Ella and the Panther's Quest

by Lisa Anne Nisula

  Halfway through my meal, I could still feel the eyes watching me, and it was making me uncomfortable. I took my plate and went back to the sideboard for more potatoes. It gave me an excuse to look around the room.

  Grigsby was watching me, from his station by the hall door. So was Mistress Leone, from the door by the dumbwaiter. I could not remember the housekeeper coming to lunch before. Obviously, Mrs. Boswell had informed the co-conspirators of this morning’s conversation. I could feel Mistress Leone’s and Grigsby’s eyes on me all through lunch. I was glad to get outside, alone except for Footstool.

  Chapter 13

  I led Footstool through the same bits of the woods we’d explored before, but I wasn’t really looking for anything. I wanted to talk to Footstool without having to worry that we were being overheard. When I thought we were far enough away from the house, I told him everything Mrs. Boswell had told me. “I’ve been thinking about this all through lunch. He must be their prisoner, and I think they’d keep him close by until McNair gets back, but do you think they feed him? I can’t see any of them being cruel enough to starve him, no matter what they think he did, so if they do, who does?” I stopped to lift Footstool over a branch.

  I went on without waiting for an answer. “I would think one of the four in charge. McNair isn’t here, so he’s out. I’ve seen Mrs. Boswell in the kitchen at all hours, so even though she’s in charge of the food, I think she’s the least likely. That leaves Mistress Leone and Grigsby. I think Grigsby is more likely, but I don’t know how I’m going to follow either of them without being noticed.”

  Footstool jumped out of a clump of bushes in front of me. When I didn’t say anything, he jumped a few more times for emphasis.

  “Are you volunteering to follow him? That’s a good idea; you’re small enough to hide really well.”

  Footstool shook back and forth, then pounded his foot twice.

  “You mean you’ll follow them both?” It was practical; Footstool was far less conspicuous than I was, but it made me feel useless. Of course, Footstool had been Panther’s friend much longer; it was only right he have the chance to help as much as possible. “That’s very good. I’ll keep an eye on Mrs. Boswell, so we can rule her out. Let’s head back; we’ll start tomorrow.”

  *

  It wasn’t until Phoebe was lacing me into a deep blue silk dinner dress that I started to worry about my own position in the house. I’d assumed that Footstool and I were still here because Panther hadn’t gotten around to arranging something else for us, or at least for me. In odd moments, I’d even believed that Panther knew I wanted to see how it all turned out, how the curse was broken. But if Panther was a prisoner, how long would I be welcome here? When would they want to be rid of me and Footstool? And more importantly, how much time would that give us to find and free Panther?

  As Phoebe was fussing with my hair, putting in jeweled clips and curling locks around her fingers, I asked, “Has anyone mentioned anything about me leaving?”

  Phoebe didn’t miss a beat. “I haven’t heard it discussed.”

  “Oh.”

  Phoebe gave my hair a final tweak and started to arrange the brushes on the dresser. As she worked, she asked, “Were you eager to go?”

  I hadn’t thought of that either. What if my desire to stay was misinterpreted as eagerness to leave? If I wanted to stay long enough to find Panther, I’d have to be careful how I asked. “Not at all. I’m very happy here. Everyone’s made me so comfortable.”

  I couldn’t tell if Phoebe was appeased or not as she hurried me downstairs.

  *

  As I sat at the dinner table, I could feel the eyes of the footmen on me. Obviously Clara’s system of gossip was not as efficient as Mrs. Boswell’s. I stabbed at my salad and wondered if the eyes I felt behind me were friendly. I had come here with a creature they wanted to kill. What if they thought I was in league with their enemy?

  I sopped up more of the dressing. Maybe that’s why they were watching me; they were trying to decide what to do with me. Maybe I was in some kind of limbo, neither prisoner nor free. I didn’t feel like a prisoner, but where could I go?

