Cold Hearted (Villains 8)

When Lady Tremaine’s carriage finally pulled up in front of Lady Hackle’s estate, her friend was there to greet her. She was so happy to have finally arrived after traveling all day by train. The carriage ride from the station wasn’t terribly long, but it felt like an eternity after the long train journey, and she couldn’t wait to be shown to her room so she could refresh herself after her long journey. Lady Hackle’s estate was a lovely, grand, and stately place, adorned with gargoyles and stained glass. It was the sort of home you’d expect to be rife with suits of armor, though that wasn’t Lady Hackle’s style.

The footman quickly and quietly spirited Lady Tremaine’s trunks away, closely supervised and followed by her lady’s maid, Mrs. Bramble. Lady Tremaine had inherited Mrs. Bramble from her mother. She was an older woman, as prickly as her name suggested, and always ready to share gossip about what was going on downstairs. Her hair was entirely silver and wild. She didn’t usually bother to keep it up in a bun, which was the fashion then, but she had made sure to tidy it up for their visit to the country. Lady Tremaine wondered what delicious tales she would hear from the servants on this trip.

“Good afternoon, my sweet friend,” said Lady Hackle, holding out her arms in welcome.

“Good afternoon, Prudence,” said Lady Tremaine, taking her hands and kissing her on the cheek. The ladies had been friends for many years and had become almost like sisters. Lady Tremaine always looked forward to their visits. Lady Hackle was a handsome woman, with light hair and eyes and an upturned button nose that Lady Tremaine found endearing. Something about her face had always reminded her of a sweet little rabbit.

Lady Hackle kept her gaze on the carriage, expecting to see Anastasia and Drizella step out next. “My dear, where are the girls? Are they coming in another carriage with Nanny Pinch?”

Lady Tremaine sighed. “I’m sorry, Prudence, neither of them are feeling well, and I thought it best they stay behind.” Lady Tremaine didn’t like lying to her old friend, but she didn’t have the strength to tell her about the girls just yet. And what would she say, anyway? That she had spoiled them beyond redemption? That she feared she would be stuck with them into old age because they’d become so horrible no one would ever want to marry them? No. She wanted to rest and relax. This was her time, and honestly all she wanted to do was forget about her wretched little beasts, at least for the rest of the day.

Lady Hackle sighed. “Well, that is too bad about the girls. My boys will be devastated of course, but I suppose it can’t be helped. Come in, my dear friend. I’m sure Pratt has already shown Mrs. Bramble to your rooms, and I imagine you are eager to refresh yourself after your long journey.”

They walked into the great, imposing vestibule. It was done in the Roman style, a large, open room with marble pillars and magnificent statues of gods and goddesses scattered throughout. In the center of the room was an enormous staircase that split into two, leading to different wings of the house. A sweet-looking maid met them at the foot of the stairs.

“Dilly, please show Lady Tremaine to her room, though I dare say she already knows the way,” said Lady Hackle with a warm smile. And then she added, “Oh yes, and, just a reminder, the dressing gong will be at six, dinner gong at eight. See you then.” She left Lady Tremaine in Dilly’s capable hands.

Lady Tremaine loved being on a schedule again. She and her husband had done everything on a schedule when he was alive. But she couldn’t remember the last time Avery rang the dinner gong, let alone the dressing gong. She and the girls never dressed for dinner, not since Lord Tremaine died. She hadn’t seen the reason for it. But now she understood why her husband had liked everything just so. She realized she needed to be more of an example to her girls, and she planned to bring back her old ways of living the moment she returned.

When she got to her room—the Fairy Room, as Lady Hackle called it—she found Mrs. Bramble already unpacking and putting away her things. Lady Tremaine loved this room and typically stayed in it when she visited. She always felt like she was visiting a fairy’s garden, with its purple-and-gold furnishings and delicate floral wallpaper.

“Everything is almost unpacked and put away, my lady.” Mrs. Bramble had what Lady Tremaine thought of as a graveyard voice: quiet, serious, and almost foreboding.

“I see that, Mrs. Bramble. Thank you,” Lady Tremaine said, looking around the room. Mrs. Bramble had thoughtfully laid out her gown for the evening, and somehow managed to find the time to have one of the maids start her a bath.

Both of their eyes darted toward the door when they heard someone knocking. Mrs. Bramble rushed to the door, opening it just a crack. “Oh hello, Lady Hackle, please come in,” she said, opening the door wider.

