Lizzette Sassafras was dressed in her finest holiday gown, complete with white bloomers and black boots, a stylish matching hat atop her blonde 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 Lizzette 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--rosy 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 in Iceland. 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 rosy 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 toward 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 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. After all, 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 discerning. After a few moments she asked, “What of the hall itself?”