The Charmed Children of Rookskill Castle

by Janet Fox

  Was it the wireless operator? Her spy? Maybe it was even someone taking a message to a waiting U-boat?

  She opened her door. She couldn’t go to Peter; he wasn’t interested in making waves. She didn’t want to risk making him her enemy again.

  But she had to do something.

  The corridors were empty and silent. Kat remembered then that Miss Gumble had offered to conduct a Saturday study hall for extra credit, and the other students must have gone. Kat didn’t need the extra credit. What she needed was to find answers.

  Kat slipped down the stairs, pausing on every landing to listen. By this time she knew at least one way down, though she almost wanted to tie a thread to her door in case she got lost. She most certainly didn’t want the Lady to find her disobeying orders. She’d be punished for sure. Locked in her room with no supper, or worse.

  As Kat passed by the secret room she paused, crept up to the hidden door, and placed her ear to the wall. Nothing. And then . . .

  It began as a faint crackle. Then a voice hissing and spitting from over the wireless. She couldn’t make out words; the volume was too low. Then a pause, and someone in the room was speaking back into the short-wave.

  Drat this thick wall! Kat plastered herself as flat as she could, her ear right against the narrow crack. Again she couldn’t make out words, but there was one thing certain: the voice speaking back to the wireless in the room was definitely that of a man.

  She straightened and stepped away. There were only four men in this castle: the giant, whom she hadn’t seen since the day they arrived; Lord Craig, whom she’d never seen; Mr. MacLarren; and Mr. Storm. Only four men—unless there was someone else here, another man, in hiding. And whoever she’d seen outside and the wireless operator couldn’t be one and the same.

  Kat pondered this. The castle was huge and rambling—more than rambling, it was a maze—and had many rooms. It would be easy for someone to hide. Unless she searched every corner—an impossible task—she’d never know.

  It wasn’t Lady Eleanor who operated the wireless. Kat pursed her lips. She still thought that the Lady could be using one of the men. Kat wouldn’t let her off the hook. There was too much about her that Kat didn’t like.

  In fact, there was something odd about each one of the adults in this castle, except maybe—she hoped—Cook.

  Now her little inner voice said, Find Cook.

  Kat went down the stairs, but when she reached the lowest floor and started down the hallway, she promptly became lost.

  “What is it about this place?” she muttered after a good ten minutes of wandering. The only thing to do was to make her way back upstairs and then find the kitchen from her room.

  It was as if she was the only person in the entire castle and the castle itself was alive, with the moaning of the wind outside and the groans from the radiators. Kat climbed the stairs to her hall. She shivered as she peered back over her shoulder.

  Which was why, when she turned the corner in the hallway to her room, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

  “Miss Bateson!” Storm dabbed a handkerchief at his forehead, which was beaded with sweat. “Shouldn’t you be in study hall?”

  “It’s—it’s voluntary,” Kat said, stammering. Then, “But what are you doing here on our hallway?”

  The fear left his face, and Storm’s eyes betrayed a glimmer of triumph. He stuck his hand in his pocket and drew up. “That’s my business, Miss Bateson. Back to your room or to study hall at once, or I shall be forced to inform the Lady that you are wandering.”

  Kat pressed her lips into a thin line as he marched away down the stairs, whistling. Peculiar.

  But she wasn’t about to listen to Storm. Kat found her way past her room and down to the front entry. From there she made it to the great hall and, orienting herself, slid along the dark hallways to the kitchen at the back.

  She made only a couple more wrong turns before she found the kitchen door. Comforting smells guided her.

  She opened the door an inch at a time until she could peek inside. Cook bustled about the steamy room. Back and forth she walked, carrying great bowls and platters. She chattered as if the whole of London was there to hear her.

  Kat pushed the door another inch, so that she could scan the room. No one. Nothing. Maybe Cook talked to herself. Maybe she was as odd as the others. Kat was about to push her way in when she saw them: a pair of feet in shoes with soles so thin, they were dotted with holes. She paused.

