Everything in the library was as I expected, the fire crackling in the hearth, my tea and book waiting for me, the master’s chair ready for someone who wouldn’t arrive. I fixed my cup and settled in. My tea turned a nice amber color, and I poured it through the strainer, but there was no sign of Mistress Leone.
I wondered if I should be worried. Perhaps Mistress Leone was just checking on Grigsby, to be certain he was comfortable.
When ten minutes had passed with no sign of her, I did start to worry. Maybe Grigsby had taken a turn for the worse and Mistress Leone was tending to him. He was not a young man; perhaps the fall had been worse than it seemed. That would certainly complicate going to his room for the key. I immediately felt terrible for thinking that.
I was trying to spot Henry, to ask him if Grigsby was all right, when Mistress Leone bustled in. “Is everything satisfactory, my lady?”
“Yes, everything’s fine.”
Mistress Leone nodded and left the room before I could ask after Grigsby.
I turned back to my book. I had not read even the page I had opened to. I turned the page anyway. Something was going on and they did not want to tell me about it.
I considered calling an end to the plan. Maybe in a day or two things would settle down. But could I leave Panther there, in a cage, for two more days? But what if it meant the difference between success and failure?
I remembered to turn a page even though I hadn’t read a word.
Maybe Footstool would have some ideas. I debated with myself, wondering how long I could convincingly stay in the library and how soon I could safely get away.
When I felt I couldn’t act normal any longer, I closed my book and brought it with me as I left the room. Everyone was still in the front hall. Phoebe was still polishing the same bit of banister, this time with the help of Jane, the blonde kitchen maid. No one paid any attention to me as I went upstairs.
I was already on the upper landing when I heard the main door open. Everyone must have been expecting that. It certainly explained the crowd in the front hall. I wasn’t immune to curiosity either. I went back to look around the end of the banister, careful to stay hidden from everyone else. They hadn’t told me about any guests, so they must not have wanted me to know.
The man who entered was tall and broad and grizzled. He had a crutch under his left arm and limped forward. He balanced against the table as Mrs. Boswell took his crutch and Mistress Leone eased his coat from his left arm. As he got his arm back over the crutch, I saw it was stiff and the sleeve ended with nothing, no hand.
As Mistress Leone helped him remove his right arm from the coat, he asked, “Where’s Grigsby?” The man’s voice was gravelly but not unkind.
“In his room. He tripped in the front hall this afternoon. Mistress Leone gave him a sleeping draught,” Mrs. Boswell answered.
He chuckled and yawned at the same time. “Over his own feet, no doubt.” Then his voice changed. “And the creature’s companion?”
“She has also gone to bed. You can meet her in the morning,” Mistress Leone answered.
The man nodded and made a sound of acknowledgment that was more of a growl.
Mrs. Boswell took his right arm. “You’ve had a long journey. Come to the kitchen, and we’ll tell you what’s happened, and I’ll get you a bit of supper.”
I hurried back up the stairs. So that was McNair. We couldn’t put it off. I could tell from McNair’s tone that he would not wait long to deal with Panther, and he was not inclined to be kind to me.
As I got to my door, I thought of one good aspect of McNair’s arrival; everyone had been so interested in him, they probably hadn’t noticed my odd behavior.
Chapter 18
Ten minutes after I was in my room, Phoebe came up. She didn’t say anything, just went straight through to draw my bath, saw that I had already started it, then came back and unlaced my dress silently. She didn’t seem to notice that I didn’t want to talk either. As I went into the bathroom, I saw her hang the dress in the closet and toss the shoes in after it, not paying attention to what she was doing at all.
I would have thought I’d want to enjoy the last bath I was expecting to have for a while, but I as I slid into the scented water, I found I just wanted to get it over with and get rid of Phoebe before I said something that would make her suspicious. So it wasn’t long at all before I was dry, and dressed in my nightgown, and back in the bedroom. I got into bed with my book so it was obvious I wouldn’t need anything else and said good-night to Phoebe, who left so quickly I was certain she was as eager to get back to McNair in the kitchen as I was to be rid of her. Then I waited. I was not going to risk someone seeing me tonight, not a repeat of the candle going downstairs.
