Maevis Visits
Lizzet Sassafras was dressed in her finest holiday gown, complete with white bloomers and black boots, a stylish matching hat atop her blond curly hair, ready to be wrapped up and shipped out to whichever sweet little girl had petitioned for her creation when Serendipity heard a slight knock at the door, followed by a rattling of the knob and the stomping of heavy boots against the mat that somewhat protected the rough wooden floor. She did not turn, not yet, as she was still admiring her work. Instead, she called over her shoulder, “Good morning, Maevis.”
Maevis was satisfied with the dryness of her boots and she crossed the few steps to the table, dropping the heavy basket she carried in the only cleared off place as she replied, “Morning? Serendipity, it’s practically evening. It’s past five in the afternoon. Why don’t you open the curtains and let some light in here?”
At the suggestion, Serendipity turned her head sharply, peering at her friend with a glance that said in no uncertain terms that the subject was to be dropped immediately. “It matters not what time of day it is. In here, time is always the same.”
Maevis let loose a sigh that sounded almost more like a growl, shaking her brown curls, which she had swept up and clipped atop her head, as she did so. She was much older than Serendipity, forty on her last birthday, and had known the girl since she was a very small child, having joined the Fizzlestitch household when it seemed three small girls were too much for the previous help to contain without another set of hands. “Serendipity,” she lamented, still shaking her head. “I do hate to see you this way.”
“Enough,” the girl replied dismissively, as she turned her body toward her only ally that didn’t amble on four legs. She still had Lizzet in her hands and offered her to Maevis for her inspection in order to change the subject. “What say you?” she asked with a smile on her face at last. She was rather fond of her latest achievement and was hopeful that Maevis would agree that this one was extraordinarily special.
“Oh, Serendipity!” she exclaimed quietly. “She’s marvelous. Look at the detail! I knew when I fired this one the last time she would turn out beautifully. You’ve really done a nice job!”
“Thank you,” Serendipity smiled. “I thought the pink in the fabric went nicely with her cheeks. Oh, but I will need more of that color--rosey pink. Can you bring it next you come?”
“I should be able to procure some more,” Maevis nodded, still turning the doll over in her hands. “Her hat goes quite well with her frock.”
“I thought so as well,” Serendipity agreed. “Where is she off to?” she asked. Maevis handled all of the requests and all of the shipments as Serendipity never--with one recent exception--handled her own mail.
“Well, we had a request from a little girl in a village in Iceland, but it’s becoming a bit more difficult to get your father’s business partners to make extra stops. I spoke to Mr. Tiggleham just yesterday and he said he may be headed north in a few months, but in the meantime, she may need to be redirected toward one of our other girls from the waiting list--perhaps in Dunsford or maybe I could take a trip into one of the larger cities. Oh, I do hope we can find a way to get her to Arnketia Manusdotter. The letter she wrote to you was just lovely.”
“Could we pay a courier, perhaps?” Serendipity inquired, pressing one finger to her lip.
Maevis brushed her arm away just before she slipped her finger inside of her mouth. “Serendipity, really, you are aware that the turpentine I bring you for your brushes will work on your hands as well, aren’t you?”
Serendipity briefly glanced at her hand, which was stained with paint in a variety of colors, everything from black to the same rosey pink they had just been discussing. She shrugged dismissively but dropped her hand to her side and waited for Maevis to answer her initial question, which she promptly returned to after the brief scolding. “We haven’t the money for sending a courier,” Maevis explained. “In fact, love, you should know that money is growing tighter by the day, and unless you can come up with a way to make money doing this,” she gestured towards the dolls in the basket she had just brought in, “I’m afraid this endeavor cannot last much longer.”
“No,” Serendipity replied shortly.
“Serendipity…”
“It’s out of the question.” She crossed her arms across her chest and tilted her head down emphatically. “My dolls are never to be sold, only given away as gifts.”
“I understand that,” Maevis explained, backing up a bit, “but once the money is gone…”
“Then we’ll just have to sell something else,” Serendipity replied, starting to turn away.
Maevis grabbed her charge by her thin shoulder. “There’s nothing left to sell. Everything of nonessential value has been sold already. The only things left in the main house are those that I and Ms. Crotlybloom require in order to make it day to day. We’ve sold all of the nonessential furniture, the paintings, even the curtains in the unused bedrooms.”
“What of my mother and sisters’ things? Their clothing, shoes…”
“Gone all of it.” Maevis hesitated briefly before quietly adding, “We’ve even sold some of your father’s things--not the important ones, of course.”
Serendipity’s eyes widened for a moment, but upon realization that he would no longer need any of his worldly possessions, she did not begin an argument. Afterall, she would never return to Marwolaeth Hall herself, so what difference did it make if her father’s clothing and cologne bottles were still present or not? Still, the realization that they were running out of resources was disconcerting. After a few moments she asked, “What of the hall itself?”
