A Rose for Beauty

Chapter 24

Lydia had scarcely time to climb down from the cart in front of The Cat and Fiddle before Thomas clucked to the horses and the brothers rushed off in a clatter of creaks and hoof-beats to make their inquiries. Her head began spinning at once: she did not even know what questions she meant to ask, but she was lost and alone and matters were quickly spiraling out of her depth. She stared at the door to the tavern for a long moment before opening it, but realized the moment she stepped inside that she had no idea what she was going to say to Mrs. Warren.

Fortunately, it seemed she did not need to say anything at all; Mrs. Warren took one look at her face and gently ushered Lydia into a room off the main one, a small room that she had never been inside before. It might perhaps have been a business office; there were few furnishings in the room, only a square wooden desk, two chairs, and a cupboard that hung on the wall across from the door. All of the furniture was of heavy dark wood, all straight lines and square corners and absolutely plain. Mrs. Warren had laid her own mark on it, however, and color splashed over every surface it could conceivably be put. Quilted scrap cushions softened the bare wood of the chairs, a quilt in a simple pattern of bright squares running diagonally covered one wall, a braided rag rug covered much of the floor, little lacy doilies lined the top of the desk, and a willow basket full of what seemed to be knitting in strands of gray and soft pink sat in the corner behind the desk.

Lydia noted all of this absently, still consumed by her thoughts, only moving to sit and remove her coat when Mrs. Warren laid a warm hand on her shoulder. The older woman moved around the desk and settled into the second chair before leaning forward to lift a lumpy blue-and-white blob from the desk by an oversize bobble at its crest, revealing a white ceramic teapot painted in a pattern of small pink and yellow flowers. Mrs. Warren tested the side of the pot gingerly with her hand, and finding it hot enough for her satisfaction, opened a drawer and pulled out a pair of teacups and matching saucers.

She arranged the cups on the desk and lifted the teapot. "Nothing in this tea but leaves, I'm afraid," Mrs. Warren remarked calmly, pouring as though nothing at all were out of the ordinary, "but I've always found a nice hot cup of tea to be incredibly soothing. Sugar?"

Lydia started, suddenly aware that she had not been listening. "I beg your pardon?"

Mrs. Warren smiled. "Do you take sugar in your tea, Miss Lydia? I suppose I could get some milk, but I'll have to fetch it from the kitchen."

Lydia forced a smile to her face, but it felt crooked. "Sugar will be fine, Mrs. Warren." She shifted in her chair; the cushion, while undoubtedly softer than the bare wooden chair, was a bit lumpy.

Mrs. Warren nodded, pulling a little flowered sugar bowl over to her and spooning some into each cup. "I confess I prefer sugar myself, a little bit of sweetness always seems to pick me up in the morning."

She handed one cup to Lydia, who took it more out of reflex than anything else. Steam rose gently from inside the cup, making complicated curls and patterns before vanishing into the air. Like a dream, Lydia thought, suddenly reminded of the purpose of her visit, and she looked up to meet Mrs. Warren's eyes.

Mrs. Warren sat in silence, sipping her tea serenely, looking for all the world as though this were a perfectly normal visit and not – not whatever it really was. Lydia's hand shook, rattling the cup in its cheerful saucer, and she set it down on the desk as carefully as she could.

"Mrs. Warren," she said, "I think I may need help."

The older woman nodded sharply, as if to herself, and set her own teacup down. "What is it you need, dearie?"

Something inside of Lydia gave way. "I don't know!" she cried. "I don't know what's happening, and I don't know what to do, and none of it makes any sense!" Half of a sob escaped her throat before she caught hold of it, cramming it back where it had come from by pressing a fist to her lips. She paused for a moment until she was certain that it would stay down, then lowered her hand to continue. "Last night I -" but she stopped herself. It was too much. "Mrs. Warren," she fumbled, "what do you know of dream-magic?"

Mrs. Warren was still outwardly calm, but her eyes were keen and bright. "It used to be the most natural thing in the world, once," she said. It sounded almost as though she hadn't been listening, was beginning her own conversation about something else. "Dreams, duck – we all dream, don't we? And dreams are their own kind of magic, aren't they, so what could be more natural than that those as have a bit of sensitivity should learn?" She sipped her tea again, thoughtfully, then shook her head. "Anyone with sense knew to take them for what they were. Dreams aren't meant to last forever, anymore than sunrises are. That's how you get into trouble."

Lydia's hand curled into a fist in her lap, and she rubbed her thumb across her knuckles anxiously. "What kind of trouble?"

"The kind of trouble that comes from thinking you're strong enough and smart enough to defy something that's stood unchanged since the morning of the world, that's what!" Mrs. Warren sighed, then continued. "It isn't right, what they tried to do, you know. Anyone could have told them that, not that they asked anyone with sense. The dream world, it belongs to everyone, and those two, they tried to take it and make it their own. And whatever it is they did, they shattered the link for everyone. It's not just Mr. Hawke that hasn't been past the threshold in the past ten years, my girl." She lifted her cup to her lips once more before continuing. "As far as I can tell, no one has been able to enter the dream at all, this entire time," and here she set her saucer down, "except for you."

Me, thought Lydia. She felt curiously disconnected from reality, as though her body was something not quite solid, or in some way not attached to her mind. I wonder if my fingers would move if I tried, she mused. After a moment's consideration she decided not to test it and left her hands alone in their numb peace as Mrs. Warren continued.

"That's the reason there's been such a to-do, you know," she said, her eyes growing keener as she studied Lydia's face, "why Mr. Hawke agreed to help you. There's something unfinished about this whole business and for some reason or other, it's come down to you. You are the key, Miss Lydia. You're the one who's got to solve the puzzle."

"But why?" Lydia was startled to hear the question burst out of her with almost a wail. "Why me? What have I to do with dreams or magic or - or Mr. Montgomery?"

"I'm afraid I don't know, poppet," Mrs. Warren replied, but her eyes were speculative. "There's got to be something. Magic has rules, you know, and it's not likely to be random. It's just not like the order of things to snatch someone up into all of this without a reason."

"There may be something, at that," Lydia admitted slowly, the memory of her dream and her mother's terrible transparent eyes rising again to the surface of her thoughts. "But I do not understand what it means. I dreamed again last night, and in the dream -" she paused, unable for a moment to make her tongue shape the words, but Mrs. Warren waited in unblinking silence for her to continue and so she forced them out. "I saw my mother."

A whirl of emotions crossed the older woman's face, too quickly for Lydia to register all of them. Pity, she knew, and fear, and a touch of what might be understanding before it was all tucked away beneath a layer of good-natured calm.

"In that case, Miss Lydia," she said, for all the world as if they were doing nothing more than discussing the weather, "we must be off."

"Off," she repeated, feeling incredibly slow. "Off where?"

"Why to pester the surly Mr. Hawke once again, of course," Mrs. Warren laughed, plucking her bright yellow shawl from wherever it had been hidden and settling it around her shoulders in a swift, practiced motion. "Whatever is going on here, it is far beyond my small knowledge, but what is clear is that something's got to be done about it. Come along now, get your coat. I don't imagine there's much time."