Nettle Blackthorn and the Three Wicked Sisters (32 page)

“
Bristol’s not yet returned.” Smilla huffed, her knobbly
knuckles fidgeting with her shawl and she purposely averted her
gaze from him.

“
He’s cutting it fine.”

Smilla’s small
head snapped around and her eyes blazed with indignation. “It’s not
as if my Bristols’s been sent off on an errand to pick up a common
ingot or the likes of such.”

Jack innocently snapped his fingers as if the memory eluded
him. “Yes... what was it again?” Nettle’s mouth shrewdly pinched
together as she realised,
he doesn’t know.

Smilla
bristled. “As if I’d tell the likes of you. No, we’ll be talking to
her direct when Bristol returns. If...” she choked up a little, “he
returns.”

“I’m sure he’ll be home soon...” Jack’s voice trailed away,
and he asked sharply, “
Who
is that?”

Nettle’s stomach lurched. She’d been caught. She felt the
distinctive flush of heat searing her cheeks a brilliant
red.
OMG he
really is going to think I’m stalking him!

Jack strode
toward her. She took an small involuntary step back, her spine hit
the edge of a bookshelf. She frantically thought of what she could
say to explain herself. Her mouth fell open to speak, but her mind
was a blank canvas. He raked a hand through his wild hair as he
approached. Nettle swallowed and braced herself. Except, he wasn’t
looking at her, he was looking at the man in the brown suit. Nettle
then realized the man wasn’t even looking at the books, he was
staring vacantly ahead at nothing in particular.

Jack
said to Smilla, “She’ll be annoyed to find him wandering around
aimlessly.”

Smilla
answered shrilly, “He’s not my responsibility.” She jutted her chin
out resentfully and sniffed. “It’s Madam Bawdsworth’s. Where he
wanders about got nothing to do with me or Bristol.”

“Even
so, she won’t be pleased.” Jack remarked. As he departed the
bookstore, he left Smilla with one last disparaging warning. “I’ll
return tomorrow. I certainly hope, for both your sake’s, Bristol’s
returned with what he promised.”

Smilla
remained at the counter staring forlornly up at the bulb. She gave
a sigh that sounded like the wind whistling down a chimney and then
hobbled out the back.

Nettle let out a pent-up breath, her taut muscles relaxing.
She was mostly relieved that Jack hadn’t spotted her. She pushed
the book back into place on the bookshelf in between the ledger and
a book entitled:
The Accursed Witch of Olde Town.
Nettle gave a curious glance up at
the orb. It wasn’t as smoky as the pendant lights in the tea house,
but she could see a small amount of gas swirling inside the
glass.
I
don’t get it, what’s so important about it?
And the man in the brown suit,
who is he? And what does that boy want with the O’Gradys?
He’d come across
like a bully and it infuriated Nettle.
What’s he doing pushing an old lady
around?

The man’s
nails raked his skin, rattling Nettles nerves further. She leaned
slightly forward, her gaze narrowing to focus on the man’s red
wrist. It was more than a rash, it was a raised welt, in a shape, a
symbol of some sort. Nettle straightened. It was unmistakable. The
rash on the man’s wrist was the number nine.

Suddenly the man became animated, completely taking her by
surprise. His empty gaze became intent and focused, and there was
something unnerving about it. He was staring out through the
bookshop’s front window at a woman walking past with striking red
hair and red striped stockings. Claudine. Nettle’s stomach
sunk.
Of
course, she would have other admirers.
She’d always worried her father might
have competition. Claudine was a catch, clearly beautiful and
successful; there were bound to be others with their eye on the
Balfrey woman.

The man in the brown suit sprung into motion. He was so
fast he’d leapt out the bookstore before Nettle had even time to
think. He was yelling at her, calling her name. Claudine walked on
down the hill, without even realizing she was being pursued. Nettle
watched from the bookstore’s front entrance, using it to shield her
presence. She didn’t want to be caught out by either Claudine or
Jack. The man called out again, but there was something not quite
right about it.
Hang on, what’s he calling her?

“
Alice!”

That doesn’t
make any sense.

“
Alice! Wait!”

