There was an awful, filmy taste to her tongue. A bird chirped from outside, the high trilling enough to send a sharp pain into her skull. She scrunched her eyes harder, as though this act alone could block out the wretched morning songbird.
It didn’t.
Coral shuffled further into the blankets. Her feet slipped over something scratchy in the sheets, poking her ankle. The movement was a bad choice. She was awake now, her tongue chalky with thirst, and for the love of everything good, her head felt as though it were ready to split into two.
Groaning with reluctant acceptance, Coral sat up. She squinted, the dim light too much for her sensitive pupils. She haphazardly slapped a hand about, pushing aside the drapes from the canopy bed, and found the pitcher her sister thoughtfully placed for her.
Coral disregarded the glass completely and drunk straight from the pitcher. There was no need for useless decorum, not when she was on her own. The icy water slid over her tongue, washing away that sticky feeling. It didn't settle in her stomach too well.
Today may prove to be challenging.
Coral let the pitcher fall to her lap and slowly, opened one eye after the other. It took a few moments to let her eyes adjust to the brightness. She was sure those curtains had been closed properly at some point in the evening. Now, there was a slither just wide enough to let the morning light spill right over her pillow, right where her head would be in the centre of the bed. She suspected Pearl's doing. When had she gone to bed?
She rubbed at her face. Vaguely she recalled the wolves at the gate and she shivered. What kind of fool totters down to the gate when wolves were out prowling?
Well, Coral thought, clearly this drunken fool. Next time, she’ll be locking the door to the room to limit any un-lady like foray’s. She could hear it now, what her father would have said.
“Absolute damnation to you, harlot. I did not bring you up to be some kind of loose woman. What did you do, show your skin to the clodpolls at the tavern.
I garner you enjoyed that attention, didn’t you. Look at you, smelling like the backstreet of a brothel.”
Coral could feel the lashings against the skin of her back anew. She huffed. Set the pitcher down hard on the bedside table and cast aside her blankets.
“I’ll show whatever skin I dare, you wretched old sack of –“ Whatever Coral had about to mutter was cut short by the sound of heavy footsteps running along the room above her.
She looked up, surprised. There wasn’t any reason why someone should be in the room above. After a minute of silence, she grumbled “Bloody rats.”
She needed something more robust than water. Perhaps a bracing cup of tea and a hearty breakfast. Fatty bacon and eggs to coat the lining of her poor stomach. She really ought to have drunk more water before going to bed. Alcohol certainly did wonders to the body and dehydration was not one of them.
With a slight shiver from the chilly morning air, Coral padded straight to her closet. She dressed quickly, donning a high-waisted skirt in a flattering dark burgundy and a white blouse. Preferring slippers over her shoes for the morning, she shuffled them on before tottering still slightly drunkenly about the room. She threw the curtains wide, fixed the bed, and then stared morosely in the floor length mirror at her hair. It was an odd shade of flaxen, and an absolute mess.
She picked up her brush and attempted to brush out the knots from the ends. It was a wild thing her hair. It did whatever it pleased; and it pleased to look as messy as possible at all times.
When she had her hair swept up in an intricate bun atop her head, weary of a few strands that had already escaped, she finished the look with a ribbon for good measure. It hid the frizz and matched her skirt. More importantly, it was out of the way for her tasks of the day.
With more cheer than she had expected of herself, Coral left her room. The hallway was gloomy, barely any morning light penetrating the wood panelled walls. She was needing to do something about that. Perhaps mirrors would help reflect more light? Candles. If she had the money, she’d prefer the use of crystal lights. But that was when she had the inn working with a more superfluous income. They were so expensive.
Coral quietly stepped past Pearl’s room, and into the beautiful landing that the grand staircase led to. She purposely ignored the tattered paintings torn and aged. The cobwebs had been vigorously swept away, though there still seemed to be a permeating dusty smell even after Pearl and herself had spent a solid week cleaning the landing.
There was so much work to be done that she felt a little overwhelmed. She felt uncertain on her feet, and her head gave a particularly awful throb. She felt wretched. Coral picked up her skirt and stepped onto the first of the steps leading down.
Head held high, shoulders back, graceful movements. Another step down, and she could see the hard work that she and her sister had done in just the staircase itself. The banister gleamed, with its intricate wood carvings. She didn’t know what wood it was, but it was a handsome deep drown. That alone let her negative thoughts push down. Scrubbing walls and what could very well be a lifelong endeavour to renovate the manor, was a significantly better choice than rubbing some man’s smelly feet.
