Magic Below Stairs (2 page)

When Frederick woke the next morning, the kitchen floor looked freshly scrubbed. There beside him was a bucket of beans and a bucket of peas, and no sign of anyone in the kitchen, large or small, except Vardle. Frederick could not understand just how, but he knew he was saved from the still room. All he had to do was take credit for work he had left unfinished.

“Blow me down but you're a hard worker, lad.” The cook put a bowl of gruel down in front of Frederick. “Get that inside you. You've made a proper job of it, no mistake. Someday when Mr. Makepeace isn't looking, I'll show you how to clean fish.”

Mr. Makepeace came down to the kitchen no doubt ready to shout and swear some more. But when he saw the floor clean and the buckets full, his eyes bulged. He ran his hands through the beans and the peas.

“Not a grain of sand,” Mr. Makepeace marveled. “Not a speck of dirt.” He glared at Vardle.

The cook said, “I never. He did it all by himself.”

Mr. Makepeace stared at Frederick. “Who helped you?”

Frederick was an honest young fellow, but he knew it was best not to tell people like Mr. Makepeace things they would not care to know. He hesitated.

Mr. Makepeace roared at Frederick. “Who helped you?”

Frederick's ears began to buzz a little, a soft sound like dry leaves rustling. At last Frederick answered, “No one.”

Mr. Makepeace poked once more at the beans, as if he couldn't believe they were real. Then, glaring so hard the whites of his eyes showed, he looked all around the room. At last, he said, “Frederick, from now on, you're the kitchen boy. Do as Vardle tells you or it will be the worse for you.”

Frederick did not understand what had happened. He was just grateful to be free of the still room and its beetles. But from that day on, Mr. Makepeace stayed well away from the kitchen, and Frederick stayed well away from Mr. Makepeace.

“I do like a quiet life,” Vardle said one day. “I reckon I have you to thank for it, lad. Now Mr. Makepeace has taken such a misliking to the very sight of you, he isn't down here as often, so there's far less fuss and botheration.”

This encouraged Frederick to ask, “Mr. Vardle, have you ever heard of anyone who saw little men dressed all in green?”

Vardle laughed. “Little men dressed all in green? Do you mean leprechauns? They see them all the time in Ireland, so they say.”

“Not in Ireland. Here.”

“I myself never saw or heard of such a thing, not even in the Royal Navy.” Vardle looked Frederick over carefully. “If I were you, I wouldn't mention little men, green or any other color. Keep a silent tongue in a wise head, young Frederick. That's good advice for anyone.”

Frederick knew better than to ask any of the other orphans about the little man. He didn't fancy being pushed down the stairs again. He kept his mouth shut, his thoughts to himself, and his eyes and ears wide open.

Day by day, Frederick worked in the kitchen. Soon the floor no longer seemed so damp and dirty. Indeed, the whole place seemed cleaner and tidier, if no warmer. Winter was slow to take its leave that year, and spring even slower to come. Frederick was glad of the kitchen scraps he earned and happy to spend most of his time away from the other orphans.

In the kitchen, Vardle taught Frederick his duties.

“The first thing to know about cleaning fish,” he told Frederick, “is that you need a sharp knife.” Fish by fish, he showed Frederick the best way to remove the innards and scales. He showed Frederick which fish were worth the trouble of taking the bones out and which were not. He even showed Frederick how to make a fish stew tasty enough that the orphans would eat it every Friday without much complaint.

Frederick picked things up fast. The second thing he learned about cleaning fish was that Vardle wasn't nearly as careful to remove bones, scales, and innards as he could have been, probably because Vardle wouldn't be among those eating the result. The cook made his own meals separately out of the best of the orphanage supplies left after Mr. Makepeace had had his share.

When Frederick begged him to, Vardle, who had learned to read in the Royal Navy, used a bit of chalk on the kitchen floor to show Frederick numbers and letters of the alphabet and how to read and write them. After a few months, Frederick could read the labels on crates and sacks of provisions as well as Vardle could.

One day when Frederick was helping, he said, “It helps you that I know the right way to clean fish, doesn't it, Mr. Vardle, sir?”

