"We did not expect to see you so soon, Miss Malstoyke."

It was Ms. Cotts who met me at the double doors of the Bedlaam house, her long fingers snaking the old brass handles. I often wondered how she managed to push and pull the solid oak to and fro with such ease, given her thinness. I found myself looking up into her one good eye, which was cold and unsmiling and seemed devoid of affection; her long sinewy neck being the only visible thing exposed by her full charcoal dress. Her thin mouth, like the edge of a rule. I must confess that if I had to spend a dark night in the same room as her, I should not have slept, for my whole person would have been wracked with fear and distrust.

"I should imagine that you had a wonderful time back home," she said without feeling.

I managed a feeble smile. "Yes, ma'am."

She nodded, closing her eyes to do so.

"City life is said to be highly excitable–rewarding even; I, however, find it taxing and irksome...but I suppose it is for those who wish to spoil their virtues that the city was made."

Her narrow eye took in my fine dress.

I looked towards the woods which at that time of day appeared farther off. When she would finished her lecture and what she probably considered a warm welcome, I couldn't say. I noticed the two clay pots which stood on either side of the door, the plants being wrinkled and withered and in desperate need of water–it was clear that the girls neglected them during their chores, as they would any extra task. I took note to give them a thorough soaking before I left.

"... But," Ms. Cotts was saying in her slow, monotonous voice, "we are happy to have you nonetheless."

Nonetheless? I was unsure of what I missed but made a show of having heard every word that escaped her white lips and gave her my most reassuring smile. She gave a curt nod as she stepped aside to let me pass. Whether she was convinced or simply relieved to have me out of her way was a debatable theory.

No one came to greet me when I stepped inside and I was aware of an unusual silence; nothing to be heard except the faint mumblings of Mrs. Satcher, the old seamstress who lived upstairs, fearful that some disease would catch her by unawares. The outdoors, to her, was as deadly as typhoid and no amount of coaxing could draw that woman from the safety of her room.

Further on I heard the familiar voices of the cook and scullery maid coming from the kitchen where they spent most of their day:

"I tell you this 'ere, Mrs. G," came Ms. Laggsby's irritated voice, "that Petruny woman as come in 'ere with all that flabbergibberish about Albus Henfield coming by an' such n' such best keep to her own, I say. T'was the headmistress hersel, as tell the dear lad to come roun' an' help me if I needed an'thing—an' hear well what I say, Ma'am—he is the most depend'ble lad as I ever met!"

It was no surprise that Ms. Laggsby had taken a shine to Albus who, like my aunt Winnie often delivered goods to Bedlaam. When she had to plan the layout of the herb garden she was touched that the shy young man offered his assistance and even made time to set out the selected herbs too despite his busy schedule. After everything was done he gave her a neat crutch he'd made to help her get about on that bad leg and repaired that creaking window in the kitchen. They'd been good friend ever since.

"Why, yes, Laggsby, you are right at that. I was there too when Mrs. Ivanhallow gave the order. I found the dear boy quite agreeable. Why Ms. Petruny has a dislike for him is a mystery to me."

"By all Dorfsland, Mrs. G, I thought you saw with more 'an yer two eyes! Why, it's clear as day yet!"

"Whatever do you mean by that?" asked Mrs. Goods.

"It's Miss Violet Partridge I be speakin' of. The young man's eyein' the lass." She chuckled, "An' I see she's keen on him too with her sweet ways an' such."

Violet Partridge was the eldest girl at Bedlaam with Marge just behind. I considered Violet a precious little saint with a gentle nature and mild temperament. Despite her hectic upbringing of bouncing between Bedlaam and an indecisive mother her whole life, she displayed far more propriety than the ones of stabler situations.

"Ah, yes, I see now.... Why, Laggs, the child's of age in a few weeks! He'll have her no doubt and she'll have him too." She sighed.  "But how Ms. Petruny will bear it—"

A chair scraped against the floor.

"Why should an'one care?" said Ms. Laggsby, raising her voice. "She's a hard ol' crone–pass me that knife there... Thank thee. It'd do Miss Violet well to accept Albus Henfield. A steadier nor more sensible man ever lived! He's respected, hardworking and handy, has a house and land, sweet nothings for sisters and a Ma as good as spring wind! What more could she want?"

"Well, there's always more to want, Laggsby. But I understand your meaning. She ought to be more than happy. Here own mother couldn't care for her and every year the girl rushes to her beck and call only to be disappointed in the end."

Here I imagine Mrs. Goods shaking her head. She goes on in a more measured tone, "You are right Laggs, but I'm convinced Violet will hesitate to accept him if he asks for her hand. She always tries to please everyone and will worry over what Petruny—"

"If Miss Violet say so much o' what that woman thinks, I'll give her a nice good smart in the face, same as my pa used to do when I was a wee thing!"

