Magic Below Stairs (8 page)

Frederick stared at the dried beans. “Or maybe it's just the wrong time of year for pease pudding.”

“What is this on the floor? This is sour milk!” Mr. Grant's shouting made the kitchen rafters ring. “Who spilled milk and walked away without mopping it up? Am I among savages? Is this the way one makes cheese here in the howling wilderness? Has this kitchen never seen a scrub brush until now?”

“Hop it,” Bess advised, “or we'll both be stuck here scrubbing.”

Skeynes was, Frederick discovered, the center of a whole new world. In addition to the great house and its stable block, there were outbuildings, a home farm, and what seemed like miles upon miles of gardens, fields, and forest.

Night and day, dozens of servants and farm laborers were busy at Skeynes. In London, Frederick had grown used to the divide between upper servants and lower servants. Now he discovered another divide, this one between London servants and local servants. All the London servants knew each other. All the local servants knew each other. But more than that, if the local servants weren't all blood relations, they behaved as if they were.

Bess had cousins aplenty among the local servants. The moment her work was done each day, they swept her off to catch up on family news and gossip. Frederick missed her. Strangely, he did not feel lonely. Although Skeynes might as well have been a foreign country, Frederick felt at home there from the very first morning.

In London Frederick's work had begun at daybreak, when the delivery wagons rumbled past and the cabs and carriages started the endless scurry of their day. At Skeynes, Frederick's work also began at daybreak, but there was not a sound of traffic anywhere. Not that it was quiet. If anything, Skeynes was noisier than London. For one thing, there were the birds. Frederick had seen birds in the city, sparrows mostly. In the countryside, there were more kinds of birds singing at once than Frederick had ever heard of before, more than he could count. There were also roosters, hens, and the occasional screaming peacock.

From Lord Schofield's bedchamber and dressing room, windows looked out over gardens, but Frederick had little chance to admire the view. He was too busy bringing the rooms into a proper state of cleanliness and order. With Lord and Lady Schofield expected any day, there was a tremendous amount of work to be done, from the attics and box rooms at the top of the house to the cellars beneath it.

The state of the cupboards in his lordship's dressing room was dreadful. Frederick spent his time clearing cobwebs and dusting. There would be no point in unpacking his lordship's wardrobe in a place that would dirty the clothing immediately. He took his time and did a thorough job. Frederick liked the sense of drowsy peace he found as he worked. Sometimes he felt that old sense of companionship, as if someone worked near him, just out of sight.

Before long, Frederick had Lord Schofield's dressing room looking as neat as a pin. The whole staff worked as hard as Frederick did and soon, in the matter of comfort and cleanliness, there was little to choose between the London house and Skeynes.

But in Lord Schofield's dressing room one morning, Frederick noticed soot in the grate of the fireplace. From the look of the debris he found, he suspected a bird was nesting up the chimney. Frederick wondered when the staff at Skeynes last had a proper chimney sweep in.

That evening at the long table in the servants' hall, Frederick remembered the soot. “Mr. Kimball, may I ask when the chimneys were last swept here?”

Mr. Kimball, seated at the far end of the table, was listening to Mrs. Dutton and did not hear the question. Frederick was too far away, seated with Bess and the local servants.

To his surprise, Rose, one of the few local maids Bess was not related to, slapped his wrist and burst out laughing. “Chimney sweeps! Don't remind us!” Still giggling, Rose turned to her sister Nancy. “Dreadful flirts, they were. How many did they send us?”

“Lost count after three,” Nancy said. “Could have been an army of climbing boys up in those chimneys, with all the noise that lot made.”

“Not surprised,” muttered Bess. “I doubt either of you can count past three.”

Fortunately, neither Rose nor Nancy heard Bess, but their giggling attracted Mr. Kimball's notice. “When were the chimneys last swept? It was last done thoroughly while Lord and Lady Schofield were away on their grand tour of the continent,” Mr. Kimball said. “However, the household accounts show that there was a sweep here just a few months ago.”

“Just the one.” Rose giggled piercingly.

“Ah, but a good big one, he was,” said Nancy. “Big enough to shift any amount of soot.”

“Kept us dusting for days, he did,” Rose agreed. “Thought my lungs would go black with it.”

“Could have been a coal miner.” Nancy giggled. “We won't want a fuss like that with Lord and Lady Schofield due here any day. Imagine them walking in on us with the house full of soot.”

“We have plenty of time to prepare for their arrival,” said Mr. Kimball. “I've had a letter from town. Lord and Lady Schofield find themselves unexpectedly detained. Before you ask, I don't know for how long. They don't know themselves, I suspect. Time enough for another proper sweeping of the chimneys, though.”

“They won't stay in town long,” Bess murmured to Frederick. “Not with Mr. Grant here. They will miss his fancy cooking.”

“I must arrange for a smaller sweep this time,” Mr. Kimball said.

“Why smaller?” Frederick asked. “Wouldn't it be better to engage the biggest one you can find?”

“Strength is all very well in its way. But the smaller the sweep, the cleaner the chimneys, for a climbing boy can go higher than a grown man can, and is better by far at cleaning the narrow places.”

“Mind you don't send up one
too
small,” said Nancy, “or the spiders will eat him.”

“Rose, if you can't stop giggling, you may be excused from the table.” Mr. Kimball looked annoyed. “Your squeaking puts me off my food. You too, Nancy. The rest of you, mind your manners.”

“Yes, Mr. Kimball. Thank you, Mr. Kimball.”

Under her breath, Bess added, “The squeaks put me off too,” but only Frederick heard her.

