Chapter One: In Which Nell Has a Tremendously Bad Day-CHAPTER ONE- In Which Nell Has a Tremendously Bad Day Nell Grim, ten summers young, the eldest of triplets, stubborn and serious and quick to anger, is having a tremendously bad day. There are three reasons for this: Her sisters, Hannah and Annet, are sick with typhoid fever. They both have raging fevers that make their heads hurt so much, they cry with it, and they can''t eat or drink anything without vomiting it straight back up again. It''s Nell''s fault her sisters are sick. This means she has failed everyone she cares about: her sisters, of course, but also Aunt Lena and their father. He''s a sailor. Whenever he leaves on a journey, he makes Nell promise to keep her sisters safe. She''s the eldest, after all, and that means something, even if she''s the eldest by a few minutes only.
And it isn''t even eleven in the morning yet. Plenty of time for this day to get worse, Nell thinks miserably as she sponges her sisters'' foreheads. Normally, cold water trickling down their temples and into their ears would wake them, but now they don''t even stir. That''s not good. Fear makes Nell''s heart stumble painfully in her chest. She almost wishes her sisters would be as active as they were last night, when they screamed and tried to run because their fevers made them hallucinate that there were monsters in the room with them. They believed it so utterly that Nell began to believe it too, though she knows that goblins and trolls and other creatures of magic are very rare nowadays and probably have better things to do than terrorize sick girls. Annet and Hannah didn''t believe her when she tried to tell them that, though.
Because they were too weak to run, they crawled under the bed and lay there holding each other and sobbing with fright. It took hours to coax them out. At least there was no time to think then. "Stop it," Nell scolds herself. She''s of no use to her sisters if she''s just going to sit here and let herself get caught up in her own dark thoughts. Better to act. Nell takes her sisters'' hands in hers; they always hold one another''s hands for comfort, and right now she needs all the comfort she can get. Annet''s hand feels hot, but then, her hands usually do.
Hannah''s bad hand feels cool. Her whole arm does. It''s an odd-looking limb, just as long as the other one, but very thin, the skin discolored. Her fingers are very thin too, and they curl inward, making her hand look a little like a dead spider. Nell makes sure to cut the nails every week; if she doesn''t, they grow into Hannah''s palm, splitting the skin. Her arm is like that because when the girls were born, Hannah had not turned properly and got stuck. The midwife, panicking, yanked on Hannah with such force, she broke her little arm, damaging it permanently. Their mother died soon after.
Everyone expected the girls to die as well, everyone except their mother''s older sister, Lena. From the moment they were born, she has been there for them, feeding them, clothing them, teaching them everything she knows. Nell wishes Aunt Lena were here now to tell her what to do, but she has gone to the village to get the doctor, which means Nell is in charge. She touches Hannah''s good hand, which is as hot as Annet''s. They''re both still feverish, then. To bring their temperatures down, she winds wet handkerchiefs around their wrists and places cold cloths on their foreheads. Still her sisters don''t wake up. They''re too weak to wake, and it''s all my fault.
Before the thought can fester further, there''s a knock at the door. Nell rushes to open it. "Thank God you''re back, Aunt Lena. I was." Her sentence trails off. Rather than her aunt and the doctor, a prim older lady is standing on the doorstep. She''s smiling, but it''s a hard smile, not at all friendly. Nell is so tired, she can''t remember the lady''s name.
She recognizes her, though; she works for the Company. When money grows tight--which it always does a few months after Nell''s father has gone to sea--Lena takes in sewing and embroidery. She decorates delicate silk handkerchiefs with flowers or ships or birds, whatever is in fashion. Even though they are sold to rich ladies, it doesn''t pay much. The girls help by sewing shirts for sailors and soldiers. "Yes?" Nell asks. "I''ve come for the shirts, dear," the lady says. Anxiety makes Nell''s insides twist like rope.