He would have smelly feet, of course, her betrothed. And an ugly handlebar moustache with mutton chops. Not that she’d ever met or seen the man. Coral entertained herself a moment as she imagined a faceless man tweaking an awfully large moustache.
Then she missed the next step. Her stomach flipped as she caught herself on the polished banister. It took a moment for it to settle enough before she trusted herself to keep her riled stomach down. She blinked down to the ground floor below, focusing on the way how shadows seemed to move about in the darkened landing below. A round table had been set up at the centre of the room, a homely array of moonflowers floating in a crystal bowl atop it. When had Pearl found the time to arrange that?
It was lovely, actually. A homely touch in a large mansion was humbling. Even if said mansion was in severe need of workmanship. At the very least, they had five perfectly serviceable bedrooms on the first floor.
Of course, there was the usual clean out of moth-eaten blankets and the removal of broken furniture. It had been very lucky indeed that the bed frames were serviceable and were elegantly appointed too. Five bedrooms, and currently three were occupied.
Coral was almost giddy with the thought. If she made a good impression on the Mister Acheron, perhaps word would travel around town. This was not an opportunity that Coral was not going to squander.
Coral paused halfway down the sweeping staircase to pull open the large velvet drapes. The window let in the most beautiful sunshine, splashing an array of colours from it stained glass at the top of the arch. She coughed a little as dust stirred up. That was going to need attending to, and very soon. Perhaps that was where the dusty smell had been coming from. Though, the rooms in the opposite end of the corridor were significantly in more urgent attention.
She made her way to the kitchen through the landing and down the dark corridor, cringing as she saw the remains from her flight through the hallways during the night. How drunk had she been? There was a drawer hanging limply from a hallway table. Another vase of flowers Pearl had set up had been knocked over, the flowers sprawled everywhere.
Coral peeked into the salon, hoping the mess wasn't too bad. Her eyes swept over the room and was relieved to see the blankets had been neatly folded and set atop the chaise. The fire had dwindled down to coals, the residual heat keeping part of the room warm. Overall, it had been tidied and set right. Even the platter of cheese and wine had been removed.
Odd, considering Pearl rarely stayed too long in any part of the manor on her own. It was only on Coral's insistence that they didn't share a bedroom. Pearl, her sweet and responsible sister, must have known this would need attending to before Mister Acheron rose in the morning. Though, she had a hard time imagining her sister tidying in the dark. It was very creepy most days, and more so at night.
What had happened last night? Obviously apart from those silly wolves.
Coral rubbed at her temples, the throb of her head making it difficult to recall the night's antics. When had she even gone to bed? Had Mister Acheron wanted a letter sent to his home? Was she to fetch a doctor?
Her stomach gave another lurch. After breakfast, she decided. She would fetch a doctor after filling her coiling belly with something that wouldn't taste as bad coming back up a second time.
Coral hurried down the hall, collecting a piece of kindling here and somehow a few pieces of cutlery there. Why was a wooden spoon in the hallway? Coral swung the kitchen door open, blinking rapidly from the flood of light that filled the absolutely destroyed room.
Pots and pans littered all over the benches. Piles of logs and kindling scattered everywhere. The items she had gathered and placed on the island table to be sorted was in shambles. Coral lifted her hand to her cheek as she took in the mess. This was going to take some time to tidy.
She probably ought to stop drinking.
Vaguely, Coral recalled getting the firewood and being cold. There was the ever-present moving shadows. No, that wasn't right. She frowned, thinking hard. She and Pearl had been frightened. There had been noises that drew her to the front gate, that was how Mr Acheron came to be in their household.
Coral let out a huff as she remembered the wolves. Even in her fuzzy memory their giant forms and terrifying growls sent a shiver down her spine. Not that she had been terrified at the time when she had seen them. Alcohol had a way of giving her courage she did not usually feel while sober. If she had been uninhibited, there would not have been any chance that she got that remotely close to the wolves.
Oh that had been a dangerous game she was playing last night. Thank goodness she hadn't delayed the repairs to the gate.
Coral had just taken the kettle off the stove as Pearl opened the kitchen door. She was particularly resplendent in a soft blue dress that hugged her gentle curves. She had coiled her hair into an elegant bun, knowing that the style made her look older than her eighteen years.
"Good morning," she said.
Coral bobbed her head in greeting, not particularly wanting to open her mouth this very moment. Her stomach was violently protesting, and it was all that she could do to stop the upheaval she could feel coming. The chamomile tea couldn't come fast enough.
"That bad?" Pearl asked knowingly, then gave a tiny sympathetic smile as Coral placed the whistling kettle down and whisked herself to the kitchen sink.
