Chapter Text
Emma woke to light.
She sat up with such a speed, she’d forgotten about her ailments, but today, it seemed her body didn’t ache when she moved. She’d recovered, to an extent at least.
She drew the curtains to reveal a pink fog had settled on the horizon, and above it, the sky, an expanse of soft blue. Clear skies.
It had been weeks since she’d seen the sun shine, unobscured.
Emma settled for watching the mist roll over the snowy plains for a while, though she found her eyes darting towards her arms, which had become exposed as her nightgown sleeves had partially rolled back. It revealed nasty marks on her skin. Thread-like cuts, darkened bruises, scattered across her limbs, marring and discolouring her skin. Just seeing each one of them made her remember what had happened and why she did it.
She pulled her sleeves down before she could become encumbered with those memories again.
For now, it was just Emma and the snow and the sky. Had she been a child, she would’ve been excitedly running through the streets of her village to look for friends to play with at a time like this.
In the days where children picked snowball fights with her, and didn’t throw stones at her.
Emma shook her head, not wanting to think of such awful things. Instead, she imagined her younger self, down in the snow outside, laying down and laughing and imprinting angels on the ground. Pretty little angels.
There was a sharp knock at the door. Emma whipped her head around, expecting to see the face of Mother or Father, before it occurred to her, all of a sudden, that she was a stranger in a strange place.
“Come…come in!” she said.
The door creaked open slowly, a head popped in – a familiar face!
“Ray!” Emma exclaimed, getting up. The boy that had saved her. Someone she could trust. She went over to him in greeting, and was suddenly confused by the shock on his face.
“What – what is it?” she asked.
Ray cracked up, his brows crinkling together, “Emma, you do realise that your legs are exposed – the maids are going to throw a fit, cover yourself up!” he chortled at her behaviour, and Emma felt herself rolling her eyes.
“Oh, exposing legs this, sinful ankles that,” she said. “It’s only us here, for now.”
Ray sobered up, clearing his throat – though, pointedly not looking down, it seemed. “Yeah, alright. I know. Though, Emma…” he walked straight up to her, and in the most un-gentleman way possible, shook her shoulders wildly, trying to keep his angry voice down, “- What on EARTH are you doing here?”
“I told you yesterday!” she exclaimed, whilst being shaken, “I didn’t want to be alone in the stables...”
“So you didn’t listen to me? After I saved your life?” Ray stopped shaking her long enough to put emphasis on his words, before Emma pushed his hands off herself.
“I just…I couldn’t stay cooped up like that, okay?” she babbled, “It was dark! And… uncomfortable. And I just wanted to find somewhere warm to rest, after being out in the snow for days. So I snuck into the house and well…kinda got caught.”
“Kinda got caught? Kinda?!” Ray raised his hands, and Emma hopped away before he could get hold of her shoulders again.
“Do you know what you walked into? What I didn’t want you to see?” he was having a very hard time keeping his voice low.
“What? Your family?” Emma retorted back, matching his bitter tone, “Are you embarrassed because they’re rich?”
“No!” Ray exclaimed, before feeling his face flush at his rise in volume. He stilled, listening for any noise outside the room. Nothing.
“You, Emma,” he whispered, “You were…you were never supposed to come in here,” his face scrunched up. It was clear that he was holding something back.
“Tell me why,” Emma said, folding her arms.
“I…” He looked lost, like he was struggling to grapple with his own thoughts, “…I can’t. I just can’t. All I ask is that you believe me. Gilda, Anna, Norman…you can’t be around them!”
“Norman?” she echoed.
“Master Minerva,” Ray clarified.
So that’s his first name.
Emma felt her resolve waver. She was almost swerved by his lost expression, not wanting to trouble him. But how long had it been since she’d sheltered under a roof, and had eaten plentifully? It would be foolish to pass this opportunity up.
“…I just need a bit to get on my feet again,” Emma said, hoping to reach a compromise, “That’s all I ask. Then I’ll be out of your hair.”
Ray shook his head. “It’s not that. It’s not because I think you’re troubling me, or my family. I’m telling you no for your own safety.”