“That it does, lad,” said Vardle. “The first thing you need is a sharp knife.”

“Yes, Mr. Vardle, sir.” Frederick did not mention that Vardle had told him so at least a dozen times. “It would be useful if I could sharpen the knives for you, wouldn't it?”

“It might be.” Vardle added fresh stains to the dirty apron he wore as he scratched his round belly. “You want something, or you wouldn't be calling me
Mr. Vardle, sir.
Spit it out, lad.”

“I want to learn how to sharpen a kitchen knife, that's all. Couldn't you teach me?” Frederick did his best to look trustworthy.

Vardle frowned. “The first thing to know about sharpening a knife is that you can cripple yourself if you aren't careful.”

“I could have guessed that,” said Frederick. “What's the second thing?”

“Oh, all right then. Since you've taken a notion to learn, the good Lord above knows why, I'll show you. Take a close look at the edge, see what you'll be working with.” The cook brought out his sharpening stone. “Put your stone like this. Hold the knife so. Now, bring it toward you. What did I tell you about crippling yourself? Slower, lad.”

Step by step, Vardle taught Frederick the best way to sharpen knives. After that, in addition to his usual chores, Frederick sharpened all the kitchen knives regularly.

One day Vardle told Frederick he had never worked anyplace where knives were better cared for. “You've the knack of it, no question, and lucky it is you do, for a dull knife is the most dangerous thing in any kitchen. A sharp knife cuts what you want it to cut. A dull knife cuts only what it pleases.”

“The most dangerous thing in this kitchen is Mr. Makepeace,” said Frederick. “But he doesn't come down so often these days. Why doesn't he?”

“Why do you think?” Vardle countered.

Mr. Makepeace had kept well away from him ever since the night of the bean and pea punishment, and Frederick wondered if Mr. Makepeace suspected something about the little man in green. It hardly seemed wise to bring that up to Vardle. So he said, “Maybe we've just been lucky.”

“Lucky?” Vardle laughed heartily at the idea. “Good luck is more than half hard work. Mr. Makepeace knows things are shipshape down here, so he doesn't need to spare the effort.”

One day when he was scrubbing beets for dinner, Frederick said, “Mr. Vardle, sir—”

“Here it comes,” said Vardle. “Less of the best lamp oil, if you please.”

“Lamp oil?” Frederick had no idea what Vardle was talking about.

“I mean less of the
Mr.-Vardle-sir
. Can tell you were raised in an orphanage. You have no more idea how to polish the brass than a sparrow would. Less, if anything.”

“Brass?” Frederick wondered if Vardle had lost his wits. “I'm scrubbing the beets, not the brass.”

“You only talk respectful—polish the brass, that is, or use the lamp oil—when you want me to teach you something.” Puffing with effort, Vardle brought over another large bag of beets. “What is it this time?”

Frederick watched Vardle tear open the burlap bag with his big red hands. “I was only going to say you must know lots of useful things. When I grow up and join the Royal Navy, I will need to know lots of useful things myself. But since you mentioned it, what else can you teach me?”

“I already taught you all the things I know best: cleaning fish, sharpening knives, and reading the alphabet. I don't rightly know what else I know.” Vardle presented Frederick with the open bag. “Scrub these like a good fellow while I think it over.”

It took Vardle a long time to think of an answer to Frederick's question. When every beet was scrubbed and ready for the pot, he told Frederick, “I know how to tie knots. I could teach you that. Not that you've any use for such knowledge. You're far too young to join the Royal Navy.”

“I'm getting older every day,” said Frederick. “Teach me to tie knots.”

Vardle found a bit of kitchen twine and held it out with each end pinched between thick finger and thicker thumb. “All right. I'll start with something simple. This is a bowline. First you make a bit of a loop, like this. Then this end goes into the loop like this, right over left, see? Pay close attention now.”

