The Velvet Fox

by Catherine Fisher

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  When they were gone, Lady Mair put her arms round Tomos. ‘We are so proud of our children, Mrs Honeybourne. Tomos is a great artist and Seren … well, Seren is such a reader! I think she’s gone through half the library already.’

  ‘Already?’ Mrs Honeybourne’s bright eyes fixed on Seren.

  ‘I’ve only been here since Christmas,’ Seren said, reluctantly.

  ‘Really! And before that?’

  ‘The orphanage.’

  ‘Oh, you poor dear,’ Mrs Honeybourne said softly. ‘How terrible for you.’

  Seren shrugged. ‘It was all right.’

  ‘So brave!’ Mrs Honeybourne finished her tea and rattled the cup into the saucer. ‘I will be teaching both the children then, Lady Mair?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Lady Mair nodded her dark hair firmly. ‘We want Seren to benefit. We believe that girls should have as good an education as possible.’

  The governess smiled cosily at Seren. ‘Dear Tomos will need his Latin and Greek.’

  ‘I can do that too,’ Seren said quickly.

  Mrs Honeybourne didn’t answer. Instead she squirmed round and began rummaging in the bags, wisps of hair coming undone from her bun. ‘I have something special for Tomos. Now where did I put it… I’m such a scatterbrain… Ah, yes!’

  From the largest bag she carefully lifted out a gold-coloured box. ‘I know it’s not until tomorrow…’ She turned to Tomos. ‘But as soon as I saw this in the shop window in London I simply couldn’t resist it! Happy birthday, dear Tomos!’

  She put the box in his hands.

  Startled, he looked down at it.

  ‘What do you say?’ Lady Mair whispered.

  ‘Thank you! I mean, thank you very much, Mrs Honeybourne.’

  The box shimmered in the sunlight, an enticing golden cube. ‘Can I open it?’

  ‘You shouldn’t till tomorrow,’ Seren said.

  ‘Oh, do let him.’ Mrs Honeybourne clasped her red-gloved fingers tight. ‘Just this once. I so want to see his happy little face!’

  Lady Mair smiled. ‘Mrs Honeybourne, you really shouldn’t have bought anything. Tomos is quite spoiled enough as it is. But I suppose, just this once…’

  Instantly Tomos tugged the lid off the box. Seren stepped closer, craning her neck to see. Even Lily the housemaid, clearing the cups, glanced over curiously.

  Tomos stared inside. For a moment his eyes were wide with surprise. Then he almost whistled with delight. ‘That’s amazing,’ he breathed.

  Reaching into the box he carefully pulled out a large drum-shaped object and put it on the tea table.

  ‘Oh,’ Lady Mair said, clasping her hands.

  ‘I knew you’d love it,’ Mrs Honeybourne murmured.

  ‘That’s lovely, that is,’ Lily said.

  Seren stared at it, astonished.

  She had seen pictures of them in books, though she had never been to a fairground. She knew what they were called.

  A carousel.

  Its base was red and gold, and in its centre was a striped pole topped by a golden ball. The ones she had seen in pictures had all had wooden horses that rose and fell, for children to ride on. This one was far too small to ride on, of course. It had just three galloping horses and each horse had a rider.

  Tomos reached out and turned the small handle on the side, and with a faint, magical tinkling music the carousel began to spin round. And the figures moved. There was a Soldier in a red tunic who pattered on his drum as he rode. A Dancer in a white dress swirled her perfectly pointed feet. A Juggler threw glinting balls into the air and deftly caught them again. And, in the centre, not riding at all but curled up watching them all with its sharp eyes, sat a small red Fox.

  ‘It’s fantastic!’ Tomos was beside himself with excitement. ‘It must have cost so much!’

  Mrs Honeybourne smiled comfortably. She reached out and patted his hair with her gloved hand. ‘Worth every penny, dearie,’ she said.

  Then she levered herself out of the chair and gathered her cloak and hat. ‘Well, I must go and find my room, my dears. Come along.’

