“Come sit, my dear. Meet some of my friends,” the woman said, gesturing to a velvet pouf. A leafy branch lay along her table, the brown bark speckled with several snails.
I sat despite how desperately I wanted to leave. If she were indeed a witch, I could not afford to anger her.
“May I interest you in a pet snail?” the woman asked.
“No th—”
“Well then! Perhaps I can change your mind.”
She plucked one off the branch. It was large and shiny with an orange and teal shell. She set it a few inches away from the leaves. The creature wriggled its antennae and crawled away, leaving a trail of mucus in its wake. Seconds dragged on as it inched around.
“See there. Snails are often knocked into unsure paths,” the woman whispered. She had lowered herself so her eyes were level to the table. “Nevertheless, they continue on with patience and composure. Plus, they’re good for gardens. Clean up dead debris and such.”
“Fascinating,” I lied.
“So. Would you like to purchase one?” the woman said, popping up. “Each snail comes with a free terrarium. Buy two and get another one free.”
“No, thanks.”
“Are you sure? I’ll offer a fifty percent discount for a bag of specially curated snail food.”
I shook my head and stood. “Thank you, madam, but I really must go. I have, er, a rendezvous with someone.”
The woman harrumphed. “Very well, dear,” she said. “At least tell your swain about my shop. Business has been slow lately.”
My skin was still crawling when I entered the post office. Of all the things I expected the strange boutique to be, it was a snail shop!
When I inquired after Helene, Vincent, the mustachioed postman, informed me that I arrived a minute too late. The letters had already dispatched and were unlikely to be called back.
“Then are there any letters from my father?” I asked hopefully.
“Unfortunately not, Miss Amarante,” Vincent said. He looked apologetic. I left before he could express his sympathy.
The trip home was slow and cumbersome. I was in no rush to see my stepmother again, as I expected yet another lecture about my brashness and unladylike behavior. However, no one had the breath to scold me when I arrived.
“Hurry and get dressed, Amarante!” my stepmother said when I entered. She was in a flurry of spirits, running to and fro with curl papers in her hair. “Dinner with the Sternfelds starts in an hour!”
I barely had time to breathe before Theodora ushered me upstairs to lace me into a presentable dress, her apron still dusted with flour from the rolls she had abandoned in the kitchen. Rowena fussed over Genevieve’s shawl. By the time everyone was properly attired, we set out across the street.
––––––––
THE STERNFELDS’ DININGroom was large and cavernous, but sparsely furnished. A short dining table sat underneath a massive, glittering chandelier. There were no servants waiting along the walls. The house seemed to have a sort of stillness to it, which the clinking of silverware did little to fill.
I had heard whispers around the neighborhood that Lord Gideon Sternfeld was immensely rich, having acquired his wealth in the bookbinding business. No one said he had a bad case of gout and was perpetually grouchy because of it. I found it immensely hard to enjoy dinner when I knew His Lordship’s gouty foot was underneath the food.
I stole another glance at Lord Gideon at the head of the table, trying to find Mr. Sternfeld’s open friendliness on his face. If anything, Lord Gideon’s face was closed. His many wrinkles seemed to shrivel into a mighty frown, hard and unmoving.
Miss Olivia Sternfeld sat next to her brother across the table. She was a petite girl with large brown eyes and as pretty as Mr. Sternfeld was handsome. There was a timidity to her manner and after our polite introduction, she didn’t peep another word. Neither did I, after realizing that eating was the much better alternative.
“You don’t seem to keep much staff here, Mr. Sternfeld.” Lydia’s voice sounded eerily loud in the large room.
“Please, call me Cedric. And Joe here takes care of most things. He’s been fantastic serving grandfather all these years,” Cedric said, gesturing to the black-haired man standing behind him. He looked about forty, with skin almost as dark as his tightly curled locks. He gave a curt bow and resumed his silent post.
“Will he not join us?” Genevieve asked.
“Absolutely not, miss,” Lord Gideon boomed. “Servants at the dining table? How preposterous.”
Genevieve looked taken aback. My stepmother flushed. I suspected that once we went home, Theodora and Rowena and our other staff would no longer be allowed to dine at our table.