I opened the Laird Arthur mystery again. I still didn’t want to read about heroes, but I had read far enough to be interested, and I did want to see how he solved it. I had read ten pages when I saw a page that had been dog-eared at the bottom. A small passage in the middle had been bracketed in ink.
“The magistrate looked up from Laird Arthur’s case notes. ‘You are quite the hero, my lord.’
“Laird Arthur shook his head. ‘Impossible, sir. My knees were knocking the whole time … ‘
“The magistrate took off his glasses. ‘I’ve never met a hero who wasn’t afraid. It’s a requirement. If there is no fear, there can be no courage.’
“Laird Arthur did not look convinced.”
I ran my finger along the ink line in the margin, thinking about the person who had chosen to mark that passage and what it said about him.
*
When I had finished the last 117 pages of the book, which ended very satisfactorily, especially since I correctly solved it fifty pages before the end, I decided it was late enough and threw back the covers. I gathered my candle and my robe and eased the door open, trying to stop it from scraping along the floor and giving me away. When I had a sliver wide enough to fit through, I slipped into the hall. Footstool watched but did not follow.
This time I had a better idea of what was needed for questing. I made my way down to the kitchen, keeping my eyes, and more importantly my ears, open for signs of people stirring. I heard nothing.
When I made it to the side entrance of the kitchen, I opened the door carefully and peered around. I didn’t want to burst in if McNair was still at his dinner or being briefed on our arrival with half the staff in attendance. But the kitchen was empty, everything from the day cleared up and put away and bread for breakfast rising by the hearth. I slipped inside and closed the door.
Safely in the kitchen, I went to the larder. I filled the large pockets of my robe with a hunk of cheddar, half a dozen rolls, and three apples. After a little poking around, I found a small burlap bag with six green pears in the bottom. I put a knife inside, several more apples, a loaf of brown bread, a couple of cinnamon rolls, a jar of Mistress Leone’s salve, and half a small wheel of Swiss cheese wrapped in parchment paper.
I removed the sash from my robe and used it to tie the bag around my waist, beneath the robe. If I was stopped by the servants, they would only see bulging pockets and would never question the story that I wanted a snack while I read. But I didn’t need to use my story. I met no one on my way back to my rooms.
Footstool was waiting for me by the door. I waited until I had the door closed and locked again before I emptied my pockets on the table. “No one about. It seems safe enough.”
Footstool nodded to tell me he’d heard.
Then I had an awful thought. “You don’t think they’d go to… to take care of him tonight, do you?” I had been assuming I was right and they wanted to see my reaction, but what if they didn’t want to risk me trying to stop them? What if I had been wrong all along and they were in the prison now, with a knife? I couldn’t bear to think the rest. I ran to the window and looked out.
I couldn’t really see the shed clearly from my room, but I could see enough of it to know that there was no activity there, no lights,
no one moving about. It was possible that only the four leaders of the staff had gone out and were inside the prison, with their light shielded from the small windows so I couldn’t see it, but it didn’t seem likely. Grigsby was probably still out with the sleeping draught. McNair had just returned and would probably want to rest. I didn’t think the others would want him to make a decision so quickly, although I did wonder how he had known I was here before speaking to them. Someone must have been sent to tell him they had the panther. He had probably already reached his decision. They might all be discussing it in the servants’ hall right now. I wanted to be away as soon as we could.
“I’m going to get dressed before I go get the keys.”
Footstool went to the fire and sat facing it.
My own clothes had not been returned to me, so I had to take something from the wardrobe. I selected a dress of green velvet so dark it was almost black, thinking it would blend into the shadows of the forest. I could not find any boots to fit, so I was forced to take the most comfortable pair of flat shoes I could find, with thick socks to protect my feet. I pulled all of my hair back with a black ribbon. My knitting bag was in the back of the closet, my knitting and the gauntlet still inside it. I packed the food into the bag, then turned to Footstool.
