by Nina Clare
‘It enables the Godmother to correctly read the heart of her ward, and those of suitable matches. While she is young in growth, she will also make use of such tools as the forgetfulness cloak and the use of Dust to enhance the senses and make helpful spells.’
‘What if the true love is from afar? How does one discern him or her?’ asked Mistress Woodhouse.
‘That is rather advanced, Mistress Woodhouse. The Council only directs noviciates to local matches. One must move forward one step at a time.’
‘And when shall I have my first official ward? I am eager to begin.’
‘Not yet. You must practise the exercises for a good while. It is a dangerous business to interfere in the movements of the heart before one is ready.’
Mistress Woodhouse almost pouted with displeasure.
‘However, I will give you an exercise that is related to matchmaking which you may enjoy. I wish you to make an observation of the residents of Highbury and Donwell. Keep a record, if you please. You are looking for the very things that a Godmother would notice as a matchmaker. You will record the scent they carry, and I do not mean perfume or a physical smell, I mean the scent of a person’s presence. Listen for words between and beneath their speech, and record anything you hear. Practise feeling their energy. You must spend a good amount of time developing the skill of silence and stillness, as we discussed, in order to do these things. And do not forget taste. Record the taste left in your mouth after a conversation.’
Mother Goodword got up to take a pair of notebooks from a shelf. ‘Will you do this and show me your notes when I return?’
‘Certainly,’ said Mistress Woodhouse, taking a book. ‘But I hope I shall not have to discourse with people I find disagreeable? I hope I may confine my observations to people who are fit to be associated with?’
‘Make a start among your own acquaintance if you choose, Mistress Woodhouse. But a Godmother does not confine herself to societal strata. She is neither beneath nor above any person, mortal or fae. She transcends class and race. She is only concerned with life in all its forms, be it a humble flower sprite or a great king.’
‘Flower sprites are one thing,’ said Mistress Woodhouse, ‘but I was thinking of vulgar milk-maids and ambitious farmers.’ Here Mistress Woodhouse cast a glance at Harriet. ‘There are some people I cannot bear to converse with.’
‘The important thing is to begin somewhere,’ said Mother Goodword patiently.
‘And shall I have the use of Dust and a forgetfulness cloak?’ Mistress Woodhouse smiled brightly, as though wishing to charm the answer she desired.
‘No magic yet,’ was the firm reply. ‘First you must master using your senses, and then you will be ready to take them to the next level with the aid of magic. Without the foundation of disciplining your natural faculties, the additional power of magic is both folly and danger. Do not be deceived. No matter what anyone tells you, there is no shortcut to be gained from magic. It requires wisdom and careful training.’
Mistress Woodhouse did not argue, but she did not look entirely convinced.
‘And what of riddles?’ Harriet asked. ‘You always say riddles and rhymes are good practise for spell making. I have eight riddles in my book now.’
‘Keep up your riddle book, Harriet,’ Mother Goodword said. ‘I am sure Mistress Woodhouse will benefit in helping you with it.’
‘Well. I suppose that concludes our lesson,’ Mistress Woodhouse said. ‘We have our new exercises to work on,’ she held up the cloth-bound notebook. ‘Return to Hartfield with me, Harriet, and we shall make a start directly.’
‘Oh, yes indeed,’ said Harriet, waving her notebook to mirror Mistress Woodhouse. ‘If I may?’ she asked.
Mother Goodword nodded her assent. ‘You are welcome to borrow this,’ she said, holding up The Godmother’s Book of Proverbial Wisdom. ‘It will always offer good counsel.’
‘It looks so heavy,’ Mistress Woodhouse said, eyeing the book. ‘I will send our coachman for it.’
‘It looks heavy, but take it and see.’
Mistress Woodhouse took the book and gave a look of surprise. ‘It feels so light!’
Leave-taking was made, and the young ladies departed. Mother Goodword watched them as they passed her parlour window on their way down the path.
‘She has great potential for good,’ Mother Goodword said. ‘But I do not think she is as fit for Godmothering as she believes. Her scent has a pleasing base of strong affection and generosity, but it is somewhat marred by other things. A good sense of self-worth has a pleasant smell, something like bergamot, I have always thought, but where it teeters into pride, it gains a sharp smell. Mistress Woodhouse must learn that her value does not consist in being of a higher rank than others, but in seeing the value in others and using her influence for the good.’
Cloe-Claws gave a purr of agreement.
‘Harriet’s simple heart will draw out Mistress Woodhouse’s appreciation of goodness, and connect her with persons outside of her small sphere. I only hope Harriet can weather the lessons she will learn through this friendship without too much pain.’
