Magic Below Stairs (19 page)

Frederick began to help Lord Schofield put on the second-best boots, the ones he'd just finished polishing.

Without a word of thanks, Lord Schofield went right on talking. “Just as well Kate finished the job with the midwife from the village. Now the man-midwife is finally here, I find I don't care for the look of him above half. Chances are he would have fallen asleep in the middle of the proceedings, the—” Lord Schofield caught himself and all too obviously changed his mind about what he was going to say. “The lazy creature.”

“My lord!” In his surprise, Frederick dropped the boot he was holding. “
Lazy creature?
Your language is usually far stronger than that.”

“In the past, I have used strong language. I admit it. When provoked,” Lord Schofield added. “But that's all changed. As the father of a son, I must set an example. From today, I shall moderate my language. As of this morning, I am a reformed character.”

“Very good, my lord.” Frederick went back to helping with the boots, glad he was doubled over so his face was hidden. It would never do to let Lord Schofield see his expression. If he didn't laugh in the wizard's face, Frederick would consider it a lucky escape.

“The sooner we're rid of the man-midwife the better. I have business in Stroud. That is the location of his next delivery, so he claims.”

Frederick finished with the boots and straightened up. “That's lucky.”

“Isn't it just?” Lord Schofield arched an eyebrow. “I wonder how happy his new employers will be to have him on their doorstep prematurely. Probably eats his clients out of house and home.” As he inspected himself in the looking glass, Lord Schofield fell silent. He seemed fascinated, first by his own reflection, then by his hat. At length, he turned and held the top hat out to Frederick. “Frederick. What have you done to this hat?”

“Cleaned it, sir.” Frederick turned to look for the second-best top hat. “You won't want to ruin that in the rain either, will you? I'll fetch another.”

“You cleaned it?” Even as he glared at Frederick, Lord Schofield had turned the hat over and was sniffing at the silk lining. “The devil you say. Last night I cleaned it of the residue myself, and it didn't smell like this then. What did you use?”

Frederick decided that if a good clean top hat wasn't to Lord Schofield's taste, there was no point in wasting any effort trying to please him. Better to give his notice and get it over with. “Powdered chalk, my lord. Same as I use on your boot tops.”

“Powdered
chalk
?” Lord Schofield held the top hat up to the light and tapped at the crown. “Unusual. Oatmeal, I would have guessed. Best steel-cut Scottish oats.”

“I would have had to go down to the kitchens for that,” Frederick replied. “The chalk was already here.”

“Powdered chalk and what else?” Lord Schofield demanded. “Lavender water?”

Frederick shook his head.

“Salzburg vitriol? Hungary water?” Lord Schofield guessed. “Plum blossom?”

Frederick couldn't help laughing a little. “At this time of year, sir? Nothing else. Just powdered chalk.”

“Nonsense. There's something else. What exactly did you do with the powdered chalk?”

“I just rubbed it into the stains, sir.”

“And?” Lord Schofield had glared at Frederick before, but now he scowled ferociously. “Be honest, now. What else did you do?”

Frederick thought it over for a long time before he shrugged and gave up. “Nothing. I hummed a bit. That's all. Honestly, my lord.” He hummed a piece of the song,
peas and beans, corn and rye,
then remembered where he had heard it first—Billy Bly singing in the night—and stopped.

“You hummed a bit.” Lord Schofield put the hat back on and regarded himself in the looking glass. He uttered a series of hooting grunts and gazed inquiringly at Frederick. “Is that it?”

“Is what it?” Frederick asked blankly.

“Is that the tune you were humming?”

That was meant to be humming?
Wisely, Frederick did not speak his thoughts. “I suppose so. Why? Have I done something wrong?”

His resolve to reform apparently forgotten, Lord Schofield said a very bad word indeed. “I have been a blockhead. No, Frederick. You've done nothing wrong. But I know a spell when I find one under my nose. Or, perhaps I should say, just above it. You tell me you were humming while you cleaned this hat with powdered chalk. The traces of it will be with me until you take the spell off.” Lord Schofield tossed the hat back to Frederick. “Take it off later, with a clean soft cloth and a dab of spirits of hartshorn. No humming, mind! For now, bring me my second-best top hat.”

The best top hat fell from Frederick's hands. “But—But—I didn't
do
a spell. I didn't ground anything. I just cleaned that black stuff out of your hat.”

“And precisely what
was
that black stuff?”

“Stuff from the curse.” Frederick thought it over and added, falteringly, “Magic?”

“You see things in the fire.” Lord Schofield was beaming at Frederick. “And I always thought there was more to that boot polishing of yours than met the eye.”

“That was Billy Bly,” Frederick reminded him.

“Part of it,” Lord Schofield agreed. “The rest was you, Frederick.
You.
Same goes for the way you tie a neck cloth, or make a bed, or scrub a stain off the floor. You get yourself put into things properly, you'll never come out, even with spirits of hartshorn.”

“Magic.” Frederick thought it over, remembering the sense of peace that had filled him as he had worked away at the top hat. “You make it sound like grass stains.”

“Far more amusing than grass stains.” Lord Schofield caught himself. “No, I don't mean that. What I meant to say is, magic is dangerous! You must be on your guard at all times. Oh, fetch me the other hat, you sluggard! I meant to drive to the bookseller in Stroud for my own entertainment. But now I find my journey truly necessary. I am in need of an elementary Greek primer.”

“A Greek primer, sir? Why?” As he fetched the second-best top hat from its box, Frederick went on. “You can read Greek easy as kiss my hand. Why go out in the rain to buy a book you don't need?”

