Broom with a View

by Gayla Twist

  Cyril was not through dissecting the good Mr. Wainbright. “Who is he to flaunt his properties for the whole engagement party to hear? This isn’t the classified page in the Post, after all. I found his asking around if anyone knew of a suitable tenant for one of his squalid little cottages quite vulgar.”

  “It’s just that he’d rather have people with whom he has a connection,” Violet tried to explain. “That makes things so much nicer for the neighbourhood when everyone gets on, don’t you think?”

  “I think he’s too tight to take out a proper ad,” Cyril grumbled.

  “Oh, you put me in mind of a wonderful idea,” Violet said, visibly brightening. “I know just the tenants who should have Mr. Wainbright’s most comfortable cottage.”

  “Who?” asked Cyril, frowning.

  “No one you know,” his fiancée assured him. “Just some charming elderly sisters I met at the Pensione Belladonna. I had a letter from them last week saying they are looking to return to England and to keep my eyes and ears open if I should discover a place in Surrey that’s not too dear.”

  “Not one of your Crafter friends, I hope,” the young man said with a bit of a sneer. He was determined to quickly wean Violet from having too many connections in the magical community once they were married.

  But Violet hadn’t heard him; she was too busy hurrying over to the genial Mr. Wainbright, who was having his usual jolly time teasing Violet’s mother. “Mr. Wainbright,” she called to him.

  “There you are, my lass. We’ve been looking for you,” he said. “Is that young man monopolizing all your time already? None to spare for the old folks?”

  Violet knew this was Mr. Wainbright’s way and that he didn’t mean anything by it, so she just ignored his teasing and proceeded with, “I was thinking about that cottage you said you had ready to let. I think I know the perfect tenants, if you’ll give me time to write to them.”

  The old gentleman looked interested. “Who are these fine people of whom you think so highly?”

  “They are the Misses Fate, three sisters. They were at the pensione we stayed at in X, and we’ve struck up a correspondence. Charming ladies, and I’m sure they’d give you no trouble at all as tenants,” the girl replied.

  “Charming as in how you might use the word or charming as in the traditional English use of it?” Mr. Wainbright wanted to know.

  “Both,” Violet said with a bit of a furrowed brow. “Does it matter?”

  “Not at all,” he said with a wink at her mother. “I have quite a penchant for both kinds of charms.” It was not every Mortal who was as open minded and welcoming of the Crafter community as Mr. Wainbright. He had no scruples about renting to any type of human being just as long as they came with a glowing reference. “Why don’t you write to your dear friends and see if they might be interested. I’m not at all opposed to more charming women in the neighbourhood.”

  In the meantime, Mr. Wilberforce had sauntered over to where Sonny was enjoying a pile of grapes. Cyril saw no reason to distance Violet from her closest relations. Sonny had, after all, been in the war, even if it was only as a lowly supply clerk.

  “Hello, Sonny. How goes it?” Cyril asked, attempting his rendition of a man-of-the-world swagger.

  “All right,” was Sonny’s reply as he popped another grape in his mouth.

  “Enjoying the party?” Cyril added without really caring to hear the answer. “But of course you are. I suppose you’re quite pleased that your sister is marrying such a sophisticated cosmopolitan.”

  With a slight snort of derision, Sonny stated, “I don’t see that a sophisticated cosmopolitan has any great advantages as a husband over a decent country Warlock.”

  Cyril drew himself up to his full height. “Well, I assure you that there are many advantages, and your sister is well aware of them.”

  “I do hope so,” Sonny said with another small snort. “I’ll have to ask her to tell me some time.”

  Cyril turned away from the other man, his nose firmly out of joint. It was obvious that, despite his military service, Sonny was just a country bumpkin with no true appreciation of the finer things—just a boy in the body of a man. The fellow couldn’t understand the nature of true romance. Cyril’s mind wandered to a small interlude between Violet and himself earlier that day. His fiancée had been in the garden gathering flowers for the party’s centerpieces. Observing that there was no one else around, Cyril had stalwartly stepped forwards and bestowed her with a gentle kiss that caused her to blush most prettily.

