The Charmed Children of Rookskill Castle

by Janet Fox

  THAT AFTERNOON THEY met their other instructors. The two new teachers took up residence in the castle on the second story with Mr. Storm and the Lord and Lady.

  Miss Gumble taught grammar and literature. Mr. MacLarren was a red-cheeked Scot who taught maths. As they were introduced before lessons, Kat raised her hand.

  “How do you know our father?” she asked them. “He said something about recommending you to Lady Eleanor.”

  Gumble and MacLarren exchanged a brief glance. “Your father gave a very interesting lecture on clocks at the university several years ago,” Gumble said.

  “We were quite impressed,” said MacLarren. “So we invited him out to the pub for a bit of conversation.”

  “He’s an interesting man,” said Gumble, polishing her glasses.

  “Quite,” said MacLarren. “Now let’s get on with your education, eh?”

  Gumble was up-country English and reedy-thin, and spoke with such a monotone whine that it was hard to keep awake during her lessons. They were all provided with a book of grammar, a sentence diagramming primer, and a fat compendium of world and English literature, which, as Miss Gumble said, “I expect you to read each and every night, beginning at the beginning. I will assign pages. Take careful notes, as I will be examining you on the contents without warning.” The younger children were given a shorter reading; even so, Kat saw that Colin’s eyes were as round as melons at the amount of work.

  MacLarren began with an exam, and then split them all into groups according to skills. Kat was alone in the top group, above even Peter and Jorry. She was pleased to see Jorry gape.

  “You are quite skilled at numbers, eh, lassie? Well, don’t be looking after my job.” Mr. MacLarren grinned.

  Kat wasn’t sure what to make of him, but at least she knew exactly what to do with numbers.

  During time off after homework she tinkered with the clock in her room, using hairpins and butter knives for tools, and got it running nicely. Many of the other clocks were stopped; she made it her personal mission to fix them all. She was sure Father would approve.

  Kat wrote home to Mum:

  We’re all fine. The uniforms are warm and the maid lays a fire every evening in our rooms while we are at supper. We’ve begun lessons, and I feel it’s a relief, although Rob complains like crazy.

  Kat did not mention the fencing, as she thought her mum would worry—and rightly so.

  And she did not mention the wireless, nor ghosts, nor peculiar Storm, nor evil nightmares.

  She drank no more chocolate, and noticed that Peter didn’t, either.

  It wasn’t until Saturday that Kat and Peter had the chance to revisit the hidden room. They found a place under the stairwell on the first floor where they could tuck in and listen, and if someone made their way up the stairs, they could spy.

  “Spying on the spy,” Kat said.

  They were there most of Saturday morning, and took a break for lunch with nothing to show. They returned with several hours left until supper, so they made themselves as comfy as possible and waited.

  And waited.

  It was the first time they’d been alone for a stretch of time. Peter was very kind to the younger children and he didn’t seem to mind that she was good at maths, as some of the boys she’d met did.

  “My father’s abroad,” Kat said out of the blue. She had to confide in someone. Peter, well, she trusted him.

  “Is he fighting, then?”

  “Not exactly. He works for MI6.”

  “So he’s a spy.” Peter whistled softly. “Do you worry?”

  “Terribly,” she said, and wrapped her hand around her watch.

  “I miss home. New York,” Peter said, sensibly changing the subject. He described his neighborhood and school, and Kat found herself wishing she could see the bright lights of New York City for herself.

  After a moment’s silence, Peter said, “I wonder if we’d be heroes if we caught a spy. I wonder if that spy would be executed. I don’t know whether I’d want that on my conscience. Unless it saved lives, of course, catching a spy.”

  Kat thought about how she would feel if her father was caught, and her stomach was all at once tied up in knots. She hoped that two children on the other side weren’t about to give Father away as he struggled to uncover secrets for his country, two children who would love to catch a spy. She squeezed the watch.

