‘Wonderful! I knew you’d be a natural.’
*
After hours of rehearsal, Pinchbeck grew weary and sent the children out to buy food, entrusting Felix with several coins.
‘We shall have a feast!’ she declared. ‘To celebrate new beginnings and excitements to come!’
Once they were clear of the house, Felix said, ‘Pinchbeck must have a very wealthy client in mind. It’s been a long time since she’s had us working so hard.’
‘Never mind that,’ said Charlotte, stopping so suddenly Leander walked into her. ‘Leander, I overheard you talking to her about your home. Why was she so interested?’ She gripped his forearm.
‘I don’t know.’ Leander shrugged.
‘Where did you come from?’ Her fingers were digging into his flesh. He shook her off.
‘Near where I met you. The big estate, Litchfield House.’
A strangled noise came from Charlotte’s throat. She was trying to suppress a sob.
‘Oh,’ said Felix. ‘I see.’
Leander didn’t.
‘When you said about the fountain and the library . . .’ Charlotte’s voice trailed off.
‘Were you a servant?’ Felix asked Leander.
‘No, there’s hardly any servants. I lived there in secret, in the library. It was cold. My mother was the cook at the house before . . . before she died. I didn’t have anywhere else to go.’
Charlotte shuddered. ‘What happened to all the servants?’
‘I don’t know. Lord Litchfield had sent most of them away and shut the house up before we arrived. They said there were lots of servants, but when the lord’s daughter went missing the old man went mad. Locked himself away.’
‘Is he . . . is he still alive?’ said Charlotte, as pale as cambric.
‘Yes, but I only saw him once, in all the time I was there. He never came out of his rooms. He went peculiar from pining for his daughter.’
‘Not his daughter.’ Charlotte’s arm dropped to her side. ‘His niece. His niece went missing.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘It’s me. I’m Charlotte Litchfield.’
It couldn’t be. The girl from the big house went missing five years ago at least and Leander’s mother had said the girl was thirteen when she disappeared, so she’d be an adult by now. But Charlotte said she would never grow older, and she was captured five years ago . . .
‘How did Pinchbeck get you?’ he asked, but Charlotte was no longer listening. The mask of anger fell away and tears filled her eyes. Ashen, she sank on to a low wall.
Cheery whistling made Leander look behind him. A bearded man pushing a handcart sauntered merrily past in the direction of the farmhouse, strangely out of place after this terrible revelation. Leander blinked hard. He had forgotten for a moment that the world around them carried on as normal, even as his own world had changed for ever.
‘Morning!’ the man called to the children. Then, noticing Charlotte’s pained expression, he added, ‘Cheer up, love! It might never happen!’
Leander watched the man head off into the distance, then turned back to Charlotte whose shoulders were beginning to shake with barely contained sobs.
Felix nudged Leander away. ‘Come, let’s buy something to eat.’
‘Charlotte?’ said Leander, but she didn’t respond.
‘Leave her be. She needs solitude.’
Leander tried to ask Felix more as they walked on, but the other boy shook his head and couldn’t be pushed. It was Charlotte’s story to tell, he said.
A feast, Pinchbeck had demanded, and a feast they bought. A round of cheese and a big, heavy meat pie, straight from the oven, stinking of sage and grease. Two loaves of the whitest bread money could buy. A half-dozen eggs to be cooked over the fire and, best of all to Leander’s eyes, a pennyworth of dark, sticky parkin. Lastly they purchased a paper cone of roasted chestnuts and ate them as they walked, burning their fingers in their haste to get to the warm, sweet nuts. They laughed together and for a little while they were simply two boys who belonged, instead of two stolen children. Leander could almost imagine being friends with Felix. It was a long time since he’d had a friend.
When they reached the edge of the woods, Felix dropped a chestnut and a corner of bread on to a flat stone.
‘For the fey,’ he said.
‘There’s no such thing as fairies,’ said Leander, then, doubting himself, added, ‘is there?’ His world had been turned inside out. Anything could be real now.