Pearl rubbed Coral’s back in soothing circles. Coral heaved into the sink. A minute later, gasping at the relief from nausea and the indignity of it all, Coral lifted her head. Pearl pressed a steaming cup of chamomile into Coral’s hands. She sipped delicately.
"I'll handle breakfast this morning," Pearl told Coral.
Coral couldn't protest this. For one, Pearl was a much better cook than she was. And for a second, her stomach roiled at the raw smell of bacon that she had procured. Instead she nursed her cup of tea from the table, letting the tea help settle her stomach.
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Pearl hummed prettily as she worked, quickly clearing a spot to prepare breakfast. She set a tray down, adding small touches such as a moon flower from the garden, one that hadn't sustained any significant damage from being thrown in the hall. A small handkerchief, a knob of butter for the toast. She set about cooking, fussing over the state of her tray and bacon.
It was then that Coral caught sight of Pearl's bandaged finger. "Oh, that's right. How's your finger? That was a nasty splinter."
Pearl fidgeted with the bandage. "It's much better. Mr Acheron removed it for me last night." Her cheeks were slowly beginning to glow red.
Coral felt her eyebrows lift without meaning to.
"He, well. He noticed without me bringing attention to it. The splinter. He insisted he attend to it before I cleaned his head wound."
"Oh?" Coral said, sipping at her tea and watching her sister fuss more with the bacon. "I suppose we should be thankful for his ministrations then. I wouldn't have been able to remove it. I could hardly see straight."
"Yes," Pearl said, her voice breathy. "He was very gentle. And, well-,” She paused, prodding the egg with her spatula. “He had an unusual way of removing it too."
"What do you mean?" Coral asked. The tea was starting to sooth her stomach. This conversation wasn't though. How was she going to keep her little sister safe when the first attractive man gives her any attention? Pearl was fanciful. She believed in happily-ever-afters and love at first sight.
Coral knew better. Love was a choice, and it was built on a foundation of respect and compatibility. An arranged marriage was not the groundwork for a respectful and compatible relationship. She hadn't even seen her betrothed. Oh, she was thinking about herself again.
Pearl looked up under her eyelashes at Coral, her cheeks vibrant with embarrassment. "He said the best method would be to use his mouth."
Coral choked on her tea. "What?" She spluttered.
"He put my finger in his mouth," she said, her cheeks going redder than ever.
Coral set her cup down hard, the tea splashing out. She was going up there, injured man or no, and wallop him with that wooden spoon she found earlier.
"Pearl," she said trying hard to keep the consternation from entering her voice. She didn't get very far, as her sister interrupted her.
"I hadn't intended to let him do it. He held my hand up and saw that it was bleeding. He just popped my finger in his, uh, his mouth" Pearl whispered the last part, as though it would lessen the ungentlemanly behaviour. Somehow Pearls ears were as red as her face.
Coral breathed in, steadying her nerves. So that was why Pearl had been so flustered when she returned to the salon the night before. Well, that certainly settled things. Coral drained the last of her tea and got to her feet.
"I will speak to Mr Acheron."
"Oh, no. Please don't Coral," Pearl said. She set the fine china on the tray, the tinkling noise still loud enough to make Coral's head throb.
"He apologised right after. And it worked. It stopped the bleeding, and the splinter came right out. It doesn't even hurt." Pearl said all in a rush. She hurried around the table and picked up Coral's hand.
"I don't want to ruin this opportunity. I could make a good impression on him, I could-"
Coral didn't need to say anything more, because she knew her suspicion was written all over her face. Was Pearl already thinking she was in love with this man?
"Coral, please," Pearl begged, tugging a little harder on Coral's hand.
She was using her big blue eyes on her. Coral hated that; Pearl knew it worked on her. All she ever had to do was beg in this way and Coral gave in, almost every time. Coral pursed her lips. Pearl looked imploringly at her.
Who was she, all up in arms because her sister met a pretty man. It would have caused a frightful amount of gossip back home. Coral sighed inwardly. She was being too protective. After all, she didn’t want to be like her father, so rigid in his ways that a flirtation could never go unchallenged.
Besides, they were here because they both couldn’t stand the unyielding rules of her father’s household. They were born of gentle birth, even though Coral had essentially been sold to recover what money her father had squandered on gambling. Toad racing, seriously, of all the things to lose money on.
"Alright. But you better be on your best behaviour. I’ll not find you in some dark hallway wrapped in his arms and sucking his face."
Pearl broke into a smile, and she twirled on the spot. That was not a good sign. Perhaps she needed to buy some chocolate to help heal her sisters broken heart once she learns the flirtations of a man she just met were of little value.
