Magic Below Stairs (6 page)

To Frederick's horror, he recognized that the black rag had once been one of the fine damask napkins used by the guests who dined with his lordship. Now it was crumpled and stained with what looked very much like boot polish.

Billy Bly took no notice of the rag. “Yes, I noticed the protective charms you and your family have put on the place,” he said airily. “Nice work indeed. Very sound, very workmanlike.”

“Very rude of you to ignore them.” Lord Schofield sounded nettled.

“It was never my intention,” said Billy Bly, “to be rude. It is less than polite, some folk might point out, to set charms on your house to keep folk like me at a distance. Condemned without a hearing, you might say.”

“You might say so, but as it is my house, I would not,” said Lord Schofield. “Did you come to us from the same orphanage young Frederick did?”

“That's right,” said Billy Bly. “Been there for years. I was among the students, barristers, and benchers next door at Lincoln's Inn for years before that.”

Lord Schofield looked amused. “No doubt that's where you picked up your legal education.”

The question seemed to make Billy Bly cross. “If you mean I am a stickler for rules, that's right. I also like a place with plenty of interest, lots of things happening. Splendid grub, too.”

“If life there suited you so well, why leave?” asked Lord Schofield.

“The usual story.” Billy Bly sighed. “Too much of a good thing. The place attracted a low element, hobgoblins no better than scaff and raff. They fought over scraps.”

“So you moved on in search of better neighbors?” Lord Schofield guessed. “Before they moved you out by force?”

“No competition to speak of at the orphanage,” Billy Bly agreed. “No surprise there. The cooking was so bad, the mice complained.”

“Why did you stay?” Frederick asked. “If it's good food you like, the orphanage was no place for you.”

“That swine Makepeace.” Billy Bly looked embarrassed. “His favorite amusement was punishing you orphans. There he was spilling beans and then ordering you boys to pick up after him, or to put things in order by size, or to count them. Counting is my favorite. Once I've begun a task like that, I have to finish it. It's not my fault, it's the way I'm made. I could no more walk away from counting mustard seeds than I could walk into a church on Easter morning.”

“Then why did you leave?” Frederick asked, more puzzled than ever.

If possible, Billy Bly looked even more embarrassed. “You seemed a nice lad,” he said at last. “When you flitted, I thought I'd flit with you, see you were looked after properly.”

Frederick was horrified to feel his throat tighten with tears. Except for Vardle perhaps, no one had ever cared tuppence whether Frederick had been looked after properly or thrown in the river. He could hardly keep from showing how much the little man's words meant to him. “That—that was very kind of you.”

“The pleasure was all mine,” said Billy Bly. “The food here is far better, and whatever his shortcomings, the cook here knows when to put down a nice saucer of cream and look the other way.”

“Oh, he does, does he?” Lord Schofield looked thoughtful. “I can see I'll have to have a chat with Grant about that. You have done very little damage during your stay here. I commend you for your restraint. But I know the ways of brownies and hobgoblins too well to believe that can go on for long.”

“You may dock the cost of the napkin from my wages,” Frederick said. “It was my fault for falling asleep before my work was done.”

Lord Schofield looked a little sad. “Billy Bly helps you with your work. He came with you from the orphanage. If he leaves, will you leave with him?”

With a pang, Frederick thought of his clean clothes and his comfortable bed. He thought of the food, good and plentiful, and the pleasure and pride he took in earning a steady wage. “Must I go?”

“That's for you to decide. But go Billy Bly must. I don't blame either of you for ruining the napkin. You didn't do it and he couldn't help it. That's his nature. Hobgoblins make chancy houseguests. Next time he may take it into his head to clean the chimneys with a featherbed.”

A little desperately, Frederick said, “If he does, I'll pay for the damages.”

“Your wages won't cover the damage a hobgoblin can do,” said Lord Schofield. “A brownie took a liking to my brother, Edward, when we were both boys. Every plant the gardener set out would turn up in Edward's room sooner or later, in every container you can imagine, from shoes to chamber pots. By the time my mother banished him from our house in the country, that creature had the whole place turned upside down.”

