Broom with a View (12 page)

“Mr. Wilberforce may not know of the power he wields, but make no doubt that his mother does,” Vera clucked.

“Lady Wilberforce?” Violet was aghast. “Don’t be absurd.”

“A clever woman recognizes the benefit of having a magical being in the family,” Vera insisted. “Even an underdeveloped magic like yours.”

It would do no good to protest, Violet knew. Her aunt was set in her ways and her beliefs. Fact and superstition had a way of blending in Vera’s head. So instead, Violet offered, “Would you still like me to help you with your boots?”

“Oh, I don’t want to trouble you,” Vera said, taking a seat on the bed and raising one leg. “After all, I’m only in X on your mother’s generosity.”

Violet bent to address the laces.

Chapter 11: Creating Second Chances

The second proposal came ten days later and put Miss Tartlette in quite the state. “We should have left earlier. I knew we should have,” she fretted. But with reports coming in about the instability of X  and with the villa being so safe and well guarded, not to mention the family’s good table and comfortable rooms—given all those factors, Vera had found one reason or another for them to  continue enjoying the Wilberforces’ hospitality.

But that was before Mr. Wilberforce had stumped up the courage to ask for her niece
’s hand a second time. He did it on the veranda with the rising full moon as a witness. Violet demurred, naturally, but that was of little comfort.

Vera had been trying to keep a close eye on the young folks, insisting on joining them for walks in the garden and not letting Violet sit by herself in the parlour. She had successfully thwarted several conversations that conceivably could have taken a romantic turn if she had not been vigilant.

In the end, it was the offer of
canapés that caught Vera out. She was tempted to leave the veranda for only a few moments to sample a candied fig stuffed with blue cheese and wrapped in a cloak of bacon proffered to her by one of the
Wilberforces’
many servants. Vera meant to take just one and then hurry back to continue intruding on the young couple’s conversation, but the canapé seemed to have a bewitching magic of its own, and she found herself lingering for a second and even a third sampling. By the time she remembered her duties as a chaperone and scurried back to the veranda, the die was cast; Mr.
Wilberforce
had again felt the need to pop the question, this time keeping his glasses firmly in place.

“My lace is broken
,” Miss Tartlette announced as if it was one of the world’s true tragedies. “Violet, come help me mend it.”

Rather than obeying her aunt without question, Violet glanced down at the elder Witch’s feet. “Your lace is fine, Vera. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I tell you, my lace is about to break, and I need you to come with me to help mend it,” Vera said, distress filling her words and giving them smudgy edges.

“Mother always keeps an excellent cobbler on hand for just such emergencies,” Cyril put forth.

Vera immediately shot him down with, “No, I have no wish to bother your mother or whatever servant she has at the ready. What I want is for my niece to accompany me to my room this very instant.”

“Whatever is the matter, Vera?” Violet asked once they were ensconced in her aunt’s room. “Why have your boots become such a crisis?”

“We must leave,” Miss Tartlette said, opening her wardrobe and grabbing an armful of her belongings. “We must leave first thing in the morning.”

“But why?” Violet couldn’t understand her aunt’s agitation.

“And you are not to be alone with Mr.
Wilberforce. Not for one instant. Do you hear?” Vera bundled her possessions onto the bed then returned to the wardrobe for a second load.

“Vera, be reasonab
le. I can’t imagine what has upset you.” Violet stepped forwards to take the clothing from her aunt’s hands, trying to calm her.

“I told you of the magic of Mortals,” Vera said in a sharp whisper. “I told you
, and I warned you about Mr. Wilberforce. And now he’s gone and proposed a second time. What will I tell your mother?”

“Don’t be absurd, Vera. Mr. Wilberforce is Mortal. He has no more magic than this chair,” Violet said, waving at the small seat in front of Miss Tartlette’s dressing table.

Vera paused in her packing to give the chair a very suspicious look. “I will tell Lady Wilberforce at dinner that we are called away. Urgently called away,” she said. “I’ll say Sonny has been injured and that we must return to England immediately.”

“But Sonny hasn’t been injured,” Violet insisted. She didn’t even like to think about something happening to her brother. He was drafted almost immediately after the war broke out but had so far spent most of his days as a supply clerk. Sonny had always been rather clever with conjuring.

“For all we know, something could have happened to Sonny,” Vera insisted. “He may be gravely injured, even as we speak.”

“But it’s a lie,” Violet protested, not wanting to tempt fate.

“I am afraid that Mr. Wilberforce has put me in a position where a lie becomes necessary,” Vera told the girl. “After all, I don’t want to appear to be rude.”

Violet sat down heavily on the bed and scowled at her aunt. She wasn’t in love with Cyril, but she did enjoy his company
, and rushing off due to some silly little proposal sounded just too absurd. “Really, Vera,” she said, “You’re acting like an old hen.”

“Perhaps I am an old hen,” Vera said with an offended sniff, “but that means I’ve seen plenty of r
oosters strutting around the barnyard. Don’t just sit there wrinkling my sheets. You need to start packing. I’ll tell Lady Wilberforce during dinner that we have to leave. I am determined that we shall go first thing in the morning.”

Violet obeyed her aunt. She was half afraid not to; she’d never seen Vera in such a state. The girl didn’t dare use magic to fill her trunks. All she needed was to bungle a charm and have her undergarments romping through the villa while the vichyssoise was being served.