“Wait here; I’m going to get the keys, then I’ll come back for you.”
Footstool leaned against the table, looking quite comfortable. I left my bag by the door and slipped out again.
*
I crept up the stairs to the third floor. At the head of the stairs, I stopped and stood very still, listening for any sound. I had no reason to be here, and there was always the chance a maid would have a toothache or a footman a nightmare. And Grigsby might have had his fill of sleep and be sitting up reading or be dozing and ready to wake at the slightest sound.
I didn’t hear anything, no one stirring, just a few faint creaks which I decided were most likely floorboards settling. At least I hoped that’s what they were.
I took my first step off the stairs, then another. The fifth step had creaked; I remembered that and managed to avoid it.
At Grigsby’s door, I paused and listened. For once, I had actually remembered the way somewhere. I heard nothing. I turned the knob gently, holding my breath as the door clicked open.
The room was dark; the curtains had been drawn tight, and only the tiniest bit of moonlight was finding a way in. I breathed slowly, waiting for my eyes to adjust. When I could make out forms and shadows, I snuck in. I had to open five books before I heard the desk key hit the table with an audible click. I froze.
After six breaths, no one had stirred, so I picked up the key and went to the desk, holding one hand out in front of me to avoid crashing into anything.
Finding the right drawer in the desk was easier than finding the book with the key. I started at the top right hand drawer and felt around inside. Nothing but bits of paper, a penknife (fortunately folded closed), some loose coins, and a bit of string. The next held a neat stack of paper. I felt all around the sides of the drawer to be safe, and, as I reached behind the stack, my hand brushed the key ring. I wrapped my fingers around the keys, holding them still so they wouldn’t rattle as I took them out and eased the drawer closed. I locked the drawer so it wouldn’t be obvious the keys were missing. Then there was the problem of where to leave the drawer key. It would take too long to find the right book and put it back where it belonged, and leaving it in its lock would draw attention to my visit as soon as Grigsby got out of bed. I finally decided the best thing to do was to leave the key on the small table by the door, hiding it under the cloth runner so it wouldn’t be found too easily.
My thievery done, I eased the door closed and slipped down the hall as quietly as I could. I had burned the last bridge. There was no way to explain my presence with the keys.
At my door, I froze and listened again, but I heard nothing, nothing loud enough to be a servant anyway. There were floorboards creaking, but surely someone walking would have a more regular pace. At least I hoped I was right about that. What if I was being watched and whoever it was was sneaking around, just as I was? What if McNair was skilled enough to make his steps sound like the settling of the house?
“The longer I wait here, the more likely someone will come.” I pushed my door open.
Footstool was still there, waiting by the fire where I’d left him. He looked up when I came in.
“Are you ready?” I asked, just to say something. I went around the room, dousing all the candles and gathering the things I would need. When the only candle left was by the door, I took the black cloak from the bed and hid myself in it.
I knelt by Footstool. “I’m going to carry you, OK?”
Footstool came to my side and waited. I took that as permission and lifted him up, concealing him under my cloak. I swung my bag over my other shoulder, then blew out the last candle, made certain the wick was out before tucking it in a pocket of the cloak, and waited for my eyes to re-adjust. When the darkness formed into shadows and shapes, I picked up the keys, wrapping them in my palm again so they would not rattle, and went into the hall.
I moved as swiftly as I could without making noise. I was fairly certain everyone else was upstairs, so my greatest danger of discovery was not someone hearing me, but someone coming down for a midnight snack.
For that reason, I did not go out the kitchen door. And the main doors were large and heavy; if I managed to move them at all, they would make noise in the still house. So I had decided the garden door was the best way out, even though it meant sneaking across half the house, across creaking floorboards and through doors that scraped across the carpet, on hinges the squeaked, with shadowy furniture that looked like discovery until we were almost upon it, and curtains that drifted in the breeze making shapes that looked like someone was concealed behind them. I don’t think I took a full breath until I was outside of the small wooden door and standing in the soft grass.