“What if Billy Bly promised not to do any damage? What if he swore?”

“Wouldn't swear,” said Billy Bly. “Wouldn't promise.”

“You may keep your position, Frederick. But the brownie must go.” Lord Schofield lifted both hands in the air. “No hard feelings, Billy Bly.”

“None at all, your bossiness,” Billy Bly replied. To Frederick, he said, “Mind how you go, lad.”

Lord Schofield moved his hands in a quick, graceful gesture. Frederick's ears popped again, and the chalk circle was empty. Billy Bly was gone as if Frederick had dreamed the whole thing; nothing remaining of his presence but the fading sound of dry leaves rustling from every direction.

“That's that.” Lord Schofield dusted his hands. “You may scrub the floor now, Frederick.”

With a sense of chill disbelief heavy in his stomach, Frederick fetched a bucket of water and a brush. Carefully he scrubbed the chalk marks off the study floor. While he cleaned up after the very first magic spell he had ever seen cast, Lord Schofield wrote notes in a big leather-bound book.

So finally he knew, Frederick told himself. It was no dream. Billy Bly had been as real as Mr. Vardle. Now Billy Bly was gone. The empty feeling soaked into him the way the cold water soaked his knees as he worked.

Now Frederick was alone in Schofield House, lonely in a way he'd never been before. He was used to feeling alone. But he wished he had known Billy Bly had been there. Frederick would have asked Billy Bly a thousand questions, trying to learn everything there was to know about brownies and hobgoblins. More even than the lost chance to learn, Frederick mourned the loss of his unseen companion. He wished, more than anything, that he'd known someone in the world had cared about him enough to follow him from the orphanage. Too late. In a house full of people, Frederick found himself alone.

From the day he banished Billy Bly from Schofield House, Lord Schofield took an interest in Frederick. He already behaved to everyone as if the work they did for him was important, and he never seemed to notice there was a rule that the servants should not speak to him unless he had spoken to them first. In Frederick's case, Lord Schofield added curiosity to his usual courtesy.

“You haven't seen anything of Billy Bly since I sent him away?” Lord Schofield asked, almost daily. “You would mention it if you had, I hope?”

Sometimes Frederick would listen hard as he polished furniture, but he never heard leaves rustling, nor ever felt the slightest sense of unseen companionship. “No, my lord,” he assured his employer. “Of course I would, my lord.”

“Excellent, Frederick. Good work. Keep it up.”

Frederick was unsettled by Lord Schofield's air of friendly interest. Since he had explained about the business with Billy Bly to Bess first chance he had, he asked Bess for her opinion while they were scrubbing the kitchen floor together.

“No mystery there,” Bess said. “Magic is the one thing Lord Schofield truly cares about in this world, right?”

Frederick knew no such thing, but he could tell from Bess's voice what the answer was supposed to be, so he echoed, “Right.”

“What is this Billy Bly thing?” Bess demanded.

“Magic.” Frederick was in no doubt whatsoever about that.

“Right. So why was Billy Bly here?”

“Because of me?” Frederick ventured.

“Right. Now, why is Lord Schofield keeping you under his eye?”

“Because Billy Bly liked me?” Frederick asked.

Bess rapped his knuckles with her scrub brush, but not very hard. “Because you brought him with you, fool. Lord Schofield wants to know why, and what else you may have brought with you without knowing.”

“But I didn't even notice Billy Bly was here,” Frederick protested. “Or at the orphanage, for that matter.” But he had noticed at the orphanage, Frederick reminded himself. He just hadn't understood what it was he had noticed.

“Don't go all pie-faced worrying over it. Lord Schofield is curious as a cat. Billy Bly made him curious about you. That's all. Don't worry. He'll lose interest soon enough.” Bess went back to scrubbing.

In a way, she was quite wrong about Lord Schofield. He didn't lose interest in Frederick. But in a way she was quite right, for Lord Schofield
was
as curious as a cat. The thing that most interested Lord Schofield about Frederick was the way he tied his cravat.