Emma’s eyes widened. “Your saying that it’s dangerous for me to be here?”
“Precisely.”
“But why?”
Ray stared with a cold resolve before faltering, his expression turning helpless. “You are the worst,” he said. “Emma, I’m not kidding. I’m getting you out of here. I need you to get out of here.” He appeared to be thinking quickly, his eyes sparking with an idea, “Tomorrow! I could get you to come to the market with me tomorrow, and from there you can-”
“There’s a market?” Emma exclaimed, “So there’s a town nearby?”
“Yes!” he said, “Look, I’ll pay for your food, and pay for a few night’s stay at an inn for you. How’s that?”
Emma hesitated.
“Please,” there was a pleading in Ray’s eyes, and it was so genuine, that Emma just couldn’t help but avert her gaze in guilt.
“Okay,” she said, “I’ll go with you tomorrow.”
-
Ray had ushered Emma to the bathing room quietly, as it was still too early for the maids to rouse from sleep and cook breakfast.
The water was already heated, puffs of steam gracing the water, tempting her. Ray had left after the exchange, leaving so quietly that he had seemed to have vanished.
Emma had never seen a tub that big – she never even recalled bathing properly since she was a child, when her mother would wash her in the tin bathtub that she’d ladled out for her in the kitchen.
Provided, the water wasn’t very deep, but as Emma undressed and tentatively slipped inside, it felt as if a warm fire was hugging her body, ushering her into safety. She settled in the warm expanse with ease, emitting a grateful sigh.
But she knew she didn’t have too long until the house would stir to life, so she wasted no time in scrubbing herself and her old wounds clean with a bar of honey-soap, and detangling her hair with such a speed that she was hissing under her breath.
By the time she was cleaned and dry, her hair hastily towel-rubbed until it was no longer dripping, she felt as if she was born anew. She spotted a glimpse of herself from behind a cloth, and when she pulled away that sheet of fabric, was faced with a mirror. When she stared, idly touching her cheek, she found that she didn’t even recognise herself fully. Not when her hair was no longer a bedraggled mess and her arms and legs weren’t dirtied. Yes, her ribs still poked through almost gauntly so, and the scars hadn’t left her, but there was a fresh gleam in her eye.
-
Emma had been sorting through her bag’s inventory when she caught scent of breakfast downstairs, wafting through the air with a sweetness that made her stomach rumble. But was she even invited? She trusted Ray to be her guide, after he seemingly assigned himself to watch over her. Maybe he could nab some food for her.
But as time ticked on, and the sun rose, Emma grew bored. Her hair had dried, and she’d combed through it with her fingers until it was back to its old springy self. With nothing left to do, she gingerly descended the staircase, taking a moment to regard the windows that she hadn’t the chance to look through last night.
They were stained glass, all of them having a red droplet pattern, and each droplet having a person within them – people she did not recognise, but all of whom were sitting in golden chairs, cloaked in jewels, appearing stern and regal. They all appeared cold and pale, their eyes a sharp blue. It reminded Emma of a certain someone.
It took a moment for Emma to calm herself in front of the kitchen door. She could hear pots and pans banging, plates clattering, and a friendly chatter amongst the household members. If she were to enter, she was sure to put a dour on all of that.
No, she ended up not being the one opening the door. It was swung open from the other side, much to her surprise, but the person who was about to poke out was just Ray.
“I was just about to come collect you,” he said, before speaking quietly, “Come in. Don’t talk. And whatever you do, don’t sit at the chair at the end of the table.”
She had to be dragged in with a bit of pulling from Ray’s part, and did not meet the eyes of the maids, who, by judging by the room’s sudden quiet, were sure to be looking her way.
Emma settled down at one of the farthest chairs from the hustling part of the kitchen, letting her hair fall so she wouldn’t have to see the maids from the side of her vision.
The cooking was almost done, however, and just as Emma was zoning out, a platter was laid out before her, sparking her back to life.
She looked up in shock, meeting Anna’s kindly smile.
“Eat up,” Anna said, “You must be hungry. Especially after raiding our pantry for food.”
Despite her smile, and her melodic tone, her words had a bite to them. Emma felt herself shrivel in her chair.