‘I’ve never witnessed a jot of magic other than Pinchbeck’s wicked tricks. But there’s no hurt in being sure. The squirrels will eat it if not.’
What a world Leander had stepped into. He raked over the morning’s events and then said, ‘Do you think Madame Pinchbeck is wicked?’
He knew there couldn’t be many worse sins than stealing children, but Leander was fed and warm and not lonely for the first time in for ever. Felix seemed content, too. Maybe that meant Pinchbeck wasn’t that bad after all? But what about Charlotte, who once had a life of comfort and an uncle who loved her? Surely taking her from a loving home showed Pinchbeck’s cruelty.
Felix picked out another chestnut and peeled away the brittle, charred shell. ‘I’m not sure people are all good or all bad, but a little of each.’
‘Even you?’ Leander had done many wrong things, but it was hard to imagine sensible, serious Felix ever being bad.
Felix broke the last chestnut in half to share. ‘Last night we fooled those people,’ he said. ‘Made them think we were the children they lost in infancy – wasn’t that wicked? Yet I enjoyed it, and the food it bought.’
Leander considered that. Those people around the table had lost their children? Which meant it wasn’t just about entertainment, as Pinchbeck had said to him. They were turning to her for proof that their loved ones still existed somewhere. They wanted the same thing Leander wanted. And Pinchbeck had tricked them. It was wicked. Leander slowly chewed his chestnut to make the flavour last as long as possible. ‘Why do you stay with her, then? Why not run away?’
‘Do you still not understand? We don’t have a choice. We’re butterflies in a jar. We told you, Charlotte tried to run away in the beginning. She tested how far she could get before she became insubstantial. Then she realized that we couldn’t vanish into our Cabinets if there were walls in the way.’ He moved his hands to demonstrate. ‘So Charlotte locked her lantern inside an outhouse to stop Pinchbeck ordering her inside. But it didn’t work – turns out we might not be able to vanish through walls, but Pinchbeck’s command is strong enough, even through them. Pinchbeck left her locked inside the outhouse for two days as punishment. If it was possible to run away or bypass her magic, Charlotte would have done it. Besides –’ he paused – ‘I agreed to go with Pinchbeck. I promised and I can’t go back on my word.’
‘Why did you agree to go?’
‘She promised to help me find something I’d lost.’ They were almost back at the farmhouse and when Leander opened his mouth to ask more Felix shook his head. ‘I don’t wish to talk about it.’
Leander kicked at a stone and thought of the bargain he had made with Pinchbeck. Had he made a terrible mistake?
Pretending that he wanted to see to the horses, Felix left Leander to take their purchases indoors and wandered to the back of the farmhouse. Thinking about what had happened, the reason he was with Pinchbeck, was something he tried to avoid. But now his mind was whirring with memories of that day.
Isaak had disappeared while Felix was asleep. After that first meeting with Pinchbeck, they had argued all day. Isaak was convinced they should sell the violin. He wanted to buy food and toys and comforts, and couldn’t understand how quickly the money would run out, and how hard it would be to make more. They’d only earned enough for cabbage and potatoes that week, and the violin would fetch a lot of money even if it was old.
‘What can we sell, then?’ he had asked as they huddled down beneath blankets that nig
ht, his untidy brown hair falling across his face.
‘Nothing,’ said Felix. ‘Everything we have, we need.’ It was true. Their clothes were little more than rags as it was – they had nothing to spare.
‘I’m hungry.’
‘Do you think I’m not?’ Felix snapped.
‘My tummy hurts.’
‘Close your eyes. You won’t feel it when you’re asleep.’
‘But I can’t sleep without something to eat,’ Isaak whined. ‘You should’ve sold your violin.’
‘Stop!’ Felix shouted. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about. You make everything so much harder!’
‘Why don’t you just go off on your own, then?’ said Isaak. ‘I don’t need you anyway.’
‘Maybe I will!’
Isaak scowled and turned his back to Felix.
‘I’m sorry, Isaak,’ said Felix after a few minutes of stony silence between the brothers. ‘I didn’t mean it.’
Isaak didn’t reply. His eyes were closed tight.
