would be a deadly insult.

Robin evidently anticipated the question she was afraid to ask. “'Tis our honor and our duty to help the Godmothers and White Wizards and Witches, Mistress,” he said solemnly. “For when the Black-Hearted Ones move in, it is our kind that are the first to suffer.”

“You'll learn all about that later, dear,” Bella said, as Robin took her bag from her, and Hob the basket. “Come along now, and I'll show you your room.”

Through the sitting room they went, and the candles in the antechamber went out by themselves as they exited.

Well, it is a dream, after all.

Hob went through one doorway, and Madame Bella led the way through the other, to that staircase that Elena had glimpsed. With Madame in the lead, and Robin following behind, Elena climbed up to the next floor—and the candles in the sitting room also went out by themselves.

At the top of the stairs, it was quite obvious that Madame
liked an old-fashioned sort of house, with no hallways, just one room leading into another. This one was meant for display, apparently, but Elena could not quite understand what the theme was, or even if there was one. Shelves lined the walls, floor to ceiling, and there were objects carefully arranged on them. But what
odd
objects! A cap made of woven rushes. A fur slipper, but quite the smallest that Elena had seen, clearly made for an adult woman, but the size of one meant for a child. A knitted tunic that was made of some coarse, dark plant fiber. A golden ball. A white feather. There were hundreds of these odd objects, and Elena would very much like to have looked at them further, but Madame Bella gestured to her left, and Robin was already carrying her bundle through the left-hand door.

“Your rooms—the vacant ones—are that way, dear,” Madame Bella said, and covered a yawn, which triggered a similar yawn from Elena. “The two suites are identical, mirror-images, so I know you'll be comfortable. Good night.”

And with that, she passed through the right-hand doorway, leaving Elena to follow Robin on her own. So she did, and once again, as soon as she left the chamber, the candles in the sconces on the wall behind her went out of their own accord.

I really do have the most remarkable imagination.

The first room was a sitting-room, and Elena very nearly stopped right there, for it was fitted on two sides, floor to ceiling, with bookshelves. And they were all full. She stopped dead, and stared hungrily, only vaguely aware that there were other furnishings here.

“Mistress?” came Robin's plaintive call from the next room.

I'm dreaming,
she reminded herself.
These books aren't real.
And for a moment, she felt her eyes burn and her throat close, and the dream didn't seem quite so amusing anymore….

“Mistress?” Robin called again, and she sniffed and hastily wiped her eyes with a corner of her apron, and hurried on to the next room.

If Madame Klovis could have seen this room, she would have turned a rainbow of colors with envy.

To begin with, it was carpeted with quite the most beautiful rug that Elena had ever seen, the sort of thing that many people would put on a wall, not a floor. It looked like a meadow of the deepest green, dotted with flowers, and was softer underfoot than kitten-fur. The furnishings were of that same old-fashioned style of the rest of the house, but not even Madame Klovis would have discarded these in favor of the newer styles, for they were carved so beautifully that every piece was a masterwork of art. The twin wardrobes were made to look like castles covered with vines so realistic that Elena half imagined that they had grown there instead of being carved. The dressing-table resembled the stump of a giant tree, supported by carved, sinuous, bare roots. The chair beside it was made in the form of a little throne of vines cradling a moss-green velvet cushion, and the divan beneath the window matched it. There were tapestries on the walls portraying a magical forest full of fantastic animals and birds, flowers such as she had never seen. The bed, curtained in heavy green velvet embroidered with
thousands of flowers, with a counterpane to match, could have slept four comfortably. So perfectly was it appointed that the headboard had a candle sconce built into it at the right height for reading in bed, and there was a bookshelf already full of books beneath it. Robin stood anxiously in the middle of the room, her bundle at his feet. “Would you like
me
to unpack for you, Mistress?” he asked, as if he wasn't entirely certain just how one did unpack.

“Oh, heavens no, Robin, thank you,” she told him quickly. “I'm quite used to waiting on myself.”

“Very well, Mistress,” he replied, sounding relieved. “There's a nightdress beneath your pillow. Good night, Mistress.”

And before she could reply, he had whisked himself out, so quickly, he might have actually vanished.

A nightdress beneath my pillow!
This dream really was extraordinarily detailed! She set her bundle aside, and turned down the covers, revealing three magnificent goosedown pillows, encased in snowy white linen. And beneath the center one, there was, indeed, a nightdress, such as she had not worn since she was a child.

Madame Klovis would have died of envy on the spot.

It was made of pale green silk, tied at the neck and wrists with silken ribbons in a slightly deeper hue, and bordered at all hems with lace three inches deep, made of silk thread as fine as cobwebs. When Elena pulled off her coarse, workaday clothing and slipped it on over her head, it caressed her skin like a soft sigh, and felt so light and ethereal it was as if she was wearing nothing at all.

She folded up her clothing and set it on the chair—even
if this
was
a dream, she was not going to start being untidy!—then climbed into the enormous bed. She sank into the feather mattress with a sigh, as the candles in the rest of the room, saving only the one in the sconce in the headboard, went out of their own accord.

She reached at random for a book, and got something called
The Naturall Historie of the Lives of Curious Beastes,
which sounded impossibly dull. But—

This is my dream. If I decide the book is going to be interesting, it will be!

And so it was. The first “Beaste” in the book was the Unicorn, which evidently led a much more complicated life than she had ever imagined. For a start, it was only male Unicorns who were attracted to virgin maidens; females were only drawn to virgin, chaste men, which, the author observed, were more difficult to come by. “So it is of no usse, to even attempt the capture of the femalee of the species,” he concluded.

He then went on to the courtship rituals of these shy creatures, and it was at that point that Elena found she was having a great deal of difficulty in keeping her eyes open.

She had never fallen asleep in her own dream before—nevertheless, although she had no real idea of what would happen, she was not going to fall asleep now. She was going to enjoy every moment of this until she was forced out of the experience by waking up. So she fought the impulse, then the need to put down the book, to close her eyes, fought it even though the words on the page stopped making sense, though her lids drooped until she could not even see the page, and until the book dropped from her numb
ing fingers and her last conscious thought was that the candle in the sconce above her head had just gone out of its own accord.