  Someone was huddled on the floor by the stove, and Kat could see feet. Small feet. Someone young.

  A cat trotted across the kitchen, and then another. The cats wrapped themselves around the feet, twining and mewing, until one dropped to a hunch on the floor by the feet and began to groom.

  Cook was talking to a child who sat on the floor with the cats. Well, that meant Cook really was to be trusted, so Kat walked on into the kitchen.

  With that movement she startled the living daylights out of a boy, handsome and dark-haired though thin, wraith-thin, huddled by the stove. Kat startled him so that he sprang up, his dark eyes blank and staring, ghostly, and he bolted out the back door into the miserable weather, cats on his heels, slamming the door in his wake.

  25

  The Sixth Charm: The Devil’s Sign

  OCTOBER 1940. The devil takes many forms.

  Jorry carries a birthmark. He is the first of the academy students the Lady charms because there, under his left ear and just above his shirt collar, is a patch of red in the shape of a hand. A hand that holds up two fingers in the shape of horns, two fingers meant to ward off evil.

  But Eleanor knows it can also be the devil’s sign.

  Eleanor finds him outside, exercising, alone in the sleeting rain, the peculiar boy. He needs her, doesn’t he? Needs to be rescued from parents who would demand such behavior. Needs to be rescued from the curse of his birthmark. She stands in the shadows. She doesn’t know that Katherine watches from the window above, but the Lady is hidden nonetheless.

  “You poor thing,” she says, touching his arm with her fine, delicate mechanical hand, hugging the black greatcoat with the other. The wind whips it around her ankles. “I hope you carry a token.”

  He stops moving. “Huh?”

  “You must know, since you have the mark, that you also have need of protection.”

  He’s puzzled. “Protection? From what?”

  “Why, from evil,” she says, feigning astonishment.

  “What? Nonsense.” He rubs his hand over his short wet hair.

  “No one has ever told you? My, my.” She pulls the hood of the greatcoat tighter about her face as she leans close to him, the rain a curtain between. “’Tis an old Celtic wisdom, that those with birthmarks are especially vulnerable to the ministrations of”—she lowers her voice to a whisper—“the devil.”

  Now Jorry touches his neck. Holds his hand over his birthmark. “I never heard the like.” He snorts with derision, though his eyes betray uncertainty. “And there are no devils.”

  “Perhaps your parents were sparing your feelings.” She leans so close now. “I can help. I have just the thing to ward away evil.” He narrows his eyes now, and she shifts direction. “Of course, there really are no devils, as you say. A boy as wise as you are knows that. Why, look how clever you are, exercising despite the weather.”

  He preens, the rain in rivulets running over his face.

  “And as clever as you are, you’ll see that this charm I offer is pure silver. Quite old and valuable. I would give it to you because,” she pauses, “you are the cleverest of all.” She places the charm in his palm. “They’ll know how clever you are when they see this about your neck. They’ll know I favor you.”

  His smile becomes a sneer. “Silver, hey? A favor? I should wear it then. Thank you, my Lady.”

  “My deepest pleasure.” The wind s
laps her greatcoat against her shins as she turns away whispering the words, the foolish boy following, the chatelaine weighing against her hip.

  He is the cleverest! Jorry lifts the charm in the rain as he walks. The devil horns. Huh. Whatever foolishness she says about devils and evil, he only cares that the charm is made of silver and is a favor for his cleverness. Besides, if she’s right—though she couldn’t be, but at any rate—then he’s protected. He slips the chain around his neck.

  He hears words but he can’t make them out. They seem to come from the ground beneath his feet, rolling up from the ground like thunder, terrible, ugly, piercing. He tries to lift his feet, tries to dance away.

  The agony that comes next rips deep, deep, tears something inside him, a knife-thrust to the gut, but he can’t get the chain off, can’t stop it, can’t . . .

  Your soul will sleep within its keep. It is your bane, this chatelaine.

  26

  Children

  COOK DROPPED THE gleaming copper pot and it clanged on the floor as the remaining cats scattered, and Kat jumped nearly out of her skin with the noise and confusion.

