Broom with a View

by Gayla Twist

  For once it was the Popplewells who were to be guests at Vera’s house. But there was so little room for the extra company, that it was finally decided that Violet was to go with her fiancé and stay with his mother in town while Sonny and Mrs. Popplewell would snug into Vera’s little abode. It caused the girl no end of consternation when she realized she would much rather have stayed with her aunt.

  Lady Wilberforce welcomed them with open arms and then immediately asked Violet to spruce up a few of her rose bushes that were not thriving the way she had hoped. “I guess I could try,” Violet told her future mother-in-law, reaching for a watering can.

  “Aren’t you a silly thing,” the lady said with a laugh. “I meant to work your magic.”

  “Mother,” Cyril interjected. “Can’t the roses wait? We’ve only just arrived and might do with a rest and a spot of tea before you start asking my fiancée for favours.”

  Lady Wilberforce gave her son a look that could have frozen water. “Do you really mean to tell me,” she began, “that you and your future wife can’t take two minutes out of your day to help me with my poor roses? And with the garden show less than a month away.”

  Cyril shrank a little within his suit “Of course not, Mother,” he said meekly. Turning to Violet, he asked, “Would you please be so kind, my dear?”

  Violet drew her wand. It wasn’t really the creed of a Crafter to rely on magic to smooth every tiny bump in the road. Some things were best left to the Mother Goddess. She opened her mouth to tell Cyril exactly this but found that she could say nothing with both the Wilberforces looking at her so expectantly.

  Somehow, Violet found herself conjuring a pot of red paint. She dipped her wand repeatedly in the pot and splashed a vibrant crimson across each rosebud. The blossoms soaked up the pigment, turning their petal faces towards Miss Popplewell thirsty for more. When the paint was all gone and she was done feeding the flowers, Violet felt a little ill and had to lie down in her room for the rest of the day. She asked that a tray be sent up instead of dressing for dinner that evening. Whether Mr. Wilberforce was concerned for her wellbeing, she was not to know because no one beyond the maid sent to attend her stuck so much as a nose inside her door. Violet didn’t know if Mr. Wilberforce’s absence was caused by his own lack of compassion or an order from his mother.

  The next day was no better than the first. Lady Wilberforce had a diamond brooch which had lost its pin back. “I would send it out for repair,” she said while showing her future daughter-in-law the costly bauble, “but seeing that you’re right here.”

  “Metalwork is a specialty,” Violet said in a meager protest. “I really wouldn’t want to take the chance of damaging something so valuable.”

  “I understand, and I appreciate your concern,” Lady Wilberforce assured her. “But give it a go anyway, why don’t you. And if some of the diamonds happen to end up a carat or two bigger, I for one will not raise a fuss.”

  Violet was reluctant to comply. She wished her own mother was there to tell her what was the correct thing to do. She didn’t think that her future mother-in-law had the right to use her powers for something that she would customarily employ a Mortal for. Turning to her fiancé, Miss Popplewell said, “Please, Cyril, don’t you think a good lapidary would be the best way to fix this brooch? Magic shouldn’t be used carelessly like small coins that you throw in a fountain or toss in a beggar’s cup.”

  “I believe she’s right, Mother,” Mr. Wilberforce said after clearing his throat. “My future wife isn’t your scullery maid, after all. What’s next? Will you have her clearing out your closets and polishing your boots?”

  Lady Wilberforce scowled at her son. “Your father gave me this brooch as a wedding present,” she said, her voice hinting at a deeper emotion. “I just want it repaired as quickly as possible so I don’t have it sitting in some goldsmith's drawer for the next three months. It’s just a little thing that would take no more than an instant. Is that really too much to ask?”

  Cyril turned back to Violet. “She’s right, you know. Any goldsmith in town worth his salt has a million repair projects that will be in line in front of this one. Couldn’t you please just give it a little tap with your wand? It really isn’t that big of a deal, now is it?” He gave her a small hopeful smile, and Violet knew she couldn’t refuse. In fact, she found she was physically incapable of refusing. And, much to her chagrin, after she’d fixed the pin, the diamonds in the brooch did appear to be noticeably bigger.

