Broom with a View (17 page)

Chapter 16: Exploring the Wilds of a China Hutch

Violet was not all that partial to London. If she had visited that grand city before she had ventured to X then it would probably have been a different story entirely, but as things stood, all the city’s charms were eclipsed by the memories of a more magical place. She even found herself missing the little corner of Surrey that contained Gallows Road. At least there, one simple garden party was enough to acquaint the general
neighbourhood with her fiancé, and that was the end of it. Not so with London. Every night there was a new gathering to introduce her to the cosmopolitans of the city. There were so many gifts and niceties and thank you notes that needed to be written that it made Violet’s head swim. She really didn’t care for all the gewgaws that were lavished upon the newly engaged couple. For example, a diamond-studded nutcracker in a mink-lined case. She couldn’t imagine why a device used for shelling nuts had to be so cozy that a mink had been asked to sacrifice its skin. And how did one write a thank you note for such an ostentatious bit of nonsense?

Given the nature of the presents that she’d already received, Violet could only imagine the extravagance of the gifts that would arrive for her wedding to Mr. Wilberforce. It made her long for the rough edges and bumpy corners of Gallows Road even more.

And then there was the way her future family treated her being part of the Crafter community. It was mostly glossed over when others were about, like she had an eccentric uncle, but when it was brought into focus, Lady Wilberforce discussed her gift as if she’d contracted a case of malaria; it was manageable, but she could have a relapse at any time.

Of course, when they didn’t have company, Lady Wilberforce had no qualms about requesting a bit of magic as it suited her. Like on the day of their arrival
. Violet was barely in the door before she was requested to, “whip up another one of those darling protection spells,” for the townhouse.

“Surely
, that’s not necessary,” Cyril said on his fiancée’s behalf. “There are no hostilities in London.”

“There is always the chance of hostilities,” his mother told him in a
n annoyed tone. “Am I to be criticized for simply wanting to feel safe in my own home? Especially when I know there are Vampires about?”

Cyril turned to Miss Popplewell. “Maybe just a quick spell
, and then we’ll have some tea.”

The house was quite large, with many rooms and windows and cracks under doors that needed to be kept in mind while conjuring. Violet knew that creating the spell would leave her peevish for the rest of the day, but she dutifully drew her wand.

One evening they were hosting a party at the Wilberforce
s’ house in town. As her future mother-in-law had stated, it was just to be for “our most intimate of friends.” Violet was doing her best to keep out of the way as guests entered exclaiming to Lady Wilberforce that they were “So pleased!” Introductions were made; gifts were presented; and Violet was looked over like a horse put up for auction. She wouldn’t have been half surprised if one of Lady Wilberforce’s most intimate friends pried open her mouth to get a better look at her teeth. After that, Violet was mostly ignored—or dissected at a distance in whispers between guests.

There was one fellow, a Mr. Barry Durkin, who seemed very keen on discussing Miss Popplewell with every new guest that arrived. Violet found it very rude not to address her directly, but no one else appeared bothered. It made her wretchedly uncomfortable
, and she vowed never to go to another animal menagerie ever again now that she knew how it felt to be one of the exhibits. The fellow’s ill manners continued throughout dinner with him even gesturing at her with his fork from time to time. It was a relief when the meal ended and the ladies could make their escape.

Violet never enjoyed the term
“sitting room.” It sounded so boring to have a room where all one did was sit; she much preferred the word “parlour.” But sit is what she did. The meal had left her in a stormy mood, and she didn’t feel patient enough to put up with the polite twittering of the Wilberforces’ closest female friends, but she saw no avenue of relief.

Eventually
, the men rejoined them. Much to Violet’s dismay, Mr. Durkin walked right up to her and said, “Is it true you’re one of them?”

“One of what?” Violet asked, wondering if she should feel offended.

“You know, a magician.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned to the room at large and said, “I saw the cleverest fellow perform the other week. Really good stuff. He pulled a rabbit from his silk hat. A live one. The rabbit, I mean. Couldn’t believe my eyes.” The man turned back to Violet. “Can you do something like that?” he wanted to know.

Violet wasn’t sure what to do. She wasn’t used to being asked to perform parlour tricks. And she definitely was unaccustomed to doing any kind of conjuring in front of a large group of Mortals. The world was becoming more liberal, but it seemed an imprudent thing to do, to say the very least. It wasn’t too far in the past when a woman accused of performing witchcraft would end up being the featured guest at a bonfire.

Lady Wilberforce nodded at her and said, “Go on. Show them your talent. We are all intimates here.”

“Go on,” Durkin said, snatching a top hat that had somehow ended up on a table and thrusting it at her. “Let’s see you make with a rabbit. Now that would be something,” he said with a snigger. “Where would you have been hiding it during dinner?” In a rougher and much lower voice, he leaned
forwards and said, “I know all about your kind. Claiming to have special skills. It’s all rubbish.”

Violet stared at the black silk hat in her hands, not quite sure how to proceed. She wondered if this was considered polite behavio
ur in Mortal circles.

“Oh, leave her alone, Barry,” a woman in a spangled dress with a peacock feather in her hair said. “You’ve had too much port. Besides, it’s not nice to put someone on the spot.”

“No.” Barry refused with the stubbornness of a toddler. “She’s the one that claims to be one of those charmers, and I want to see a bit of magic.” He turned back to Violet. “Go on then,” he jeered at her. “Give us a rabbit.

