Magic Below Stairs (11 page)

“It's been years since we met,” Lady Schofield said. “If ever you were going to shriek, surely I would have heard you do so by now.”

“You have a point,” Lord Schofield said. “Still, you never know. I might shriek at any moment.”

“It will be more of a roar,” Lady Schofield predicted. “Not that you couldn't shriek beautifully if you took a notion to do so, my dear.”

After a hundred yards of this, Frederick dropped back far enough that he did not have to listen to any more of their foolish chatter. He didn't know how Piers kept from retching.

Night had fallen by the time they reached the house.

“Not the best light to admire it by,” said Lord Schofield to his wife, “but welcome to your new home just the same, Kate. Custom now demands I carry you over the threshold.”

“Common sense forbids it,” Lady Schofield replied firmly.

“That lets me out, then.” So saying, Lord Schofield swept Lady Schofield up in his arms and carried her bodily up the steps. Alarmed, Frederick brought up the rear, ready to brace his employer if he lost his balance under the burden.

Mr. Kimball must have been watching their approach, for the front door swung open just as Lord Schofield reached the top step. Lord Schofield's hat fell off but he did not hesitate. He carried his wife over the threshold and put her back on her feet in the front hall. Bess helped her tidy the disarray his lordship's grip caused to Lady Schofield's gown.

Frederick picked up the top hat and brushed it off carefully. From his place at the threshold Frederick saw the whole front hall was lined with servants, all standing at attention.

“Welcome to Skeynes, my lady,” Mr. Kimball said, bowing. “Welcome home, my lord.”

Graciously, with a smile and a word for each of them, Lady Schofield greeted her staff, from Mr. Kimball down to the youngest maids. At her heels, Lord Schofield beamed with pride. Piers fell into line with the other servants. Frederick stood between Piers and Bess.

At last the welcome was over. Lady Schofield turned to Lord Schofield. “Are we ready to continue the investigation?”

Despite all the nonsense she had spouted about shrieks and roars, Frederick decided Lady Schofield might be more sensible than Lord Schofield after all.

“Why not?” Lord Schofield was still beaming at her as they climbed the front stair. Servants were supposed to use the back stairs, but Frederick followed them, making it look as much as possible as if he were entrusted with important luggage, even though all he carried was Lord Schofield's top hat.

Frederick was surprised when, despite the warning they'd been given, Lord and Lady Schofield walked boldly into the dressing room off his lordship's bedchamber. “The curse!” he reminded them as he followed.

Lord Schofield didn't glance up from where he was marking a circle on the floor, this time with a bit of chalk from his pocket. “No sign of one yet. No sign of anything.”

“I like this house.” Lady Schofield was smiling as she looked around. “So peaceful.”

Frederick checked the dressing room over as he put the top hat away. No dried peas, nor any other sign of Billy Bly's visit. No soot in the fireplace. The place was trim and spotless.

Lord Schofield muttered and gestured his way through his spell once more, then sighed, “Safe!” and rubbed the chalk marks out with his pocket handkerchief. “To be perfectly methodical about it, I'll do a great cleansing ritual, but that can wait for morning.”

“Good.” Lady Schofield took his hands in hers. “We're both worn out.”

Frederick left the young couple gazing into each other's eyes. Revolting, the way otherwise sensible people could carry on, he decided. Something to do with being married, no doubt. Perhaps it damaged the brain.

In the morning, Frederick was relieved to discover Lord Schofield was back in his right mind. The whole time Piers shaved him, he seemed to be thinking deeply. When he was finally dressed, Lord Schofield dismissed Piers and fixed Frederick with a glance. “It is just the two of us here now, so you may speak freely. Don't be embarrassed that you cried wolf. Everyone makes the occasional mistake. What gave you the idea the curse has returned?”

“It
has,
my lord.” Frederick felt as if Lord Schofield could see clear through him like a pane of glass.

“I knew the rumors would fly the moment Skeynes was lived in again. I didn't think you'd be the one to spread them.” Lord Schofield turned away from Frederick and adjusted his cravat in the looking glass.

Frederick knew he should make some excuse to leave his employer's presence, but he couldn't stop himself from speaking. “Can't you believe me?”

Lord Schofield moved so he was watching Frederick in the mirror. “Tell me why I should. Who told you the curse was back?”

Frederick wished to answer honestly, yet he could not bring himself to betray the presence of Billy Bly. Even if he told Lord Schofield straight out, there was the chance the wizard would refuse to believe him. The silence stretched until Lord Schofield broke it.

“You won't give me your gossip's name. I admire your determination to keep them from my wrath. I won't have Lady Schofield troubled by these rumors, understand?”

Frederick nodded.

“Very well.” Lord Schofield looked thoughtful. “Time for the cleansing spell, I think. Bring me a broom, a pint of ale, a pint of water you've drawn from the well yourself, a pound of salt, a lot of rosemary, and a handful of feathers, any sort, so long as they are clean.”

It took the best part of an hour for Frederick to fetch everything. Then, despite the fine weather, Lord Schofield ordered Frederick to kindle a fire in the dressing room hearth. The flue drew properly, smoke rising just as it should, without drifting back into the dressing room.

“That's interesting,” Lord Schofield said, peering into the depths of the fireplace to watch the smoke going up.

While Frederick had been carrying out all his instructions, Lord Schofield had assembled his magical implements. There was now an embroidered cloth on the shaving stand where the set of razors was normally kept. On the cloth lay an array of objects, some as familiar as a battered-looking kitchen knife, some too strange for Frederick to put names to.