One at a time, with many mistakes, Frederick learned to tie every single knot Vardle knew, from a bowline to a barrel hitch. He worked so hard, he nearly forgot about Billy Bly, the little man dressed all in green. By the end of the winter, he had mastered every knot. Frederick could tie two ropes together so they would not come apart until the moment he wished them to. He could shorten a rope without cutting it, or splice a broken rope so it was as strong as it had ever been. In the kitchen there wasn't much call for tying knots, but Frederick knew the knowledge he mastered now would help him in the Royal Navy later. In the Royal Navy, or in whatever else awaited him in life. The world outside the orphanage was enormous, and he was getting older every day.

When Frederick was very nearly eleven years old, a tall, elegantly dressed man came to the orphanage from one of the great houses in the richest part of the city. He was a servant there, although he was a very superior servant indeed, and he wished to engage an orphan to fill the position of footboy. He brought a suit of livery with him, dark blue coat and white knee breeches, and he announced with great authority that the lad who fit the livery best would be engaged.

Peter and Tom, older boys too big to fit the livery, whispered behind their grimy hands about the tall, solemn-looking man. “That's the man who works for the wizard,” Frederick heard Peter say.

“Wizard?” Frederick couldn't help speaking aloud, he was so surprised. “He works for a wizard?”

The older boys shoved him about for a moment or two, but it was worth it, for Tom, the smaller of the pair, answered Frederick's question. “Don't you remember? He was here about a year ago. He picked Georgie Biddle to work as bootboy in the wizard's house.”

“He doesn't remember.” Peter pushed Tom aside to loom over Frederick. “Where were you, under a rock?”

“Locked in the still room with his beetle friends, more likely,” Tom said. “Where's Georgie now, do you think? Did the wizard grind his bones to make his bread?”

Peter lost interest in Frederick as he and Tom got into a scuffle. Frederick edged away from them, but Tom's words stayed with him.

A wizard.
The orphanage was all Frederick knew. No one wanted to stay there. But would it be any better to be a wizard's servant? Would there be beetles in a wizard's house? Or would there be something even worse?

Despite his fears, Frederick noticed every orphan even close to the right size vied for the chance to escape the orphanage and find paid employment. They weren't afraid to go work for a wizard. There were a great many boys, and trying on the livery took a long time. It took so long that the solemn man had to leave before the line was finished.

“I regret that my duties call me away for now. I shall return tomorrow morning to view the rest of the candidates,” the man told Mr. Makepeace. “Is there somewhere this suit of clothes may be kept safely until then?”

“I shall put it under lock and key,” said Mr. Makepeace. “No one shall touch it until you return in the morning.”

Frederick didn't fancy his chances much, but when at last his turn came to try it on, late the next day, the suit of clothes fit so well, it might have been made just for him. When Mr. Makepeace was asked to provide a character reference for Frederick, he heaped so much praise on Frederick, it was embarrassing. Frederick had to keep his eyes on the floor, he was so bashful at hearing such lies told on his behalf. No doubt about it, he decided. Mr. Makepeace was willing to do anything to be rid of Frederick. He wondered why. Did it bother him that much to have Frederick helping Vardle in the kitchen?

Only Vardle showed regret when he learned that Frederick would be leaving. “I'll miss you, lad. I'll even miss the way you are forever pestering me to teach you new things. I wish you could stay, but wishing peels no onions.” The cook clapped Frederick on the shoulder and added, “For all you're half the size of some of these lads, you've always done the work of two, and two clever lads at that. Most times you've done it without ever needing to be told what ought to be done. Keep that up and you'll go far in the Royal Navy. One day I'll be proud to tell my friends, there goes Frederick Lincoln. I had the teaching of him when he was only a lad, and now he's a fine young man. Won't that be a grand day?”

In Frederick's excitement, he forgot all about Mr. Makepeace and the beans and the peas and the little man dressed all in green. He was free of the orphanage. He followed Mr. Kimball, the solemn-looking man who had engaged him, through the gates and out into the streets of London.

Frederick knew he should not speak until he was spoken to. It was a rule. But as he walked beside Mr. Kimball through the crowded streets, he grew more and more impressed. At last, he could not keep the words inside a moment longer. “Surely London is the finest city in the world!”