The man in the brown suit caught up with Claudine, grabbing
hold of her arm. Claudine spun around, caught unawares. The words
tumbled from his mouth. “Alice, I love you. I’ve been looking
everywhere for you.” He pressed himself close to her, his hands
went to her waist, and he smiled in such a way that made
goose-bumps rise all the way down Nettle’s spine. Nettle felt
ill,
he’s in
love with her...

Claudine
indulged the man with a smile, and rubbed his arm. “Of course you
have, my lovely.” Her smile then gave way to an impatient sigh, as
she glanced about the small crowd of tourists and town-folk making
their way up and down the path. “Really, should it be this hard to
get some decent help around here?”

A large woman
in a satin dress with a frilly bodice and ample bosom approached
nervously. She was out of breath from quickly making her way up the
steps, her face flushed with a sheen of perspiration. She wrung her
hands, gasping, “Oh... Miss Claudine... I’m terribly sorry... he
got away from me.”

Claudine gave
her an exasperated glare. “Well lucky for you, all is not lost.”
Her tone was ice cold. “Madam Bawdsworth, this man is very
important, and certainly should not be misplaced.”

The
woman’s face was stained beetroot red with embarrassment. “I know,
Miss Claudine, but he just-”

Claudine
cut her off. “Now, if I’ve been misguided in my opinion of your
reliability…”

“Oh no,
you haven’t, I assure you.” Her hair was puffed and teased into an
elaborate up-do and the tiny hat that perched atop lurched about as
the woman shook her head in protest.

Claudine
considered her with narrowed eyes. “Well then, good. I’m sure you
understand the gravity of the situation. There’s barely time for
anything to go wrong. And I’d really wouldn’t want to be in your
shoes… if it does.”

Madam
Bawdsworth gave a simpering half-smile. “No, no, of course. You can
count on me.” But the look the younger woman gave her, suggested
she thought otherwise.

Claudine pried
herself free from the man in the brown suit.

“
Alice… please don’t go…”

She cupped his
face. “Dearest, I’ll be with you shortly. In the meantime, go with
Miss Bawdsworth and stay there until I come.”

He went to
protest, but she cut him short with a chaste kiss on the lips.

Nettle’s stomach pitched. She felt sick. She wasn’t sure
whether she had actually witnessed that.
She kissed him?
Nettle was astounded. Claudine
already had someone special in her life?
Why did she lie to me? To
Dad?

The man
didn’t look like he wanted to go, but he did. Madam Bawdsworth
hurriedly waved at her daughters who were waiting a short distance
away. Younger plump versions of herself hurried over and sandwiched
themselves either side of him. As they escorted him to their abode,
he kept looking back at Claudine, but she had already pirouetted on
the heel of her silver buckled shoes and was heading back up the
hill without a backward glance.

Nettle,
her mind sunken into a quagmire of sticky speculation regarding
Claudine and the man in the brown suit, trudged solemnly back down
the hill where there were several tour buses getting ready to
depart. Mr. Fussbinder was ticking off the passengers as they
entered one of the buses, impatiently griping, “Hurry, hurry, time
to go. Come on, come on, things to do, places to go.”

A bus was leaving, and as the doors slid shut Nettle caught
a glimpse inside. It was enshrouded in shadows but she could see
for the most part the bus wasn’t full of passengers, there were
plenty of empty seats. Her mind briefly untangled itself from
Claudine’s personal status, to wonder -
that’s not right.
Claudine had said their tours
were always fully booked out. Not without some bitterness she
concluded that maybe most things in Olde Town weren’t quite as rosy
as Claudine had implied.

“Hurry
up!” Jazz’s irritated voice ground out, dragging her attention away
from the tour bus. Jazz gave her younger cousin an impatient glare
as she waited astride the bike. It was much cooler down here in the
cul-de-sac and she’d zipped up her jacket right to the collar. Bram
had wrapped his arms about him as he huddled in the wagon, waiting
for his sister.

Surprisingly, Jazz wanted to bike home. There was, of
course, an ulterior motive for the volunteered exercise. “I have to
look my best for my performance as Lysette,” she said, convinced
there was going to be a gaggle of paparazzi wanting to take her
photo on Halloween. As Jazz cycled back down the dirt road toward
home, Nettle bounced around on the back of the bike’s carriage
mulling over the strange occurrence in the bookstore and the giant
guarding the mine. She needed to talk to Bram as soon as they got
home. There were some very odd things to discuss, but what mainly
disturbed her thoughts was the fact that their father may not of
ever had a chance with Claudine.

