The Amaranth Enchantment

by Julie Berry

  “Why, to visit you, of course,” he said, “and pay my respects to this Beryl of yours.”

  I gave up. If I didn’t let him in the door, he’d come in through a window.

  “This way,” I said, trudging off.

  We reached the lawns. Peter whistled. “This is where you grew up?”

  Was it? “Just till I was five.”

  Peter laughed. “You would have been a catch after all! Even for His Royal Blue Eyes.”

  I rubbed dust kicked up by a carriage wheel out of my eye.

  We rounded the curve in the drive and the house came into view. Even with a bleached sun hiding behind curtains of cloud cover, and bare trees clawing the sky, and frozen, shriveled shrubbery, it was magnificent.

  Peter shook his head. “You had all this and lost it?” I thought I saw real sympathy in his eyes. “I’m going to be a lot nicer to you from now on.”

  I laughed.

  “And anyway, you might get it all back, right?”

  Then I really laughed. It felt good to laugh. What else could I do?

  I wiped my eyes and looked up to see Dog barreling toward me from behind the house. How on earth? I dropped down on my knees and embraced him. He nuzzled my face.

  “Faugh,” Peter groaned, grimacing and looking away.

  “How’d you get here, Doggy Goat?” I asked, stroking his ribs. “How’d you pay your toll to cross the river?”

  He eyed me from one side—as he must, being a goat—and butted me gently.

  “I’m sorry, Dog. We left you at the palace, didn’t we?”

  “Meh-heh-heh.”

  “Such a clever goat as you. You didn’t mind, did you?” I looked up to see Peter rolling his eyes.

  “When you’re done with your little love affair, can we go inside? I’m famished.”

  I climbed to my feet. “Come on, then. But you’re not likely to find a meal here.”

  We headed down the walk toward the front door, but Dog would have none of it.

  He sidled against me and leaned hard, pushing me onto the lawns until I nearly fell.

  “What’s the matter, Dog? We want to go inside.”

  He was adamant. He pushed me, tripped me, and each time I persisted in ascending the walkway. Finally he galloped a few steps ahead of me and braced himself, his horns lowered.

  “Your little puppy plans to ram you, I think,” Peter observed.

  I was astonished. “I believe you’re right.” Dog and I faced each other for a tense moment, until finally I stepped off the path and began strolling across the grass in the direction he’d been pushing me. He trotted over and fell into step at my ankles.

  Peter shrugged and followed us as we cut a circle around the house. Who knew what obscure fear had entered his goat brain and possessed him to steer me away from the door? And what harm would it do to oblige him?

  When we’d reached the back he herded us against the wall of the house, where, if we craned our necks around some statuary of a Greek god—which, in the presence of Peter, made me blush a bit—we could just get a glimpse through the tall windows overlooking the terrace. Without thinking I slipped a hand into my pocket and felt for Beryl’s gem. It was practically humming with agitation.

  Dog maaahed over and over, loud and agitated. I looked around, bewildered, trying to find some reason for his strange behavior. He kept up his racket without cease. Peter swatted his hide with his hat—not roughly, or I’d have returned the favor.

  A movement caught my eye. Coming the other way around the rear of the house, walking cautiously, was Beryl.

  She saw me. She hitched up her skirts and ran to me, seizing me in a tight embrace.

  “You’re back,” she said in my ear. “You’re back.”

  Chapter 23

  I staggered back on clumsy feet. She steadied me effortlessly, her smile beaming. “I’ve been so worried about you,” she said, rubbing my arms up and down as if searching for broken bones. “Are you all right? You look as though you’ve been through a terrible fright.”

  And that was when I dissolved into sobs. Beryl held me in her arms and rubbed my back.

  Peter, ever helpful, offered Beryl an explanation.

  “Girls are always going off in hysterics, but this time she’s got cause,” he said. “Nearly got hung, spent the night in jail, they probably intimidated her something fierce there. Made a strumpet of herself last night, on account of her shameless dancing with the prince, and then doesn’t she get hauled off and arrested for robbing him.”

  With each accusation, Beryl made soothing noises, until I pulled myself off her shoulder.