‘I’ll get you something to eat in the morning,’ said Felix.
‘Don’t bother,’ said Isaak, still not opening his eyes.
‘I’ll look after you, I promise. Do you hear me? I promise.’
But, when Felix awoke at dawn, Isaak wasn’t beside him. Felix wasn’t worried at first, thinking his brother had gone down to the stream to watch the frogs, or climb trees in the meadow, but when he wasn’t back by midday Felix was concerned. He checked all of Isaak’s usual haunts and wandered the woods, calling his name, but found no sign. When dusk fell and Isaak still wasn’t home, a panicky, queasy feeling settled in Felix’s stomach. What if Isaak was hurt or in danger? Felix had promised to take care of his brother, and he had let him down.
For two days, Felix searched for his brother in every corner of the village and all the surrounding land. It was as though he had disappeared completely, whisked off by wood-folk into fairyland like in the songs his ma used to sing to them.
That’s why he went back to Pinchbeck and her husband, Pellar, to their funny little cart with signs advertising their magical services.
She listened seriously as he told her about his fear for his brother and then drew a deck of cards from a shelf. She shuffled them, laying them out in the shape of a cross, before examining them closely, nodding and whispering as though they were speaking to her. He watched silently as her fingers danced over angels and demons, kings and warriors, seeking truth from somewhere far beyond the tiny room. After several minutes, she shook herself, and blinked hard, as though she had forgotten Felix was there.
‘I have a strong feeling,’ she said, eyes shining in the lamplight, ‘that your brother has left this village.’
‘Left? Where is he?’ The argument. Isaak had run away because of Felix, left the village and got lost or hurt . . . Felix was sure he wouldn’t stay away this long through choice.
‘Far away . . . I’m not sure.’
‘Is he –’ Felix swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry – ‘is he alive?’
Pinchbeck nodded, and placed her hand over Felix’s in a reassuring gesture.
‘I foresee a long journey to find him. But I think I can help.’
She told Felix that she and her husband travelled the length of the country, sharing her magical gift – for a price. If Felix promised to help with her work and serve faithfully, he could travel with them, and at every stop along the way look for his brother. It was an easy choice to make. Felix had promised to look after Isaak. He had to find him. She gave him the holey stone, to help in his search, and he handed over his violin as proof of his loyalty to her – on the condition she would never sell it and he might be allowed to play it every day. With Isaak gone, it was easy to leave the village behind – Felix had nothing to stay for – and so his new life with Madame Pinchbeck had begun.
And, all this time, she had kept her promises. He had been clothed, fed and sheltered. And he was always allowed to search for Isaak as they travelled. Perhaps he wasn’t free, but what was freedom worth if you were alone and cold and starving? He had his violin, Charlotte and hope.
‘Why not run away?’ Leander had asked. But it wasn’t that simple.
He couldn’t break his promise to Pinchbeck. Promises must never be broken.
And, even if he did want to go back on his word, stopping Pinchbeck was impossible. The source and methods of her magic were inscrutable. If there was a way to free their souls from the Cabinets, Felix would have helped Charlotte escape years ago when she first tried to run.
But there wasn’t.
Was there?
It took some time for Charlotte to regain her composure after the discovery that Leander had lived at Litchfield House. Fragments of understanding were coming to her and she couldn’t show Pinchbeck that she was beginning to guess what she was up to.
Despite the clear skies, it was a cold day with a sharp, biting wind that whipped at her dress and blew loose strands of hair into her eyes. What were the odds of Leander finding them – a boy who had met her uncle and lived in her house? It seemed like more than a coincidence. And Pinchbeck was asking him so many questions – she wasn’t a woman who took an interest in other people unless it benefited her.
It might be safest to play at being good, for a while, until she could figure out what Pinchbeck was plotting.
The man with the handcart returned, interrupting her thoughts. ‘Shame to see a pretty girl like you without a smile,’ he said. Charlotte scowled in reply.
