The Doll's House Chapter 5,

Chapter Five.

 

Bilton, Darrowmere, and Hestlewick.

 

Bilton was a small town, not far from the edge of the Dark Forest. Rows of neat cottages lined the main road, with smaller lanes winding between them. At the far end stood a coaching inn, and behind a tidy garden sat a larger, well‑built house.

Sophrayni guided Shade into the inn’s yard. A groom stepped forward and took the reins as she dismounted.

“There’s lunch available inside,” he said.

Sophrayni went in. The landlord bustled across the room.

“And how can we serve the Witch of the Dark Forest today?” he asked with a cheerful bow.

After a pleasant meal, Sophrayni sat quietly by the window, watching the street. She hadn’t been resting long when a man in a footman’s uniform approached her. He bowed.

“Lord Wilbur sends his greetings and invites you to call on him, if it pleases you.”

Sophrayni smiled to herself. It was gratifying to be recognised ,  and treated with respect, and perhaps a little fear.

She followed the footman through quiet lanes to Lord Wilbur’s house. It was well‑kept, with polished windows and a garden full of late‑blooming roses.

Lord Wilbur greeted her with quiet dignity, offering tea in a porcelain cup and a seat by the window. He answered her questions with care.

He was elderly, with a gentle stoop and a voice that rustled like dry paper. His hair was silver and soft, brushed neatly back, and his coat was buttoned with care, though slightly too large for his thin frame.

“I never married,” he said. “So, there are no children in this house. I preferred books to company.”

Sophrayni looked around. The room was full of them ,  shelves lining the walls, stacks on tables, even a few tucked behind cushions.

“I remember the old Kingsman’s house,” he said. “It stood where the bakery is now. Fine place, once. If there was a model of it, it’s long gone. There never was one for this house. The man who created them was no longer with us when this place was built.”

He spoke slowly, choosing his words like rare coins.

“It was before my time when Magalan came. The Kingsman who was in charge returned with the rest of the people. I imagine the place was much changed, but not broken. Bilton endured. The people endured.”

Sophrayni listened, watching the way his fingers curled around the teacup.

“The Kingsman before me had a family. His children must have played in the house.”

“Why was it taken down?” Sophrayni asked.

“That was probably down to me,” said Lord Wilbur. “It was a big family home and very old. Not much use to a single old man. But I can tell you that nothing strange ever happened there.”

When she rose to leave, he bowed again ,  lower this time, with a hand pressed to his heart.

“I hope you find what you’re looking for,” he said.

Sophrayni thanked him and returned to the inn. She sat by the fire that evening, writing in her diary.

“Bilton is quiet. The house no longer stands. The doll’s house is not here.”

She closed the book and stared into the flames.

Tomorrow, she would ride to Darrowmere.

Darrowmere was a cheerful town, nestled between two rivers and surrounded by fields of late barley. Children played in the lanes, chasing each other with sticks and laughter. Sophrayni arrived just before noon, and by the time she reached the old Kingsman’s house, she had already been offered three apples and a slice of honey cake.

The house still stood.

It was smaller than she expected, stone walls, crooked shutters, and a garden full of marigolds. Inside, the current Kingsman’s family welcomed her with polite curiosity. The children, two girls and a boy, were especially interested.

“You’re the witch from the Dark Forest,” said the youngest girl.

“I am indeed,” Sophrayni smiled.

“Daddy says we have to be very polite to you or you might turn us into hedgehogs or something.” She put her thumb in her mouth and stared at Sophrayni.

Sophrayni laughed.

          The child’s mother blushed. “I’m so sorry, she sometimes speaks before she thinks.”

Sophrayni looked down at the little girl. “Hedgehogs are a bit prickly. I don’t think you’d enjoy being one.”

The girl took her thumb out of her mouth. “I like hedgehogs,” she said, then added quickly, “but I wouldn’t like to be that prickly.”

“Very wise,” Sophrayni said.

She turned to the adults. “I’m looking for a model of a house that was sent out when the Kingsmen’s homes were built.”

“You mean the doll’s house?” said the elder girl.