  Cook began talking in a rush. “There now, look what you’ve done. Scared me half to death! And poor boy. Poor little thing.”

  She went on, muttering as if to herself, “Just trying to lure him inside. Have to leave food out there, in that damp barn. Maybe they be ghosts and maybe not, but I never hear of no ghosts eating the scraps of food we leave.” All the while she talked, Cook went to her knees, cleaning up the mess on the floor. “And here all this waste. I’ll have to start these biscuits again, and just look at the time! Nearly supper! The Lady’ll have me head.”

  Kat bent to help clean, but Cook straightened and looked her in the eye, stopping her. “Here, now, that’s my job, and you poor children need feeding and education, not this wandering about frightening people.” She peered at Kat. “What are you here for, anyway?”

  Kat straightened. All the confusion had knocked the wind out of her sails, too. What was she here for? She cleared her throat and said, “I’m worried about the children.”

  Cook opened her mouth and then closed it again.

  Kat blundered on. “The Lady doesn’t seem too keen to give that girl a coat, the one I saw out the window. She was fishing but there were no fish. And that other sick boy, the crippled boy, who is taking care of him? And who was that boy here with you, anyway? Is he the cat-boy Isabelle talked about?”

  Cook scratched her head, looking befuddled. “There’s a good deal of confusion in my brain.”

  Kat reached out, touching the back of Cook’s hand. “I want to help the children.”

  As if the touch of Kat’s hand on hers did some good, Cook’s face cleared and she eyed Kat. “I’ll tell you what’s what, as near as I can, though I confess that things get muddied in my mind. Right. There’s things going on around here, and the village folk have been full of rumors, but I only know what I know, and that’s that something strange is up in this house. I may not have been here as long as some others, but something’s mucked up, for sure.”

  “But you’ve seen these other children, then? They are real?” And not ghosts? Kat thought, but didn’t want to say out loud.

  “They’re as real as can be,” Cook said, though she sounded doubtful. “Least, I don’t think they’re ghosts. Though they don’t talk, mind you, and I haven’t had the chance to touch one yet. I only lured that boy inside for the first time today, after much trying. They do eat, these ghostly bairns, aye. So they have stomachs. They’re cagey and, well, they may be soft.”

  “Soft?”

  “Touched, you know. Daft.” Cook pointed one large finger at her head. “They don’t seem all there.” She paused, and then rubbed her forehead and murmured, “Not that I’m much here, meself.”

  “Are you caring for them, then?” Kat asked.

  “If it weren’t for Hugo and the warmth of the animals, they’d be froze to death, I expect. Although they’ve been here longer than me, and longer than he has, and there’s been rumors about children being about the castle for ever so many years now, stories handed down, so I don’t have a notion how they’ve fared before, unless with the aid of other kindly souls who have passed through the place. But yes, we feed them, we do, and give them warm things, though that’s a secret, mind, and not for her Ladyship’s ear. And that poor Lord Craig, lying up there, waiting to die but not dead, I take care of him, too. I don’t know what she’s . . .” Cook let her voice trail off and mumbled under her breath, as if she began to think better of voicing her thoughts.

  “And you’ve seen the crippled boy, too,” Kat said.

  “Oh, yes, I’ve seen him, but a slippery one he is.” Cook leaned closer to Kat. “The villagers, they thought I was daft to come work here. They say the Lady Leonore haunts the castle still, and a cruel ghost she is, which may be why my brain gets in a muddle. Only the lords and their ladies and bairns be living here, and even then they’ve not stayed long before being driven away or driven mad. No one stayed here long, not until this Lord Craig. I came here to work for him, oh, these two years past. He was trying to bring the castle up to date and all, and didn’t take to these fairy tales, as he called them.”

  He sounded like a man after Kat’s fashion. A logical man who’d be related to Father for sure. “And our Lady Eleanor?” Kat put in.

