The Duelling Houses of Warwick and Stone

“Mother, Mrs. Warwick, I think you both know why we’re all here.”

Esmerelda Stone arched her eyebrows. They were very dark and very pointy, and when she arched them, most people became very wary of what might be brewing behind them.

Not her mother, though. “You ungrateful upstart! After everything I’ve taught you, everything I’ve done for you, this is how you repay me?”

Esmerelda set her teacup in the china saucer and folded her hands in her lap. “You have taught me so much, Mother, but one thing you’ve never been able to teach me is to hate the Warwick family. Despite everything, I have fallen deeply in love with Gregory.”

She looked to the man sitting at her side, and he took one of her hands with a smile. “And the feeling is returned.” He angled her hand so the sparkle on her finger could not go unnoticed.

His mother spat out a mouthful of tea. “The Warwick ring? That belonged to my grandmother. It is meant for a woman worthy of the family name, not that trollop!”

“You dare speak out against my daughter! I’ll trollop you!” Mrs. Stone made as if to leap from her seat.

“Mother!” Esmerelda lifted a hand to stop Mrs. Stone. “That is enough! Gregory and I intend to marry, and this feud between you has gone on long enough. We are not leaving this room until the matter has been settled. Now, who can tell me what began your wretched rivalry in the first place? Perhaps then we might find a way to a solution.”

Mrs. Stone and Mrs. Warwick sat in opposing chairs glaring, while their children calmly sipped tea on the settee between them. Mrs. Stone was tall and thin, with eyebrows as dark and pointed as her daughter’s. She carried a cane, but used it more to whack at unsuspecting ankles than for support. Her knuckles whitened around the handle.

Mrs. Warwick was short and squat, with billowing orange hair that floated around her head with a mind of its own. She might have been jolly, only her eyes were small and cunning, always sneaking looks at people sideways that caused them to cross the street rather than cross her.

“Surely somebody remembers, after all this time?” Gregory let out a disbelieving laugh.

The tension built to a boiling point when Mrs. Warwick lifted a chubby finger in accusation. “You set a plague of locusts onto my prize-winning peonies. They were stripped bare within hours!” She quivered at the memory.

Mrs. Stone sucked loudly on her tea. “Prize-winning? Hardly.” She slammed her cup down, cracking the porcelain in two. “You covered my face in boils. The night before my wedding!”

Mrs. Warwick cackled, sinking into the chair cushion and chugging her tea with gusto. “I think I improved you. What a fetching bride you made.” Her gaze deliberately raised to Mrs. Stone’s wedding portrait gracing the wall overhead, the bride’s face swathed entirely in veils. Then her eyes narrowed. “You turned my husband into a hare!”

Mrs. Stone rolled her eyes. “That lasted a week! I thought you would have enjoyed the peace.” A smile curled over her face. “Although I heard that hare was as randy as ever, hardly gave your calf a break.”

Mrs. Warwick leaped to her feet, her face the colour of tomato. “That was no laughing matter! He was twitchy for months afterwards.” She threw her china cup across the room, where it erupted in a fireball.

Mrs. Stone was on her feet as well. “That was my great-great-grandmother’s!” Her body trembled as she brandished her cane. “You’ve always hated my family! You killed my uncle!”

“Mother!” Esmerelda stepped in, holding up a hand.

“It’s true!” Mrs. Stone rounded on her daughter. “Uncle Leo ate one of her cakes and died that night.”

“Uncle Leo was an overweight diabetic and died of a heart attack. The only poison in that cake was cream and sugar.” Esmerelda ignored the crafty shifting of Mrs. Warwick’s eyes. She held her arms out to fend them both off. “Enough! These deeds are all well known. You’ve been at each other’s throats since you were children. Tell me why!”

Mrs. Stone and Mrs. Warwick stared at each other. Mrs. Warwick broke first. “I don’t have to suffer this indignity. I’m leaving.” She gathered her bag overflowing with knitting and coiling snakes and prepared to huff away when Esmerelda’s voice rang out.

“Not if you want to live.”

Mrs. Warwick turned slowly to Esmerelda, who sat down again and spread out her skirts, crossing her feet at the ankles. Her eyebrows were more arched than ever. Gregory placed a hand on the knee.

“Esmerelda.” Her mother’s voice was low and dangerous. “What did you do?”

“I poisoned the tea.”

They all stared at the delicate teapot sitting between them.

“You poisoned your own mother?”

“What’s a little poison between family members?” Esmerelda’s smile was paper thin. “And I intend for us to be a family. Which is why you will get to the heart of the matter, or die.”

“You drank it too!” Mrs. Stone took a protective step toward her.

“I have also taken the antidote. We both did.”

Gregory beamed at his fiancée as she pulled a vial dangling at the end of a pendant from her bodice. Deep purple liquid sloshed inside. “I will share it with you once we’ve had a civilized conversation.”

Mrs. Stone collapsed into her chair, staring aghast at her daughter. Mrs. Warwick lowered herself slowly into her chair, her chins shuddering with emotion.

Not a sound was heard, other than the slurp of Esmerelda’s tea. 

It was Mrs. Stone who broke the silence. “You stole my ribbon!”

“What?” Every head turned to her, as Mrs. Stone’s mouth fought to remain still, but she broke into a sob.

“The first day of school. I was seven. My mother had given me a pink ribbon to tie in my hair. It was sparkly and beautiful. But on the way to school, you stole it! Every one admired it, and when I asked you to give it back you called me a lying toad!”

Esmerelda’s mouth hung open. “A lifetime of murder and mayhem over a hair ribbon?”

Mrs. Warwick’s cunning eyes went misty. “I remember that ribbon. I found it, caught in the hedgerow. It was beautiful, and I couldn’t believe my luck. It made me feel so pretty.”

“It clashed with your hair.”

Mrs. Warwick didn’t respond to the slight, caught up in her memories. “Billy Bannister spoke to me that day. I believed the ribbon gave me luck.” She softened and faced Mrs. Stone. “I knew when you said it was yours you weren’t lying, but I wanted it so bad. You always had such pretty things, and I had nothing growing up. I was so jealous, and I wanted to keep something just for myself for once.

A tear ran down Mrs. Stone’s cheek. “My mother beat me that night, for losing the ribbon.”

“I’m sorry for that.” Mrs. Warwick let out a long breath. “And I’m sorry for calling you a lying toad.”

“I’m sorry I turned Billy Bannister into an actual toad.”

“That’s okay. He was a pretty big toad.”

“He really was.”

The silence that lingered was more peaceable. Finally, Mrs. Warwick let out a cackle. “Gregory, I like this one. She’s a keeper.” She approached Esmerelda, who stood and leaned down to accept her embrace. “Welcome to the family, dear. You clearly have the mettle for it.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Warwick. It means the world to me.”

She unhooked the vial from her pendant and gave it to Mrs. Warwick. “This is the only antidote. You have to share.”

Mrs. Warwick inspected the vial, then shifted her gaze to Mrs. Stone. With dramatic emphasis, she lifted it to her lips and took only a sip.

Esmerelda let out the smallest sighs of relief.

Mrs. Warwick held out the rest to Mrs. Stone. “Come now. Think of the havoc we could create, working together.”