  “Peter, will you shut your mouth?” I cried. “Nobody asked you anything!”

  Beryl looked like she was keeping her face straight only with great effort.

  She held a hand out to Peter. “I’m Beryl,” she said. “I understand you’re a common street thief?”

  Peter bristled. “Hardly a common one.”

  Beryl demurred. “I stand corrected.”

  I pulled Beryl’s gemstone from my pocket. It shimmered, pink and jubilant.

  Her face was full of emotion as she took it from my hand. “Well done, Lucinda,” she said. “Well done. I thank you.”

  Peter’s eyes, I saw, had followed this transaction longingly.

  “Keep it away from him,” I warned. “He could rob the Holy Father of his underdrawers.”

  “Hey!”

  “You’re the reason for all this trouble in the first place,” I reminded him. I turned to Beryl. “You’re mistaken,” I told her. “It wasn’t well done. It was as poorly done as it could possibly have been. Everything I could ruin in the process, I did.”

  She regarded me cryptically. “Most things are harder to ruin than you think.”

  She smiled and held out her arms, gesturing with a sweep toward the house and all the grounds. “I give you, Lucinda, your house, once more. Welcome home.”

  My legs felt weak. I did it! But I didn’t. Or, I had no chance of keeping it. The house felt no more mine than Sebastien Palace. I waved away these thoughts, remembering Beryl creeping around the hedge.

  “What are you doing outside, Beryl?” I asked. “Were you hiding?”

  She looked around surreptitiously, then shepherded us both toward a rear door to the house. “Come inside, quickly,” she said. “I don’t dare stay here long. There isn’t much time.”

  We went inside and collapsed on couches in the parlor. Beryl got to work pulling paintings down from the walls. First the smiling youth, and then Aunt as a young girl. She wrapped them in soft cloth, then tied them with string.

  Then she sat and took my hands in hers.

  “A man was here, just now. He came and searched the house,” she said in an urgent whisper. “That’s why I was outdoors. I decided I’d rather spy on my enemy than confront him. It’s him! The man who’s been trying to steal my stone. I got a better look at him. He only just left. It’s a wonder he didn’t see you. If you’d gone in the front door, he might have.”

  “Lucinda’s goat wouldn’t let us,” Peter said.

  I sat up straight. “Beryl, was he tall, with pale hair and blue eyes?”

  Beryl nodded. “And an official uniform, with epaulets.”

  “That’s him!” I cried. “It’s Lord Coxley, the king’s Chief Minister of Justice.”

  She sank back, clutching at her hair. “Of course. Of course! Why didn’t I see?”

  I watched her face. See what? I wondered.

  She turned to me. “Coxley was the lawyer who sold me the house. We met once, very briefly. I wondered about him then. There was something about him…” She shook her head. “Chief Minister of Justice! I fear for the kingdom.”

  I thought of Gregor, who would occupy the throne with the devil himself as his most powerful official. With any luck, Coxley would be dead and gone when that day came.

  “Beryl,” I said, taking her hands, “Coxley worked for my father. He had them killed. I’m sure of it. He
as much as said so to me. He said that seeing me dead would complete his unfinished work. He was gloating over it!” I felt my eyes grow wet.

  Beryl frowned and nodded.

  “Why would he do that?” Peter asked.

  “For their wealth,” Beryl said. “Perhaps, even, for some petty offense they caused him. But surely, for their wealth. To him, they were stepping-stones. How else does an unknown lawyer become the kings Chief Minister of Justice in so short a time?”

  My breath came in little gasps. “Aunt always loved to say how my parents died in debt, that they were frauds, living high. I never believed it. But when they died, all the money was gone.” I hated for Peter to see me cry like this.

  “Men like Coxley are ruthless,” Beryl said. “They’ll stop at nothing to achieve their ends.” She rose, rubbing her hands together briskly. “He stationed a guard here before leaving,” she said, “out in the hedgerow beyond the property. If your goat hadn’t made me aware of him, Lucinda, we’d be in trouble right now. As it is, I’ve taken care of him.”

