Broom with a View

by Gayla Twist

  “I hardly know,” Mr. Durkin admitted, smoothing his hair. “I suddenly found myself stuck in an old wardrobe in the attic. I had a deuce of a time getting out of it.”

  All of the guests turned to look at Violet with a renewed interest that bordered on awe. Lady Wilberforce leaned close to her son and whispered in his ear, “Now do you see the great advantages there are in marrying such a girl?”

  Chapter 17: Learning to Be a Cosmopolitan

  Talk of Mr. Durkin’s small adventure spread throughout the London social scene faster than the latest fashion. The result being that Violet and Cyril had even more parties thrown in their honor, and they were presented with gifts that were extravagant to the extreme. Everyone wanted Violet to shove them in a closet or a handy cupboard to make them disappear, but the girl staunchly refused, claiming a headache if she ever was pressed beyond what normal courtesy should allow. It was a blessed relief to return to her little corner of Surrey, where a small bit of magic was never so noticed or at least was not remarked upon.

  “I’ve had a letter from the Misses Fate,” Violet announced one afternoon. The post came as the Popplewells were just sitting down to luncheon with a small group of friends. “They are excited about your cottage, Mr. Wainbright. They say as long as you offer the usual terms, they’d like to have it sight unseen.”

  Mr. Wainbright was so surprised, he set down his salad fork. “I’m sorry, dear girl, but what was that?”

  “I said, I have found the perfect tenants for your cottage; the Misses Fate. They write to say they’ll take it.”

  “I’m afraid it’s no longer available,” the old gentleman said, looking a little distressed. “It’s already let.”

  “To whom?” Violet demanded. “And why didn’t you tell me? You knew I was writing my friends.”

  “But I thought your fiancé would have told you. I took the tenants on his recommendation, after all,” he said by way of an explanation. Cyril was not present for the meal or Mr. Wainbright would have turned to the young man for support in his claim.

  “Who will be joining our cosy little neighbourhood?” inquired Mr. B, who had just returned from X the previous Sunday and was delighted to be lunching with the Popplewells, whom he considered delightful.

  “It’s a man and his son,” Mr. Wainbright told them. “The Count Du Monde and… I can’t remember the son’s name. Something with an S, maybe. They’re just moving in today.”

  Vera, who had up until that point been focusing on her meal, looked up with a start. “But aren’t those the vulgar Vampires we met at X? They can’t move in. They are completely unsuitable.”

  “Why’s that?” Mr. Wainbright wanted to know, a bit surprised.

  “Well,” Vera started, looking a bit flustered, her eyes darting in Violet’s direction. “It’s just that… You see… But Surrey has always been a Witch county. The presence of Vampires is sure to cause an uproar.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” Mr. Wainbright said with a frown. “Do you really think it will cause trouble?”

  “Let me just say,” Mr. B interrupted, “that I, too, met the Count and his son in X. And I believe they are both very much the right kind of Vampires.”

  “Well, the father may be,” Vera tutted under her breath.

  “Anyway,” Mr. Wainbright said after clearing his throat. “As I was saying, they are moving in today and invite anyone who wishes to pay a call to stop by tomorrow afternoon.”

  “As the county Sorcerer, it’s definitely my job to welcome them to the neighbourhood,” Mr. B said. “And it will be good to see them again. Would anyone like to join me?”

  “I’ll go,” Sonny piped up. He’d appeared to be sunning himself and ignoring the conversation completely, but that wasn’t exactly the case. “I met a few Vampires while I was in the army. Very interesting folks. It might be nice to have a few in the neighbourhood. Shake things up a little.”

  “I’m sure we’re all quite shaken enough without the undead moving in,” Vera muttered.

  * * * * * * * * *

  Mr. Wilberforce, who had been away on business, returned on the afternoon train to find Violet waiting for him with a crowd of storm clouds over her head. “Cyril,” she demanded as soon as he’d set foot in the house. “Didn’t I tell you that I was arranging to have the Misses Fate let Mr. Wainbright’s cottage?”

  “Is this the way you welcome home your conquering hero?” he asked, hoping that a bit of boyish charm might enable him to dodge whatever had angered her.