  Cook folded her arms and looked cross. “Not much of a lady, if you ask me. Showed up out of the blue and he fell head over heels and married her before anyone knew the better of it. And then, poor man, taken sick not long after, and confined to his bed for these five months past. And now she’s made up this school, this academy, and I don’t know why . . .” Her voice trailed off and her face grew dark.

  “And what about Mr. Storm?” Kat asked.

  “Ach, she pulled him out of the ocean, where he’d been sailing and dashed upon the rocks. But there’s more to Mr. Storm than meets the eye. Might be a magician or some such, the way he rattles on about one mysterious thing or the other that he’s looking for. Questioned me up and down, talking of magic and wanting to find odd things. Something fishy about that one, let me tell you, and I don’t mean because he was a sailor.”

  Kat hesitated. “Could anyone else be hiding somewhere in the castle?”

  Cook’s brow furrowed. “’Tis a big place, truly. More than once I’ve heard odd noises, I have. Not sure you should go about exploring.”

  Kat bit her lip; too late for that. “And what about Jorry?” Kat asked.

  “Jorry? Don’t know about him.” And she grumbled under her breath, “Another sick bairn? Not right.”

  “Thank you for taking care,” Kat said, and reached for Cook’s hand and squeezed it. Kat believed she’d found a grown-up ally, even if Cook was somewhat confused. “Thank you so much.”

  Cook blushed and then hid her face, turning away. “Here, now, it’s almost supper and I shouldn’t spoil your appetite, but I have tea and toast and a gooseberry jam that’s dying to be eaten . . .”

  Kat took a piece of toast and was about to ask Cook again about the cat-boy, and who was Hugo, when the door opened and the giant entered the kitchen, a brace of pheasants hanging from one large hand.

  Hugo and the giant were one and the same, Kat learned when Cook said his name as she ushered him inside. He nodded to Kat, but remained silent as she finished her tea. He hovered in the corner, shifting from one large foot to the other, his cheeks flushed, one hand rubbing his nose as he tried not to meet Kat’s eyes, until Kat excused herself and left.

  She slipped upstairs and back to her room. Hugo was a kindly soul if Cook was to be believed, as he was looking after the children, not letting them freeze or starve. Still, Kat harbored a suspicion of everyone except Cook until she sorted out who was using the wireless. And until she understood the terrible things happening to the others.

  Bef
ore breakfast the next morning, Isabelle tugged at Kat’s sleeve, and she and Peter huddled with Isabelle in the hallway near their rooms.

  “Marie, she has told me Jorry is very, very sick.”

  “Yes, we heard,” said Kat.

  Isabelle went on, “But he is very contagious. With spots. We must keep away, Marie says.” Isabelle shuddered. “I’ve heard that the Germans, you know, they may spread illness. That they have diseases. We must be careful if Jorry has spots.”

  “Spots?” said Peter. “I thought it was flu.”

  Isabelle shrugged. “This is what Marie tells me. Spots all over, and itchy.”

  “But what’s the truth, then?” asked Peter. “Is it flu, or is it spots?”

  Kat rubbed her forehead. “I think we need to find out.”

  “I’m not sure we should be bothering him if he’s sick,” Peter said.

  Kat pursed her lips. “Don’t, then. You can stand way over there.”

  She knocked on Jorry’s door but got no response, though she thought she heard a whimper and a shuffle from inside. She tried the handle, but the door was locked.

  Isabelle raised one eyebrow. “I don’t much like him”—she pointed at Jorry’s door—“but no one should be left all alone with itchy spots.”

  Tension filled the air at dinner. Robbie glowered at her when she asked if he was wearing padding while at fencing lessons, and snapped, “I’m not an idiot. Quit telling me what to do.” Isabelle and Amelie whispered together throughout dinner, and even Colin pushed his food around without eating much.

  And the Lady—she seemed harder and colder than ever, her smile a thin line.

  As they went up to bed, they paused before their doors, and Isabelle said out of the blue, “Can Amelie sleep in my room tonight?”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Kat said, thinking of her nightmare. “I don’t want you staying in someone else’s room.”

  Amelie huffed. “You’re being mean. And you aren’t Mum.”