Magic Below Stairs (5 page)

First Frederick used saddle soap to clean the boots and then neat's-foot oil to keep the leather from cracking after it had dried. By the time he was finished, his fingers stung, and the boots, although clean, still needed to be polished before they were returned to Lord Schofield's valet, Piers. Frederick set the clean boots beside the fire to dry a bit more before he started with the blacking and buffing, but the long day caught up with him. His task only half done, Frederick dozed off.

Somewhere far into the night, Frederick woke confused. It took him a moment to remember why he was sleeping beside the hearth instead of in his own straw bed. When at last the memory of his unfinished task came back to him, Frederick looked around for the boots. To his surprise, Lord Schofield's boots were right beside him, ready and waiting. Close examination showed Frederick that the boots were not only perfectly clean and perfectly dry, inside and out, but they had been polished with such care that the gloss of the leather rivaled a looking glass.

For a moment, as he inspected the boots, a soft rustle that was almost, but not quite, the sound of a breeze moving dry leaves, filled the room. Frederick dropped the boots and gazed wildly around. The rustling stopped. Nothing was there to account for the sound.

Nowhere did Frederick find a hint to tell him who had done his work for him. Even his buffing rags and boot brushes were dry, untouched by any signs of recent use.

Frederick put more coal on the fire and sat between the hearth and the boots for the rest of the night, but he could not reason out what had happened.

First thing in the morning he delivered the boots to Lord Schofield's valet, Piers, and spent the rest of his time scrubbing the laundry floor. He asked Fan, Bess, Clarence, and everyone else he encountered, about the polished boots. No one knew a thing about it.

“You did it in your sleep,” said Bess. “Clarence used to walk in his sleep something chronic.”

Clarence just shook his head and went on scrubbing the floor.

“How could I have done it in my sleep?” Frederick showed Bess his hands, chapped but clean, front and back. “Wouldn't my hands show the boot blacking?”

“Must have been a brownie did it then,” said Bess. “Mind you don't thank him, or he will run away and never come back.”

“No brownies or hobgoblins here,” said Fan. “Even if his lordship wasn't more than a match for such things, his mother would never have stood for such doings in her household. I've known folk who had the brownie in their house plug the chimney with a feather pillow it hauled into its nest. Worse than badgers, they can be. Worse than bats, even.”

“Badgers and bats, my Sunday hat,” said Bess. “Those boots were polished, weren't they? Someone did it. It wasn't a ghost.”

“Someone did it,” agreed Fan, “and all in good time we'll find out who it was.”

The next night, Frederick lay wondering in the dark. For the first time in a long time, he thought about the dream he'd had in the orphanage kitchen, the deep soft voice counting out the peas and beans. Had there been a voice the night before, a deep drowsy voice? Had that voice said something about corn and rye? Frederick fell asleep still wondering. Somewhere in the night, it came back to him, no dream at all, but the clear memory of a deep voice.
“Peas and beans, corn and rye. Who can work like Billy Bly?”

Next morning, the summons came. Mr. Kimball came looking for Frederick and when he found him, seized him by the ear. “You are wanted in the drawing room. Lord Schofield wishes to ask you some questions. You will tell him what he desires to know. You will tell him at once, do you understand?”

Frederick had to balance on the very tips of his toes to ease the pain in his ear. “Yes, sir! Right away, sir!” As Mr. Kimball hauled him along, Frederick examined his conscience and his fingernails, but he couldn't think of anything he'd done wrong. Nothing, that is, except fall asleep with his work half done. Could that be a bone-grinding offense?

Lord Schofield dismissed Mr. Kimball with a gesture and Frederick found himself alone in the drawing room with his employer.

“You're Frederick Lincoln? From the orphanage?” The wizard stood before the window. The light behind him made it hard to see his expression.

“Yes, my lord. Mr. Kimball engaged me, my lord,” Frederick replied, mouth so dry with fear his lips tried to stick together when he said the
m'
s.

Lord Schofield paced to the far end of the room and returned. When he paused to study Frederick, Frederick had his first good look at his employer's face. Lord Schofield did not seem any more like a lord than he did like a wizard. He had dark eyes and dark hair, but that was not unusual. So did Frederick. He still looked exactly like anybody else, well dressed, but no dandy. The only unusual things about him were his waistcoat, which was vivid blue silk embroidered with a pattern of peacock feathers, and the sharpness of his eyes.

“Have you brought anything with you from the orphanage?” Lord Schofield asked at last. “Any luggage?”

Frederick made himself speak plainly despite his nerves. “Didn't have nothing—” He caught himself. “I mean, I had nothing to bring, my lord.”

“Nothing whatever?” Lord Schofield looked keenly interested. “Not even a hat? A pair of gloves? A family keepsake of some kind, perhaps?”

“Don't have family keepsakes when you're an orphan.” Frederick felt pinned by Lord Schofield's gaze and found it took all his resolve to look steadily back.

The wizard's sharp eyes didn't waver. “Silly of me. Of course you don't. What do you have?”

“Mr. Kimball let me wear the suit of livery he had me put on, my lord,” Frederick replied. “He engaged me because he thought it fit me best.”

“Just so. Unlike so many, you know how to wear a cravat. Rare in someone your age. Of any age, come to that. Commendable.” Lord Schofield tugged at the cravat tied around his own neck and cleared his throat. “Tell me about this orphanage. How did you come to be there?

“It all happened before I can remember, so I only know what I've been told,” said Frederick. “The orphanage at Lincoln's Inn is much the same as any other orphanage, I am sure. I was sent there when me mum—my mother—died having my baby sister. My baby sister died too.”