  For that matter, where did they think I had been going to begin with? Were there other places in the woods? Towns or villages that could have been my destination? I had no idea, but it didn’t seem likely. There had been no sign of a road that could have led anywhere of any size, and I had the impression that the magic that had put the forest and this house inside the initial maze had been selective, and any towns that had been near here before might be miles away now. But did they know that? Did they know how enchanted everything around here had become? Or was this normal for them? As I waited for the next course to be brought in, I decided I couldn’t ask them anything about the forest. If I did, then they would know I didn’t belong here. I wasn’t sure if I could ask about the magic, but decided against it, at least until I had a better idea of what they knew.

  After the last of the crème brulée was eaten and the dessert plates were cleared away, Henry appeared, waiting for me at the door with a candelabra to light the way to the library. Nothing was different there. The fire was lit, a kettle heating by it, the rose-covered teapot and the accouterments for tea arranged on the side table, my book still on my favorite chair, a footstool, not my friend, nearby. I sat down and began the familiar ritual of making tea.

  Mistress Leone came in a few moments later, timed perfectly so that the tea was mixed and brewing, but before I had a chance to start on my book. “Was dinner satisfactory?”

  “Yes, excellent.”

  “Is there anything you require?”

  The same questions every night, and I found myself giving the same answers. “No, everything is wonderful.” But there was that nagging doubt.

  Mistress Leone seemed to have sensed it, or had been warned by Phoebe to expect it. She did not immediately wish me a good night and leave, but stood by my chair for a fraction longer than usual. It was long enough, though.

  I chose my words carefully, remembering what I had learned from asking Phoebe too directly. “Mrs. Boswell mentioned having someone guide me on the rest of my journey … “

  “Yes, my lady. We had intended to send McNair with you when he returns. He has the most knowledge of the forest and its dangers. He should return soon. But if you are pressed for time, we can certainly arrange something else.”

  “No, I’m quite content to wait.”

  “Are you certain, my lady? I would not want to inconvenience you.” I could not detect any sign of sincerity or deception in Mistress Leone’s precise words.

  “I was more concerned about inconveniencing the household.”

  “Have no fears on that account. Good night, my lady.”

  “Good night.” I watched Mistress Leone leave the room and returned to my book, but I couldn’t concentrate. McNair was coming soon. We didn’t have much time here. And I couldn’t stop myself from wondering if this was a test of some kind. Maybe they were waiting for McNair’s opinion of me. That made sense. They would want all of the leaders of the household present so they could decide my fate together.

  I turned the page even though I had only read a few words, in case I was being watched.

  What if they did have some test in mind? What kind would it be?

  Most likely it would center around Panther, since he was what was causing their doubts. What if they wanted to see my reaction to Panther? To his death? That would clearly show my loyalties. Unbidden, and actively resisted really, I saw an image of the four leaders of the household, McNair’s back was to me so the fact I had never met him didn’t snap me out of it, surrounding Panther, with the kitchen knife Jane had been using, ready to find the ring. I couldn’t concentrate on looking calm, let alone on my book. I put it back on the table. A footman was at the door with a candle before I was even on my feet.

  Phoebe was waiting for me in my room. I forced myself to smile and say, “Good evening.”

  “My lady.”<
br />
  I paid close attention to Phoebe as she unlaced my dress and hung it in the wardrobe, looking for any sign that she suspected our plan. I did not detect any difference in the maid as she brought towels to the bath and laid out a nightgown, but it was possible Phoebe had been suspicious of me from the beginning. Still, I did not let my guard down even when I was alone in the bath.

  After I had pulled on my nightgown and emerged from the bathroom, Phoebe curtsied and left the room silently, passing Clara as she came in with a tray.

  “I brought you some cocoa. Mrs. Boswell thought you might like some, since it’s cold tonight. I’ll leave it here.” Clara arranged the tray on the desk.

  “Thank you.”

  Clara turned to leave.

  “Wait a minute, Clara.”

  “Did you need something, my lady?”

  “I just wanted to ask you, what did you try to tell me in the kitchen? About what you heard that night, I mean.”