The maids all settled down, and to Emma’s surprise, tucked in straight away. Why hadn’t they prayed first? Emma instinctively clasped her hands, about to give silent thanks, but Ray placed a hand over hers, forcing her to lower them. He gave a warning glare, quick enough that she could’ve easily missed it, before tucking into breakfast.
She reluctantly followed suit, but soon found she couldn’t help but audibly appreciate the food. There was some kind of gravy spread over the eggs and cheese, and there’d even been small pieces of beef, honey-laden and sticky. And though Emma noticed she’d received less than the others, she was grateful to receive such food at all.
It wasn’t until she’d gobbled it all up that she heard the chair beside her be drawn. She looked up and felt her eyes become stupidly wide at the sight of Norman Minerva settling beside her – at the table’s end – looking positively exhausted and withdrawn.
He didn’t say a word, just gave an incline of his head when Anna and Gilda wished him a good morning.
And throughout the course of breakfast, Emma couldn’t help but give him continuous glances. Every time she lifted her glass of milk, she would peer at him from the corner of her eye.
He was so strangely pale, she wondered for a moment if he was sickly. Yet he bellied power in the way he propped himself up, and the manner of which he dressed and groomed himself – with a sharp suit and well-managed, pearly-white hair, he looked like the type that could win you over with sharp wit as opposed to physical prowess.
It was very different from the bumptious, almost brutish masculinity that Emma had observed growing up. Even when he ate, there was a quiet delicacy that was almost feminine.
Emma was used to seeing men and women scoff down food loudly, sometimes even using their hands. Here, she felt like a creature bumbling around in a strange world. Never before had it been so quiet when she ate at home or in taverns. Emma couldn’t tell if she was insane, or the people around her were.
As Emma found herself lost in thought, her staring at Norman must have been painfully obvious, because Ray ended up elbowing her. She gave a little cry, breaking the silence, and Gilda pointedly glared at her. Emma gave an apologetic smile, feeling her cheeks pinken, “Sorry!”
Anna was giving a little giggle, however.
Ray also apologised on Emma’s behalf. “She’s still a bit jumpy, is all.”
Gilda narrowed her eyes. “Is she ‘jumpy’ enough to bite someone, or steal food again?”
Norman paused in his eating, raising his head. He looked somewhat taken aback.
Why is he surprised? Emma wondered, before noticing the faint smile on Gilda’s face. Ah, they didn’t tell him about the stealing yet. Great.
“Could I be excused?” Emma piqued up.
“No,” said Norman. It was the first time he’d spoken that morning.
Emma began shamefully sinking into her chair. Ray nudged her another warning.
Norman dabbled the napkin against his mouth, before he spoke, his sharp eyes pointed right at Emma. She had to restrain herself from rudely looking elsewhere. “As we cannot trust you, you’re not to walk around unattended while you stay here. Ray has informed me that you’re to be leaving tomorrow with his aid.”
“I can attend to her today,” Ray chipped in quickly.
Norman gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “No need. Gilda has already volunteered. And I trust her more when it comes to matters such as….” he gestured vaguely at Emma, “This.”
Emma bristled. Had it not been for his position, she would’ve challenged such a comment.
“Please ensure she stays in rooms only guests would be allowed into, and before she leaves with Ray tomorrow, check what she’s carrying.”
“Yessir,” Gilda said.
After breakfast, Norman and Anna slunk off elsewhere to attend to matters Emma did not know of. While he had watched them go, Ray told Gilda that Emma would clean the dishes, an act that would hopefully gain a little favour with her. Gilda tersely agreed.
As Emma scrubbed away at the plates, Ray wordlessly helping her, she spoke to him quietly, the sound of water-sloshing covering her voice.
“He doesn’t trust me very much, does he?” she said.
“We don’t exactly have many friends across the country,” Ray responded sourly. “Norman doesn’t trust anyone.”
-
It felt strange for a person to act as one’s shadow. Whenever Emma went to touch something that caught her interest in the hallway – be it a painting, or an animal hide – Gilda would titter loudly from behind her, and Emma would draw her hand back in.