  Piling themselves with her belongings, Lady Mair and Seren stood up, but Tomos stayed with the carousel as if he couldn’t bear to leave it, winding it up again as soon as it tinkled to a halt. The governess smiled, and swept out into the hall till she came to the stairs. Seren, hurrying close behind with the bag of knitting, looked up and saw Sam.

  The white cat was sitting on the landing, as if he’d come to inspect the new arrival.

  Mrs Honeybourne paused. It was only the tiniest fraction of a pause, but at the same moment the cat opened his eyes wide, fluffed his fur out like a puffball, flattened his ears and spat.

  Then he fled in panic up the stairs.

  ‘Why did he do that?’ Seren wondered out loud.

  Mrs Honeybourne gave Seren a swift, sidelong look with her sharp eyes, and, just for a moment, the governess looked like quite a different person, angled and slanting in the mirror on the wall.

  ‘Cats are such silly animals,’ she said.

  Then she gave the jolliest of laughs, so that Lady Mair laughed too, and they walked up the stairs together.

  But Seren stayed on the bottom step, her arms full of knitting and a sewing box. No, they’re not, she thought, staring after Sam. Cats are clever.

  Then they called her and she had to run after them, scattering wool and needles.

  2

  A birthday party

  Drum and dance, juggle and play

  While we steal your heart away.

  Seren frowned at herself in the mirror, then turned around and looked over her shoulder to check the bow was straight. She was wearing her best purple dress, that she had had for Christmas, and the silver necklace with the snowflakes that Lady Mair had given her. Her shoes were polished and her face was washed. She wished her hair was longer and prettier. But you couldn’t have everything.

  There were still at least ten minutes until the party, so she sat on her bed and drew all the curtains round her for top secrecy. She put her hand under the pillow and pulled out her Box of Secret Treasures.

  It was actually a chocolate box that she had lined with shiny paper. Inside were her best things – a pen and inkwell, a notebook with stars on the cover, a dried leaf with its fine skeleton, and a drawing by Tomos of her sitting on the swing under the apple tree in the summer. Below that was a small paper fan and a magnifying glass with a bone handle from a drawer in the library that Mrs Villiers had said she could borrow to play Sherlock Holmes. She put the glass to her eye now and looked around. The bed-curtains went swollen and blurred.

  She brought it back to the box. ‘Always examine the scene of the crime minutely, Watson,’ she muttered, sternly.

  The bracelet that Tomos had made for her lay in a twist of tissue paper, red and gold. She especially like the little acorn, though she couldn’t make out any S on the back, and how could you, if it was only written in water? She slipped it on to her wrist, because today was a special day.

  There was one thing left in the box.

  A black feather.

  She pulled it out and looked at it closely through the magnifying glass. It was an ugly, ragged thing, its barbs huge and tatty. You could see it was very moth-eaten.

  But she knew it was magic.

  The feather had been given to her by the Clockwork Crow. She remembered his creaky voice saying If you’re ever in trouble, write a message to me with this quill. I will probably come.

  It made hersmile a sad smile. Turning the feather in her fingers she wondered where the Crow was now. His brother, Enoch, had taken him off on the train on Christmas night and she hadn’t heard a thing from either of them since. Had he been unspelled and regained his human shape? Might he come knocking at the door one day in a hat and coat and say, ‘Hello, Seren Rhys,’ and she wouldn’t know who it was and she would say ‘Sorry…? Have we met?’

  He had been a tetchy, irritable old creature
but she could never have rescued Tomos without him.

  She missed him.

  A lot.

  Downstairs, the door knocker rattled. Voices rang in the hall. Hurriedly she put the feather back in the box and slid it away under her pillow. After all, she wasn’t in any trouble. All the long hot summer had been a wonderful time: Tomos had shown her every inch of the estate; they had played on the lawn and ridden his pony, and even gone to the seaside at Llandudno for a week, where she had worn a striped bathing-dress and learned to splash in the sea.