  “Did I or did I not tell you about wanting Mr. Wainbright’s cottage for the Misses Fate?” the girl persisted.

  “Oh, is that what has you in such a pet?” he asked with a laugh. “Yes, I pulled one over on old windbag Wainbright but good.”

  “What on earth are you talking about, Cyril?” Violet demanded.

  “I decided it was up to me to take the good Mr. Wainbright down a peg or two, so I searched all over London for the most inappropriate people I could find to rent his old shack. Wait until you meet them, then you’ll get the joke. The father babbles on constantly, and the son barely says a word.”

  Violet stared at her fiancé in disbelief, but he hardly seemed to notice, so delighted he was with his practical joke. “At first, the father was a bit reluctant,” Cyril went on. “Which I thought was rather rich, given that I was the one doing the asking. But the son saw the honor of it and pressed his father to apply for the cottage. After that, a good word from me was all it took.”

  “I can’t believe you, Cyril,” the girl scolded. “What a very childish and spiteful thing to do. I can’t for the life of me think why you dislike Mr. Wainbright so much. I’ve told you before, he’s a very good friend of my mother’s.”

  “I know you’re a little put out,” the young man said, trying to catch her hand, “but you really don’t understand what a really good joke it is. Wait until you meet the Du Mondes, then you’ll understand.”

  “And that’s another thing,” Violet said, too furious to be placated. “I think it’s awfully mean that you would play such a joke. Are the poor Du Mondes not to be considered? You’ve put them to time and expense. I do think it was rather cruel of you, Cyril. You’ve thought of nothing but your own amusement.”

  “Careful now, my darling,” Cyril said, beginning to feel a bit offended that she was not supportive of his jolly scheme. “You’re beginning to show quite a witchy temper. That’s not very cosmopolitan of you.”

  “Is being cruel to an old man and his son cosmopolitan?” Violet wanted to know.

  “You just don’t see the humor in it,” Cyril informed her with a weary sigh. “You’ll have to adjust to more Mortal ways once we’re married. You can’t simply make your husband disappear into a china hutch if I happen to do something to annoy you. It’s just not done.”

  * * * * * * * * *

  Sonny was eager to meet some more Vampires after his encounter in the cave. They were such interesting creatures. He had thought the name Du Monde sounded quite familiar, but he was miserable with names, so he couldn’t be sure. There was a chance, he thought, that their new neighbours might be related to Cedric. No, that didn’t sound right. What did that Vampire say his name was, again? Simon, possibly. Anyway, if Vampires were anything like Witches, then they were sure to have a family connection with the soldier he’d met during the ceasefire. There wasn’t a Popplewell in all of England whom Sonny couldn’t at least refer to as cousin.

  Given the clue about the last name, it only came as a small surprise when Sebastian Du Monde opened the door for Sonny and Mr. B the next afternoon. “Well, hello there, young Du Monde,” Mr. B said, full of his usual good cheer. “I can’t tell you how delighted I was when I heard that you and your father had moved into the neighbourhood.”

  “Welcome. Come in, Mr. Beelzebub,” Sebastian said, opening the door wide. “It’s good to see you again. Knowing you were Sorcerer here encouraged us to take the cottage.”

  “Come on, now, you kno
w to call me Mr. B. Otherwise I feel like my father,” the older man insisted. “Now, may I present Mr. Sonny Popplewell,” he said, gesturing towards the young Warlock. “I believe you must remember his sister and aunt from our adventures in X.”

  “No need for introductions,” Sonny said, stepping forwards and heartily gripping the Vampire by the hand. “We’ve actually met. One of the most memorable events of my life.”

  Sebastian admitted that he felt the same, causing Mr. B to all but demand an explanation.”

  “Come in and we’ll tell you all,” Sebastian said, stepping back to allow his guests access to the cottage.

  “Oh,” Sonny said with a little frown. “I’m afraid for my part that’s going to be a bit longer of an explanation. Mr. B, I hope you’re very good at keeping secrets.”