Drying her eyes, she headed back to the house. Pinchbeck was hunched over the table with her black commonplace book, feeding silver wire into a clockwork lamp. The lamp rested on a square wooden box, half draped in cloth, with a brass tube protruding from the top like the eyepiece of a telescope. Something new. On the sideboard was a basket filled with an assortment of large green bottles. Sackcloth and brown paper lay crumpled on the table around it, as though a package had been opened in a great hurry. The man with the handcart must have delivered the box to Pinchbeck. Charlotte wondered what it could be.
As soon as she saw Charlotte, Pinchbeck hastily stashed the notebook in her pocket, and moved the wooden box and lamp to a corner. She set them down with great care, wincing as she stooped over, limbs stiff.
Felix and Leander returned together and Charlotte nudged Felix, nodding towards Pinchbeck, making sure he noticed. Pinchbeck was clearly beginning to feel the strain of another captive.
Despite her apparent discomfort, Pinchbeck was merry. She laughed her tinkliest laugh when she saw what food the boys had brought and arranged it on the table like afternoon tea. Charlotte and the boys rinsed the dust from plates left behind by the previous owner. Pinchbeck found the best cutlery and laid it out – never one to use brass when silver was available. They often stole things from strangers, but this felt worse somehow, more personal. The family who ought to be there was gone, and they had taken their place, like real ghosts haunting the wrong house.
They unwrapped the paper bundles of food and took their seats round the table.
‘Isn’t this cosy?’ Pinchbeck raised her cup. ‘To new friends.’
Even though Charlotte’s stomach was tight with anxiety, the sight was too enticing to resist. It was days since they’d had a filling meal and much, much longer since anything so appetizing was spread before them. A successful seance was always rewarded. At times like this, they almost looked like a real family.
All eyes were on the pie as Pinchbeck deftly cut thick slices for each of them. It was warm and salty and they all devoured it to the last crumb. Mild, soft cheese crumbled in Charlotte’s fingers as she squashed it on to chunks of cloud- soft bread. Back at Litchfield House, even the nursery supper would have been far grander, but hunger was a sweet sauce.
It wasn’t until they were cleaning up that Charlotte realized what the wooden box was. It was lying on its side, so at first glance she didn’t realize that the brass tube was a lens. It was a camera.
‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ Pinchbeck purred.
‘What’s it for?’
‘A new hobby. Taking pictures of my family.’ She stroked the top of it like a cat. ‘Why not?’
A camera was an extravagant purchase and Pinchbeck didn’t have hobbies, unless acquiring money and deceiving people counted. This explained why she had been even more penny-pinching than usual lately. Despite Pinchbeck’s casual tone, Charlotte knew this wasn’t something she had bought on a whim. She must have ordered it weeks ago, and planned ahead to have it delivered to this address. Pinchbeck wouldn’t go to such trouble without some sort of scheme in mind.
‘Did you ever have your portrait taken?’ Pinchbeck asked her.
‘Once,’ Charlotte said. ‘I didn’t care for sitting still for so long.’
‘It’s much quicker now. Done in seconds if the light is bright enough. People can make copies of the picture to sell.’ She gazed off into the middle distance, head tilted, lost in thought. ‘Even print photographs in the papers.’
The newspaper. Of course! The clipping Pinchbeck had been looking at earlier that day was about a medium who claimed to have photographed a ghost, and now Pinchbeck wanted to do the same. Even from her quick glance, Charlotte could easily tell that Hudson’s photograph was a fake, so Pinchbeck had an advantage. Her spirits would be exactly like real children. She’d have to work to make them look ghostly, since her vanishing trick wouldn’t be captured in a photograph. But Charlotte knew Pinchbeck would come up with a solution for that problem. She might be evil, but she was also very clever.
In an instant, things became clear to Charlotte: if the photographs were printed in the papers, Pinchbeck would be famous. Every wealthy person in England would want to hire her. She’d be rich. Pinchbeck loved luxury, and she loved being admired. More than that, photographs of spirits could be sold as souvenirs to the sitters, to be traded and displayed as curiosities. How fancy to have a photograph of your own personal ghost.
The Vanishing Trick Page 7