“For you, young man, for you.” Lord Schofield put on his driving coat, a garment so generously cut that it doubled his width. “The study of classical Greek will protect you from the worst of the perils you will face as a student of magic. It's important not to cast spells in your native tongue. In theory, the use of Greek provides a layer—insulation of a sort—between your intention and the power that you call on to execute your spell.”

Frederick was not sure whether Lord Schofield was joking or giving him his first magic lesson. Just to make certain, as he handed over the top hat, he tested his employer with a question intended to make him roar with laughter. “I am to learn Greek?”

“Classical Greek.” Far from laughing at Frederick, Lord Schofield seemed perfectly serious.

“I am to learn Greek?” Frederick stared up at him. “But who will teach me?”

“I will.” Lord Schofield looked pleased with himself. “If you prove an apt student, when you are ready for more advanced instruction in magic, I shall arrange it.”

“Wait.” Frederick could not take it in. “I am to learn magic?”

“If you prove an apt student. I'll find you the right tutor myself. Pickering, perhaps. Serve him right for his overconfidence.” Lord Schofield set his second-best top hat at just the right angle and turned for the door. “Be warned. I intend to order Kimball to engage a new assistant valet. Soon you must train someone else to black my boots and press my neck cloths. No pushing the task off on Piers. He's hopeless with neck cloths.”

When Lord Schofield had gone, Frederick stood before the looking glass and said to his own thunderstruck reflection, “Blow me down.”

Then, wondering if he was still asleep and dreaming it all, Frederick went to tell Mr. Grant that Lord Schofield had gone out.

Halfway down the back stairs, Frederick met Bess on her way up with a basket of clean linen.

“You look so strange. What's wrong?” Bess felt his forehead. “Are you ill?”

“No.” It took Frederick a few tries to get started, but once the words began to come, they tumbled out until he'd told her everything.

Bess beamed at him. “So you're to learn magic?”

“I'll try.” Frederick broke off, overwhelmed by the sheer size of the task before him.

“You'll do it.” Bess seemed able to read his feelings in his face. “If he didn't believe you could do it, Lord Schofield would never waste a moment of his valuable time on you.”

“
That's
true enough.” Frederick stood up a little straighter.

“I'm so proud of you.” Bess added, “Not surprised, mind. Fingers as deft as yours—it stands to reason there's magic in them somehow.” She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and brushed past him with her basket on her hip. “Now, if I don't get Mrs. Dutton these sheets, she'll box my ears for certain.” With steps quick and light as a dancer, Bess was on her way.

Frederick just stood there until the last of Bess's footsteps faded into silence. If Bess thought he could do it, then he could. He already knew the housework magic required. He could learn to be a wizard.

Frederick collected himself and set off for the kitchen. He still had to tell Mr. Grant that today Lord Schofield would require no breakfast whatsoever.

By Yuletide, deep midwinter had closed in on Skeynes. The skies were cold iron. The roads were mud. Frederick had never been busier. When he was not practicing the most basic elements of magical spells, he was memorizing lists of Greek words set him by Lord Schofield. When he was not studying, he was in Lord Schofield's dressing room, teaching.

“Stand up straight.” Frederick poked his student into position.

Bess's brother, Clarence, was the new assistant valet. He had come all the way from London by mail coach. It was a good thing Bess was around to keep an eye on him, for he was already homesick for the rest of his family in London.

Clarence's hands were still small, which meant he was good at detail work. Frederick showed him everything he knew about using a smoothing iron, and Clarence fairly soaked it up. He knew any dallying or familiarity would be reported to Bess immediately. So he spoke less than ever, but he worked hard and learned fast.

Frederick showed Clarence just how much starch to put in Lord Schofield's neck cloths. He taught him the trick of folding the fabric when pressing it. Clarence was at his very best polishing leather, but he was a keen student on other topics as well. He took to the work of an assistant valet—every duty but one: tying the cravat.

“Look, it's easy.” Frederick smoothed the worst of the wrinkles out of the practice neck cloth they were using and stood in front of Clarence. “Stand up straight. Now, look at the ceiling.”

At first Clarence stared patiently upward while Frederick wrapped his neck in fabric. But before the wrapping was complete, Clarence moved his head as if he were listening intently. “What was that?”

For a moment, Frederick stopped what he was doing to listen. There was nothing to hear, no sound that did not properly belong to the household. “What was what?”

“There it is again.” Clarence was staring upward. “Don't you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Frederick seized the ends of the neck cloth and lifted them into position. “It's important to keep the fabric taut while you wrap the cravat. Stop that fidgeting.”

“What
is
that?” Clarence craned his neck. Ignoring Frederick completely, he was staring all around the room, as if he expected an attack but did not yet know from which direction it would come. “What's that rustling?”

Frederick froze. There was no rustling that he could hear. But was there a familiar sense of peace and companionship? Frederick released Clarence's neck cloth and tried to soothe him. “Even a small house can make strange noises now and then. Wood dries out; stones settle. A big old place like this? Might be anything at all.”

“I know about old houses. This isn't anything like that. It sounds like the wind in the trees.” By now Clarence was looking ready to jump out the window at the next shadow he saw. “What
is
that?”

“Forget it.” Frederick put the neck cloth aside and found a length of string. “Look, let me show you another way. You can learn to tie the knot in a bit of string first. We'll work up to using the neck cloth. As soon as I finish that Greek primer, Lord Schofield will send me to study with Mr. Pickering. I'm not going to be here forever to explain things, so mark me well. Here's the first thing you need to know about tying knots, in a cravat or anything else.”