  The High Sorcerer raised a curious eyebrow. “It’s actually an unwritten requirement of my profession,” he said with a wink. Turning to Sebastian, he added. “But before we get started with the details of this intriguing mystery, tell me, where is your father? I really should say hello.”

  “He was a bit tired after all the packing and unpacking,” Sebastian told them. “I’m afraid right now he’s in his coffin.”

  “Well, let’s not bother him, then,” Mr. B said. “One does appreciate one’s time alone.”

  “My mother sent this to welcome you to the neighbourhood,” Sonny said, extending a jug towards the Vampire. “I tried to explain that I didn’t think Vampires drank honeysuckle wine, but she insists that it’s good for whatever ails you, so I brought it along.”

  Sebastian accepted the bottle like the gracious host. “Tell your mother it is greatly appreciated. And we do have spirits from time to time, just not very often. Doesn’t sit well with most of us,” he said, thumping his flat belly. “Although maybe I can offer the two of you some wine as part of the refreshments. I’m afraid I was at a bit of a loss as to what to buy. I was born a Vampire, so I really don’t know much about your kind of food.” He showed them to a small table beautifully laid out with porridge, jam, toast, a mound of bacon, and a head of cabbage.

  “This looks lovely,” Mr. B said, clapping his hands with delight. “Breakfast at any time of the day is my new motto.”

  The three men sat and shared a second breakfast while Sonny regaled Mr. B with his true exploits in the army and how he happened to become acquainted with Sebastian. The cork was pulled on the honeysuckle wine, and it felt only natural that they should all have a glass.

  “Incredible,” the Sorcerer exclaimed once the story was over. “I remember reading all about that raid on the Vine. And to think you were there? Both of you. And that’s really how you met?”

  “It is, and I must ask you not to tell my mother,” Sonny insisted. “I’d hate for her to have to do all that worrying retroactively.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Mr. B told him. “As long as she doesn’t ask me directly, I see no reason why I should bring it up.”

  After that, things began to fizzle, with no one sure where to take the conversation next. More wine was administered, and they petered out into silence until Sonny finally exclaimed, “Well, what the devil do Witches and Vampires do when we’re not trying to kill one another?”

  “I’d like to see a bit more of the neighbourhood,” Sebastian said. “It always makes me happy when the day is slightly overcast. It gives me a chance to really get out.”

  “What part of the neighbourhood?” Sonny asked. If he was pressed, he would have to confess there wasn’t all that much to see.

  “I did hear a rumor that part of the Surrey countryside is still filled with fairy rings. I’d love to see the faye dance on a midsummer’s eve. At least, I’ve always wanted to,” the Vampire said half sheepishly lest his request sound childish.

  All children, no matter what their origin, know that fairies exist. They are the playmates of the young and the frequent initiators of mischief. It’s only as people age that they forget about fairies. Even if they noticed the wee folks’ shimmering lights, adults usually give credit to the fireflies. Adult Mortals tend to forget about fairies altogether. Even though they played with the magical beings as children, the memories become fuzzy and pale until they survive only as childhood make-believe.

  As magical beings themselves, all three men knew that the faye did in fact exist, but didn’t give them much thought in their day-to-day adult world. But for three men who shared a history, yet were at a loss of what to say to each other, the idea of cavorting with the faye began to take shape. And with the aid of Mrs. Popplewell’s fine suckle mead, they all simultaneously came to the conclusion that dancing with the little creatures was just the thing they needed to do that very afternoon.

  “I remember where we used to play as children when the fairies would join us. There were quite a few good rings not far from here. I’m sure some of them must still be there,” Sonny said as they gathered up the jug, some glasses, a set of bone china thimbles, and a black parasol for Mr. Du Monde in case the clouds should burn off in the late afternoon. Mr. B wrapped up the bacon—Sebastian had cooked a full pound of it—and some bread in case they got a little hungry. “And what about you, Sebastian? Won’t you get hungry?” the Sorcerer asked solicitously.

  “I quenched my appetite last evening and probably won’t want anything more to drink for another night or two,” the Vampire said. “Except for your mother’s sweet wine,” he said to Sonny with a small smirk. All three men practically giggled as if they were young boys setting out on a caper. And given their mood, relative ages, and probable life expectancy, in a way it was true.