Ms. Laggsby was known to have what the elders called a 'decisive fire' in her youth and was never one to dawdle or overthink things. The only person she thought worthy to consider before acting on anything was the late Mr. Cuthridge Laggsby who was quite the disciplinarian in the Laggsby household.

Mrs. Goods chuckled. "I believe you, old girl, but there'll be no slapping under my watch, none whatsoever."

"Your watch?" her companion repeated dubiously. "You an' me don't have no say in what happens round 'ere, an' you know it.

"Take that new one out there. Mrs. Satcher  says to me a week afore when I gone up: 'Why, she's a petite creature, Laggsby, so sweet in the eyes and with such a trim figure, but I daresay she frights so easily and rarely utters anything more than a few syllables! And I find her to be much too small for her age, why she's practically skin and bones!'

"She goes to waving a finger at me an' says, 'Now don't you shake your head like that, this may be a trifle to you but not to me, Laggsby. Why, dear little Phoebe has more waist than her and she's a good many years younger! Tell Goods to feed her well—well, I say! I won't have her so scrawny next time she comes in for her fitting. Quick, now Laggsby, out you get, and shut the door, twit dash! Don't let the air inside!'

"And what happened after that?" Mrs. Goods sounded genuinely curious.

"Afta that, I start giving her more helpings than the others an' saw as she was fattening nicely— don't remember when I see a lass eat so full o' heart! She a goes to cleaning the plate off! Not a speck went to waste, she was so full of stomach, she was! But ventually Cotts caught on and says I was not to show favers. I tried explaining misself, but she turns on me an' says: 'I'm in charge here Ms. Laggsby, not Mrs. Satcher, and if you care for your position see to it that you follow orders.'"

"She threatened you with your position?!" said an incredulous Mrs. Goods.

"I couldn' believe me ears either, Mrs. G! How I was able to hold my tongue I will never know. But what raging an' swearing I was doin' on the inside! If the headmistress was well enough there's no way in Gordorf I'd  bear Cotts or Petruny—never liked 'em from the start, well, Cotts anyway. Petruny was alright afore she lost her man to that other dame—Why, you alright Mrs. G? You haven't caught cold I hope with that cough o' yers?"

"Um, yes I'm fine. Throat's a trifle dry, that's all."

A chair grated the floor again.

"Reckon I was the one doing all the talking an' here you are feeling parched? Here, have some o' this water.... Now, what was I saying?"

Mrs. Goods cleared her throat.

"Something about Cotts' words, I believe?"

"Ah, yes! Well last I checked I was in service to Mrs. Ivanhallow, straight an' true, I was. And our agreement had nothing to do with Cotts. I made up my mind to ignore everything Cotts said but I had to smarten up about it, specially with Ellen Trupp bound to thwart my plans with that mouth o' hers.  So I had Prue take rolls an' crescent bread in her aprun when the time was right or if the lass could be found." She chuckled. "She's a wanderer, that one."

"You take this too lightly, dear. Too lightly. Suppose someone were to find out! You'll be reprimanded!"

"P'rhaps so, but don't you worry, Mrs. G. Prudence Wellings is as discreet as a badger! That one's as loyal as... I don't know what but she is it anyway."

"There's the door Laggsby, someone's come," said Mrs.Goods. "Quiet down and take care what you say."

"For your sake, Mrs. G, I'll hold my tongue, for yer as good a friend as they come. But if it ever came down to it, I daresay, I'd p'rhaps lose my place, reckon I would. Pass me another turnip there, mine's rot...."

Everything was still and silent as I spent a few minutes observing the place and putting the little parcels from my pockets in peculiar spots for the younger girls to find later during a game of 'treasure hunt'. The dining hall was much nicer in the day with the sunlight creating lovely square patches on the stone floors. The high windows and ceiling, the rectangular tables and benches gave the impression of a chapel. Someone had put new candles on the tables and there in the centre was a wooden bowl of primroses.

"How strange, no one ever puts flowers or any living greenery inside unless Aunt Winnie comes by," I thought aloud. "And she hasn't been since I left. Hmm, I wonder what Violet's been up to...."

The parlour was also neatly arranged. A few small pots with fresh green leaves springing out of them were neatly arranged in various places about the room. I imagined Ms. Petruny made the girls do a thorough cleaning before their afternoon walk, and they, unwilling to miss their outing, toiled like dogs at their given chores. I smiled, knowing how they were often lax when the weather was cold or wet–these days being unfit for walking,–whereas whenever the sun smiled on Gordorf and the birds chirped a merry tune, one couldn't ignore the call of the outdoors.