  While Cyril strolled around the garden, ignoring everyone who showed him a friendly face, Violet was talking to a few of her girlfriends as they admired a large diamond and sapphire ring that her fiancé had given her the previous day as a token of his affection.

  “How does it feel to be engaged?” Lacey Squires asked. She’d always wanted a beau, and to be engaged at just sixteen sounded terribly romantic.

  “I’m not sure,” Violet replied. “I haven’t thought about it much,” she admitted.

  “Haven’t thought about it much?” Pippa Monday was incredulous.

  “It all just happened rather fast,” Violet said in a small voice. “I’m still getting used to the whole idea.”

  “Has he kissed you yet?” Lacey wanted to know, eyes wide and glowing with the anticipation of a little vicarious romance.

  “Not really,” Violet confessed. When she saw her friends’ disappointed faces, she added, “Well, he kind of kissed me this morning while I was out gathering flowers.” She hadn’t mentioned it initially because she didn’t really count Cyril’s awkward little lunge as much of a kiss. It was more like an uncomfortable rap on the mouth from some very dry lips. And, of course, Cyril's glasses had tumbled from their roost again. They’d both bent to catch them causing them to bump heads and Violet to bite her tongue. She had told him she was all right, but it had hurt quite a bit, and she’d had to blink away the stinging tears that had gathered in her eyes. Thinking about the encounter made Violet a little peevish. She really wanted to try some kind of affixing spell to keep Mr. Wilberforce’s spectacles firmly in place. But that could go wrong in so many different ways. And even if she executed the spell correctly and Cyril did not notice, Violet was quite sure his mother would.

  Miss Popplewell had only been kissed twice in her life, and she couldn’t help but compare the two. She had received Cyril’s kiss as an unwanted annoyance as she was trying to get some work done. She’d wished at the time, if he was feeling amorous, that he would at least give her some advanced notice. It was quite alarming to have him darting forwards and pecking at her. Then there was Sebastian, the somber young vampire, and his all-encompassing embrace. There was a whole lifetime in that one brief moment. Violet had thought about it more often than she liked to admit. She could remember feeling his firm, strong body pressed against hers, asking, “Does this kiss redeem the world?”

  Chapter 16: Exploring the Wilds of a China Hutch

  Violet was not all that partial to London. If she had visited that grand city before she had ventured to X then it would probably have been a different story entirely, but as things stood, all the city’s charms were eclipsed by the memories of a more magical place. She even found herself missing the little corner of Surrey that contained Gallows Road. At least there, one simple garden party was enough to acquaint the general neighbourhood with her fiancé, and that was the end of it. Not so with London. Every night there was a new gathering to introduce her to the cosmopolitans of the city. There were so many gifts and niceties and thank you notes that needed to be written that it made Violet’s head swim. She really didn’t care for all the gewgaws that were lavished upon the newly engaged couple. For example, a diamond-studded nutcracker in a mink-lined case. She couldn’t imagine why a device used for shelling nuts had to be so cozy that a mink had been asked to sacrifice its skin. And how did one write a thank you note for such an ostentatious bit of nonsense?

  Given the nature of the presents t
hat she’d already received, Violet could only imagine the extravagance of the gifts that would arrive for her wedding to Mr. Wilberforce. It made her long for the rough edges and bumpy corners of Gallows Road even more.

  And then there was the way her future family treated her being part of the Crafter community. It was mostly glossed over when others were about, like she had an eccentric uncle, but when it was brought into focus, Lady Wilberforce discussed her gift as if she’d contracted a case of malaria; it was manageable, but she could have a relapse at any time.

  Of course, when they didn’t have company, Lady Wilberforce had no qualms about requesting a bit of magic as it suited her. Like on the day of their arrival. Violet was barely in the door before she was requested to, “whip up another one of those darling protection spells,” for the townhouse.

  “Surely, that’s not necessary,” Cyril said on his fiancée’s behalf. “There are no hostilities in London.”