  The trio headed out of town and walked with purpose into the fields and light woods of the Surrey countryside. Sonny was looking for a particular tree with an exaggerated fork in it and was just beginning to despair that some industrious farmer had chopped it down for firewood when they stumbled across an immense outcropping of mushrooms forming a perfect ring. Further exploration proved that there were several smaller rings close at hand.

  “Well, you couldn’t ask for a better spot than this,” Mr. B said, sinking into the soft grass. “I’ve worked up quite the thirst. Did we think to bring anything to drink besides the mead?”

  “Afraid not,” Sonny told him, settling on the ground next to the Sorcerer and pulling out the jug.

  “Oh, well.” The High Sorcerer shrugged quite happily. “I guess it will have to do.”

  Sebastian got out the thimbles, and they began filling them with the honeysuckle wine and interspersing the little offerings throughout the circle. A few acorn caps were discovered, and those were filled and set out as well. “There,” Mr. B said with satisfaction. “That should entice them.”

  The conversation swayed to and fro while the gentlemen enjoyed more wine. The two Warlocks began to tease the Vampire about his limited diet and eventually convinced him to nibble on a piece of bacon. Sebastian made such a face that the other men tumbled over laughing.

  “I say, this is good fun,” Mr. B chuckled. “As High Sorcerer, I spend so much time with pensioners discussing their ailments and their gardens. It’s so nice to be out with a couple of young, hardy fellows.”

  “Yes,” Sonny said, intent on teasing him, “you’re not too bad for an old sod.” Then to Sebastian, he added, “And I don’t mind admitting that I’m glad I didn’t kill you when I had the chance. Then we wouldn’t be out here having a laugh.”

  “I’m quite glad you’re still alive as well,” Sebastian had to agree. “Plus, it would be terribly awkward explaining things to your sister and that aunt of yours if I’d happened to kill you.”

  Sonny set down his glass. “So why didn’t you attack me in that bloody cavern, anyway?” he demanded.

  “Because you weren’t attacking me,” Sebastian informed him. “I didn’t want to be impolite.”

  “Well, you started it,” the Warlock said, snatching up his wine again. “Here’s to…” he started to toast but was cut off by Mr. B.

  “Qu
iet, you fools,” the Sorcerer snapped in a low voice. “The faye. They’re coming.”

  Both of the younger men paused in their jocularity. “How can you tell?” Sebastian asked, glancing around.

  “The coral bells,” Mr. B informed them. “They’re ringing. Can’t you hear them?”

  They all stopped to listen. There was the sound of a faint chiming rising and falling with the breeze. “That’s the flowers?” Sebastian wanted to know. “Making that music? I didn’t know flowers could make music.”

  “Only the lilies of the valley, as far as I know,” said Mr. B. “And that’s only when there are fairies about.”

  Sonny froze. “I see one,” he whispered, staring beyond Mr. B’s shoulder. “She’s a real beauty.”

  The other men slowly turned their heads to get a look at the diminutive creature dressed in yellow. She appeared to be part beautiful girl, part butterfly, and part something more sinister in a way that was difficult to put a finger on. It wasn’t too hard to imagine that fairies had quite sharp teeth. “She’s drinking the wine,” Sebastian exclaimed in an excited hushed voice. The sylph had her face submerged deep into an acorn cap. “I think she likes it.”

  They began to notice more of the faye appearing out of nowhere, surrounding them, partaking of the sweet drink they’d set out to please them. “I say,” Mr. B exclaimed when he felt a small tugging at his boot and realized it was one of the fairies. “They’re not quite as timid as you’d expect.”

  Sebastian was startled by the appearance of a faye on his shoulder and almost went to swat it like a bug. “Don’t,” Sonny said in a warning hiss. “That would lead to no end of trouble.”

  “Just an automatic reflex to the unexpected,” the Vampire explained, happy he’d caught himself in time. The tiny girl reached up and popped one of the tabs on Sebastian’s collar. “Bad fairy,” the Vampire lightly chastised her, making the little creature giggle with delight.