A Recipe for Punch, Chapter 31

Chapter 31
Morgana



This wasn't the first time Morgana had been free in the house.  Once before she'd gotten away from her cell in the attics and wandered the passages of Fallbridge Hall.  The first time, she had only been there a few days.  That pointy-nosed man--Quick--had been speaking to her, telling her about God and salvation and how fortunate she was to be in a "good" home and how blessed she was to have been given a chance by such "kindly" people.  She didn't care for that man, that Mr. Quick.  He wasn't as bad as Mr. Jackson, but he was still a terrible bother.

As Morgana hobbled about Fallbridge Hall, she recalled that first night of freedom.  She knew that they wondered if she could understand them.  The spoke to her as if she was a child or a deaf-mute.  She could understand them.  She knew quite well what Mr. Quick and Mr. Jackson were talking about when they spoke in hushed voices about their impending voyage to America, and she also knew they'd not been paying close enough attention when they secured her chains.

That had been the first time she'd gotten out.  Yes, she remembered it fondly.  Well--almost.    She recalled the sense of liberty fondly.  It was one of the only times in her life she'd been free.  

Morgana whimpered. 

How could she have known that the old housekeeper was going to react so badly?  Morgana just wanted the woman to be quiet.  How could she have known that holding someone's neck so tightly would kill them?  What had been her name?  Mrs Foster, that was it.  

And, then, when the man came at her, she had to defend herself.  He had been called William.  Morgana didn't want to kill him either, but she had to.

Morgana paused for a moment.  They had a new William now.  A different William.  The new one was nicer.  Why didn't they ever let him come to see her?  She only heard his voice through the door.

Why, Morgana wondered, did she only get to see Jackson, Ivy and that horrid Gregory?  Ivy was the best of the lot, and that wasn't saying much.  At least Ivy was gentle--sometimes.

She sniffed the air.  Who were all these new people?  The house was filled with new people.  What had they brought with them?  Food?  Pretty things?  Disease and fever?

Fever.

Morgana snorted.  She recalled how Jackson told Ivy that they'd say Mrs. Foster and the first William had died of fever.

Did these new people bring fever?

It had been a fever that had been responsible for making her this way.  Partly.

She sniffed again.  No, they smelled clean, good and clean.

Despite her screaming, the lady in the bed seemed very nice.  She was clean, and pretty, and she had on such a lovely sleeping gown.  Morgana had just wanted to touch her soft hair and skin.

The two men were pretty two.  The one with the dark brown hair had fine, broad shoulders and a sturdy torso.  His eyes were blue like she remembered the sky to be.  But, still, he was a doctor.  Doctors had to be watched out for.

What of the other man?  The one with the dark auburn hair?  His face was very kind and his eyes were warm.  He had a bit of a wild look to him, too.  He also looked strong, but not like he'd hurt a person.  And, he spoke so gently.  Could he be trusted?  The other two seemed to rely on his judgment.  They looked at him so fondly.

Maybe those three weren't bad.

But, there were others.

Morgana looked up.  She felt as though someone was watching her, looking at her, seeing her.

It was not a good feeling.  She tried to cover her face with her pincers.

She wanted to hide.

Who was looking at her?

She couldn't see anyone.

Where could she hide?

Looking around, Morgana realized she'd gotten to a part of the house in which she'd never been before.

A door.

She grasped the handle firmly between her pincers.

Oh...there was another girl.  Two girls.

Young, they were.  One younger than the other.

They were sleeping.  

One had light brown hair.  She was the younger one.  Freckles on her face.

The other was blonde.  Her hair reached only to her shoulders.  She was so beautiful.  The blankets had slipped off of her a little and Morgana could see her hands.  Such sweet hands--delicate, long fingers.  Pretty hands.

Morgana trembled.

She wanted hands like those.

Glancing over at the brown-haired girl, Morgana crept as quietly as she could toward the blonde.

Pity that the blonde started screaming as Morgana scooped her up.


Did you miss Chapters 1-30 of A Recipe for Punch?  If so, you can read them here.  Come back tomorrow for Chapter 32.