  “You probably haven’t seen that movie Pinocchio.” Peter shifted his legs so they stretched before him. “I saw it last winter, before we left the States. ‘Always let your conscience be your guide.’”

  “What’s that about?” Kat asked, peering at him sideways.

  “It’s one of the things the character Jiminy Cricket says in the movie. Let your conscience be your guide and you can’t go wrong, is what he says. That, and he says, ‘When you wish upon a star, your dreams come true.’”

  Kat focused on the knot of her shoelaces, her fingers plucking it like strings of a harp. “I’ve made a wish. Upon a star.” She shrugged. “It’s silly. An old superstition. Dreams don’t come true just for wishing.”

  “What did you wish for?”

  “You know I can’t tell you. Or that’s what they say.”

  “Then I’m guessing it hasn’t come true yet.”

  “No.” Her wish hadn’t come true. And she was so afraid it wouldn’t ever come true. It was silly, wishing, and she chewed her lip, mad at herself.

  “I understand,” Peter said. “I have a wish like that.” He knitted his hands together. “I didn’t want to leave.”

  “Leave?”

  “Leave the States,” he said softly.

  “Oh.” His eyes were fixed on his fingers. Kat said, “But your dad, he came here to work?”

  “Yes. But it was my mom, mostly. She wanted to be here for her parents and family. Dad’s family are gone, so he took a job in London for her. And then the war really started, and here we are.”

  “That’s thoughtful of him, though awfully bad timing.”

  He glanced up and then away. “Yeah. Thoughtful except for me. I had to leave my friends, my school, even my dog . . .” Then his eyes lifted again. “But this is fun. This crazy, maybe haunted, maybe spy-filled castle in Scotland. An adventure. Right?” He gave her a quick smile.

  She smiled back.

  They fell silent and sat in the shadows for what felt like forever. No one had come up or down the stairs since they’d been there; the entire castle seemed drained and silent.

  Kat thought back to a warm spring evening when she was out with her family and the air was filled with the sound of crickets. Mum walked ahead with Amelie and Rob, while she’d walked at Father’s side.

  “Look, Kitty,” Father had said. He pointed to a star, the first to appear.

  So she’d wished. Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight . . .

  He’d smiled. “What did you wish?”

  “You know I can’t tell you,” she said, and nudged him.

  And then only a week later her first success, fixing a clock, and only a week after that, her failure, when she broke his watch by acting silly.

  “I can’t fix it, Kitty,” he’d said, short, putting the watch aside. “Not enough time.” He’d left it on his workbench.

  And then he was gone.

  Now she felt stupid, making wishes. She was only surprised that her father had encouraged her. He should have said, “If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride.”

  Kat’s legs burned with cramps when she finally stood up to shake them out. Peter had closed his eyes and seemed to be asleep. She shook Peter’s shoulder and his eyes fluttered open. “I think we’d better get going,” Kat said.

  “Right,” he said, and scrambled to his feet.

  They were halfway up the stairs when they heard it. A door on the next floor opened
and closed, and soft footsteps came down the hallway in their direction.

  There was no place to hide, no time to escape. They came face-to-face with the Lady.

  She started and her eyes narrowed. “What are you children doing here?”

  “We’ve come in from a walk,” Kat said. “Lovely weather.”

  In fact, the day had gone from clear to miserable, and Kat now heard the beating of rain on the windows. “Well, it was lovely until a bit ago. So we were just . . .”

  “Talking,” said Peter, his voice firm.

  The Lady’s eyebrows lifted. “Since I am in the position of parental guardian, I will only tell you once that when you are not in the classroom or at meals you must remain on your corridor. I’m establishing a new rule: no wandering about the castle or grounds, even in pairs.”

  Kat chafed at the scolding and this irritating rule. Especially when Peter said, “Yes, ma’am.”

  Kat grew bold. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you, my Lady,” she said. “I have questions.”

  The Lady’s steely eyes locked on Kat.

  Peter shuffled his feet and Kat was sure he thought she would give away what they knew about the wireless. But that was not on her mind.