Very little put Frederick off his food. With Mr. Grant at Skeynes, the meals could not be faulted. Frederick thought the household did itself very well, despite its remote location. Some supplies came from London, but the eggs, cream, beef, bacon, and mutton were all from the home farm, and all of the best. After two weeks of it, Frederick's livery began to seem tight all over.

“You do look as if you've been stuffed,” Bess observed, when he asked her about it. “I've grown a good bit myself. I asked Mrs. Dutton about it, and she sent me to see Hetty, the seamstress. But letting down a hem is much simpler than tailoring a jacket as fine as yours.”

“Should I go see Hetty?” Frederick wondered. “What if she can't make it fit me again?”

“Try Mr. Kimball first. He likes your work. If Hetty can't help you, he may even send to London for new livery.”

“Never,” Frederick said. “What if they sack me? I was given my first position because I fit the livery. No one ever said anything about outgrowing it.”

“Mr. Kimball wouldn't sack you for that, although there are some households that would. You can't help growing,” Bess reminded him. “It's their own fault for feeding you.”

“That's just what I'm afraid they'll think,” Frederick said. “I've had enough of not eating to last me a lifetime.”

Hetty the seamstress welcomed Frederick to her workroom. She was a plump little woman in brown with a spotted scarf wrapped around her shoulders. The spots on the scarf and her quick sharp gestures made him think of a hen. “Mrs. Dutton told me you had Mr. Kimball's permission for my help, and I see you need it.” She made him take his coat and breeches off.

Frederick sat on a stool in the corner while she inspected the garments. “Do you think you can make it fit again?”

“Oh, yes. Plenty of room to let the seams back out.” Hetty held up the coat to show him. “The tailor who fitted this for you knew his craft very well indeed. I've never seen such tiny stitches.”

“There was no tailor.” Frederick almost laughed at her mistake. “I only happened to fit the coat—it wasn't made for me. No fitting, I promise you.”

“No?” Hetty smiled to herself. “You know best, of course. But I say, to sew a seam any finer, you'd have use magic.”

Not for the first time, Frederick wondered how it was that the livery had come to fit him so exactly. Georgie, the previous orphan, had been a larger boy than Frederick. Had Billy Bly helped Frederick even then? Frederick wished he still had Billy Bly with him. There was so much he wanted to know.

“I saw it done once.” Hetty had removed the lining from the coat and was carefully picking out the stitching of the seams. “We had wizards here for the cursebreaking, and afterward I saw one of them use magic to mend a torn sleeve. Stitches so tiny he made, you might look all day and never see the repairs.”

Frederick drew his stool up a bit closer. “You were here when this house was cursed?”

“Oh, yes. It wasn't so long ago, after all. The curse was cast on the Schofield family, not on any of us.” Hetty's hands stilled as she thought back. “All the same, we kept our distance.
Such evil may cast shadows,
the wizards told us, so we took care.”

“Were you here when the curse was broken?”

Hetty threaded her needle and began to sew up the seams again. “I said we kept our distance. We were down in the village. Dreadful it was, though. Even from there.”

“What was it like?” Frederick asked.

“Like a summer storm, all darkness and lightning. We saw flashes of light all the way down in the village. What we heard of it was like thunder.” Hetty looked up from her needlework. “One of the wizards, young Mr. Pickering with the torn sleeve, had a weakness for my mother's pastry. He told us stories afterward. He said at times it was like something squeaking, something between a mouse and a bat. Young ears are better than old, so he heard it better than the old wizards could, it was that high-pitched. Sometimes though, the worst times, it was shrieking. It was the shrieks that broke the windows, he told us.”

“Get along with you,” said Frederick. “How can a shriek break a window? A shriek is just a loud noise.”

“Magic,” Hetty replied. “If you ever hear the like, you run, understand? Don't look around to see where it comes from. Just run.”

“Now you're making fun of me because I'm from the city,” Frederick said.

“Cross my heart, it's true, every word,” said Hetty. “It was worst in the room his lordship sleeps in. That's what the young wizard told us. He wasn't mocking us, I swear it. He had too much fondness for pastry to risk losing Mother's goodwill.”

“Shrieking.” Frederick shook his head. “Squeaks and shrieks. You were better off with thunder and lightning, Hetty.”

“I hope you never find out different.” Hetty set the coat aside. “Now, let's see about your breeches.”

The morning after Hetty finished the alterations, Frederick found six dried peas in his boots. His first impulse was to look for a snickering footman. When he found no sign of any, he went to Bess for advice.

“So it happened again, did it?” Bess smiled, but somehow Frederick didn't mind it when she showed her amusement at his actions. Bess was different. When she snickered, he did too.

“This time”—Frederick held out his hand to show her—“it was peas.”

“I'm to fetch Mr. Grant a dozen fresh eggs,” said Bess. “Come along with me.”

As they made their way down the lane to the home farm, Frederick thought about the peas and beans. Not much to be fretting over, a few peas and beans. It made him miss Billy Bly all over again. Peas and beans were harmless enough, after all. “Do you still think I should forget about it?”

“I know you should forget it.” Bess swung her basket to emphasize her words. “Take no notice. Unless you
want
whoever it is to go to more trouble and make a greater mess.”

“Who do you think did it?” Frederick persisted. “Do you think it was the same one who spilled milk in the kitchen and left it to go sour?”

“Oh, I don't know.” Bess tugged at his sleeve. “If you don't pick your feet up a bit more, I'll be late.”

“I can't go any faster, not without stepping in a cowpat.” They had come to a particularly smelly bit of footing. Frederick felt he was completely entitled to choose his way with care. “Let alone the sheep droppings.”