  “Oh, thank you, my dear,” Lady Wilberforce said, snatching up the bauble and tucking it away in a velvet box. “You really are a wonder.”

  The mention of Cyril’s father began to trouble Violet. Later that day, when they were walking in the garden with the rosebuds staring hungrily after them, Violet asked, “Why aren’t you called Sir Wilberforce instead of Mr. Wilberforce?”

  “I won’t take the title until after my father relinquishes it,” Cyril explained.

  “Yes, I understand how that works,” Violet told him. “It’s just… Do you mean to tell me that your father is still alive?”

  “Still quite alive, I presume,” was his reply. “At least, I haven’t heard anything to the contrary.”

  “Well, why haven’t we been introduced?” the girl wanted to know. “Don’t Mortals usually want their fathers to know their future wives?”

  “I would if I knew where to find him,” Cyril said. “He’s somewhere in the South Seas, I believe. Or maybe the south of France. I honestly don’t know. I leave it to mother to keep tabs on him.”

  “So, you have no idea where he is. You don’t write him or see him for Winter Solstice or anything like that?”

  Mr. Wilberforce gave his fiancée a perplexed look. “Why would I?”

  It was later that very evening that Violet made her first attempt to end her engagement to Cyril. Its impetus really had nothing to do with her fiancé’s estrangement from his father. It had everything to do with her Mr. Wilberforce’s bizarre attachment to his mother—and his cowardice, of course. They had been in the sitting room sitting after dinner. Lady Wilberforce was resting her eyes; Cyril was at his mother’s writing desk, composing a few letters; and Violet was paging through a book that she had no real interest in reading. Suddenly, for no apparent reason, Cyril let out a small shriek and leaped out of his chair.

  “What is it?” Violet exclaimed, thinking maybe his backside had encountered an upholstery tack.

  “Spider,” the man squeaked, pointing at the airspace over the chair. “The largest spider in the world.”

  “Where?” Violet looked around, expecting to see a hairy creature the size of a dinner plate dangling from the ceiling.

  “There! There!” Cyril said, pointing at a small black spot that was slowly descending towards the desk.

  “Cyril absolutely abhors spiders,” Lady Wilberforce said as if his reaction was perfectly natural in a man.

  Violet looked closer and saw that, indeed, the small spot was a spider. “Well, hello little friend,” she greeted the creature in a soft voice. It looked up at her with its eight goggling eyes. “How long have you been hanging around?”

  The spider shrugged in that particular way only spiders can do.

  “I’m afraid you won’t find much to eat in here,” the girl confided. “No flies allowed.”

  “I can’t believe you’re chatting to a spider. Are you trying to make friends or something?” Cyril wanted to know.

  “Spiders are very magical creatures,” Violet informed him. “They have the magic of eight. Eight legs, eight eyes, eight lives.”

  “Eight lives!” Cyril exclaimed, practically climbing up on the back of the sofa.

  “I was just joking about that last part. Cats are the only creatures with numerous lives, as far as I know.” Violet got out her wand and held it up to the spider. “Come along, friend,” she told it. “If you trust me, I’ll take you someplace where you’ll have a much better chance of getting something to eat.”

>   The spider regarded her for a moment, assessing her trustworthiness. When you’re a spider, there aren’t a lot of other creatures who willingly call you friend. Then it climbed up onto the tip of her wand.

  “You’re not going to do some sort of magic with it, are you?” Lady Wilberforce asked. She was also starting to appear a bit ruffled.

  “Of course not,” Violet said, giving the lady a funny look. “I’m going to take her outside so she can live with the roses.”

  “In my garden?” Lady Wilberforce was aghast.

  “Spiders are good for gardens,” her future daughter-in-law informed her. “The roses will love her, and she will keep away the pests that might munch on them.”

  Mr. Wilberforce practically scampered to the other side of the room to stand behind his mother as Miss Popplewell carried the spider out on the tip of her wand. “That’s my fiancé,” Violet replied to the spider’s inquiring look as they left the room. “He’s a little bit high strung.”