“No touching,” she said, “not with your grubby hands.”
“But I bathed,” Emma said.
“No matter how much you wash, thieves will always have dirty fingers.”
It was helpless to start bickering with Gilda. It would only work against Emma. So, while she was there for the twenty-four or-so hours, she decided to refrain from touching a thing, and instead admired everything with audible wonder.
A painting of a lake with woodlands surrounding it, the forest a myriad of autumnal colours. Another painting of a large rock surface, with silvery streamlets running across its crags. Another of two deer bounding amidst a snowy forest-scape, their movements suspended mid-air, their fur painted to a lifelike quality.
Emma found herself entranced for quite a few minutes.
I wish I could see such places.
“Minerva has such a fine appreciation for art, does he not?” Gilda spoke unprovoked, to Emma’s surprise, her tone full of pride. She gave an eager nod.
The two carried on through the hall, and Emma found herself captured by the intricate wall-paper. Gilda told her it was called ‘damask’, and that it had been woven in Italy. Emma knew little about Italy, and the word ‘damask’ sounded funny on her tongue.
It was soon that she’d reached the small landing between the two staircases, where the tall windows were situated, and she asked her first question.
“Gilda, who are the people in these murals?” she asked, pointing.
Gilda gasped, as if there was a large insect on Emma, “You silly girl! It is rude to point at such a thing. Put your hand down – that’s it,” her distress soon rolled off her, and she recollected herself after a few moments, striding to stand beside Emma, “Now, these murals are of Master Minerva’s descendants,” she said, “James Ratri on the left, Peter Ratri on the right, and Julius Ratri in the centre.”
Ratri.
Emma felt a lump in her throat at the surname, so hauntingly familiar. A name that would have children shivering in their cots at night.
“So Minerva is the most recent descendant of the Ratri clan?” Emma asked, sounding nervous. After Gilda’s affirmation, she spoke again, “So… why the change of family title?”
“Master Minerva does not want to be associated with them anymore,” she said, “We do not speak of them casually, or mingle with them,” she gave a stern look at the stained glass, “Even so, this house was passed down to us from the Ratri’s. That is why we have them depicted here. This place is one of the many safehouses they’d supplied us – a parting gift.”
Emma had begun to shake as memories began seeping back to her, not just visions, but sounds and smells that were all too unpleasant. She only snapped back at Gilda’s voice, and noticed the woman had casted her a saddened, pitying look.
“You know of them, don’t you?” she asked
A little more than I’d have liked to, Emma thought.
She didn’t know whether it was safe to disclose, but she gave a small nod.
“I’m sorry,” Gilda said, the heaviness of her words showing that she meant it, “I understand how much harm they have done, and yet…They gave me and Anna, and so many other orphans, the chance to live. I cannot help but be thankful.”
Emma nodded again, though her agreement was rather empty. She did not want to discuss the Ratri bloodline. She did not want to think of them at all. Yet, one more question pressed on her mind, and she spoke it before she could regret it.
“So why did Minerva decide to unaffiliate himself with the Ratri family?”
It was risky, asking such a personal question – Gilda had already turned away, but she looked back, surprised. And instead of anger, she held a doleful look, smiling in a way that was pained.
“Minerva saw what was going on. The quiet bloodshed. The corruption. The hunger for power. He wanted none of it. He’s always cared more for others than he does for himself. So he planned an escape, stole away all the orphans, and helped us start a new life by placing us in safehouses,” Gilda softened, “And for that, we are in his debt until the day we die.”
“Then why did the Ratri’s supply him a home, here?” Emma said, “That doesn’t make sense.”
“It’s so they can keep him in their sights.” Gilda explained, “The Ratri are like spiders. They need webs – connections to others – in order to thrive. That’s why they’re located across the country. They monitor everyone, and alert one another of any recent happenings through such connections, just like when spiders pluck their web strands. And for them, it would be unwise to cut someone like Minerva off - he knows too much about them as it is. So they keep watch, waiting in the shadows.”
If Norman acted against the Ratri’s doings, what would they do to him? Emma wanted to ask. But by the way Gilda had turned around, it seemed she no longer wanted to continue the conversation.