  Lady Mair and Captain Jones couldn’t be kinder.

  Nothing was wrong.

  Quickly she straightened her dress and ran down the stairs. The hall was full of people and Tomos was welcoming them – all the children from the village, the vicar and his sister, the hill farmers and other neighbours she mostly didn’t know yet.

  The children were being ushered into the Yellow Room. She followed and gaped at the way it had been decorated. There were bowls of apples floating in water, chairs set out for musical chairs, a huge pass-the-parcel and a blindfold ready for hide-and-seek, her favourite. In fact the games had started, with Lady Mair organising things, and splashes of water from the apple-bobbing already over the floor.

  Surely every child in the village must be invited!

  Then she looked again, and frowned. Gwyn wasn’t there.

  She hurried over to Denzil, who was taking coats by the door.

  ‘Where’s Gwyn?’

  ‘What?’

  The laughter and splashing were so loud she had to shout in his ear. ‘I said where’s Gwyn?’

  Denzil stared. ‘Stabling the horses, I should hope.’

  ‘Why isn’t he invited? All the other boys…’

  Denzil shrugged. ‘He can’t come. He’s a servant!’

  ‘That’s not fair.’

  ‘That’s the way it is.’

  She turned away, annoyed. Then she marched out of the room, dodged down the corridors and hurried to the kitchen.

  It was a complete furnace. All the fires and stoves were lit, and food was piled on the tables. Mrs Villiers was at the door giving concise, agitated orders, and the extra maids hired to help at the party were carrying trays of glasses and plates of cakes out in a long line.

  Seren crept over to the table, slipped three cakes, a custard tart and a pile of sandwiches into her pocket and hurried out before Mrs Villiers could snap, ‘Seren Rhys, what on earth are you doing?’

  She ran into the stable yard.

  There were lots of carriages, carts and wagons. The stables were full of visitors’ horses, all wanting food. Finally she found Gwyn in a loose box, dragging out hay.

  She said, ‘You should be at the party too.’

  Surprised, Gwyn looked round.

  ‘Seren, what are you doing here? You’ll get that dress all messy.’

  ‘Never mind that! Why weren’t you invited?’

  He shrugged, pushing his dark hair out of his eyes. ‘I can’t go to kids’ parties. I have to work. Denzil said I can have leftovers if there are any.’

  ‘There won’t be, so I brought these.’ She unpacked the food and laid it out on the wooden slats on the manger. Gwyn came over and his eyes widened. ‘Lord, Seren, you’ll be in such trouble…’

  ‘I don’t see why.’ She shook her head, cross. ‘Tomos has everything and you don’t. It’s not fair.’

  Gwyn laughed. He started on the sandwiches. Through a mouthful, he said, ‘These are really nice. White bread! I never get white bread.’

  ‘They’re playing games…’

  ‘Then go back and join in!’

  ‘Tomos has a whole table full of presents.’

  Gwyn shrugged. ‘I haven’t got time to play with toys.’

  ‘Even the new governess brought one. You should see it!’

  ‘I saw her. She looks all right. Going to teach you foreign stuff, is she?’

  Seren nodded. ‘I hope so.’

  Gwyn shook his head. ‘It’s odd, though…’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘Well, only last week, when I drove them to church, the captain was saying to her ladyship that he wanted a tutor for Tomos. He said he would advertise for one. A man, he said. He was particular about that.’

  ‘Well, he met her in London and…’

  ‘Ah yes, but that can’t be true.’ Gwyn took the custard tart. ‘Captain hasn’t been to London. Not all summer.’

  Seren blinked. That was odd. And it was strange that when Mrs Honeybourne came it had almost been like he hadn’t remembered anything about engaging her.

  She jumped up. ‘I should go back.’

  Halfway to the door she stopped. ‘Gwyn?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Everything’s all right here? At Plas-y-Fran. Isn’t it?’

  He licked custard from his dirty fingers and stared at her, surprised. ‘Of course it is, Seren. Everything’s perfectly normal.’