Coral set the task of serving breakfast to Mr Acheron while she made her way to town. She figured his stay with hospitality at its finest was best, and a doctor was in fact needed for one having been mauled by man-sized wolves.
It wasn't a particularly enjoyable task, even if her head was no longer at risk of imploding. It was a rather miserable day. The sun that had greeted her had hidden the fact that clouds smothered the sky. It was drizzling when she had collected her coat, and what was worse was that she had no umbrella.
Coral had no choice but to walk in the rain, mild as it was. Her coat mostly protected her from the chilly wind. When she got to the gate, she was reluctant to leave the safety of the Manor's grounds. What if the wolves were still out?
She checked either side of the road, the tall tree's dripping with moisture and shivering in the brisk wind. The usual blanket of mist obscured everything in a ten-foot radius. She listened intently, her hand resting on the gate. The cold metal bit through her glove.
Silence. Not even a chirp from a bird. Coral let out a nervous breath, then pushed the gate open. Nothing jumped out at her, nothing startled from the swing of the gate. But Coral could swear she felt eyes on her.
Regardless, she couldn't stay inside the mansion's walls forever. She wouldn't let wolves deter her from fetching a doctor, or buying chocolate, or any other necessity to fix up her inn. Coral rallied her nerves and set a brisk pace down the road towards Direbrook. The sooner she got to town, the better.
Disregarding the monsters, Coral found the forest that lined the road to her mansion beautiful. The trees grew large and old, with sweeping branches over the road. It helped with keeping the drizzling rain off her. One or two times she thought she saw something move in the mist, but it was more likely her fear was letting her imagination run away with her. She followed a sweeping corner, where the Dire River snaked past, and the ground dropped steeply. It was here that Coral caught a glimpse of the town below, nestled between two towering mountains. Smoke was rising from chimneys, and though she was too far away, Coral knew its residents were getting ready for the day at this early hour.
When she entered town, the streets were abuzz with people. More than she had seen in the previous month that she had lived here. She was new to town, so it didn't surprise her that she hadn't learnt the faces of the people who lived here well.
Only slightly damp, Coral slowed as she passed Witching Flour, where the baker had a rather delicious display of fresh baked bread and pastries. There was already a rather large line of customers out the front door of the shop, and Coral's stomach still wasn't the same. She lingered only for a moment longer, staring longingly at the display of treats.
Behind the display cabinet Coral could see inside the shop. Her eyes caught on a large, broad-shouldered man. He had the type of build that exudes authority. It was obvious in the natural way people parted way for him as he made his way to the front counter, lithe and unhurried. His black wavy hair had been messily arranged, as though he had just come from rigorous exercise. She supposed he had, judging by his attire. Coral had rarely seen a man so casually dressed, and yet look so dignified. He spoke to a baker behind the counter, and motioned to the display, turning his head to look at what he was gesturing at. Their eyes met.
Oh my goodness. His eyes were pools of silver, and Coral was lost in them. He was breath-taking. Literally, for a moment there she could not breath. Her world narrowed down to that instant that their eyes met. An involuntary shiver flitted over her as she stared mesmerised as his eyes widened. His full lips parted slightly, and he said something that was silenced by the window separating them.
It was then the rain brought her back to her senses. The drizzling rain worsened into a torrential downpour. Thank the heavens above for saving her from herself. She was caught ogling the man, and she didn't even have the good sense to pretend she wasn't appreciating the spectacle before her. Coral didn't have time to be standing here, drenched as she was ogling men. She was busy enough hiding from one who was supposed to be her betrothed and finding a doctor to remove another particularly troublesome man currently waylaid in her mansion.
She tore her eyes away and ran. Dignity and ladylike behaviour be damned. She was getting out of this rain and thanked that it washed some sense into her. First Pearl, and now her. What was getting into them? Should she have flashed some skin at Mr silver eyes?
Coral berated herself all the way to the Apothecary, The Widow's Poison. In a month’s stay, Coral had learned that the doctor who owned the Apothecary could be reached there. Whether or not they were in residence at the time.
The shops name did not promote confidence in their ability to mend or heal.
Regardless, Coral burst through the door in a desperate attempt to escape the rain. A bell tinkled overhead, and she dripped water heavily onto the foyer. It was gloriously warm inside.
A tall man behind the wooden counter peered up over his spectacles at her. He looked positively alarmed at her appearance. She couldn't blame him. She sniffled a little, brushing away the drops falling down her cheek with her sleeve.
"Good morning," she said, and smiled at the man who was now looking at the puddle of water slowly expanding by her feet. "I'm in need of a doctor."