Emma followed Gilda upstairs, and got into a rhythm of asking about the various paintings and ornaments and curios around the house, until Gilda’s voice was sore.
“I think I need a glass of water after all that talking,” Gilda rasped. “Emma, I trust you’ll keep your hands to yourself while I pop downstairs.”
Emma looked stricken. “Really? You would…trust me to?”
Gilda sighed. “I was a thieving little scrap like you, once. Who am I to say if you can or cannot steal food?” she hesitated, “I know a starved creature when I see one. I’m sorry for earlier.”
Emma froze. An apology?! Gilda had been bitter with her just that morning…
Before Emma could respond with a thanks, or prod her with more questions, Gilda excused herself for the glass of water.
Emma teetered on her heels as she waited, and, even without Gilda around, did not touch anything around her. As much as the animal skulls and bones were tempting her from the cabinets. And the shelves with their bronze bird statues, appearing so intricate. No, Emma would absolutely not touch them!
But when Emma caught sight of a door that was left slightly ajar, she could not help but pace towards it, sneakily peering through, without touching the door, of course! Through the narrow slit she could make out something on the wall. Her curiosity was immediately piqued, and with no one around, she broke the golden rule. Carefully, she opened the door a tad wider so she could slip through, and pushed it so it was almost closed behind her.
The picture spread across the wall, that had caught her attention – she recognised it to be a world map, marred with stains and peeling at the corners, but big enough to encompass a large portion of the wall. Emma felt dwarfed as she beheld all the countries in front of her.
All the text that labelled the countries swam in her vision, meaning nothing to her.
She traced the outlines of all the countries in her head, despite not knowing which was which, wondering about what they were all like.
Emma promptly noticed, as she looked down, a desk where another map was placed – she presumed it to be their own country, as it was faintly familiar to her. Embedded in the map were red pins, scattered across its surface, across different regions. What could they be indicating?
She couldn’t ponder for long, as she had let her eyes wander about the room, quickly in awe of the magnitude of books stacked across the walls, shelved all the way to the ceiling. Even a sliding ladder had been installed. Emma had never seen anything quite as fancy. And to top it off, one of the shelves had an arch-shaped awning carved out, where a cream-coloured sofa sat, sidled with two other sofas on its sides, and a short table before it. The short table had a bottle filled with some kind of amber liquid, and when Emma popped the lid off to give a curious whiff, she immediately recognised it as alcohol. She scrunched her nose in distaste, re-lidding the drink.
Emma was quick to disobey Minerva’s orders, it seemed, as she let her fingers roam the edges of the books, the patterns in the cherrywood, the fabric of the sofa. The room smelt of dust and old books and the faint mingling of richly colognes, and Emma could not help but be entranced, settling herself down on the sofa – just to imagine, for a moment, what it would be like to be in such a scholarly place, to have all these books she could read, at her disposal. A world of knowledge, tucked into a little room. It was completely outlandish to her. But it captured her all the same.
She was not entranced for long, however, when she heard a click coming from the door.
Bolting partially upright, as if to pounce from a threat at any moment, Emma turned her head towards the entrance. A tall, sharp figure stood there – and of course, it couldn’t have been one of the maids, or Ray. No, it had to be Norman.
His gaze was so intense, Emma thought he could potentially will her to become aflame.
“I can explain –” Emma sputtered.
“Where is Gilda?” he interjected.
“She - she went to get a glass of water…a minute or so ago. That’s all. This isn’t her fault. I was just curious, I wasn’t going to steal anything, I swear –”
“This room isn’t meant for guests to prowl around in.” was all Norman responded with. He took a step closer, and Emma pressed herself against the sofa. “Was I not clear enough this morning?”
“No, you were perfectly clear,” Emma squawked, “No walking around unattended. Those were your exact words,”
“Then why aren’t you following them?”
It unnerved her how icily cold his tone was. He didn’t even have to raise his voice to make her feel ashamed.
Emma waved her hand pathetically, pointing at the map, “I just. I saw the map and it looked interesting. That’s all. You have a lot of… interesting things! I couldn’t help but…admire it.”