Lord Schofield looked grave. “No other family?”

Frederick shook his head.

“What of your father?”

“Don't know as I had ever one, my lord. Will that be all, my lord?”

“No, it will not be all.” Lord Schofield gazed piercingly at Frederick, as if he were trying to see right through him. “I wish to ask you to assist me with an experiment. Do you have any objection?”

“What sort of experiment?” Frederick asked, then coughed and added hastily, “I mean, no, my lord. No objection, that is.”

Lord Schofield regarded Frederick with approval. “It is only good sense for you to inquire. The experiment I have in mind will not harm you in the least. If what you have told me is true, we will be finished in five minutes, and I suspect it will seem to you to have been an utter waste of both your time and mine.”

Although very much against the idea of helping a wizard do anything, Frederick couldn't think of any safe way to refuse. “Very well, my lord.”

Lord Schofield turned for the door. “I shall conduct the experiment in my study. Follow me. Don't speak unless you must, and at all costs, don't touch
anything
.”

Together, Frederick and his employer made their way to Lord Schofield's workroom. As his lordship unlocked the forbidden door and let them into the room where he did his wizardry, Frederick felt a thrill of excitement.

It was a spacious room, lit by a large brass lamp like a turnip with tentacles. The floor was bare. Except for a long table in the center of the room, there was hardly any furniture. The walls were lined with shelves of books and scientific equipment. If he closed his eyes, Frederick had the sense the room was crowded, as if there was a party going on just outside of his range of hearing.

Marveling, Frederick let his gaze travel around and around the room. On the shelves with the books he recognized a clock, a set of scales, a globe, and what looked like a lizard in a green glass jar.

Frederick knew it was wrong to point, but he couldn't stop himself. “What's that?”

Lord Schofield finished lighting the lamps. “I told you not to speak unless you must.”

“But what is that thing?”

Lord Schofield sighed. “Once it was a lizard. Now it is merely a travel souvenir. If you have no further questions, I will begin. Stand over there. Don't move. Don't say another word until I tell you that you may.”

Frederick took his place near the table and watched in fascination as Lord Schofield drew a circle around Frederick with a bit of blue chalk, muttering the whole time. When the circle was complete, Lord Schofield made another circle, far smaller, a few feet away. Then he put the chalk on the table, held one hand in the air, put the other in his pocket, and said some words Frederick didn't understand.

Frederick's ears popped and abruptly the smaller circle was no longer empty. Standing inside it was a creature like a grumpy little man, hardly up to Frederick's knee, dressed all in green.

“Ow.” The little man glared at Lord Schofield. “I was asleep, you know. No call to haul me out of a sound sleep.” His voice was as deep as the hum of bees.

“Sorry,” said Lord Schofield, without sounding apologetic in the least. “Not such a waste of time after all, it seems. Do you know this fellow? You may speak now, Frederick.”

Frederick rubbed his eyes and took a long look. It was the little man he'd dreamed of, no question. He thought carefully about the question he had been asked. Lord Schofield was nothing like as cross as Mr. Makepeace had been. But still, dreaming of the little man was not the same as knowing him. “My lord, we have not been formally introduced.”

“Oh, haven't you?” Lord Schofield turned his attention to the little man. “Do you know this young chop-logic, fellow?”

The little man studied Frederick with interest. “I might.”

“Suppose you introduce yourself to him properly, then,” said Lord Schofield.

“Suppose I don't?” the little man replied. “Names are powerful things. I don't introduce myself lightly.”

“Don't you, indeed?” Lord Schofield moved his hand in the air.

“Ow!” The little man rubbed his left elbow. “That pinches, you know.” To Frederick, he said, “My name is Billy Bly.”

Frederick studied the little man before he answered. Billy Bly gave him back look for look, bright and friendly. Frederick trusted him at once. He reminded himself to be careful and go slowly. He was almost sure Billy Bly had saved him from a day locked in the orphanage still room, but he had been wrong about trusting people before. “How do you do?” Frederick gave the little man a polite bow. “My name is Frederick Lincoln.”

Billy Bly looked pleased. “Very civil of you, I'm sure.”

Hesitantly, Frederick went on. “Did we meet at the orphanage? I seem to remember seeing you once before. In the kitchen there.”

“I know. Vardle wasn't so bad, though the things he did to good honest food ought to be a crime. He meant well. But that Makepeace was a right swine, wasn't he? How did he ever come by a good name like that? He should be called something far more like his nature.” Billy Bly made a very rude noise. “Something like that. Horrible man.”

“You helped me sort the peas and beans,” Frederick said. He opened his mouth to thank the little man, but Lord Schofield held up an index finger to hush him.

“Think carefully before you speak,” Lord Schofield advised. “Fellows like Billy Bly sometimes react with unexpected violence to being thanked for their help. If he is under a spell, it may free him. Beware. Brownies can be unpredictable.”

“
Are
you under a spell?” Frederick asked Billy Bly.

“Thank you for your kind concern, I'm sure. As it happens, I'm not. Though if I
were
under a spell,” Billy Bly added, with a superior glance at Lord Schofield, “I wouldn't be allowed to say.”

“Then I thank you for your help,” said Frederick. “And did you black the boots as well?”

Billy Bly beamed at Frederick. “Not bad, eh?”

“Perfect,” said Frederick. “I never saw leather with such a shine. I wish you'd show me how to do it.”

“If he hadn't made those boots shine so, I might not have noticed he was here. At least not until this came to my attention.” From a silver tray on his worktable, Lord Schofield picked up a blackened rag.