I was staring out the window when the parlour maid entered the room. She gave a start upon seeing me.

"Goodness me! I left this room not too long ago and no one was here–you ain't no ghost are you?"

"Well, last time I checked I was quite human," I said laughing. "How are you, Prue?"

She smiled. "Well enough, Miss. Hope your family is doing well?"

I said they were. "By the way, where is everyone?"

The young woman rubbed her hands on her dressed wearing a perplexed expression.

"The girls I mean," I said gently.

She shook her head.

"Sorry, Miss, it's not that I didn't hear you, it's just that it sometimes takes a while for me to process things. My mother always used to say I was soft in the head for all the pains she took to birth me."

"Don't say such things, Prue!"

She gave me a look of indifference. "It's all truth, Miss.  It was like that from the beginning. I was a slow thinker from birth and how that did hurt Mother who had hopes that I'd save the family from poverty by marrying well."

She shrugged and went on matter-of-factly, "But she knew no respectable fellow would have her slow witted girl when he could have a pick of healthy brained ones."

I had heard many sides of Prue's story but never from her own lips and so had reason to believe they were simply tales, this is Gordorf after all. Not once have I considered her dimwitted or any such thing although there were times when she'd forget her tasks and simply stand by awaiting orders not remembering they'd already been given. I asked her where the girls had gone.

"I can't very well say. There was no one about when I'd come in today but one of them must have stayed on because I saw someone out by the stalls."

"Must be Violet," I said.

Prue shook her head sympathetically.

"Sorry, Miss, but there won't be any of them inside if I'm to do my work." She wrinkled her nose, "They set me to a terrible sneezing...."

~

I was relieved when Mrs. Satcher's bell rang. I had a desire to go out on the grounds but hadn't a wish to leave Prue in the midst of her thorough explanation of her allergies and so, after she had excused herself from the room and her footsteps died away, I slipped outside.

The stables was a shabby looking structure with only two horses occupying it. The horses, being too old for labour, had been given to Mrs. Ivanhallow, who thought it a good idea to have them in order to teach the girls to ride. However, the older girls were uninterested in riding, thus influencing the younger ones. Mrs. Ivanhallow had been quite taken aback.

"Why, you don't wish to ride?!" Her grey eyes were wide in disbelief. "Every woman in my family were capable riders—Father saw to that! No, you will learn," she said with emphasis. "It is most important you girls ride, why, I was put on a horse before I was six years old!"

Unfortunately, I had returned home by the time the riding lessons began and was left to depend on Violet Partridge's infrequent letters. I do remember one particular entry I found most interesting:

'... With all the work to do around here, Lia, I find riding highly enjoyable. Don't think that I'm good at it–I'm far from that–but Mrs. Ivanhallow is very encouraging. Some of the other girls are getting on pretty well, young Phoebe is going to make a fine rider and this isn't Marge's first time so she's very good. Ammie is easily discouraged and Susan fell into a cow patch earlier today and screamed out of rage then later cried like a baby. Oh, I do wish I hadn't laughed! But I couldn't help it with Harriet guffawing for all she was worth. Susan swears to hate all things in the world, especially the horse who, finding himself relieved of his rider, simply walked off without a care in the world... Oh, how I do hope these riding days never end...'

As I approached the stable, I heard singing from within, soft and beautiful. I tried without success to make out the words. Suddenly, the singing ceased.

"Why, Miss Partridge," I said observing the heap of horse dung she had undoubtedly shovelled and the pile of hay which had to have come all the way from the barn, "I'd no idea you had as much strength as that to carry the fodder—and with no one to help you! Mr. Albus Henfield must be pleased to have found such a strong willed maiden to carry on his arm."

While Marge and the others were usually indifferent to the young man because he wasn't of the wealthiest stock in Gordorf, I thought him quite pleasant. Though a bit bashful, his kind eyes and gentlemanly manners were enough to earn my respect. He was nothing at all like Eres Dacklefoy, to say the least.

"If it is Miss Violet Partridge you are looking for, I'm sorry to say you missed her. Mrs. Goods sent her and the others to the market, but no doubt she may run into Mr. Henfield though."

I stared dumbly at the girl before me. The girl beyond the mountains!

"I-I-I thought you were Violet," I stammered. "She or Marge usually clean up after Maple and Birch. Petruny makes them when she's vex–Marge more often than not, she's so naughty at times. And with a voice and tongue like rubber and oil she's bound to catch fire!"

I regretted the last words the minute they escaped my lips. The girl put her mouth in the crook of her elbow to stifle her laughter.

