The Fairy Godmother by Mercedes Lackey Page B

was living in a house that was bigger on the inside than the outside, waited on by Faerie Folk.
    I am going to learn magic. Magic! How incredible could this be? Here she was, with Faerie Folk all around her, and she was going to learn magic herself!
    The old woman—much less wrinkled, and much more apple-cheeked than the old men, Elena noted—surveyed her with hands on her hips when Elena had finished dressing. “You’ll do,” she said brusquely. “Those colors suit you. Foot.”
    â€œExcuse me?” Elena replied, now utterly bewildered.
    â€œYour foot , girl, show me your foot! ” the old woman repeated, and with absolute confusion, Elena lifted her skirt and held up one of her feet.
    The old woman seized it in a hand as hard as horn, and looked it over, muttering to herself. Then she let go, to Elena’s relief, and bustled over to another chest.
    From there she took a pair of soft slippers of the sort that tightened with ribbons to fit, and handed them to Elena. “Barefoot only in the garden, Mistress,” she said, in a tone that warned that there would be no arguing with her. “Shod elsewise. People come here, Mistress. You must be a credit to the Godmother as her Apprentice. People have to respect you, as they respect her.”
    Meekly, Elena took the shoes, and the stockings that the Brownie woman handed to her, and put them on. The shoes were of a leather that was as soft as velvet, and she was terribly afraid that she would have them ruined within an hour.
    Still, if this was what was proper—
    The Brownies were known for strict adherence to the truth. Rose—for surely this must be Rose, who did the “cleaning”—would not tell her to do something that was not correct. Very well. If these were the shoes that were right, then she would wear them.
    It’s all true.
    â€œRight then, Mistress. Come along.” The little woman opened the door and stood there, beckoning. “Time to break your fast and start on your work. You’ve a lot to learn, and you’re a bit late coming to it.”
    â€œAre you Rose?” Elena asked, as the little woman madeimpatient shooing motions with both hands, as if Elena was a giant chicken.
    â€œThat would be me. Come along, then. Madame doesn’t stand on ceremony at breakfast and luncheon, unless there’s guests; we all eat in the kitchen, and I’m to show you the way.” An odd little sniff showed Elena that Rose did not precisely approve of Madame Bella’s informality with the staff. Poor Hob! She must lead him a merry dance! I wonder if all Brownie women are like this? Rose had all the hauteur of Madame Klovis’s oh-so-superior lady’s maid, packed into a package half the size of the human.
    Out they went, with Elena glancing at all the books waiting for her in her sitting room with longing, down the stairs, and out towards the back of the cottage, at least so far as Elena could tell. First they passed a little dining-room, then a pantry, then a milk-room with pans of milk already set out for the cream to rise, and at last came to the kitchen. This was a fine, well-appointed room, complete even to a sink with a hand-pump, bake-ovens built to either side of the fireplace, and plenty of pothooks for kettles and a spit with a clockwork turner. And there was a very modern stove, as well, which set into a much larger hearth, one that could have once roasted an ox whole. Its presence surprised Elena. The cook in the Klovis household had often lamented that they had no such thing, and had described one in detail, though Elena had never actually seen one.
    The kitchen had an immaculately scrubbed flagstone floor and whitewashed brick walls, two big, sunny windows with real glass in them, and it smelled deliciously of baking bread. There were two tables there as well, a largeworktable in the middle, which would have been low for a human, but was waist-high to the Brownie, and