"You'll be in the right place then. If not at an unfortunate time." He said. This man's voice was particularly unpleasant to hear. Like a lemon that had grown too sour. Regardless, Coral left her pleasant smile on, as if she wasn't making a mess of his shop. She shouldn't judge another by that fact alone.
"True. One can hardly expect to not tempt the weather by adventuring out without an umbrella."
He hmphed in reply. Coral took this as an invitation into his shop. She looked around in the lantern lit room. Row upon row of shelves lined the walls, corked bottles holding an assortment of liquids and oddities. Behind the man was a floor to ceiling cabinet made entirely of small draws.
The man had a set of scales in front of him. On one side there was a large red stone that glowed dully. The other, a small pile of twigs piled high. The man lifted a pair of copper tongs, plucked out another small twig from the box beside him, and placed it on the pile. The scales evened out fractionally more. His mouth set into a grim line as he squinted at the scales, examining what Coral could not tell.
"Are you the doctor? I have a-."
“Sshhh” he hissed. His cheek twitched.
“I’m sorry?” Coral said, a little taken aback at the sneer she received.
“Sshh” he aggressively shushed again.
What kind of backwards town hospitality was this? The open sign on the front wooden door meant they were available for business. Didn’t it?
Coral walked the few feet up to the counter, where she could examine the man more closely. No wonder the sour lemon was focusing so hard. The dim lamplight did little to illuminate the scales he was squinting hard at, his face contorted as though he was holding in a bad bout of gas.
Coral partially regretted coming so close. Not from the eye roll he tossed her way, but because from this distance she could see the man's long hairs poking from his arrow-head nose. He had a wrinkled forehead, probably from frowning so much at his scales. His shoulder length hair, unusual for the trend as most men keep it trimmed, was tied back with a black ribbon.
He placed another half-twig on the scales. Coral hadn't seen the shift in weight, but this evidently was what the man was looking for.
"There. One Cinnabar stones worth of stinging root." He said a little more happily. "My apologies, miss. I've touched this to my bare skin before, and I dare not do it again. Itching for days! Concentration is crucial when dealing with this blasted root."
At that, Coral took a tiny step back. A little distance between herself and the stinging root was preferable. She hadn’t heard of the root before, she hadn’t frequented an apothecary before, having had servants to do it for her. Coral eyed the root dubiously.
“Would it not be better with more light?” She suggested.
The man tsked, shook his head, then busied himself by carefully pouring the scales contents into a paper bag. He wrapped that further with more brown paper. Finally he placed it into another small box, and tied it off quickly with twine.
He looked up from his parcel, his brown eyes assessing. "Now, what ails you?"
Without waiting for Coral's answer, he began his own assessment of her. "Your complexion is flushed a little, but see, there. Puffy eyes, and I suspect-" He tugged off the gloves he wore, lifted a section of the wooden countertop and came straight towards her.
Before Coral could step away, he lifted her hand in his, pulled her damp glove from her fingers and pinched the skin near her knuckles.
"Ouch," She tugged her hand away, holding it to her chest for good measure.
"Dehydrated. See how the skin remains and doesn't fall back to place." He motioned to her hand. She didn't look at her hand. Instead she settled a disgruntled frown on the man. He was much taller than Coral had first suspected, the floor behind the counter stepped down by several inches. He stood almost a whole another foot higher than her.
Grudgingly Coral supposed his height wasn't that uncommon. She was slightly below average in height. But only by an inch. She hadn't needed to tilt her head so far back to look at anyone in the city.
Regardless, there was a significant height difference that emphasised exactly how threatening Coral's frown could be. Very little it seemed. He did not look apologetic. She was going to have to work on that it seemed. An Innkeeper couldn't very well run an establishment without being severe when facing questionable individuals.
"That would be the previous night’s indulgences." She told him. "I may have drunk more than I thought I had."
"Haven't we all," he chuckled.
Coral marvelled at how someone could make a chuckle sound so sour. It didn't sound right.
"I'm not here for myself. I need to request a house call. I have a guest who was attacked by wolves last night."
The man stilled and the upturned corners of his mouth settled into that straight tight-lipped line again. "What?"
"My sister and I cared for him as best we could. But he needs proper medical attention. Mr. Acheron was unable to walk without assistance, and I fear he may have broken something."
"Mr Acheron," the man said, his face paling in the golden glow of the lamplight. He blinked down at her again, frowning. "Where did you say you were staying?"
"At the old mansion. I just bought it with my sister last month."
"Oh," his face paled more, and he looked more alarmed than when she had first burst through the door.