The Vanishing Trick

by Jenni Spangler

  It was Charlotte’s book. All those nights in the library he had been holding a book belonging to the missing girl, the very girl who was now sitting right beside him. The book that contained the same story his mother used to tell him, with golden edges that matched the fortune-telling cards . . . There were too many coincidences. They had to mean something. He felt a spark of hope in his heart. Maybe a book of fairy tales couldn’t contain the answer to their problems, but it felt like a message of encouragement nevertheless. From the cards, from his mother, from fate!

  ‘Look at this,’ said Leander. He took the book and flipped through the pages until he came to the drawing that had given him so many nightmares. ‘The Rat King.’

  The drawing showed a child asleep, one foot poking out from the bedcovers. Standing in the doorway in half-shadow was the Rat King, beady-eyed, wizened and hunched, his fingers reaching towards the child, ready to grab—

  ‘The child-snatcher,’ said Charlotte. The three of them leaned in as she traced her fingers over the words. ‘This was a strange tale. He sold his soul for the power to transform into an animal, until he used up all his magic and was stuck as a rat for ever.’

  Leander shivered, his gaze drawn to the rat skeleton in the jar.

  ‘Charlotte! Felix! Leander!’ came Pinchbeck’s cry. Charlotte snapped the book shut and hid it behind the others. They all tumbled out of the carriage and raced indoors.

  Pinchbeck was waiting in the hallway, hands on hips. ‘About time! Idle beasts. I don’t know why I feed you.’

  10

  Three of Pentacles:

  Co-operation, Teamwork,

  Friendship

  Charlotte ached with hunger. There had been nothing to eat since the feast before the last seance. Was it three days? Or four? They wouldn’t starve – they never got sick, either. Just as they didn’t get any older, Pinchbeck’s magic seemed to protect them from other types of harm. To the best of Charlotte’s knowledge, there were only two ways she and the other stolen children could actually die: if their Cabinets were destroyed, or if Pinchbeck herself was killed while they were captive.

  But they still felt hunger and pain and cold, and days without food made Charlotte’s stomach feel both empty and heavy, like an earthenware pot in her middle. Soon she’d have no choice but to start spending more and more time inside her Cabinet where she had no bodily feelings at all, as gloomy as that prospect was.

  She pinned Pinchbeck’s curls, trying to disguise her revulsion. This had been her task for years and she had done it without thinking, but Leander’s arrival was a fresh reminder that this woman was a monster, and Charlotte could hardly bear to touch her.

  ‘Will you walk to town today?’ said Charlotte.

  ‘I will. My invitation will arrive at any moment. You and the boys must be ready to travel.’

  ‘Yes, Madame.’

  ‘I am teetering on the brink of greatness, Charlotte. Queen Victoria herself attends seances. These photographs are my ticket to the palace. Finally, I shall be mixing with people of quality, in my rightful place.’

  Pinchbeck had laid out her favourite images across the table to admire her work. The children looking back were dirty, exhausted and unhappy, adding to the unsettling effect. In two or three, she had even managed to make them appear transparent, with details of the brickwork and furniture visible through their clothing.

  ‘This next performance is the big one. The world is about to hear about Augustina Pinchbeck.’

  ‘We haven’t eaten for a long time.’ Charlotte eased a pearl hairpin into place. ‘You’ll be too weak to perform if we don’t get some food.’

  ‘True. One doesn’t want to look too thin – it’s unbecoming.’

  ‘Will you bring us something back from town?’

  ‘I shall be much too busy. You’ll have to get the food yourself. And have something ready for me when I get home.’

  ‘May I have some money, please?’

  ‘There is none. You will have to use other methods.’

  *

  Charlotte woke the boys. ‘There’s no money but we need food. We’ll have to lift something.’

  ‘Stealing?’ said Leander. ‘I thought you didn’t like thieves.’

  ‘I don’t,’ she said. ‘But we’re desperate.’

  Leander looked at her hard. ‘I was always desperate. Every time I stole, I only did it because I had to.’