  Clara nodded. Here, there was only the one night. “I was in the last group to leave, so I was still in the tunnels, near the entrance, when it happened. I was able to hear the panther scream.”

  “Scream? Not a howl?”

  “No, my lady. A howl is a sound; the scream had words. Just two words, really. He said, ‘I failed.’”

  I stared. “Just that, ‘I failed’?”

  “That’s right, miss. Is there anything else?”

  I didn’t even hear the question. That was the piece, and it fit very nicely into the picture I had made in my mind. I answered automatically, “No thanks.”

  Clara curtsied and left.

  I took the cocoa and sat by the window, looking out over the forest. Footstool settled himself at my feet. I could see the castle, still there, waiting for us. Well, waiting for Panther; I was incidental. From this angle, I could see the back of the building and the balcony where it had happened. It wrapped around the large main section of the keep, with large glass doors that I assumed led to the throne room. The balcony had a delicate railing around it, a line of scroll-work that would have let all the servants watching below have an almost unobstructed view of the fight.

  From this angle I could see more of the castle, too, over the fortress walls and into the courtyard where the keep, the heart of the castle, stood. Now that I could see all of it, the towers no longer looked squat and fierce, but tall and sturdy, their sharp points reaching toward the stars that had once been there. The keep itself was harder to see, just glints of light reflecting off the windows.

  That was Panther’s goal, the place he wanted to protect. If I had been a knight, been stronger, able to hunt, able to quest, Panther could have kept going, maybe already made it to the castle and broken the curse. I didn’t realize I had sighed aloud until Footstool turned to me, one corner raised like he was asking a question.

  “I’m fine, just tired. We’ll find him.”

  Footstool nodded and curled up by the fire.

  I lay down on the bed, my head toward the window, watching the castle until I drifted off to sleep.

  *

  At breakfast the next morning, I started my part of the plan. As one of the footmen, Joseph I thought, leaned over to take the plate of pastries away, I said, “Those cinnamon rolls were delicious; do you think Mrs. Boswell would mind showing me how to make them?”

  “I will inquire for you.” He was back in a few minutes. “Mrs. Boswell said she will be pleased to show you and is intending to make some more for our tea this afternoon. If you would like to join her anytime this morning, she would be happy to instruct you.”

  “Thank you.” That had been easy enough. I finished up the rest of my tea and fruit, then went straight to my room, where Footstool was waiting for me. It seemed to be the safest place for us to plan without going outside.

  “I think Grigsby is more likely, so maybe you should try him today.”

  Footstool bobbed up and down.

  “Great; I’ll try to keep Mrs. Boswell busy as long as I can. Maybe I can get some more information from her at the same time.”

  I walked downstairs with Footstool. I left him in the front hall, where Grigsby was polishing the silver. He settled down under the table. I went to the kitchen.

  Mrs. Boswell was watching Clara write at the table. She looked up when I came in. “Hello, my lady. Clara is copying some recipes for you.” Mrs. Boswell seemed perfectly friendly after our conversation.

  “Thank you.”

  Clara nodded.

  “I’m getting ready to make cinnamon rolls. I think they were what you wanted to help with?”

  “Yes, thank you.” I kept quiet as Mrs. Boswell got out her bowls and spoons. Clara set up a line of ingredients, telling me what each one was as she put it on the table.

  Mrs. Boswell took a small bowl from by the hearth and poured it into the flour bowl.

  “What’s that?”

  “Yeast that’s had a chance to bloom.”

  “How long do you leave it?”

  “While breakfast is being cleared. How long would you say that is, Clara?”

  “Maybe ten minutes.”

  “That sounds right.” She added sugar and something from a small bottle.

  “What was that?”

  “Vanilla.”

  I kept asking questions about what was added to the dough, and then another question popped into my mind and out of my mouth before I thought. “Is there a portrait of Prince Nathaniel around?”

  Mrs. Boswell looked up from her mixing. I was certain she had heard my question, but she didn’t answer it. “Now we let this rise by the hearth.” She covered the bowl with a tea towel and Clara took it away. “Now for the filling. We’ll need to melt some butter, but the secret is in getting the right balance of spices.”