  I felt a chill run over me, and for a moment I remembered the story of Aunt’s brother, John. “Taken care of him? What did you do?”

  Beryl shook her head with a wry smile. “He’s fine, Lucinda. He’ll wake up tomorrow thinking he had a rough night with the lads at a pub, and wander home to his wife. Now, come along, you two, we can’t stay here, I’m afraid Coxley’ll be back, possibly this time with company. We have an important mission.” She patted her pocket and smiled. “Now that I have this back, I’m not afraid of what may come to me, but I have to keep you safe, Lucinda, until we can think of what to do about Coxley.”

  I stood with an effort, my tired legs protesting.” Where are we going?”

  “To Montescue’s Goldsmithy.”

  Chapter 24

  The hansom cab disgorged us outside the faded door to Uncle’s—now, Aunt’s—shop. Beryl paid the driver, handing him a folded slip of paper and some extra money, along with some whispered instructions.

  “What was that about?” I asked her.

  “A message,” she said, her lips tight. “Never mind that.”

  I looked up at the MONTESCUE’S sign painted over the shop window. Even with Beryl there to support me, I dreaded going inside and facing Aunt again.

  We entered, Peter brushing crumbs from the sticky buns Beryl had bought us off his coat. The shop was empty. No one had dusted it since I left, that was plain.

  I was beginning to wonder if Aunt would appear at all, when I heard a shuffling footstep coming down the stairs. She rounded the doorpost and stopped still, staring at the three of us.

  She looked terrible. All the color was drained from her face, except the red rimming her eyes, and the red splotches on her nose and cheeks that she always wore when she went looking for liquid comfort.

  “What do you want?” she said, her voice thick and hoarse. “What’re you two doing together, and what gives you the nerve to come around here?”

  I looked to Beryl to speak, and saw that she, herself, was trembling with fear.

  “Haven’t you caused me enough trouble?” Aunt went on, pointing a shaky finger at me. “Constables coming in here, not half an hour ago, and the Lord Minister of Justice himself, asking me if I’ve seen you anywhere.” She gestured toward the window. “Tied his big black horse up right outside this door. Asked if I know where the stone you stole last night was. What’d you do, steal it again?”

  They were still searching for me! The clop of a horseshoe on the street outside made me jump, but it was only a mule and a coal cart.

  “Get that witch out of my shop,” Aunt said.

  “This is Beryl,” I said to Aunt, my own voice faltering. “She’s not a witch. She has something to say to you that you need to hear.”

  “Is this about the big jewel?” Aunt said, her consonants slurring.

  “No,” Beryl said softly. “It’s about John.”

  Aunt faltered and caught herself on the countertop.

  Beryl hurried forward to assist her. Aunt glared at her, and Beryl shrank back.

  “Who are you?” Aunt said, her voice full of loathing.

  Beryl knelt down on the floor and unwrapped the packages she’d brought. She placed them on the countertop, first the handsome youth, John, and then his sister, little curly-haired Hortensia, who was Aunt herself.

  Aunt clapped a hand over her mouth. Her breathing became so shaky, I feared for her heart. Her eyes rained tears that dripped through her fingers onto her bosom.

  “May I speak to you privately, Mrs. Montescue?” Beryl said.” There are things I need to say to you.”

  Aunt stood frozen, weeping and staring at the pictures. She nodded, once, and turned on her heel and walked out of the shop and up the stairs leading to the parlor. Beryl looked to me for guidance. I gestured for her to follow Aunt.

  Beryl went, looking as though she wished I would come. But my presence wouldn’t help Aunt any. I stayed behind to make sure Peter didn’t steal anything from the shop and to watch for returning constables.

  Peter quickly grew tired of me policing him and sank down to snooze in a chair by the door. I paced the floor, straining my ears for some hint of what was happening upstairs and jumping at every shadow that passed by the windows. The sun sank behind the rooftops, and, I reminded myself, it was no longer my duty nor my privilege to light the lamps.

  At last Beryl slipped through the door to the hall. She walked as if in a daze, but when she saw us she quickened her step.

  “Let’s hurry home,” she said. “Coxley’s still roaming the streets searching, and that gives us just enough time to do what we need to do.”