  She squared her shoulders. “What I asked about before. When we arrived here we saw a girl out in the garden wearing only a thin summer dress. It’s far too cold for her to be dressed that way. I think she needs a coat.”

  The Lady raised her perfect eyebrows. “Really?”

  “And we’ve seen a crippled boy who should be taken to see a doctor, because his deformity might be fixed. And speaking of doctors, I hear that there’s another boy here, one who looks after the cats, and it sounds like he’s taken ill.” Kat’s cheeks burned by this point and she could almost feel Peter’s astonishment. “I wonder whether they are children of people who work here? Or are they from the village? Surely they aren’t students. Are they? For they would be joining us in studies and meals and so on, wouldn’t they?”

  The Lady was silent; rain beat at the windows. Her eyes ran Kat and Peter up and down from head to toe. “You were outside? You don’t appear to be wet.”

  They said nothing.

  “Your parents have given me full charge of you. I don’t suppose you should like to be locked in your rooms for a few days as punishment for wandering without supervision?”

  Kat pursed her lips and Peter said, “No, ma’am.”

  She glared at Kat. “Your father said to be especially strict with you, Katherine Bateson. That you are immature and too sure of yourself and need a firm hand. I have no trouble depriving you both of a meal or two, if that will make you understand that I’m in charge.”

  Kat tightened her fists, and her mouth went dry.

  “If I find you out like this again, I shall be forced to keep you under lock and key and let you go hungry. Is that clear?”

  Peter nodded. Kat was furious. Father would never have said—

  “Go,” the Lady said, and pointed up.

  Kat’s face was on fire but she didn’t move; Peter tugged her sleeve.

  “Now,” the Lady said, her voice a hiss.

  They went.

  Kat and Peter faced each other in the hallway.

  “Why’d you have to make her angry?” he said in a harsh whisper.

  “Peter, she was awful. Don’t you see?”

  “What I see,” he said, his face red, “is that she’s in charge and we’d better not cross her. Or we’ll go hungry, or worse. Why do you have to be so demanding? She’s just trying to keep us safe. Plus, I was afraid you were going to say something about the wireless. People have been killed for less, you know. Even children. There is a war on.”

  “What does it matter if I said something about the wireless? I thought you didn’t believe she was a spy.” She clenched her fists. “What are you really afraid of?”

  He marched into his room and shut the door in her face.

  Kat stood in the hallway, her blood pounding in her ears.

  All she wanted was to keep her brother and sister safe from harm, and bring her family back together, and have the war done and Father home, and be away from this creepy castle.

  Father. Her eyes burned. She couldn’t believe he would have said that. She couldn’t believe he’d have been so hurtful about her. Everything Kat did, she did to show him that she was his logical girl. The Lady was downright mean.

  Unless . . .

  Unless this business of not letting them wander about was to keep them out of the way of something evil. Maybe the Lady knew something terrible, and Peter was right, that she was trying to keep them all safe.

  Kat didn’t think the Lady would really starve them, or lock them up. Why, if their parents found out, they’d be furious. Father would never send them to such a place.

  Except, maybe he would. To give Kat a “firm hand.” She swallowed a sob.

  She went back to her room and stood at the window. Rain streamed down in long ribbons. She leaned her forehead against the cool glass.

  And then, Kat saw movement in the park below the window. She peered through the streams of rainwater. It was Jorry; she couldn’t mistake his tall thin frame. He appeared to be at some form of exercise, jumping and bouncing.

  Kat shook her head, thinking honestly, he’ll be in great trouble now if he’s caught out, when suddenly Jorry halted in midjump.

  He started, his eyes widening. His left hand flew to his neck, and he held it there, palm tightening against his neck just under his left ear, where she’d seen his birthmark. His lips moved and he shook his head. His mouth curled in a sneer. He took something in his right hand—someone handed him something, Kat could see only a black greatcoat—and Jorry’s sneer grew to a grin.