  The party was in full swing. Loud games and shouts, giggles and yells came from the room. Chairs were toppled over and paper strewn everywhere. In the drawing room, where the adults had gathered, farmers stood awkwardly in their best suits drinking beer from small glasses while their wives looked in awe at the paintings and ate dainty food from fine china. Lady Mair and the captain moved graciously around the crowd.

  But where was Tomos?

  When she got there all the children were scattered and Seren realised it was hide-and-seek and she was missing it. Then warm fur brushed her skirt. She looked down and saw Sam.

  ‘Sam!’ Crouching, she smoothed the cat. He rubbed against her and she remembered the way he had hissed at Mrs Honeybourne yesterday. ‘You silly old thing,’ she said, dropping her forehead so he could butt it with his own.

  ‘Seren?’ Lady Mair had come in. ‘Where’s Tomos? It’s nearly time for him to cut his cake.’

  ‘Hiding somewhere. Don’t worry, I’ll find him.’

  Scrambling up, she hurried out. First, she looked in all the main rooms, the Blue Room and the Gilt Room and the small sitting room Lady Mair used as her own. She ran up to the attics and looked in the nursery but he wasn’t there, though the old rocking horse creaked in the draught as she peered round the door. Next she knocked at his bedroom. ‘Tomos?’

  No answer.

  Far below, children laughed and shrieked as, one by one, they were found.

  Where had he gone? For a scary moment she thought of the cellars, of that strange golden stair that had led down to the underground land. But Denzil had firmly locked up the cellars. No one could go down there now.

  The library!

  She raced along the corridors of dark oak to the library door, opened it and peered in.

  Sunlight slanted from the high windows. The sun was setting, far over the lake.

  Tomos was standing in the scarlet light, and Mrs Honeybourne was next to him. Her hand, in its red glove, was on his back and she was speaking in a soft, quiet voice, and there in front of them on the table was the red and gold carousel.

  Seren opened her mouth to call him. And then stopped.

  Something made her step back, behind the curtain, and listen.

  ‘So do you like it, Tomos?’ Mrs Honeybourne murmured.

  ‘I love it.’ He wound the handle and Seren saw the small figures riding around, the Soldier beating his drum, the Dancer twirling her toes. ‘I can’t stop playing with it. The music sort of gets inside me; I just want more and more of it. It reminds me of something but I can’t think what.’

  That was strange because Seren was thinking the same thing. As the tune tinkled out into the dark room it seemed to drift like a soft draught, lifting the pages of a newspaper on the table, fingering the tall shelves of books, sending dust swirling through the slants of light. It made her feel tingly. It was cold and shivery and beautiful. For a moment all she wanted to do was listen to it, to dance to it, for ever and ever, like Tomos and Mrs Honeybourne were doing now, solemnly dancing together. As if the music
was everything and there was nothing else left in the world.

  Seren took a huge gasp of air and dodged out into the corridor.

  She was shaky and shuddery.

  And she was scared, because she knew now what the music was. It was Their music. The enticing, enchanting tunes of the Tylwyth Teg.

  Denzil came up behind her and said, ‘Where is he? His mother’s waiting,’ and at once Tomos came out with Mrs Honeybourne, and they hurried past Seren almost without seeing her.

  When they were gone she slipped into the library.

  The carousel stood on the table in the window.

  Seren crept up, put her face up close to the small figures, and stared at them.

  Each one was about six inches high.

  The Juggler wore a green-and-black-striped coat. The Soldier held his drumsticks high and poised. The Dancer had a sweet face with painted eyes.

  Seren really wanted to wind the carousel up and see them all move again, especially the little red fox that sat so calm and still in the centre. Its pointed eyes watched her intently.

  Her fingers crept to the handle.

  ‘Seren!’

  She jumped.

  Mrs Honeybourne stood in the doorway. She smiled, and showed small sharp teeth. ‘Don’t touch that, dear. After all, it’s not yours.’