R. LaFevers - Theodosia and the Serpents of Chaos

(Or maybe that was fear. It was hard to tell, as I found myself swinging wildly between the two lately.)

I can’t tell you how hard it is to pack for a trip that you’re not supposed to be going on. Mum went through my closets and emptied all my winter frocks and coats into a trunk bound for Grandmother’s house.

I snuck up to the attic to try and locate a traveling bag I could take to Cairo. I had to pack very different things from what Mum had in mind, let me tell you. Not to mention I didn’t have access to any of the things I’d really need once I was in Egypt; lightweight frocks, a parasol, cotton stockings instead of wool. Again, I resorted to the attic and managed to scavenge some old things of Mother’s, including one of her old pith helmets. Excited at the find, I tried it on and went to look in one of the cracked mirrors that lived in the attic. I must say, I looked quite dapper and ready for action.

I also nabbed some old woolen stockings with moth holes in them. I was going to need a way to escape from Grandmother Throckmorton’s house, after all. They just might come in handy.

I kept a couple of old winter gowns and my favorite coat out on the bed in case Mum or Henry wandered into my room while I was packing. I’d just toss those on top of my satchel, and no one would be the wiser.

Henry was feeling particularly glum, since he was being sent back to school. He’s decided he likes the museum, after all, even though I’ve reminded him a hundred times that adventures like the one we had never happen. He is somewhat mollified by the knowledge that I am being packed off to Grandmother Throckmorton’s.

If I didn’t know that I was actually going to Cairo with my parents, I think I would simply perish with despair.

WE BADE HENRY GOODBYE at Charing Cross Station and waited on the platform until his train pulled away. I realized I was going to miss the little beast. Either that or I had a bit of coal dust stuck in my eye.

Then Father clapped his hands together and said, “Now, Theodosia. Let’s pay your grandmother a visit.”

He always tries to make the prospect sound cheerful when both of us know full well it will be dreadful.

Grandmother lives in a very grand house over by St. James Park. It’s the kind of house where all the chairs and sofas are covered with frilly covers and she has hundreds of flowery, breakable things crowding every surface imaginable. The whole house is wretchedly uncomfortable and you can’t touch a single thing.

When we pulled up in front of the house, a footman came down to greet the cab and carry my bags. He lifted the suitcases and led us up the stairs to the front door, where Grandmother’s butler, Beadles, waited for us. Beadles always looked as if he’d just smelled some really nasty fish and was trying to keep his nose as far away from it as possible. Which was really quite horrid because then, if one happened to look up, one could see straight up into his nostrils and practically count his nose hairs.

Wasn’t he worried about going cross-eyed staring down his nose like that? I always did, whenever I tried it.

“Master Throckmorton, Mrs. Throckmorton, I shall tell Madam that you are here.” He ignored me completely, but then, he always does. He stepped away, leaving us all waiting in the hallway as if we were on a business call. Why does Father put up with this, and what makes him think I am going to?

I heard the rustle of stiff silk over lots of rigid petticoats, then Grandmother Throckmorton was upon us. “Hello, Alistair.” She greeted him first, offering up her old, wrinkly cheek for him to kiss.

“Hello, Mother. How are you?” Father asked after he’d given her a quick peck.

She sniffed. “As well as can be expected.” She is very clever, that woman. She said it as if it were somehow Father’s fault. I don’t know how she does it, but it would be a worthwhile skill to learn.

“Henrietta.” She nodded at Mother, but did not offer her a kiss. Lucky Mum, I thought. Then she directed that steely gaze and pinched mouth at me. “And what have we here? Ah, yes. Theodosia. My granddaughter.” She sniffed again.

“Are you catching a cold, Grandmother?” I asked.

She drew back as if I had asked what color her garters were, then lifted her monocle from the chain at her neck and peered down at me. She was no doubt trying to see if I was being impudent, but I have spent many hours practicing my most innocent look.

“Hm,” she said. “It is well and good that I shall be able to mold you for the next several weeks.” Her fierce glare let me know I was in for a miserable time of it. Except, I wasn’t. That uplifting secret lay in my heart like the most wonderful of gifts. But I pretended that she had won and looked demurely at the ground.

“Well,” Father said, shuffling his feet like a schoolboy. “We really must be going. We’ve tons of packing to do and last-minute details to see to.”

The coward!

Mother and Father gave me a quick kiss, then escaped out the front door. Grandmother Throckmorton and I were left standing in the hallway, staring at each other. I could hear Father whistling— whistling, I tell you — on his way down the front stairs.

I wasn’t able to escape Grandmother Throckmorton until well after teatime. No sooner had Father and Mother left than she started in on me. She forced me over to the piano, wanting to hear how my scales were coming along. She quickly learned that they weren’t. After wincing her way through my recital, she decided I needed music lessons every day while my parents were gone.

Shortly after that, a seamstress showed up and measured me every which way while Grandmother Throckmorton chose several new lacy, frilly frocks she wanted made up for me. Doesn’t she realize how much lace itches?

She prattled on about dancing lessons and comportment (I already know how to carry myself, thank you very much!) and — horrors — the painstaking process of finding a new pudding-faced governess!

Then we had to take tea in her stuffy old drawing room, and she made me pour. And of course I didn’t just pour, I spilled, too. How could I not when she sat there staring, waiting for me to mess up?

It wasn’t my fault. It was those fancy chairs of hers. They are so stiff and slippery and my feet don’t reach the ground. It’s like trying to pour tea while perched on the end of a slide.

Anyway, because of my poor showing at tea, Grandmother decided I needed to take my dinner in my room until I was able to handle the tea to her satisfaction. What a relief.

Only twenty-two more hours till I can make my escape. Since I’ll be asleep for many of them, I think I can make it.

I WONDER IF BEADLES EVER SLEEPS. I’m beginning to think not. I’m also beginning to suspect he has eyes in the back of his head. I could go nowhere in Grandmother Throckmorton’s house without him turning up seconds later. Only the knowledge that I’d be escaping soon kept me from despair.

Now, if I could just get through luncheon…

Grandmother Throckmorton was waiting for me in the dining room. She watched me like a hawk while I took my seat (checking for comportment, she said). Soup was served, and I was certain it was a test, so I ate as carefully as I could without making any sipping noises. I only spilled one tiny little drop and she scowled as if I’d upped and put the soup tureen on my head. It was time to put an end to this charade.