  Then he lifted the thing, and Kat saw it was a chain, and she pressed to the window as he lifted it over his head and put it around his neck.

  The rain came down so hard, she wasn’t sure she saw right.

  Jorry’s eyes went wild and he clutched at his throat and ripped at his shirt, his mouth gaping in what looked like a scream, and then, lurching like a drunkard, he disappeared into the shadows and out of sight.

  She pushed against the glass, but he was gone.

  Kat stepped back from the window, uneasy. She might not like Jorry, but he’d looked so frightened. What had he seen, and who was he talking to? And his expression, that terrible expression, like he was being sliced open . . .

  Hang it all. Her inner voice and her protective instinct drove her to try to find him, or at least find one of the teachers.

  She knew if she was caught out now by the Lady there would be the devil to pay, so she slipped downstairs as quietly as possible. She took several wrong turns before winding up opening a door to a hallway lined with oil portraits. As she stood in the shadows trying to decide whether to go right or left, a small portrait hanging among others caught her eye, and as she moved up close to it her heart began to pound.

  It was a painting of someone who looked uncannily like Kat, only a bit older. The girl wore antique clothing and sat with her hands folded, her long hair piled on top of her head, and a dog at her feet. And at her waist . . . Kat’s breath caught and she pressed her palm to her chest.

  Kat leaned close. It looked like Great-Aunt Margaret’s chatelaine. No, it was Great-Aunt Margaret’s chatelaine.

  It’s a family heirloom. Family. Of course. Father’s Aunt Margaret was related to Gregor, so it was Father’s family, and hers . . . and that girl was family, from way back.

  But the thing that really took Kat’s breath away, the thing that made her hands tremble, was that the portrait was cut, a long, thin diagonal cut from one corner to the other, a razor cut that sliced straight through the face of the girl.

  Kat stepped away, shaking.

  Somehow, she found her way back to their floo
r and to her room. She took out her great-aunt’s chatelaine and sat on her bed, trying to sort through it all.

  Three chatelaines—hers, the Lady’s, and Storm’s. Kat’s portrait doppelgänger. Odd and mysterious children. Ghostly singing. A teacher who was plucked out of the sea like something from a fairy tale. The look of terror on Jorry’s face. Shifty, confusing hallways and passages. A hidden wireless and maybe a spy. A mistress whose hands and eyes and heart were cold as ice.

  Kat had tumbled down the rabbit hole into a realm of shadowy mysteries.

  Something was terribly wrong in Rookskill Castle. Kat didn’t know what it was yet, but some part of her couldn’t help but wonder, against all her logical instincts, if this castle was possessed by something dreadful—something dark and grim—like magic.

  20

  Dark Magic

  THE YEARS 1938 to 1940. Magic bides its own time.

  When Gregor, Lord Craig arrives to his inheritance of title and lands, Leonore knows her time has come again at last. Gregor is the near image of her first lord, his ancestor. She remembers her brutal father and her heartless lord, who made her feel powerless, lost, broken, and unloved.

  And war. She’s seen it before. Dark magic grows out of the strife and misery and turmoil of war. Dark magic gathers beneath the thunderheads of war, the angry clash of red and black and dust and ash. Dark magic finds root in blood and bone, and with centuries of waiting Leonore’s heart has grown bitter-dark. She wants more of the powerful magic she carries in her thirteenth charm.

  Leonore comes out of the keep and calls herself Eleanor and enthralls and marries Gregor. She finds the magister again (it seems he will live forever), and the magister says yes, now is the time.

  The magister tells Eleanor that she can now steal the remaining souls. Slowly, carefully, but yes, she may take seven more souls to fill her thirteenth charm.

  “Remember,” he says. “Take them slowly. Too many at once will weaken the magic.”

  As he speaks she regards him with veiled eyes. She now suspects he’s used her. He says that once her thirteenth charm holds all twelve souls she will be more powerful than any mortal man. No one will use her again.