"Already? I thought they had to be done by tomorrow." "I''m afraid you''ve got your days mixed up, then, girl, because they need to be done today." Nell says, "They''re not all done yet, ma''am." The smile doesn''t disappear, but the woman''s gray eyes grow cold. "Not all done?" she repeats, and shakes her head a little, as if the concept of things not finished in time is beyond her understanding. "You know the rules, don''t you? If the shirts are not finished by the appointed time, you won''t be paid." A light sheen of sweat springs up all over Nell''s body. Not being paid means Aunt Lena can''t afford the doctor and his medicines, which Annet and Hannah need to get better because they''re very sick.
And that''s all my fault. The thought is accompanied by dread and guilt and exhaustion; her mind keeps treading the same paths, and it is both miserable and tiresome. "I''m sorry. Can''t you make an exception just this once? My sisters are very sick. My aunt and I have had to care for them constantly," Nell tries. "But surely there''s time to sew even with sickness?" the woman says. Anger rises inside Nell, burning through her exhaustion. Who is this woman to question them? She snaps, "My sisters have typhoid fever.
Have you ever seen typhoid fever before? It makes you have a fever so high, you think there are witches dancing outside your room, and if you''re not hallucinating, you''re coughing, or vomiting, or crying. I''ve done nothing but soothe them, try to get them to drink, and clean up their vomit. So no, there has been no time to sew." The woman backs away. "Typhoid fever, you say?" she asks, and now her voice is laced with panic. Nell feels a stab of satisfaction. Suddenly she remembers the woman''s name: Mrs. den Bleeker.
She nods. "Yes. So you see, we really couldn''t finish the shirts in time. But I can fetch the ones we did finish, if you like. You can at least pay us for those." Mrs. den Bleeker presses her handkerchief against her mouth and shakes her head. "No.
They''re riddled with disease. Best to burn them. Of course, that does mean I need to fine you. The fabric belongs to the Company, after all, and if it is stained or torn or in any other way rendered useless, the damage plus an additional fee shall be subtracted from the seamstress''s wage." Nell''s satisfaction disappears as quickly as it came. "But they''re good shirts. Our stitches are very fine," she sputters. Mrs.
den Bleeker smiles that horrible, hard smile again. "My dear child, surely you can understand that the quality of your stitches doesn''t matter. We can''t very well give shirts contaminated with typhoid to our soldiers and sailors, now can we?" Nell feels her face blanch. "You can''t do this. One ruined shirt means we have to sew six others to recoup the loss. We have almost twenty shirts in there." She attempts the sum in her head, then abandons it because to know exactly how much they owe is too horrible. Mrs.
den Bleeker says, "I suggest you get back to sewing, then, girl." Nell rubs her eyes hard so she won''t cry. She wishes her father were here. He would never let this woman talk to Nell like that, would make her take the shirts, typhoid or no typhoid. Why can''t he just take a job close to home and be there for his family when they need him? Anger rises inside Nell like the tide, anger at her father for abandoning them for months at a time and for making her responsible for her sisters, anger at the Company for caring only about money, anger at herself for getting them into this mess. To Mrs. den Bleeker, she says through gritted teeth, "I can''t get back to sewing. I already told you I need to take care of my sisters.
And you said you won''t take any of our shirts, so why would I sew any?" Mrs. den Bleeker sighs irritably. "Suit yourself. It''s all the same to me. I shall come for the money the day after tomorrow. Unless you''d like to spend some time in debtor''s jail, I suggest you make sure you have it." Just as Mrs. den Bleeker turns smartly on her heel to go, Aunt Lena comes down the path.
Normally, her face is as smooth and bright as a newly minted coin and dusted with freckles, her eyes large and clear. The only imperfection is a chipped front tooth, which is why Lena hides her mouth behind her hand whenever she smiles. Now her hands and face are covered with dust, erasing her freckles, and her eyes are dull and red and swollen. When she sees Mrs. den Bleeker, her mouth turns into a hard line; she hates the Company as passionately as Nell does. She gives Mrs. den Bleeker a curt nod and tries to move past her, but the other woman won''t let her. "Have you heard of the deserving and undeserving poor?" Mrs.
den Bleeker asks. Lena blinks. "Excuse me?" she says. "The deserving poor are poor because they''re victims of circumstance, making them deserving of our sympathy and help. The undeserving poor are poor because the.