Norman’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say anything for a moment, regarding the map. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe he was beginning to believe her.
“And all the books,” Emma blabbered on, despite how tight her throat felt, “And the paintings a-and the statues and the architecture. I’ve just been. Amazed by it all. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
Norman scoffed, “Flattery won’t get you anywhere. I told you, you aren’t allowed in here. I’m not having you look freely through my things – my documents, my papers, my books. None of it. You’re not to go anywhere without Gilda, do you understand?”
Though fear had her choked up, Emma managed to regain her thoughts, even managing to meet Norman’s eyes as she spoke, “Why would I even do that?” her voice was more aggravated than she expected, and she reeled back as Norman met her gaze with hawkish intensity.
“I mean-” she started up again, more subdued, “I can’t even read! I’m not here to dig through your private things! I mean it! All I wanted to do was look at all the pretty things in the house…”
From then, Norman’s stature seemed to alter slightly, as if he were deflating, his harsh glare wavering into a look of disappointment.
“That isn’t good enough,” he said. “A rule is a rule.”
He didn’t stir, or speak any more, so Emma assumed this was her cue to leave the room and go the kitchen, where Gilda was sure to be – just what had been taking her so long, anyway?
But as Emma roused from the seat, a thought crossed her mind, and she knew if she didn’t go through with it, she’d never get the opportunity again.
Unsure how to title him, she started with a shaky, “Er…Mister Minerva?” which seemed to catch his attention. She squeezed her hands together. “Could you…perhaps…point out some country names on the map?”
He gave a blink. Not sure how to process this.
“Point out some countries’ names?” he echoed, “You do realise how many countries there are?”
“Not really, no.”
His brows scrunched in slight bafflement – the first time Emma had seen his seriousness waver – and he turned, stepping towards the map. Emma took his cue and scampered after him, keeping a small distance away from Norman, as to not perturb him.
“This is the Kingdom of Britannia– the country we reside in,” he said, pointing at a water locked country. “We are part of Europa, a continent with many empires, take a look –” he began listing a series of names, side by side, and Emma’s head spun with the new information. The country names sounded strange and exotic. Emma found herself echoing at many of Norman’s words, sometimes incorrectly, to which he would repeat the word until she’d gotten it right.
By the time Norman had listed what Emma presumed to be all of them – or at least, a vast amount, Emma asked what nabbed at her mind.
“Where did you get this map from?”
“I drew it,” he said, “from memory.” He spoke without a trace of arrogance.
Emma’s eyes glimmered, and she did not think twice when she inclined forward, placing her hands on Norman’s arm, “Wow, how did you remember everything so well?”
He fixed a stare on her hands, then her face.
“Ah, sorry-” she squawked, releasing her grip. She’d been so surprised, she forgot about the formalities between them. Her face warmed in embarrassment.
Regardless, Norman rolled his shoulder back, and gave a reply, “I’ve had long enough to memorise it, believe me.”
The sound of footfall sounded in the hallway, and soon, of Gilda’s voice, obviously in panic.
“Emma?” came her harsh whisper, “Emma, where in the world did you go? I’m going to get in deep trouble if I lose sight of you - ”
Emma looked at Norman in worry, though the man was looking over at the door. Then at Emma. Wordlessly, he signalled towards it, indicating she should leave.
She did so, a tad confused as she stepped out. Gilda was visibly awash with relief when Emma entered her sights.
“My goodness, Emma! You cannot go in there. If Master Minerva found out –” she hesitated, then shook her head.
“It’s okay,” Emma said, glancing back quickly. Norman hadn’t come out. Was he not going to reveal himself?
“Anyway,” Emma said, looking at Gilda with urgency, “I could use a glass of water myself. Please, if you could take me to the kitchen.”
She didn’t even wait for Gilda to lead her, walking a few steps in front until Gilda caught up, before Norman could emerge.
-
Emma was treated to slices of bread for lunch. While she ate, she’d settled herself on a countertop to gaze out at the snowy garden outside (much to Gilda’s chagrin, before she ultimately faltered and sat beside her). It was then that Ray had a window of time to visit her.