Reaching for her wand, Violet said, “Actually, I’ve always preferred doves.” A sharp rap of her wand o
n the hat’s brim did the trick. Hundreds of doves came streaming out of the hat like bats exiting a cave at midnight. It may have just been an accident because he happened to be standing so close, but most of the doves flew straight towards Mr. Durkin.

“Gahh!” Barry shriek
ed. “Get them off me! Get them off me! I’m allergic to doves.”

Barely able to suppress a burst of laughter, Violet swooped her wan
d through the air, whispering a quick incantation, and all the birds, which were just madly beating their wings, alighted on various tables and chair, instantly transforming into glass ornaments.

Lady Wilberforce looked momentarily startled but then recovered quickly, announcing
, “We thought you all might like a memento of the evening. Please take a glass dove with you at the end of the night.”

Mr. Durkin was not pleased with being made the fool. He quickly composed himself and then said, “That was pretty good. You caught me by surprise there with the doves. Birds are such dirty creatures. Not a bad trick at all.” Then turning back to the party in general
, he said, “You should have seen the magician fellow from the other night. He had this cabinet. A vanishing cabinet, he called it. He put this woman inside there, shut the doors, and when he opened them, she was gone. Couldn’t for the life of me figure out how he’d done it.” He turned back to Violet, his face still a bit red from his supposed dove allergy. “Is that something you can do?” he wanted to know.

“You want me to make you disappear?” she asked quite innocently.

“Yes,” the man said, standing entirely too close.

Violet glanced around the room. There wasn’t exactly a cabinet, but there was a sort of hutch with numerous pieces of delftware on display. “What if I was to make you disappear in this
china hutch?”

Durkin let out a loud guffaw. “You really are a mad girl, aren’t you? That thing
’s filled to the teeth with fancy crockery. I’d never fit in there.”

“Are you sure?” Violet asked, raising both eyebrows a bit mischievous
ly. She walked over and pulled open one of the doors. “I think there’s plenty of room for a man of your character.”

Barry gave the girl a dark look. He enjoyed making fun of other people but did not appreciate when his own character foibles were put on display. Stalking over to the hutch, he stuck his nose inside the door. “Good Lord,” he said, blinking several times. “What in the world is a hallway doing here? Cyril, is this something you had installed to help out with the trick?”

Caught by his own curiosity, the man took a few steps forwards, disappearing into the hutch. Violet pressed the door closed with the tip of her wand, a few silver sparks emanating from the tip. The lock shut with a well-oiled click. “There now,” she said, smiling at the rest of the company. “That was a bit of fun.”

Everyone just stared at her. She wished Cyril would at least come over and take her hand, but he was as dumbstruck as the rest. Not knowing what else to do, she retook her seat.

“But what about Mr. Durkin?” the lady in the spangly dress asked.

“What about him?” Violet wanted to know, smoothing her skirt.

“Where did he go?”

Violet glanced towards the hutch with a little frown. “I’m not quite sure.”

A few of the men got to their feet and tentatively approached the china hutch. Through the glass front it appeared to be filled with the same fine, blue and white dishes that it always displayed. They pried open the door and looked inside. Nothing but dishes as far as the eye could see.

“But aren’t you going to finish the trick?” the spangly
-dressed lady wanted to know.

“It is finished,” Violet informed her.

“But what can you mean?” the lady asked, becoming mildly distressed. “What happened to Barry? Aren’t you going to bring him back?”

“Whatever for?” was Violet’s reply. “Mr. Durkin asked for a vanishing cabinet not a reappearing one.”

Just then, there was a distant banging from somewhere inside the house followed by some cursing and then a loud crash. “My goodness,” exclaimed Lady Wilberforce, looking alarmed. “What in the world can that be?”

Several of the guests got to their feet and scurried about the room as if someone had just shouted “Fire!”
But they didn’t want to appear ridiculous by heading straight for the door. For her part, Violet remained seated, her demeanor very sanguine.

A few minutes later, Barry reappeared under his own power, being shown into the room by the butler. “Mr. Durkin,” the servant announced, although it was obvious by the expression on the man’s face that something about the guest met with his disapproval.

Mr. Durkin was a bit more dishevelled than he had been upon entering the hutch; his collar was popped on one side; his hair was askew; and he was covered with cobwebs. “What the devil happened to you?” one of the other gentlemen exclaimed.

“I hardly know,” Mr. Durkin admitted, smoothing his hair. “I suddenly found myself stuck in an old wardrobe in the attic. I had a deuce of a time getting out of it.”

All of the guests turned to look at Violet with a renewed interest that bordered on awe. Lady Wilberforce leaned close to her son and whispered in his ear, “Now do you see the great advantages there are in marrying such a girl?”

Chapter 17: Learning to Be a Cosmopolitan

Talk of Mr. Durkin’s small adventure spread throughout the London social scene faster than the latest fashion. The result being that
Violet and Cyril had even more parties thrown in their honor, and they were presented with gifts that were extravagant to the extreme. Everyone wanted Violet to shove them in a closet or a handy cupboard to make them disappear, but the girl staunchly refused, claiming a headache if she ever was pressed beyond what normal courtesy should allow. It was a blessed relief to return to her little corner of Surrey, where a small bit of magic was never so noticed or at least was not remarked upon.

“I’ve had a letter from the Misses Fate,” Violet announced one afternoon. The post came as the Popplewells were just sitting down to luncheon with a small group of friends. “They are excited about your cottage, Mr. Wainbright. They say as long as you offer the usual terms, they’d like to have it sight unseen.”