(Meg Gillingham and her brothers and sisters have been left
almost penniless by their parents' sudden death. Only the
kindness of their landlord has kept a roof over their
heads. Now read on....)
Left with her landlord, Meg led him into the chilly,
neglected parlor. If he was going to propose, it seemed
suitable, and if he was going to set a date for their
eviction, she'd rather her siblings not learn of it too
soon.
She saw Sir Arthur glance at the empty grate and shiver
himself. It almost made her smile. Almost. He was going to
propose, and she was going to have to accept. Then she'd be
trapped with him forever, having to let him do what
husbands do, and subject to his will.
Her shiver was not from cold.
She directed him to a chair and took a seat as far away
as she dared. "If you can see a way to help, Sir Arthur, I
will be very grateful." There, that was encouragement,
surely.
He sat. "There are generally ways, my dear. You have
heard nothing hopeful from your relatives?"
"My father's only brother is a missionary in the east,
and his only sister is the wife of a curate in Derbyshire.
With six children of her own there is nothing she can do."
"Your mother's family? She never spoke of them."
"As far as I know, they did not communicate. I found an
address for a sister in Kerry and wrote to her. I have
received no reply."
"How sad to see a family divided."
Meg wished he would just ask her. She had to want him
to, no matter how he made her shudder.
His pale eyes flicked over her, perhaps assessing her.
They'd hardly spoken since her parents' funeral, and before
that she'd been away for three years as a governess.
Perhaps he was disappointed in how she'd turned out. For
her family's sake, she wished she were a beauty like Laura,
but she accepted reality. With her sturdy body and plain
brown hair, she was inescapably ordinary.
He didn't look disappointed, however. He looked...
anticipatory. She supposed she should like being desired,
but in fact she felt like a trapped mouse being eyed by a
weasel.
"So," she said, a little too loudly, "can you think of
a source of aid for us? A way to keep the family together."
His brows rose. "Four youngsters is a heavy burden to
bring to anyone, Meg, but I might have a suggestion." He
paused thoughtfully, and she wanted to leap up and shake it
out of him. She'd do it. Anything had to be better than
this.
"Companionship is so important," he mused, "and I live
alone. Bed and board...."
She made herself smile. "Yes, I think so."
"I have always enjoyed your family. So lively. So warm.
Perhaps I could take on the care and guidance of you all.
If there was a closer relationship."
Meg knew her cheeks were turning red and hoped he took
it for a pleased blush rather than a flush of
agitation. "Relationship?" she echoed, since something
seemed to be required.
"A warm and intimate relationship with a fresh,
untouched young woman."
Now she could think of nothing to say, and waited for
the fateful words, steeling herself to say yes, and to say
it graciously.
He crossed his legs, unnervingly at ease. "I might --
no, would -- be willing to assist you all, to provide for
your comfort and even the education of the younger ones --
if Laura becomes my mistress."
The world stopped for a few missing heartbeats, then
Meg exclaimed, "Laura!" A second later, at higher pitch,
she said, "Mistress?"
He smiled, and she knew now it deserved a shudder. "Is
your nose out of joint, my dear? It's true, when you were
younger I did find you somewhat appealing, but you are,
what? Twenty-two?"
"Twenty-one."
"Still too old. But Laura. Ah, Laura...."
"She's fifteen!"
"A wonderful age."
Meg leaped to her feet, wanting to scream at him, to
throw him physically from the house, but -- hands clenched -
- she made herself pause. She understood his purpose. If
she didn't agree, they would all be cast out on a frosty
darkening evening into direst poverty. Perhaps even into
death.
In all her nightmares of their fate, this one had never
occurred to her. If it had been herself, if Sir Arthur had
wanted herself as mistress not wife, she would have done it
for the sake of the rest.
But not Laura.
Never.
Which left only one resource, the thing she'd avoided
throughout these terrible months.
The wishing stone. The ancient statue that could grant
wishes, but always at a price.
Meg studied the stone statue warily, wondering what she
should ask for, and if it was possible to avoid the sting.
Money?
That's what they needed, but it could come in many
unpleasant ways.
Security?
A charity school or even the workhouse could provide
that. Even Sir Arthur might, for a while at least.
To make the stone do her bidding she had to form her
wish exactly as it should be.
The future of her siblings. That's what she wanted.
Their future as the children of a gentleman. Especially
seventeen-year-old Jeremy with his gifted mind, who should
already be at Oxford or Cambridge.
She framed a wish and went over and over it. It seemed
too much to wish for, an impossible wish, but it was what
they needed, and she believed in the power of the sheelagh.
Then, when she was ready, she found the special red
candles her mother had kept for this purpose, and the
tinder box. Once a candle-stub was burning steadily on the
bedside table, gilding the gloomy room, she took a deep
breath and made herself put her hands on the grimacing
statue.
The power rushed into her, and the grimace seemed to
become a scream of victory.
"I wish," she said as firmly as she could, "that within
the week, we all be provided for as befits our station, and
with honor and happiness."
She could not let go. She knew that from the last time
but for a moment, she tried.
Then she made herself surrender, plunge deep into the
stone's wild energy. The power engulfed her, bringing the
remembered shivers and aches, the dazedness and
breathlessness. Dimly she thought she should have locked
the door in case one of the others came in and found her
like this.
She wondered, too, if the stone could kill, for she
felt she might die. She'd felt the same way last time,
though, and survived.
This was worse, though. Stronger.
Perhaps the power of the stone equalled the dimension
of the wish. And she had wished for so much! Was it
possible to wish for too much? Panicked, she again tried to
pull free. What if it never let go? What if it sucked all
life from her. She couldn't! She couldn't bear it!
She became one with the sheelagh's primal scream....
Sick and dizzy, she came to herself, shaking. She still
couldn't take away her hands. The sheelagh's power ebbed,
but slowly, almost reluctantly, as if it resisted releasing
its victim.
Victim?
Why think that, when the stone offered their only
chance of escape? When the power sank, instead of snatching
her hands away, Meg made herself stroke the figure, and
whisper, "Thank you," before freeing herself and pulling
the bag back around it.
She had to take a few moments to steady herself, but
then she blew out the candle, put it away, and hung the
heavy bag back in its secret corner.
Now it was just a matter of time.
It would happen, she was sure. Within the week, the
wish would be granted.
Time alone would reveal the means, and the price.
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