“Where have you been?” Emma asked, while plucking away at pieces of bread.
“Was doing a couple of chores around the house,” Ray said, with a shrug, “I see you two are comfortable.”
Gilda’s face appeared to redden, “Please don’t tell Master Minerva that we sat on the kitchen countertops, Ray,” she pleaded.
Ray looked unbothered, “Don’t worry. I have no reason to.” He turned his attention to Emma, who at this point had strips of bread and cheese stuffed into her mouth.
“…Emma,” he started.
“Yeth.”
“About tomorrow. The market is going to be early in the morning. I’ll be waking you up at dawn-break, so be sure to get enough rest tonight.”
Emma nodded jovially, sticking up her thumb.
“You’re going to Goldy Town tomorrow?” Gilda asked.
“Yeah,” Ray said, “Norman wants me to look out for a certain valuable. And I need to go to Lucas' shop for more parchment and ink.”
“Could you stop by the bakers? I’ll give you twopence for a lemon tartlet. Anna really likes those.”
“Maybe if you give me a little extra for my services,” Ray slipped a small smile.
“Oh, yes I know, I’ll give you more change so you can buy yourself one too,” Gilda gave a roll of her eyes.
“What are lemon tartlets?” Emma asked, after finishing off her lunch, “Are they good?”
“Only the best!” Gilda suddenly became impassioned, her legs kicking against the countertop’s side in emphasis, “Ray, do you hear what the poor child is saying? She’s never had lemon tartlets!”
“A true crime against humanity,” came his deadpan response.
“We must buy a crateload of them!” Gilda said decisively, “Emma does not know what she is missing.”
“Need I remind you that Emma is departing tomorrow,” Ray pointed out, “I’m dropping her off at an inn.”
Gilda registered his words, suddenly remembering that yes, Emma was to leave for good tomorrow. Yet she still turned to the other woman, a look of questioning on her face. “Emma? Can you not stay with us a night longer? I absolutely must see what you think of lemon tartlets.”
“Weren’t you just angry with her this morning? You know, a few hours ago?” Ray muttered.
The three of them heard a giggling from the door, and collectively turned to see Anna, a hand over her mouth as her laugh became much louder.
“You’ve warmed up quickly, haven’t you, Gilda?” Anna said.
“Oh, please. Not you too.” Gilda said, though she too was smiling.
Anna walked up to the small gathering, setting down a basket of laundry on the kitchen table.
“I’m sorry for Gilda’s sudden passion, Emma,” Anna said, her voice carrying its usual softness, “You must understand, we’re not exactly used to having guests stumble into our house like this. And we do not get the opportunity to interact with the outside world much at all. So we’re bound to get excited over the smallest of things.”
Emma gave a sheepish smile. “That’s okay.” She gave Ray a cautious glance, “If it’s alright, I would love to try one of those lemon-tart-things, and…” she recalled Norman’s scarily intense stare at her earlier, and her voice wavered, “…and maybe stay another night?”
Ray’s expression dropped into one of solemnness.
“You cannot,” he said, “We had decided to leave tomorrow morning. Norman himself agreed.”
The women all appeared crestfallen.
“Surely if we ask him nicely, she can stay a while longer,” Anna suggested.
“It’s not about that,” Ray urged, “What about…oh, you know!”
“But I trust Emma,” Anna said simply.
“She bit your hand!”
“She was just scared.”
“Emma does not strike me as a bad person,” Gilda spoke up, “She only stole yesterday because she was hungry. Don’t you remember a time when we used to be hungry? How we would do anything for food?”
A silence hung between them all. Emma fidgeted uncomfortably, not sure what she could say to defuse the situation.
“I’m giving Emma enough money tomorrow so that she’ll stay afloat for a bit before she finds work - or goes back whence she came from,” Ray said, “If you really want to try and keep her here, you’ll have to consolidate with Norman.”
“But Ray, you and Master Minerva are both rather close,” Anna said, “Can’t you-”
“No.” he shot Anna a sharp glare, a look that even Emma felt chill her, “Just know that the longer she stays, the more likely she is to endanger us.”