Lord Schofield tossed a pinch of salt on the flames. “Hand me the broom. Now, stand in the doorway and don't let anyone else in, no matter what.”

“Not even Lady Schofield?” Frederick took up the position Lord Schofield indicated.

“At this hour? She will still be sleeping. But no, just this once, not even Kate. Now be quiet.”

Slowly, far more slowly and far less thoroughly than Frederick would have done it, Lord Schofield swept the entire dressing room. With every stroke of the broom, he muttered to himself. The sweepings, what few there were, went on the fire. Then out came the chalk again. This time it was not a circle Lord Schofield drew on the floor, but a triangle. He made marks around the outside of the triangle, but if they were words, they were written in no alphabet Frederick had ever seen before.

The salt, Lord Schofield sprinkled in a ring around the triangle. The rosemary and the feathers were distributed at irregular intervals within the ring. Lord Schofield put a crystal dish in the center of the triangle and poured in as much well water as it would hold. All the while, his muttering went on, a soft chant Frederick did not understand, even though it sounded half familiar.

At first, Frederick worried that Lord Schofield would catch some hint that Billy Bly was in the house. But soon that concern faded. The fire on the hearth made the room seem uncomfortably warm.

Frederick yawned. Even though he and Lord Schofield were the only ones in it, the room felt crowded. Frederick yawned a second time. Trying to wake himself up fully, Frederick squeezed his eyes shut hard, opened them, and looked again at the scene before him. The ring of salt, it seemed to Frederick, was whiter than it had been. The crystal dish of water seemed not as full. Lord Schofield kept on chanting.

The rosemary drooped and wilted. The feathers looked exactly as they had when Frederick collected them from the first hen to cross his path in the farmyard. The crackling of the fire made Frederick feel drowsy. If anything, the room had grown more stuffy than before. At last, Lord Schofield put his hands together over his heart and fell silent.

Almost overwhelmed by the warmth of the fire in the stuffy room, Frederick yawned a third time.

Lord Schofield glared at Frederick as he took up the broom and swept the whole arrangement into a heap in the center of the triangle. He disposed of the mess in the fireplace and added a few sticks of firewood to help the blaze along. Then Lord Schofield used the water in the crystal dish to wash the floor clean. At last, when the final traces of the ritual had been tidied away, he spoke. “Stop yawning, you infernal nuisance, and make yourself useful. Hand me that tankard of ale.”

Frederick obeyed. Lord Schofield leaned on the broom as he drank the ale in hasty gulps. He smacked his lips and sighed. “That's better.”

“Salt doesn't burn.” Frederick stared at the blaze in the hearth. He glimpsed strange colors in the flames. “Is that salt burning because you made it go whiter?”

The empty tankard hit the floor with a clank. Frederick felt the weight of Lord Schofield's hand heavy on his shoulder. “What do you see?”

For a moment, Frederick could not utter a word. He was held fast in Lord Schofield's piercing gaze. He was filled with fear that his employer saw right through him to the truth about Billy Bly.

Lord Schofield gave Frederick's shoulder a gentle shake. “Well? Speak up. What do you see in the flames?”

Frederick looked back at the hearth. If he didn't look at Lord Schofield, he could speak normally. If he didn't let himself think about Billy Bly, he could tell the truth about everything else. “The ring of salt looked whiter when you were mumbling, that's all. Is that why the fire turns green and blue now and then?”

“No.” Lord Schofield released him and took a step or two away. When at last he answered Frederick's question, he seemed absentminded, as if he were thinking of something else entirely. “The cleansing spell absorbs all manner of impurities. It makes people sleepy too. I don't know why.”

“But why does the fire burn green and blue?” Frederick persisted.

“The salt changes its nature when it takes the impurities in, just as the nature of the impurity is changed by the spell. That's what burns green and blue, the residue.”

Frederick dared to glance back at his employer. “There were impurities, then?”

“A great many of them,” Lord Schofield agreed. “More than enough to account for the sinister signs you reported. Don't speak of this to Lady Schofield. Given her condition, I won't have her troubled.”

“What condition?” Frederick picked up the discarded tankard. “She seemed perfectly well last night.”

Lord Schofield handed him the broom. “Take this back to the kitchen and tell someone to thump you on the head with it until your eyes function properly. Lady Schofield, as everyone else has noticed, is expecting a child.”

“Oh, that.” Relieved, Frederick accepted the broom. “I thought you said she had a condition.”

“That
is
her condition,” Lord Schofield retorted, “and I won't have her fretting herself over gossip and rumors. The physicians agreed. The quiet of the countryside, and more to the point, the complete absence of any members of her family, will do her good. Now that she's safely here, I mean for her to have peace and quiet. She shall, if it means I have to strangle every person I see.”

He knew it was never wise to presume on Lord Schofield's good nature, but Frederick couldn't keep silent any longer. “That's
your
condition, sir.”

“Out of my sight, saucebox, or I shall begin the strangling with you,” said Lord Schofield. “If you weren't so clever about tying a cravat, I would turn you off without a reference.”

“You would, too.” Frederick put his whole heart into looking as sad as possible, no easy task, for he felt the smile he was trying to hide quirking at the corners of his mouth.

“I would!” Lord Schofield assured him. “Now go!”

That very day, at dinner in the servants' hall, Mr. Kimball gave the staff the official announcement. “Having taken advice from the finest physicians and manmidwives in London, it was agreed the peace of the countryside would be best for Lady Schofield's confinement. With God's grace, she will give birth to his lordship's first child here at Skeynes sometime in November.”