  “There is always the chance of hostilities,” his mother told him in an annoyed tone. “Am I to be criticized for simply wanting to feel safe in my own home? Especially when I know there are Vampires about?”

  Cyril turned to Miss Popplewell. “Maybe just a quick spell, and then we’ll have some tea.”

  The house was quite large, with many rooms and windows and cracks under doors that needed to be kept in mind while conjuring. Violet knew that creating the spell would leave her peevish for the rest of the day, but she dutifully drew her wand.

  One evening they were hosting a party at the Wilberforces’ house in town. As her future mother-in-law had stated, it was just to be for “our most intimate of friends.” Violet was doing her best to keep out of the way as guests entered exclaiming to Lady Wilberforce that they were “So pleased!” Introductions were made; gifts were presented; and Violet was looked over like a horse put up for auction. She wouldn’t have been half surprised if one of Lady Wilberforce’s most intimate friends pried open her mouth to get a better look at her teeth. After that, Violet was mostly ignored—or dissected at a distance in whispers between guests.

  There was one fellow, a Mr. Barry Durkin, who seemed very keen on discussing Miss Popplewell with every new guest that arrived. Violet found it very rude not to address her directly, but no one else appeared bothered. It made her wretchedly uncomfortable, and she vowed never to go to another animal menagerie ever again now that she knew how it felt to be one of the exhibits. The fellow’s ill manners continued throughout dinner with him even gesturing at her with his fork from time to time. It was a relief when the meal ended and the ladies could make their escape.

  Violet never enjoyed the term “sitting room.” It sounded so boring to have a room where all one did was sit; she much preferred the word “parlour.” But sit is what she did. The meal had left her in a stormy mood, and she didn’t feel patient enough to put up with the polite twittering of the Wilberforces’ closest female friends, but she saw no avenue of relief.

  Eventually, the men rejoined them. Much to Violet’s dismay, Mr. Durkin walked right up to her and said, “Is it true you’re one of them?”

  “One of what?” Violet asked, wondering if she should feel offended.

  “You know, a magician.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned to the room at large and said, “I saw the cleverest fellow perform the other week. Really good stuff. He pulled a rabbit from his silk hat. A live one. The rabbit, I mean. Couldn’t believe my eyes.” The man turned back to Violet. “Can you do something like that?” he wanted to know.

  Violet wasn’t sure what to do. She wasn’t used to being asked to perform parlour tricks. And she definitely was unaccustomed to doing any kind of conjuring in front of a large group of Mortals. The world was becoming more liberal, but it seemed an imprudent thing to do, to say the very least. It wasn’t too far in the past when a woman accused of performing witchcraft would end up being the featured guest at a bonfire.

  Lady Wilberforce nodded at her and said, “Go on. Show them your talent. We are all intimates here.”

  “Go on,” Durkin said, snatching a top hat that had somehow ended up on a table and thrusting it at her. “Let’s see you make with a rabbit. Now that would be something,” he said with a snigger. “Where would you have been hiding it during dinner?” In a rougher and much lower voice, he leaned forwards and said, “I know all about your kind. Claiming to have special skills. It’s all rubbish.”

  Violet stared at the black silk hat in her hands, not quite sure how to proceed. She wondered if this was considered polite behaviour in Mortal circles.

  “Oh, leave her alone, Barry,” a woman in a spangled dress with a peacock feather in her hair said. “You’ve had too much port. Besides, it’s not nice to put someone on the spot.”

  “No.” Barry refused with the stubbornness of a toddler. “She’s the one that claims to be one of those charmers, and I want to see a bit of magic.” He turned back to Violet. “Go on then,” he jeered at her. “Give us a rabbit.

  Reaching for her wand, Violet said, “Actually, I’ve always preferred doves.” A sharp rap of her wand on the hat’s brim did the trick. Hundreds of doves came streaming out of the hat like bats exiting a cave at midnight. It may have just been an accident because he happened to be standing so close, but most of the doves flew straight towards Mr. Durkin.