CHAPTER THIRTY

There’s Someone Else Inside!

After an uneventful but bumpy ride back,
Burban let them
onto the property. As the trio made their way to the cottage’s
porch steps, Bram asked about Nettle’s dour expression. She heaved
a sigh, thinking she couldn’t keep it to herself any longer. “I saw
Claudine kiss another man.”

“
Really?” Bram’s eyes were as wide as Nettle had ever seen
them. His mouth crooked sadly. “I thought she liked
Dad?”

“
I did too.”

Jazz was
blunt. “Of course she’s got another boyfriend. She’s probably got
tons of them. Look at her - she’s lovely. I doubt Uncle Fred ever
had a chance with her. I mean, look at her, and look at him.” She
startled at Bram’s and Nettle’s stunned expressions at her
callousness. “What? I’m just saying, is all.”

Bram shook his
head at Jazz who was heading toward the front door. “Just ask,” was
his advice to Nettle. “Next time you see Claudine, just ask her.
Maybe she’s seeing someone else, or maybe it wasn’t as it
looked.”

Jazz disappeared into the cottage and
as Bram followed, Nettle
grabbed his arm just before he got through the front door. “There’s
more.” Bram gave her a peculiar look as she motioned for him to
follow her to the corner where the rampant white rosebush had been
slashed back and they’d fixed the broken railings. “I saw something
really strange up top of Olde Town. There was this man, this
really, really, big mean looking man – what did Claudine call
him?
Dresden?
Or was that the dog’s name? Anyway he was guarding the
opening of the mine with a sword and this dog the size of a small
pony.”

Bram leaned against the balustrade, gazing up with open
curiosity.
Sunlight glinted off his tousled hair, gilding it in
strokes of amber and honey. “A sword and a dog?”

Nettle
nodded. “He heard me up there, spying, and he set the dog after
me.” The smell of the dog’s rank breath, the ferocious glint in its
red eyes came back to her and she shuddered at the memory of being
a hair’s-breadth away from being eaten alive. “I got away,
obviously. But if I hadn’t, I think he would have let the dog use
me as a chew-bone”

“Sounds
like an extreme reaction,” Bram said his gaze a little sceptical.
Nettle knew he’d find it hard to imagine her fear and the
treacherous situation she’d found herself in; he hadn’t been
there.

“There’s something else.” Her swampy green eyes were
serious. “
I
don’t think they’re mining as shallowly as Claudine
thinks.”

Bram
cocked his head, and he opened his mouth to ask something further
when all of a sudden Jazz skittered back out of the front door,
looking pale. She wore a bewildered expression, and hissed,
“Someone’s in there!”

Nettle and Bram exchanged a worried look. “What do you
mean?”
Wasn’t the copse supposed to keep everyone else
out?

Jazz
gave an annoyed look. “I mean, someone, besides us, is in the
house. I heard voices talking.”

Nettle
went first, creeping into the house, and then stopped near the
entrance. She dug into the wicker basket by the door and handed
Bram a horse shoe, and a frying pan to Jazz. She took for herself a
large candlestick, holding it much like a baseball bat. Fleetingly
wishing the sword her father had given her wasn’t wrapped up in a
blanket underneath her bed, she moved forward. “Come on,” she
whispered in encouragement. “We can take them.”

Bram
wasn’t so sure. Only a day ago Quary had blown himself up to the
size of a colossal balloon, squishing them all in his bedroom. “I
don’t know…” he said, but his sister had already gone on
ahead.

Nettle stealthily made her way through the living room,
keeping close to the far wall so it shielded her presence from
those in the kitchen. Her nerves were taut, and her heart began to
pound in her chest like a train building momentum. She gripped the
candlestick a little tighter. Her cousin was right, there was
someone in the house. Or more correctly, faerie. Voices wafted from
the kitchen, muffled and high pitched, as well as the sound of
cupboard doors being opened and cans and cardboard boxes rifled
through. It was as her father had predicted - Quary’s band of
thieves here to rescue him.
Her faith in the copse was restored, for the
spriggans had already been in the cottage long before the copse
grew to protect them.