  * * *

  We rode home in silence, Beryl and I deep in thought, and Peter deep in sleep.

  When we reached the house, Beryl made us wait outside while she searched for evidence of another intruder, but at length she pronounced it safe for us to come inside. We both collapsed on couches in the parlor, where Beryl lit a fire.

  “Take a little nap,” Beryl said. “A pinch of rest would do you good.”

  I yawned. “I don’t need a little naaaaaaaaaahp… “

  And the next thing I knew, Beryl was waking me up, my head so woolly she could have persuaded me it was Christmas.

  “How long did I sleep?”

  “Half an hour,” she said with a mysterious little smile. She handed me two thick slices of buttered bread, I devoured a slice. A thought occurred to me as I chewed. “Did you make me sleep?”

  She winked at me. “Your bath is heating by the fireplace in your room, and your clothes are pressed and ready. You need to wake up, too, Peter,” she called loudly into his ear. “Your bath is heating in the kitchen. You both have an important engagement tonight.”

  Peter? Bath? Clothes? What was going on? I bit into the other slice of bread. I hadn’t realized how famished I was.

  “What engagement?” I pressed, still groggy with sleep. “I don’t have any engagement.”

  “The carriage will be here in less than an hour. Here, unlace your boots.”

  Peter sat up, his hair sticking out in every direction. “What carriage?”

  “One I’ve hired,” Beryl said. “What a busy afternoon I’ve had. But everything is nearly ready. Get up! There’s no time.”

  I peeled the blankets off me. “Beryl, what engagement are you talking about?”

  She placed both fists on her hips. “The prince’s ball, of course! What else?”

  The ball!

  To see Gregor one more time, if only from a distance. A far, safe distance…

  What was I thinking? After he’d asked me not to? For shame!

  I sank back down on the couch. “You’re raving. I’m not going.”

  “Clothes, you say?” Peter asked. “You got some fancy togs for me?”

  “I surely do.” Beryl grinned. “You’ll look like a young lord.”

  “Good enough,” Peter said, rising to his feet. “I’m up for a lark.
”

  “Sit down!” I yelled. “Peter, tell her why we’re not going. Tell her what Gregor said.”

  He shrugged. “Some mumbledy-tosh about duty, and the princess. Who cares? There’ll be hundreds of people at the ball. Wear a mask if you want. Let’s go for the scenery.”

  Beryl snapped her fingers at Peter. “A mask. You are a genius.”

  He bowed his head modestly. “It’s a known fact.”

  I threw up my hands. “You’re a pair of fools. Why don’t you go to the ball, Beryl, since you’re so keen to. You can wear the mask.”

  Beryl shook her head. “I have an engagement of my own. You, Miss Lucinda, will be the envy of the ball tonight. Come and see what I have for you.”

  “No.” I folded my arms across my chest. “Coxley is sure to be there. No ball is worth dying for.”

  “I can guarantee that Coxley won’t be at the ball tonight,” Beryl said.

  “How do you know?”

  “I know.”

  I scowled at her. I wasn’t convinced.

  She relented. “I have issued him an invitation,” she said, “which I am sure he will not refuse. Your path to the ball lies clear tonight.”

  “An invitation? Beryl, what are you trying to do?”

  Beryl’s jaw was set. “That is my business.” She relaxed. “Lucinda, he can’t hurt me.”

  That was true. I felt a little blossom of hope poke up inside me. Then I poked it back down.

  “I can’t face Gregor,” I told her. “Not after all that’s happened. He told me not to come.”

  Beryl dropped down onto the couch beside me and took both my hands in hers.

  “Lucinda, please,” she said, her eyes imploring. “Trust me.”

  I could think of nothing to say.

  “I would never wish you harm,” Beryl said.

  “But you have a way of exposing me to it, all the same,” I said.

  She had the grace to acknowledge this. “Not tonight. Tonight is different. I can feel it. You must go to the ball,”

  Peter, who’d been leaning against the fireplace, said. “You females! You know you’re dying to go see Prince Gregor pledge his undying love to Princess Beatrix. You’d eat your heart out to miss that.”