  “Gahh!” Barry shrieked. “Get them off me! Get them off me! I’m allergic to doves.”

  Barely able to suppress a burst of laughter, Violet swooped her wand through the air, whispering a quick incantation, and all the birds, which were just madly beating their wings, alighted on various tables and chair, instantly transforming into glass ornaments.

  Lady Wilberforce looked momentarily startled but then recovered quickly, announcing, “We thought you all might like a memento of the evening. Please take a glass dove with you at the end of the night.”

  Mr. Durkin was not pleased with being made the fool. He quickly composed himself and then said, “That was pretty good. You caught me by surprise there with the doves. Birds are such dirty creatures. Not a bad trick at all.” Then turning back to the party in general, he said, “You should have seen the magician fellow from the other night. He had this cabinet. A vanishing cabinet, he called it. He put this woman inside there, shut the doors, and when he opened them, she was gone. Couldn’t for the life of me figure out how he’d done it.” He turned back to Violet, his face still a bit red from his supposed dove allergy. “Is that something you can do?” he wanted to know.

  “You want me to make you disappear?” she asked quite innocently.

  “Yes,” the man said, standing entirely too close.

  Violet glanced around the room. There wasn’t exactly a cabinet, but there was a sort of hutch with numerous pieces of delftware on display. “What if I was to make you disappear in this china hutch?”

  Durkin let out a loud guffaw. “You really are a mad girl, aren’t you? That thing’s filled to the teeth with fancy crockery. I’d never fit in there.”

  “Are you sure?” Violet asked, raising both eyebrows a bit mischievously. She walked over and pulled open one of the doors. “I think there’s plenty of room for a man of your character.”

  Barry gave the girl a dark look. He enjoyed making fun of other people but did not appreciate when his own character foibles were put on display. Stalking over to the hutch, he stuck his nose inside the door. “Good Lord,” he said, blinking several times. “What in the world is a hallway doing here? Cyril, is this something you had installed to help out with the trick?”

  Caught by his own curiosity, the man took a few steps forwards, disappearing into the hutch. Violet pressed the door closed with the tip of her wand, a few silver sparks emanating from the tip. The lock shut with a well-oiled click. “There now,” she said, smiling at the rest of the company. “That was a bit of fun.”

  Everyone just stared at her. She wished Cyril would at least come over and take her hand, but he was as dumbstruck as the rest. Not knowing what else to
do, she retook her seat.

  “But what about Mr. Durkin?” the lady in the spangly dress asked.

  “What about him?” Violet wanted to know, smoothing her skirt.

  “Where did he go?”

  Violet glanced towards the hutch with a little frown. “I’m not quite sure.”

  A few of the men got to their feet and tentatively approached the china hutch. Through the glass front it appeared to be filled with the same fine, blue and white dishes that it always displayed. They pried open the door and looked inside. Nothing but dishes as far as the eye could see.

  “But aren’t you going to finish the trick?” the spangly-dressed lady wanted to know.

  “It is finished,” Violet informed her.

  “But what can you mean?” the lady asked, becoming mildly distressed. “What happened to Barry? Aren’t you going to bring him back?”

  “Whatever for?” was Violet’s reply. “Mr. Durkin asked for a vanishing cabinet not a reappearing one.”

  Just then, there was a distant banging from somewhere inside the house followed by some cursing and then a loud crash. “My goodness,” exclaimed Lady Wilberforce, looking alarmed. “What in the world can that be?”

  Several of the guests got to their feet and scurried about the room as if someone had just shouted “Fire!” But they didn’t want to appear ridiculous by heading straight for the door. For her part, Violet remained seated, her demeanor very sanguine.

  A few minutes later, Barry reappeared under his own power, being shown into the room by the butler. “Mr. Durkin,” the servant announced, although it was obvious by the expression on the man’s face that something about the guest met with his disapproval.

  Mr. Durkin was a bit more dishevelled than he had been upon entering the hutch; his collar was popped on one side; his hair was askew; and he was covered with cobwebs. “What the devil happened to you?” one of the other gentlemen exclaimed.