  When the spider gave her a flat look, she sighed and said, “I know. We probably won’t be engaged for very much longer.”

  By the time Violet had the spider settled, she was determined to end things with Cyril. She didn’t exactly need a big strong man to take care of her, but she wasn’t very attracted to a man who was constantly hiding behind his mother’s skirt.

  Sitting down with Cyril at the far end of the room, away from the sharp ears of Lady Wilberforce, Violet made her first attempt to sever their relationship. It went very poorly. In fact, so poorly that Mr. Wilberforce had no idea what she was about. He assumed she was just suffering from a bit of nerves after dealing with such a large spider. Try as she may, she just couldn’t bring the words to her lips that expressed her desire to be free of him. Cyril stared at her for a good two minutes before saying, “Are you quite all right? Should I have a servant fetch you a glass of wine?”

  “I’m fine,” Violet finally managed to say. “I want to talk to you, but I just can’t right now.”

  “I’m sure it’s the spider, my poor darling,” Cyril said, patting her hand rather fondly. “The next time you find one in the house, just ring for a servant. There’s no need for you to have to tangle with such a beast.”

  Lying in bed that night, Violet wondered about the cause of her tongue being tied. It just didn’t make any sense. She’d never had any trouble expressing herself before. In fact, quite the opposite. Her mother had on more than one occasion admonished her for expressing her opinions a bit too liberally.

  Each day, Lady Wilberforce had a new task for Violet to perform—freshening the drapes for her bedroom, attending to a drafty hallway, whipping up a little charm to keep the servants from helping themselves from the wine cellar; the girl was at her beck and call. Each time, Violet asked Cyril to stand up for her, and to Mr. Wilberforce’s credit, he did at least try. Lady Wilberforce would shoot him down with such vigor that Violet almost felt sorry for him; he always looked so crushed.

  After failing so miserably at expressing to Cyril how his behaviour during the house fire had truly repelled her, Violet understood that she would never be able to summon the words to her lips that would end her alliance with Mr. Wilberforce. She knew she had to find a different way to explain to him that, although she was sure he was very cosmopolitan and debonair and whatever else he believed himself to be, she knew he could never make her happy. It occurred to the girl that, while she might not be able to speak of ending her engagement to Mr. Wilberforce, there was a possibility she could write of it.

  Finding she was out of paper, Violet thought she would borrow a few sheets from Lady Wilberforce’s desk. She’d been told to make use of any amenity of the house, and she assumed that included access to stationery. Still, it didn’t seem right to use Lady Wilberforce’s personalized paper. It would be strange to end her engagement to Cyril in a letter that bore his mother’s initials embossed above the note.

  The top drawer of the desk proved fruitful in terms of writing paper that was unaffiliated. Violet gathered a few sheets and, as she did so, thought she saw the sparkle of some very small magic in the corner of the drawer. It happened so quickly, and it was only a glimmer—a moment later, the girl convinced herself she was mistaken. She was, after all, the only magical being in the house.

  As Violet went to remove the sheets from the drawer, a very fine silver thread caught hold of her little finger. It was as thin as a whisper and slightly sticky, like that of a spider’s web. The other end of the thread tugged at the corner of the board that composed the bottom of the desk drawer. Violet only noticed the thread as she was pulling the papers free; it clung fast to her pinky as well as the board, lifting the wood and revealing a secret compartment full of papers and making them flutter.

  Not being one to snoop in other’s private affairs, Violet straightened the letters and then went to fit the board back in place without exploring the contents of the compartment further. But then something caught her eye—the name Popplewell included on the top page of a correspondence. It’s unlikely that there is a human being on the planet who would not take a moment to scan a letter where her or his own name is prominently displayed.