“You look remarkably tidy on a daily basis, and I know for a fact you can't have more than two neck cloths to your name. How do you manage it?” Lord Schofield demanded when next they met. “It takes Piers an hour and a dozen neck cloths every morning, and if I'm not to go out looking like a badly made bed, I have to tie the thing myself.”

“It's just a knack. Sometimes I have to find a looking glass,” Frederick admitted.

Lord Schofield frowned at Frederick's cravat. “There's more to it than a knack. Explain the trick of it to Piers.”

The very next morning, Frederick presented himself to Piers in his lordship's dressing room.

“Lord Schofield sent me,” Frederick said.

Piers, a well-scrubbed, muscular young man, looked up from reading his lordship's morning newspaper. “Ah, young Frederick. Yes, I was told to expect you. You're to give me lessons in how to tie a cravat properly.”

“If you please, sir,” said Frederick politely. “Lord Schofield's orders.”

Piers sighed as he folded the newspaper away. “You can save it. I haven't the aptitude.”

“How do you know?” Frederick asked. “You haven't tried.”

“Oh, haven't I?” Piers looked gloomy. “Dozens of neck cloths I've spoiled doing it wrong. They wrinkle if I so much as look at them. Fan won't even speak to me anymore.”

“Did Fan show you how it's done?” Frederick asked. “All I know is what she showed me.”

“She tried a few times.” Piers shook his head. “Lord Schofield's orders, of course. But it's no use. I ruin them every time.”

“Let me show you, just once,” said Frederick, “so we can honestly say we tried.”

“Just once, then.” With another sigh Piers opened a drawer and drew out a crisp clean neck cloth, neatly folded. As he handed it to Frederick, he was already undoing his own cravat. “Have at it, lad.”

Frederick shook out the neck cloth and put the valet's smoothing iron to heat in the fireplace. He cleared a place among the brushes and razors on his lordship's dressing table and folded a towel to serve as a pressing cloth. When the iron was hot, Frederick smoothed the ends of the neck cloth as if it were his own, then positioned Piers before the dressing room's looking glass.

“Now, watch me.” Frederick worked as quickly as he could, given that Piers was so tall he had to climb on a chair at times to get the angle right. Deftly, Frederick twisted and folded the fabric around Piers's neck. “Look up at the ceiling. Hold still.”

Piers tilted his head back meekly. Frederick made the final adjustments and tied the knot just so. He let the folds of cloth go where they wanted to go, soft but not too soft, crisp but not too crisp.

“Now lower your jaw as you bring your head forward so that the fabric squashes down and the folds turn out properly.” Frederick surveyed the result with disfavor. “If we do this again, I shall fetch a step stool. You're too tall.”

“No need.” Entranced, Piers was gazing at himself in the looking glass. “Frederick—you're a marvel.” He turned his head this way and that, admiring his cravat. “How smart I look. Hang on a moment.” He left the dressing room abruptly.

By the time Piers returned, Frederick had finished clearing up the dressing room. “If you want a step stool, I'll build you one. I've spoken to Lord Schofield, young Frederick. You are now officially the assistant valet. You shall tie his lordship's cravats for him from now on.”

“Assistant valet?” echoed Frederick. “Me?”

“That's right. He's even agreed to increase your wages.” Piers glanced around the room and beamed at how tidy it was. “Your new duties begin at once. Tie his lordship's cravat.”

“Now?” Frederick put the smoothing iron back in the fire to heat. “This instant?”

Shaved and dressed, Lord Schofield strolled into the dressing room in his shirtsleeves. “This instant. Why not?”

Frederick couldn't think of any reason why not, so he set to work preparing his lordship's neck cloth. It took longer than usual, for Frederick was determined not to blunder. He worked with his lightest touch, making the edges of the neck cloth smooth and sharp as the blade of a knife.

“Look up at the ceiling and hold still, my lord,” said Frederick, when it was time. He tied the knot and tweaked the fabric into place. “Now, lower your chin.” Soon Lord Schofield was wearing a properly tied cravat.