Maevis’s eyebrows grew together. “What of it?” she inquired, not sure what her charge was getting at.
“Why can we not sell it? Keep this cottage and one of the others for you, let Ms. Crotlybloom go. Why must we keep that dreadful place? I shall never step foot in there again.”
“Serendipity,” Maevis began, leaning forward, her hands on the table, “we can’t. That’s where all of the doll parts are kept. There’d be no way we could store them all here.”
Nodding, Serendipity suddenly remembered it had not been that long ago that Maevis had asked to sell the last remaining warehouse. It had required making space in the hall for all of the fabric, hair, eyes, bisque heads, what remained of her father’s initial supply of paint--everything Serendipity used to assembly her art. “All of the money from the warehouses is gone then?” she confirmed.
Maevis’s curls bounded up and down as she assured Serendipity such was the case. “You know your mother sold off almost every single one of your father’s assets after the ship went down. Anything she could sell, she did, in an effort to keep her household afloat. The only thing she didn’t sell were the doll warehouses because…”
“Because my father had them listed in my name, as my property.”
“That’s right. We were down to one, just this last one…, and now it’s gone, too. If you were to sell the hall, there wouldn’t be any place left to keep the dolls. And there are so many left, thousands…”
“Seven thousand four hundred and ninety-six,” Serendipity replied, her eyes glossed over in deep thought, her unblinking stare landing somewhere over Maevis’s left shoulder near the front door.
Maevis just shook her head in disbelief, though she realized she should not have been shocked that Serendipity knew precisely how many dolls were left and how many she had completed. “Yes, I suppose so,” she replied. “And we wouldn’t want to displace them.”
“No, we cannot do that,” Serendipity agreed.
“So, we must find a way to continue to pay the few expenses we do have. But I am afraid that managing a courier service at this time is impossible.”
Serendipity’s blond, matted, frizzy hair beat up and down like a large hat when she nodded her head in response. “Perhaps we could rent it out, a room or two, perhaps?”
Once again, Maevis shook her head. “No, I don’t think that’s likely,” she began. The blank expression on her charge’s face led her to realize she would have to say more, despite the fact that she did not want to. After a while, she continued. “No one nearby would want to live at Marwolaeth, Serendipity. And I’m afraid rumors have spread into outlying areas as well. It would be rather difficult to procure a renter of any sorts since most people believe the place is…”
“Haunted?”
“Yes, and cursed.”
Serendipity’s expression shifted for a moment, her eyes narrowing but then rapidly widening. “Is it haunted, Maevis? Have you ever seen… anyone?”
Maevis’s was stone faced for a moment as she contemplated the purpose behind the question. At last she replied simply, “No, I’ve not seen… anyone.”
Whatever spark had momentarily flickered in Serendipity’s eyes was gone now. A moment later, she said simply, “Well, we will have to find a way to keep afloat then.”
Maevis knew there was no sense in pressing the issue just now. Serendipity was clearly exhausted and unable to make any sort of decision. Pushing the idea of selling the dolls would have to wait for another time, one when she was better equipped to make a financial decision. In the meantime, she would find a way to make the household meet at each end. She always had before. “All right, love,” she said returning her focus to the basket she had brought in as Serendipity’s attention returned to whatever she had been working on. “Here are the heads I fired yesterday.” She began to remove the fragile pieces from the basket, sitting them gently next to Lizzete on the table. “The fabric you requested is also here, and I brought you some soup and a couple of apples.”
At the mention of food, Serendipity instinctively wrinkled her nose, causing Maevis to waggle her finger in her direction as she said, “You must find time to eat, Serendipity. Otherwise, you will wither away.”
The shrugging of thin, boney shoulders let Maevis know that her threat was not necessarily a menacing one and she let out another sigh. She couldn’t help but feel partially responsible for the transformation that had taken shape before her eyes starting with the day her father’s business associate had knocked on the door of Marwolaeth to report his death at sea, and the skittish creature who was afraid of her own mother, as well as her own shadow, had now turned to this grief stricken nearly unrecognizable former shadow of her bubbly self, who had locked herself away in retribution for a sin she would have never committed if Maevis had been present and able to provide her with assistance on that fateful day eight years ago. Several times, Maevis had broached the subject of responsibility with Serendipity, but it never did either of them any good. She insisted it had been her fault that her sisters and mother had died, even going so far as to blame her father’s death on herself as well. while Maevis repeated that it was an accident--everyone knew she had not switched the canisters on purpose, including Deputy Shillingpepper, who had released the young girl into Maevis’s care. There was no question that Serendipity’s actions could have been prevented if only Maevis had been in the kitchen that morning….