As she packed, Violet wondered what to say to Cyril. It was only right that she should say something. She’d never spent any amount of time with a Mortal male before, and they were quite different than she’d imagined. That was, if Cyril was a typical example of a Mortal; she had no way of knowing. At first, Violet had been acutely aware of his lack of magic. In fact, the whole house had amused her excessively. There was so much ceremony over lighting fires and fussing over chipped plates. So much time was spent polishing things and mending things and ironing things. Lady Wilberforce seemed to have an insatiable desire to have everything pressed flat and made crisp. The first week they were there, Violet had filled her days spying on the servants as they spread through the house covertly keeping things tidy.

As the days melted into weeks, Violet grew accustomed to Cyril’s lack of magic. He was a Mortal whose feet had never left the ground, by charm or broom
; that part was obvious. And he did have a habit of constantly misplacing his cigarette case and always finding it necessary to wind his watch. Violet found the behaviour a little confounding, but those little things didn’t bother her too much. She could sometimes be a bit magic deficient herself, so she didn’t judge him harshly. It was true he was a man who always appeared to have too much starch in his collar, but she began to wonder what it would be like to kiss Mr. Wilberforce. Not because she was particularly attracted to him, but in part because he was a gentleman and she was a young lady; it was almost a young woman’s profession to form romantic attachments to the available young bachelors in her life. But the real reason, which she would never reveal to anyone, least of all herself, was she was looking for something to blot out the memory of Sebastian Du Monde’s lips pressed against hers in a fiery embrace. His was not gentlemanly behaviour. Not at all. And she thought she’d better seek a true gentleman’s kiss to erase the passionate dreams that left her breathless, sweating, and twisted in the well-pressed cotton sheets of the villa.

“Are you ready to go down?” Miss Tartlette asked, sticking her head inside the door to Violet’s room. “I just heard the dinner gong.”

“Just a moment,” the girl said, feeling a bit flustered. She’d been so intent on thinking and packing, she’d paid little attention to her appearance until it was almost too late. Pulling out her wand, she plunged it into her locks and began stirring, round and round, like a spoon mixing butter into porridge, until her hair coiled into the perfect Gibson updo. “Ready,” she told her aunt while repocketing her wand.

“Now remember,” Vera said in a lowered voice as they headed down the stairs. “You are not to spend another second alone with Mr. Wilberforce. Not another word should pass in private from his lips to your ears. I know you don’t believe me, but you are in grave danger.”

“Oh, Vera.” Violet began to protest, but then a familiar plummy laugh came rumbling out of the main salon, and both ladies looked up. “Is that…?” The girl had to wonder.

“Can it be?” questioned her aunt. “I had no idea he would still be in X.”

They hurried forwards and were delighted that their suspicions were true. Mr. B was seated in a large chair, chatting with Cyril and enjoying his pipe. His infectious laugh and congenial personality warmed the room, which was always a little chilly during that time in the evening.

“Mr. B,” Violet exclaimed. “We thought it was you. How wonderful to see you again.”

“I see that introductions are unnecessary,” said Cyril, rising as the ladies entered the room.

“Miss Popplewell, Miss Tartlette, you are both looking wonderful. I had no idea you were still at the villa
, or I would have come to see you sooner,” Mr. B said, also getting to his feet.

“It was so very kind of you to send our trunks after that fiasco with the Vampire castle,” Miss Tartlette said.

“Not at all,” Mr. B said, waving away any additional gratitude that he was in fear of having dumped upon him. “As you can see, Professor Yog is here with me,” he said, gesturing to another chair that was being quietly filled by the old Warlock.

“Oh, goodness,” Vera said, a bit startled. “My apologies, Professor. I did not see you there.”

“It is the contemplative being that is frequently overlooked,” said the Professor, not bothering to rise from his chair.

“Good evening, Professor,” Violet added, dropping a small curtsy. She had no real reason to dislike the old man but could never think well of him since being witness to his encounter with the Count Du Monde in the cathedral. It was perhaps the coldness of his eyes. But was one truly to
be held accountable for what was in all likelihood untreated glaucoma?

The gentlemen who were standing remained standing as Lady Wilberforce entered the room. “Good evening
, Mr. Beelzebub, Professor Yog, tell me, what news do you bring from England?” she asked.

“The very best of news,” replied the Sorcerer as everyone took a seat.

“Do you employ a Vampire?” Professor Yog interjected before Mr. B could continue.

Lady Wilberforce gave the old gentleman a peculiar look. “Of course not,” she snapped. “Why would you even ask such a thing?”

“There’s the stench of the undead outside your villa, and I thought maybe you kept one about in the potting shed or someplace,” the old man said, his voice almost accusatory.

“I would never do such a thing,” the lady replied, lifting her chin, unafraid to meet the professor’s eye. “And I have half a dozen guards posted to make
sure no Vampire ever comes near our home.”

“Anyway, as I was saying,” Mr. B continued, “
the fighting has been pushed back well into Eastern Europe. A full ceasefire is expected to be declared any day now. All rail lines are open, and it should be perfectly safe to return home whenever the mood should strike you.”

Vera clutched at her lace collar, limp with relief. “Goddess be praised, that is music to my ears.” She turned to Lady Wilberforce and confessed, “I was just going to tell you over dinner, but we’ve had some news from home and must return without delay.”

“Nothing too grievous, I hope?” Cyril said, turning attentively to Violet.

“No, it’s just…” the girl began, blushing prettily. “No, it’s just we have to go.”

“This is excellent news,” Lady Wilberforce declared. “Cyril was just telling me that he needs to return to England for business, and I was hoping to join him, but I didn’t want to displace you and your niece, Miss Tartlette.”