Chapter 19
I stayed by the garden door until my breathing slowed and the panicky feeling left me. I didn’t hear any sound from inside, nothing that sounded like pursuit anyway, so I turned my attention to the shed. It hadn’t seemed as far away in the daylight, when I wasn’t worried about being seen. Now all I noticed was how much lawn there was between it and the house, and how open the path leading to it was. It reminded me of the wide open field around the mirror building, and I was wishing for the concealing hedges of the maze again. Since I highly doubted any hedges or other cover would spring up around me anytime soon (not that it would surprise me anymore if they did), I got a firmer grip on Footstool and started walking as quickly as I dared toward the shed, trying to find the best balance between speed and stealth.
Crossing the wide open area of lawn was nerve-wracking, and I was half-expecting to see someone watching us from the windows, but I knew my cloak would hide me in the shadows cast by the trees and protect me from a casual glance. Footstool was small, so I didn’t think he would be in any danger. If he was seen, he’d probably be mistaken for a raccoon or a cat or some other small animal. As long as no one was expecting us to leave, I was pretty certain Footstool and I would be able to escape notice. And they didn’t know I knew McNair had arrived. Still, I erred on the side of speed, and didn’t put Footstool down until we reached Panther’s prison.
As soon as Footstool touched the ground, he ran straight to the window and looked in. After a careful look inside, he turned back to me and nodded. So I had guessed right; they weren’t there yet. We were in time. I went to the door.
The squat stone shed was on the edge of the forest, which cast plenty of shadows around the door for me to hide in as I tried key after key. On the sixth try, I felt the first lock click open. I tried the same key in the hole at the bottom of the door, but it didn’t work. I went through all the keys again, until that lock clicked open. Then I went through them all again for the padlock. I half expected to find something else blocking our path, but when
I turned the knob, the door swung open with no trouble. I hissed to get Footstool’s attention. He ran into the shed. I followed, shutting the door behind us
Inside, I knew I couldn’t be seen from the house. I relaxed a bit and took out the candle I had brought. I lit it with my matches and, shielding the light with my hand, looked around. Footstool clattered across the floor to another door behind the jumble of rakes and shovels, which blended into the stone wall so well I wouldn’t have noticed it was there if I hadn’t been looking for something very like it.
“Where’s the knob, or the lock, or … “
Footstool pulled himself up along the wall, then tapped seven times. I understood and counted seven stones up from the bottom. Once I had the right row, I was able to figure out which stone could be pushed, and the door swung out, revealing a narrow staircase leading to the basement and Panther’s cell.
The basement was cool and dry, with small patches of moonlight sneaking through the barred windows and illuminating the stone floor on both sides of the iron bars that cut the room in half. Panther was asleep on the ground, his head resting on his arm. His chest rose and fell steadily, but his tail twitched. I wondered if he was dreaming and what he dreamed about. The castle, probably.
Footstool ran straight to the bars, his feet clattering on the stone floor. Panther heard the sound and stirred, then turned his head and opened his eyes a bit. His gaze landed on Footstool. He blinked, and I could tell when he realized what he was seeing, then his gaze slid past Footstool to my shoe. Panther sat up. “Ella? You came back?”
“I have the keys this time.” I held up the ring. “McNair came back this evening. We don’t have much time. We have to get out of here.” I crossed the room quickly and tried the first key in the lock. Panther watched me, but without the contempt I had felt the last time. I had no trouble concentrating as I worked my way through the ring until I felt the lock click open.
As soon as the door swung open, Panther slunk out. This time he did not celebrate his release, but went straight to the stairs and started up with much more confidence than I had. I hurried after him. Once upstairs, I looked around and murmured, “Are we all here?”
Ella and the Panther's Quest Page 13