"Well, that is true, Miss," she said, passing a rumpled sleeve over her clammy forehead. "I have not been here for more than two weeks and yet I know that there is truth in what you say." She laughed again and this time I was compelled to do the same.

She dropped her shovel and turned to me, her queer eyes shining.

"Care to see something wonderful?" and before I had a chance to reply, she dashed off with alarming speed toward the woods. I followed as quickly as my legs would allow, holding onto my bonnet which I had loosened at the house. How fast she was! I had to stop and catch my breath several times.

There was a clear patch of earth circling the first three trees leading to the woods. Sprouting everywhere were lush young leaves that had been carefully planted around each tree. I couldn't identify anything due to my lack of plant knowledge

I found my runaway stooping among some flowering plants, uprooting some young weeds.

"They shall grow fast," she said in her quiet way as though the plants were asleep and she didn't wish to wake them. "I water and feed them when I can, and though it is not much, they show promise. Mrs. Goods was kind enough to give me some potted things from her own private storehouse. She is very kind."

"I wholeheartedly agree," I said looking over the neat plots. "Was it you who put the flowers on the table, then?"

"Indeed it was. I felt the place could use some livening up and growing things do just that." She paused to look up at me, her unusual yet strangely beautiful eyes bright with curiosity and delight. They were not at all how I remembered them.

"I suppose you came by the early morning train and walked most of the way here." She was quietly amused by my expression and laughed softly. "Do not think I was hiding somewhere in the brush watching and waiting because I can swear to you that I was here the moment the sun kissed the distant trees to the east—Madame Prue and Ms. Laggsby are my witnesses."

"Then how—? "

She closed her eyes as a breeze swept through the trees fanning our faces and said in her gentle fashion,

"I overheard the others saying you were likely to arrive in the morning rather than late; your shoes and the hem of your dress show that you did a good deal of walking today."

I smiled at the soft voiced girl sitting upon the grass with her face to the sky. I remembered our first meeting and was pleased by the very slight change I saw.

"Well!" I said at least, clasping my hands before me. "You promised me a name, remember? And I refuse to leave here without one."

She rose from her place and went about inspecting the flowers.

"My family called me Quistelle," she said with a touch of warmth. She gave me a shy smile, "You may call me that, please... or whatever you like." She plucked another weed from the bed. "The other girls call me Hallung or Holstrom—"

"Halstung,"  I said quietly.

"Yes, that is it. Halstung. Only they would always add an end to it, Mist, I believe. Halstung Mist it is–whatever that means."

Her tone was so cool and indifferent one would believe she thought nothing of the name, if not for those eyes! So disturbingly knowing and seeming to see beyond my silence. I turned away.

"I have no desire to call you what the others do," I said firmly. "Quistelle's an unusual name but it's nice—pretty even. Sounds like something you'd find in a book. It suits you," I finally decided.

My words, said with the utmost sincerity, pleased her very much. I couldn't help but examine her from head to foot with some irresistible derision.

"But believe me when I say it would also suit you much better if you washed up. You look more like a wild thing in the woods that feeds on nuts and wild berries than a fair lady in a respectable place like this; you're painfully sunburnt and how you soiled your dress as badly as that I do not wish to know."

She laughed again, a musical sound, and promised she'd tidy herself well before afternoon tea.

"Before you go I want you to see the lovely flowers I found. These are what I actually brought you to see." A low hedge hid the handsome flowers from my sight earlier. Their tinge was that of the sky during the first lazy glow of dawn or after the glow of a most handsome sunset, a pinkish hue, with rich green stems supporting their crowns. I stared in a mixture of disbelief and uneasiness.

"Are they not lovely?" she said, breaking the silence with her gentle voice. "We call them Wishingbells where I'm from," she said with emphasis. She looked at me with laughing eyes. "Legend says there is magic in them. Did you know?"

I swallowed a lump in my throat.

"No." I lied. "But they're beautiful. Where'd you find them?" I knew the answer before it came.

"On a quiet little island the people here call Dorfsland–they run wild out there."

"We should go." I turned to leave.

"Might as well, I must bring the steeds in from grazing and then give myself a thorough cleansing," then turning to me, "You ought to go in without me. The girls should be back from the market by now and it would not do you well to be seen with me.

"Excuse me—"

"Now there will be no arguing about it. This is for the best. Off you go, I still have my work to do and I am glad to have gotten fully acquainted, Miss."

She paused and added, " It is the kindest thing anyone's done for me since I've been here."

She glanced at the sky.

"There will be rain later, no doubt," she said thoughtfully.

I looked up myself and saw nothing but a clear sky and bouncy white clouds, and was about to contradict her words when I realised she had already walked off. I watched as she faded into the distance growing more curious about this stranger from beyond the mountains