  Guilt rattled through Charlotte. ‘You’re right. I’m sorry.’ She hated stealing. It left her feeling ashamed, and angry at Pinchbeck for putting them in that situation. Leander had been an unpleasant reminder of those feelings, but it wasn’t his fault.

  ‘What if someone recognizes us from the seance?’ said Leander.

  ‘They won’t. We look different in our day clothes. Poor children are always invisible,’ said Felix.

  ‘Wear your deepest pockets, Felix. We’ll split up and go to different stalls.’

  ‘No,’ said Leander. ‘The best thing is to steal some money, and then buy the food. If we only steal once, there’s less chance of being caught.’

  Charlotte exchanged a look with Felix. As much as she hated to admit it out loud, it did sound like a good plan.

  ‘And,’ continued Leander with a smile, ‘I have another idea, too.’

  *

  In town, Felix laid his violin case on the cobbles and began to play his sweetest melodies, weaving in phrases from favourite hymns and familiar songs that gave people a warm sensation and the desire to part with their money. Charlotte watched from a distance. The first penny was thrown into his case within a minute or two – if they stayed there all day, they might scrape together enough for a meal. But there wasn’t time.

  Leander had come up with a plan to use Charlotte as a distraction while he picked somebody’s pocket. Felix would change his melody to warn them if somebody was watching. As directed, Charlotte sat on a bench, a nervous tickle forming at the back of her throat. Several feet away, Leander gave a nod.

  She let her head fall forward and shook her shoulders, pretending to cry. Sometimes she would pretend to weep during a seance so she knew how to make it convincing. She held her eyes wide open, shielded by her hands, until they started to water, then quickly blinked six times. She repeated the pattern until tears began to roll down her cheeks.

  Had anyone noticed yet? She took a long breath and released it in a heavy sob.

  It worked.

  A shift of the boards as someone sat beside her. ‘Miss? Is something wrong? Are you hurt?’

  His voice was so kind it caught her off guard and her act threatened to become real tears for her own sorrows. ‘No, sir.’ She added a sniff for good measure.

  He offered her a handkerchief and she dabbed her eyes.

  ‘What’s troubling you?’

  ‘Forgive me, sir . . .’

  His eyes were warm and brown and sincere. A shiver of madness came over her – Tell him the truth. She bit her lip to hold it back. The tears became hotter.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’m fearful, sir, for my sister.’ It was hard to think of anything to say when her mind was so full of worry. ‘She . . . she has fits.’

  They were here to get bread, and that was all. She would not think of her poor uncle, mad with grief. She would not think about Pinchbeck’s camera and her plan to— Oh.

  ‘ . . . grow out of them, you know . . .’ The man was still talking, but she barely heard him over the thunder inside her head.

  The camera. Pinchbeck questioning Leander about Litchfield House. Asking Charlotte if she’d ever had a photograph taken . . .

  Of course.

  Anyone who understood photography could probably make a ghostly looking picture. That would never be enough for Pinchbeck. She would want her pictures to be so much more.

  It all began to make sense. How did she not see it before? Pinchbeck would take Charlotte’s photograph and it would be a perfect match for the portrait of her at Litchfield House. Charlotte hadn
’t aged a day since she last saw her uncle – of course she would look exactly the same. Like a ghost.

  It would be a sensation. A miracle. Perfect proof of Pinchbeck’s skills as a medium. It would be in all the papers.

  But, once everyone knew Charlotte’s face, Pinchbeck wouldn’t risk anyone recognizing her in the street . . .

  I’m the one she’s going to kill, Charlotte thought. And the tears that fell after that were all too real.

  Leander had certainly proven himself now.

  His plan worked perfectly. Charlotte’s performance kept the smartly dressed man busy while Leander effortlessly lifted his wallet. Felix, who’d been keeping watch to warn Leander with his music should anyone spot him, wound his last melody to a close and packed his violin. They took their time before meeting up by the bakery, waiting until the kind man was well out of sight.

  The money was quickly counted and divided. Charlotte took a few pennies to buy soap, a luxury they had gone without for too long. The boys were left to choose the food. A penny left over, Leander spotted a bright display of ribbons in a shop window, and had an idea to cheer Charlotte up – not that he cared if she was cheerful, of course . . . He didn’t need her to like him. All the same, he bought a length of yellow silk for her hair.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said when he gave it to her. She squeezed his hand and smiled weakly before tying the ribbon into her dark hair.