“Sorry for the intrusion, my dear Lady Tremaine. But I wanted to see what you will be wearing this evening. You’ve been in black far too long.” She glanced at the dress on the bed, which was, unsurprisingly, black. Lady Hackle was being playful, of course, but she was right. Lady Tremaine had been wearing black since her husband had died, and though it had been quite some time since his passing, she couldn’t bring herself to progress to wearing purple.

“Friend, it’s been six years. I know you loved Francis—we all did, and we miss him dearly—but it’s time to start living your life again. I shouldn’t tell you this, but some of our old friends are starting to refer to you as the queen, as in Queen Victoria.”

Lady Tremaine was taken aback. “Who is calling me that?” But she had to admit her friend was right, and she had to agree her clothing was rather stodgy and matronly. Perhaps it was time to lighten up. “I suppose you have an alternate dress in mind?” she asked with a knowing smile.

“Well, as a matter of fact I do!” It had been years since Lady Tremaine saw such a mischievous smile on Lady Hackle’s face, not since they were girls together. She suddenly missed those days when she and Prudence were in school, not a care in the world other than making their mothers happy by finding the right husband, which they both did, to both of their mothers’ satisfaction. Their mothers couldn’t have been happier with their choices. The only thing that could have made them any more pleased was if they had come home with princes.

Lord Francis Tremaine was a mother’s dream. He was a man of property and wealth, and came from one of the oldest and very best families. So did Prudence’s husband, whom everyone called Piggy. Lady Tremaine laughed to herself, almost forgetting his actual name: Henry. She always found it amusing how most of the gentlemen in her circle had such ridiculous nicknames. Some of the ladies did as well, though thank goodness she never managed to acquire one. She couldn’t imagine being called Bunny, or one of the other names fancied in her social circles. And now she was starting to fear everyone might take to calling her Vicky, since they’ve been calling her “the queen” behind her back.

She realized she had completely drifted out of the conversation she was having with Lady Hackle, and now her lady’s maid had taken over the dress selections. While Lady Tremaine was musing, her friend had brought in a battalion of maids, each carrying a different dress, all of which Mrs. Bramble dismissed in succession.

“Come now, there has to be at least one you think will do,” sa

id Lady Hackle. “My dear Lady Tremaine, please, come over here and lend us your opinion. You will be wearing the dress, after all.”

All the dresses were lovely, of course, exquisitely made in the latest fashions, but Lady Tremaine wasn’t sure if they were right for her. It was clear Mrs. Bramble didn’t think so, either.

“How about the dusty periwinkle with the deep purple accents?” Lady Hackle motioned for one of the maids to hold it up so Lady Tremaine could see. “And maybe we can have my Rebecca do your hair this evening, just this once? Oh, you’ll love her, my dear. I don’t think Mrs. Bramble would mind, would you, Mrs. Bramble?”

Lady Tremaine laughed silently to herself, knowing full well Mrs. Bramble would mind. She would mind very much.

“That is up to my lady,” Mrs. Bramble said stiffly.

But before Lady Tremaine could answer, her old friend seized the moment. “Delightful! I will send Rebecca in at six, then, to help with your hair. Oh, my sweet friend, you’re going to look lovely tonight.” She kissed Lady Tremaine on the cheek before dashing out of the room, her maids following her like a line of little ducklings.

Lady Tremaine sat on the bed as if exhausted. “Goodness, she is a whirlwind, isn’t she?” she said, trying to make light of the situation, hoping Mrs. Bramble wouldn’t be hurt or cross with her. Mrs. Bramble simply stood there looking as if she had something to say but had decided to keep it to herself. “Go on, then,” said Lady Tremaine. “I suppose you’re upset with me. You know how Lady Prudence can be. She’s tenacious when there is something she wants. Why not just give her this? And what would it hurt to wear purple? It’s still a mourning color.”

Mrs. Bramble took the black dress that she had previously laid out on the bed and hung it in the closet, saying nothing.

“Come now. Mrs. Bramble, don’t be upset. You know how much I value you. I’m only letting Rebecca do my hair to make Lady Prudence happy.” Still Mrs. Bramble said nothing. She just went about the room moving things a fraction of an inch from where they were before, pretending she was busy. “Mrs. Bramble, I must insist you speak your mind!” said Lady Tremaine, starting to become impatient.