  Chapter 24: An Unpleasant Discovery

  Glancing around to make sure she was thoroughly alone, Violet pulled the letter from the drawer and read:

  My Dear Lady Wilberforce,

  I cannot express to you enough the paramount importance of permanently separating Mr. Du Monde from the Popplewell girl. I know you are not of the Crafting community, so you do not fully understand the powerful magic that could be created with a romantic alliance between a Witch and a Vampire. I believe that I am well within the realm of possibilities when I state that this attraction that they feel for each other, which you apparently view as only a small spark, has the potential to ignite a blaze that would spread across the globe, possibly leading to a state of permanent peace. I know there’s no need to tell you what a disaster that would be for our endeavors. The very foundation on which we have built everything would crumble. All that we have worked for is at stake. Large fortunes, including your own, would likely blow away like ash in the wind. I know you must believe I am exaggerating about the magic that has the potential to be forged, but unequivocally, I am not.

  I have personally witnessed Mr. Du Monde and Miss Popplewell together and can tell you without reservation that they are desperately in love. The Vampire acknowledges his emotions openly, but fortunately for us, the girl is still in a state of denial. I have just arranged for a disruption at the Popplewell house that should leave her vulnerable and provide you an opportunity to take her into your home and keep her there.

  Believe me when I write that none of our anti-Vampire propaganda can withstand a magic that is created by love. Make sure your son puts every effort into binding the girl with a marriage vow as soon as possible.

  As with all our communiqués, destroy this correspondence upon completion of reading.

  With regards,

  Professor E. T. Yog

  Miss Popplewell stood glued to the rug, her sweet pink lips forming a small O of surprise. Professor Yog had arranged for the Vampires to burn their house? His words could have no other meaning, but Violet simply could not comprehend them. Convinced she must have somehow misunderstood the letter, she tried to read it again, but the Professor’s ornate script swooped and twirled around the page, making her eyes ache.

  There was the sound of footsteps tapping along the floor outside the room. Quickly snatching up all of the hidden letters, Violet looked around for somewhere to conceal them. She had no handbag or hat with her, and there were too many papers for her to hide them behind her skirt.

  Whispering a short spell, Violet folded the papers in half, then in half again. She kept folding and folding until the large bundle of letters was so small she could tuck it down the bodice of her dress and still appear perfectly normal.

  There was the sound of someone clearing his throat outside the door. It was a habit o
f Cyril’s to do so before entering a room. The phlegmy rumbling wore on Violet’s nerves, but it gave her warning that she was about to be caught. Fast as lightning, she pushed the hidden compartment shut and slid the drawer closed.

  “Hello, darling,” Cyril said, smiling at her. “I was wondering where you had got to.”

  Violet did not say anything. She just stared at her fiancé, wondering how entangled he was in the plot.

  “I know it’s a bother, but Mother needs you down at the stables,” Cyril informed her. “There’s a problem with one of the mares.”

  With great difficulty, Violet managed to say, “I am feeling a bit unwell myself. Please make my excuses to your mother. I must lie down.”

  “You are unwell?” Cyril asked, stepping forwards with a look of concern behind his spectacles.

  “I am well,” she said, scurrying away from him. “I mean, I am not well.” She headed for the door. “I mean, I believe I am probably quite contagious, and I have no desire to share my malady with you.”

  Cyril withdrew his concern and himself, taking several steps away from her. “Feel better, darling,” he called after her as she headed upstairs. “I’m sure mother will understand once I explain the situation.”

  Alone in her room, Miss Popplewell unfolded the bundle of letters. They were all from Professor Yog, and they all stated explicitly that the correspondence was to be burned once read. Violet wondered at the foolishness of Lady Wilberforce to simply hide them in a drawer. But then again, Violet would have never found them herself if she hadn’t been kind to a spider who had enough eyes to see what was really going on in the mansion from a bird’s eye view over Lady Wilberforce’s writing desk and enough magic to guide the girl’s hand.

  Arranging the correspondences by date, Violet read them all from beginning to end. Her brain kept telling her such treacheries were impossible, but her eyes kept informing her that Professor Yog and Lady Wilberforce had been conspiring for decades to cause animosity between Vampires and Witches, even going so far as orchestrating the attack on the Archmage of Canterbury. As far as she could make out, it was all done for war profiteering. “As if money was ever a good reason for getting people killed,” Violet muttered to herself in disgust.