She watched for a few moments as Serendipity worked, laying out the hair for her next project and readying her tools. Clearly, she was not in the mood to talk today. Occasionaly she was, but Maevis could never predict what would cause her to be chatty and what would prevent her from voicing what was on her mind. She glanced around the room one last time, looking to see if there was anything else she could do. The lanterns were still full, since Serendipity rarely turned them on. Everything seemed to be in its place, and she was just about to turn to leave when something white caught her attention out of the corner of her eye. “What’s that?” she asked, staring in the direction of Serendipity’s rocking chair.
Serendipity was lost in thought, her back to Maevis, and she had no idea that she had even spoken until she realized she had crossed the room and was standing next to her chair. By the time she opened her mouth to protest, Maevis had the envelope in her hand and was removing the paper from within. “It’s nothing…” she began.
“Who would deliver a letter here?” Maevis asked, knowing full well the mail carrier, Mr. Barkingstop, would never make his way out to the cottage.
“No one,” Serendipity assured her, stepping over to her side, her hand reaching for the letter, before she hesitated and dropped it to her side. “No one delivered it.”
“Then how did it get here?” Maevis asked, stepping away, as if she were attempting to protect the letter from Serendipity’s grasp.
Serendipity sighed. “It came down the chimney,” she explained as nonchalantly as possible.
“Down the chimney?” Maevis repeated, her eyes wide. “Whatever do you mean? Was your fire out?”
“No.”
“Well, then, how did it make it down the chimney?” She turned the letter over in her hands. “There’s no mark of ash or soot…”
“I’m not sure,” Serendipity admitted, “but it came down the chimney, and it’s nothing to be concerned about.”
“Whoever sent it?” Maevis asked as she began to unfold it.
“Whoever sent it?” Maevis asked as she began to unfold it.
Serendipity snatched at the letter again, this time the hesitation out of her system. “It’s nothing,” she repeated. But Maevis was too quick for her and she was not able to get it before the older woman spun around on her heels, her back to her charge now.
“If it’s nothing, then you won’t mind if I read it.” Maevis was beginning to wonder if a gentleman suitor hadn’t found this long lost princess in the woods--though one glance at Serendipity’s current state of unkemptness negated that thought quite quickly--and she unfolded the paper and began to read. Her eyes skimmed the words quickly, her mouth open in awe and disbelief, but the words retaining their situation in her mind. “Serendipity!” she proclaimed upon finishing, her hands shooting down by her sides. “Do you know what this says?”
Thin shoulders shrugged. “Of course I know what it says,” Serendipity assured her. “I did read it after all.”
Maevis knew better than to argue with her about her ability to decode literature, so instead she assumed Serendipity had somehow managed to decipher the message. “If what this says is true--and if it truly arrived the way that you said it did--Serendipity, you’ve been summoned to join the finest group of toy makers ever assembled.” She drew the paper up before her eyes again, rereading, contemplating the words carefully. Then, more to herself than the other woman in the room, she mumbled, “I have heard of things like this, old folk tales mostly, but I didn’t know it was true. Never would I have imagined it was possible that this could be true.”
Serendipity’s confusion was well hidden by her look of nonchalance. “It doesn’t matter,” she assured Maevis, finally giving up on the possibility of retrieving the letter from her friend’s hands. “I’m not going anywhere anyway.”
“Not going?” Maevis repeated. Serendipity turned her back and crossed back over to her table, and Maevis followed. “What do you mean you’re not going? Of course you’re going. You have to go.”
“I don’t have to go anywhere,” Serendipity reminded her, picking up the bald-headed doll she was about to begin working on. “There is no one in the world who can make me leave my cottage and the work I have to do.”
"Serendipity!” Maevis implored. “Don’t you realize, this would solve all of your problems. If you could go… join this team of toymakers, you could finish all of your dolls, and thousands more. You wouldn’t have to worry about paying for Marwolaeth, storage, food, or anything else. Serendipity, this is the chance of a lifetime.”
For a moment, pale blond eyebrows raised as if in consideration, but just as quickly as the hopeful expression flickered into existence, it extinguished. “My lifetime is of little consequence,” Serendipity reminded her. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have much work to do.”
Maevis opened her mouth in protest, but closed it sharply. Setting the letter down on the corner of the table, she pulled her woolen shawl around her shoulders, gathered her basket, and began to walk towards the door. “Fine,” she said, one hand on the doorknob. “Don’t forget to eat your soup before it gets cold.” Then, as she pulled open the door, she mumbled, “How anyone could say no to Santa Claus is beyond me,” and stepped outside into the damp, misty air.
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