  I let the subject of a painting drop for the moment and concentrated on the amounts Mrs. Boswell added while she talked about cooking. “Of course we’re making a very large batch for all of the staff. You’ll need to cut everything down.”

  “I did that when I wrote it down,” Clara said as she came back to the table with another bowl of dough.

  “It’s very nice to be able to do that. It’s a pity the last master didn’t make certain we all had learning. I’m glad you took advantage of it, Clara.”

  I saw another opportunity to find something out. “You were given a chance to learn, Clara?”

  “Oh yes. His Highness gives all of the new staff the opportunity to learn reading and writing.”

  “He was an unusual man,” Jane murmured.

  Mrs. Boswell glared at her. I had noticed that everyone was careful to avoid referring to Prince Nathaniel in the past tense. “He sounds like an extraordinary person.”

  “Yes, my dear.” But Mrs. Boswell did not take the hint. She took the other bowl of dough from Clara and turned it out on the table. “Now we knead this and roll it out.”

  As I kneaded the dough and pressed it out into a rectangle, I wondered if Mrs. Boswell had been warned against speaking to me about the master. Perhaps she had revealed too much the day before. I resolved to let that line of questioning drop and concentrate on making certain Mrs. Boswell wasn’t the one feeding Panther.

  I didn’t ask anything while we brushed the dough with butter and added the spice mix. I kept my questions to the thickness of the dough as we rolled it up and cut it apart. But when we had finished laying out the rolls, Mrs. Boswell handed me the recipe cards Clara had copied and all but turned me toward the door.

  “Just put them somewhere warm to rise again, then we bake them. It should all be on Clara’s cards. I’m sure you understand that we need to start lunch now, my lady.”

  I knew I was being kicked out, however politely, but I tried to resist. “Can I help?”

  “We have a system, my lady.”

  I considered asking if I could watch the preparations, maybe even offer to help, but that sounded obviously desperate and Mrs. Boswell had a stubborn look I hadn’t seen before. She probably had bee
n told not to talk to me anymore. I’d just have to face the fact that I’d failed in my mission. “Thank you for these.” I held up the cards as the rest of the kitchen staff filtered in.

  As I went to the kitchen stairs, I felt Clara’s hand touch my shoulder. She followed me into the stairwell so we couldn’t be heard from the kitchen. “My lady, Mistress Leone is the most willing to talk about His Highness, if it interests you.”

  “Thank you. It does.” It wasn’t as helpful as watching Mrs. Boswell, but it was something.

  Chapter 14

  I found Mistress Leone in the library, putting books back on the shelves. She looked over her shoulder when I came in. “Hello, miss. Were you looking for a particular book?”

  I wasn’t sure how to answer. It almost seemed easier to ask for a book and leave. But I’d failed in my larger quest; I had to try to complete at least the little one I’d set for myself. “Not right now.”

  “Very well. I like to keep them in order in case they are needed.”

  I wondered who would need the books, besides myself and Prince Nathaniel, as I asked, “I was wondering if there was a picture of the master around somewhere.”

  Mistress Leone turned back to the shelf and put down the book she was holding. She didn’t answer. I waited for a few moments, wondering if I should say something else, but any explanation I could think of made it less likely that she would help me.

  I was about to leave when Mistress Leone turned sharply. “There is one, but I don’t think it’s what you want. I’ll show it to you anyway.” Mistress Leone brushed past me and walked briskly down the hallway. I hurried to catch up.

  Mistress Leone led me up the main staircase and right to the black draped door. She pushed aside the curtain. The door was similar to the others in the hallway, but the knob had two locks and was carved with more detail than the others. Mistress Leone unlocked the door with keys that were hanging from a chain around her waist and stood aside so I could enter.

  The door led to a small hallway that ran parallel to the one outside, with five more doors along the wall across from me. Each door had two panels carved with scenes that told a story of a girl and a large bear, and each one was closed.