  ‘Good work, Robin Hood,’ said Felix.

  Leander flushed with pleasure. See? Not as useless as everyone thought.

  Charlotte had been silent for most of the walk back, but once the carriage came into sight she blurted out, ‘Felix, it’s me.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Pinchbeck isn’t going to kill Leander. She’s going to get rid of me.’

  It couldn’t be. Not his Charlotte. Why would Pinchbeck keep her for this long and then throw her away?

  ‘Explain.’

  ‘The camera, and this big invitation she’s waiting for, the one that’s going to change her fortune? I think it’s my uncle.’ Her voice shook. She paused and bit her lip and started again. ‘I thought the camera was the new plan, that she’d photograph Leander, then get a new child to replace him and so on. But then I remembered: Pinchbeck asked if I’d ever posed for a photograph.’

  Felix’s mouth went dry. Tendrils of dreadful understanding were beginning to uncurl, but he stayed quiet and waited for her to finish. Leander looked nervous and confused.

  ‘Don’t you see?’ she said. ‘Pinchbeck’s plan is as perfect as it’s cruel. My uncle already has a photograph of me. So, if she gets him to hold a seance and then takes a photograph of me appearing, no one can deny that it’s really me.’

  ‘Do you think that’s why she was so interested in what I knew about the house? Why she asked me so many questions about where everything’s kept, what state the master is in?’ asked Leander.

  Charlotte nodded sadly.

  ‘When you went missing, it was such a famous mystery . . .’ Felix began to think aloud. ‘Everyone will hear about it if she summons you. She’ll be in great demand. The first person to prove she can call on the dead.’ Dread rumbled through him like an ominous bass note.

  ‘Ironic, really,’ said Charlotte. ‘My uncle despised mediums. That’s what a lot of his work was about – trying to prove they were fakes. I don’t think Pinchbeck would even have met me if not for that. And now he’s hiring her to help him find me.’

  Felix looked away. Charlotte had no idea of the real reason Pinchbeck snatched her away, but he did . . .

  It was true that Lord Litchfield had been an outspoken sceptic. Often, Pinchbeck would read out pieces he had written for the London papers, denouncing the spiritualists, exposing them as frauds and liars. That’s why she had volunteered to perform for him five years ago.

  ‘He shan’t catch me out,’ Pinchbeck had said to Felix, so confident that Lord Litchfield wouldn’t be able to see through her tricks and would sing her praises as the only true medium he had ever met. Charlotte hadn’t been at the seance, but Pinchbeck had been introduced to her that same evening, in the lord’s parlour – Felix remembered hearing their voices from inside his Cabinet.

  And later he remembered Pinchbeck’s rage as she read her own name in Lord Litchfield’s scornful articles.

  ‘That scoundrel!’ she had said, waving the paper in the air like she was swatting a fly. ‘That crook! How dare he tarnish my reputation? He cheated me!’ She had raved about it for weeks.

  Biding her time, it was months later that Pinchbeck sought her revenge. She had loitered around the woodlands surrounding Litchfield House, waiting to engineer a chance encounter when Charlotte was out walking, then used their brief introduction on the evening of the seance as an excuse to strike up a conversation. Charlotte, intelligent but sheltered, had no reason to distrust the woman.

  Charlotte had often said to Felix that she was sure Pinchbeck wanted to steal a rich girl as a sort of lady’s maid, someone whom Pinchbeck believed to be of the right rank to tend to her needs, and it was Charlotte’s ill fortune that she had found her. But, though Pinchbeck had never told him her plans, Felix was sure the woman had wanted Charlotte in particular. Lord Litchfield hadn’t given her the praise Pinchbeck felt she deserved, and he had paid the price with the loss of his niece.

  And now it seemed that simply leaving the lord bereft wasn’t enough for Pinchbeck. No, the cunning woman had been waiting all these years, planning to return to Litchfield House when the old man was beyond hope. It was exactly her idea of justice. The man who criticized her would become the man to make her name.