Sophrayni raised an eyebrow. “There’s a doll’s house here?”

The boy nodded. “It’s in the cabinet. We’re not allowed to touch it.”

Their mother smiled apologetically. “It’s very old. Too delicate for play. We keep it safe.”

Sophrayni asked to see it.

The model was beautiful, stone by stone, room by room, just as Thallian had described. But it felt… quiet. No shimmer. No pull. No spell.

Still, the children hovered nearby, eyes wide with longing.

Sophrayni knelt beside the cabinet and placed her hand gently on the glass. She remembered Alphaz’s words: “You don’t bind the spell to yourself. You bind it to a place. A rhythm. A memory.”

She whispered no words. She cast no light.

She simply remembered, the laughter in the lanes, the honey cake, the marigolds. She let the house remember too.

The glass shimmered faintly. The hinges clicked. The cabinet opened.

“You may play,” Sophrayni said softly. “It will not break. It remembers you now.”

The children gasped. The youngest ran out and returned with a tiny doll. She placed it in the kitchen.

Nothing strange happened. But something kind did.

Sophrayni smiled. The spell was not for power. It was for joy.

That night, she wrote in her diary:

“Darrowmere is safe The house still stands. The spell was never there. But now, something gentle is.”

Tomorrow, she would ride to Hestlewick.

Hestlewick was a hill town, full of winding streets and crooked chimneys. The air smelled of woodsmoke and apples, and the rooftops leaned toward each other like old friends whispering secrets.

Sophrayni arrived in the late afternoon. The Kingsman’s house stood near the top of the hill, with ivy on the walls and a swing hanging from the old oak in the garden.

The Kingsman here was a middle‑aged woman named Merien. She wore sturdy boots and a green wool coat, and her hair was tied back with a ribbon clearly borrowed from one of her sons.

She welcomed Sophrayni with a warm smile and a pot of tea. Her boys, one shy, one bold, peeked around corners and whispered about witches.

“I’m afraid there’s no model here,” Merien said when Sophrayni asked. “It disappeared long before I arrived. When the people came back after Magalan, the Kingsman of the time retired. The house passed through three families before me. No one knows what happened to it.”

“Did anything strange ever happen here?” Sophrayni asked.

Merien laughed softly. “Strange? Only the usual. A fox in the pantry. A thunderstorm that knocked over the chimney pot. But no spells. No shadows. Just life.”

Sophrayni looked around. The house was full of warmth, drawings on the walls, muddy boots by the door, laughter upstairs.

“We do have a charmer in town,” Merien added. “She’d be thrilled to meet you, if you’re willing.”

“Of course,” Sophrayni said.

A maid was sent to fetch Amy Drinker, the local charmer.

Amy arrived wiping her hands on a flour‑dusted apron. She was tiny, barely reaching Sophrayni’s midriff, and moved with the brisk energy of someone who had already baked three loaves and scolded two chickens before breakfast.

A streak of flour ran down her cheek where she’d pushed back her hair. She curtsied, quick and low, leaving a faint dusting of flour on the floorboards.

“Witch of the Dark Forest,” she said with a grin. “You’ve come to Hestlewick, and I’ve come from my kitchen. What can I do for you?”

“I hear you know things,” Sophrayni said. “I’m looking for a particular doll’s house.”

Amy winked. “I know how to keep bread from sinking, how to charm a stubborn goat, and how to tell when someone’s hiding a secret. But doll’s houses? Not my area.”

“Have you ever seen one here?” Sophrayni asked.

Amy shook her head. “Not in this town. Not in my time. If there was one, it vanished long ago. But if you find it, I’d love to know.”

She paused. “And if you need a loaf for the road, I’ve got one cooling on the windowsill.”

“Thank you,” Sophrayni said. “That’s very kind.”

Amy curtsied again and left.

Sophrayni stayed for supper, sharing stories with the boys and helping Merien mend a torn curtain. That night, she sat by the fire and wrote in her diary:

“Hestlewick is safe. The house is full of life. The model is gone. The spell was never here.” Tomorrow, she would ride to Siddly.