  Leander reached out to touch Charlotte’s shoulder, but she edged away.

  ‘She’ll have my photograph in the papers within days,’ she said. ‘The whole country will know my face. She’ll never risk me being seen outside the seances. So I’m the one she’ll throw out.’

  ‘Maybe she’ll still need you,’ said Leander. ‘Folks might want to see the famous ghost conjured for them, too?’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Charlotte with the tiniest of sniffles. She did not seem comforted.

  ‘We’ll do something. We’ll find a way to free you,’ Felix said. He could not lose her as well.

  ‘There is no way. I’ve been with her five years and never found one. You’ve been here longer still. If there was a way to get free, you’d have gone years ago.’

  Would I? He didn’t meet her gaze.

  In truth, though he truly wished to break Pinchbeck’s spell for Charlotte and Leander’s sake, he still wasn’t completely sure he wanted to leave. He had been with Pinchbeck for almost half his life. He’d had more years with her than he ever got with Isaak, or his mother, or Charlotte. Performing for Pinchbeck was better than begging, and at least it felt like he was searching for his brother when they travelled round the country. If Felix was freed somehow, how would he continue his search?

  He had been wondering, secretly, if there was some way he could release Leander and Charlotte but not himself. Pinchbeck would be angry, of course, but Felix was special to her. Important. She would surely come around and they could carry on together. He owed her some loyalty. He had promised to stay with her, and he did not believe in breaking promises.

  Now, with this new development, things were becoming more complicated. Pinchbeck was showing her wicked side more and more, and Felix felt pulled apart by conflicting loyalties. He couldn’t let anything happen to Charlotte. They had to think of something, and fast.

  ‘We can alert your uncle. He’ll help us,’ he suggested.

  ‘Pinchbeck won’t risk letting us speak to him. If she sees us talking to my uncle . . .’

  ‘Then we shall find another way. We’re all in this together. We won’t let her hurt you, will we, Leander?’

  11

  Five of Swords:

  Cowardice, Failure, Defeat

  Pinchbeck’s moods had been so unpredictable, and disaster was so close at hand, that the children
thought it best to keep her happy. They had brushed the horses, polished the carriage and cleaned and aired their best clothes as well as they could without a proper washpot. Keeping the rats away from their dwindling food supplies had been a constant struggle. Dinner was being cooked – potatoes boiled then fried with chopped sausages. Mushrooms had been found growing behind the farmhouse.

  ‘Which are the poisonous kind?’ said Charlotte. ‘If she was too sick to travel . . .’

  ‘Too dangerous,’ said Felix. ‘If she eats too many, it might kill her.’

  ‘Good,’ said Leander. ‘Then we’re free, right?’

  Charlotte looked at him in surprise at his ruthless tone.

  ‘No,’ said Felix. ‘If she dies, we all die.’

  ‘If anything happens to me, you’re dust,’ said Charlotte. ‘That’s what Pinchbeck always says to us.’

  ‘But we don’t know that for sure,’ said Leander. ‘It’s just her word. Wouldn’t it be worth the risk?’

  Charlotte shivered. The idea had occurred to her, too, once. Many years ago, soon after Charlotte was stolen, they had visited an apothecary. An old woman, skin like crumpled paper, was buying a tonic for a terrible hacking cough that seemed to cause her great pain.

  Pinchbeck whispered in Charlotte’s ear. ‘That will never happen to you. You’ll never grow old, and you’ll never get sick. The suffering I’ve saved you.’ She held on to Charlotte’s hand too tightly, bones crunching together. Perhaps she’d noticed Charlotte’s gaze lingering on the rat poison. ‘So long as I’m safe, you’re safe. I hope we understand each other.’

  Even so, Charlotte had been tempted. After five years with Pinchbeck, death sometimes seemed better than eternal captivity. What stopped her, even after all this time, was the faint and distant hope that she might one day see her uncle again, and care for him in his old age.

  ‘Besides,’ said Felix, rousing her from her thoughts, ‘she’d notice we weren’t eating the mushrooms and get suspicious. Better we behave and not end up locked in our Cabinets.’