Cloe-Claws agreed.
‘It is hard to see them go out into the world and get their hearts a little broken,’ said Mother Goodword.
Cloe-Claws rumbled something else.
‘I know that matters of the heart are not your concern, Cloe, but I also know you are fond of Harriet. You think us mortals excessive in our emotions, and so we are, at times, but would you rather dwell among basilisks and ogres, with no emotion at all?’
Cloe-Claws flicked her tail to say that it was a very foolish thing to suggest; of course she would not rather dwell among those who would sooner eat her than pet her.
Seven days following Harvest Moon found the three Sisters gathered in the hall; they were still in their nightgowns and caps and shawls, for it was a little before dawn. Myrtle clutched a copy of The History of Merfolk: from the Atlantis Age to Modernity with a yearning expression.
‘I hope to be gone only a short while,’ Mother Goodword said in parting. She spoke briskly, which was a sign that she was subduing softer emotions. ‘I have the utmost confidence that you will keep your morning classes running smoothly, and be diligent in making progress with your current assignment. Make direct contact with your wards by conversation. It is a good place to start, and there is much to be gleaned from every conversation if you are alert.’
‘I wish I could come with you and study merfolk,’ Myrtle said.
‘I wish you were not going away,’ Harriet mourned.
‘I wish I could travel south,’ said Rue. ‘I’ve never been south. Or north. Or anywhere much.’
They followed Mother Goodword to the entrance courtyard just as the first light of dawn caused the external lamps to look dimmed. The chestnut tree sprite could not resist throwing leaves over them, but he did so with restraint, seeing as Mother Goodword and Cloe-Claws were of the party. A soft fall of russet leaves floated down over them in a little leaf shower.
‘You will come back soon,’ Harriet said with a tremor in her voice. Mother Goodword took hold of her fingers and squeezed them.
‘Keep up your studies with Mistress Woodhouse, dear. And look after my plants. You know how fond of my sprites I am. Busie doesn’t care for them herself.’
‘I will,’ Harriet promised.
‘Keep up the protection charms,’ Mother Goodword said to all three Sisters. ‘Especially on the storeroom. There are some highly prized ingredients in there.’
The Sisters were distracted by the rumbling sound, as though thunder were rolling up the road and into the courtyard.
‘The South Wind’s carriage,’ cried Rue, lifting up and down on tiptoes with excitement as the pair of golden horses pounded the earth before slowing to a halt in the courtyard. They folded their wings back to their flanks, turning round so the carriage was now close to the school entrance.
‘I must not keep the horses waiting,’ Mother Goodword s
aid, as Harriet clung to her hand. ‘Goodbye.’ Mother Goodword looked unusually choked for a moment. She recovered and put a hand lightly on Myrtle’s shoulder. ‘Myrtle, study is valuable, but don’t shut yourself away. Share what you know with others. Work together.’
Myrtle gave a nod, and clutched her book more tightly.
‘Harriet, remember what I said about choices. Only you can determine your calling. Learn to discern your own heart, and not just that of your ward’s.’
Harriet opened her mouth to ask questions, but Mother Goodword had released her hand and stepped nearer to the carriage. She had to raise her voice a little above the increasing wind.
‘Rue, remember rules are there for good reason.’
Rue was about to say something in reply, but Mother Goodword was at the carriage door; the wind blew back the hood of her cloak, and her gown whipped about her legs. ‘Practise your senses every day. Use the forgetfulness cloaks, and don’t waste Dust on trivialities.’ This last comment was directed at Rue.
The aerie-sylph coachman was holding open the door, and Mother Goodword had one foot on the carriage step.
‘You activated the Dust I mixed?’ Rue called.
‘Yes,’ replied Mother Goodword. Cloe-Claws gave a protesting yowl. ‘No,’ cried Mother Goodword, removing her foot and whirling round. ‘I did not complete the activation! Oh dear, there is no time now.’
‘We cannot manage without Dust!’ cried Rue and Myrtle together.
Mother Goodword hesitated; the horses snorted with impatience. She pulled out her wand from her pocket. She had felt the new wand humming into life as soon as the carriage had appeared. ‘Take care of it,’ she urged, as Rue rushed forwards to grasp it, and sprang back again, for the wind whirling about the carriage was gathering force.
‘Take this,’ Mother Goodword said, moving against the wind to put the key to her desk in Harriet’s hands, for she stood nearest. ‘Lock the wand away when you have finished the activation.’
Rue grinned at the wand in her hand, while Harriet looked anxiously at the key in hers.
The glittering carriage flashed iridescent, like sunlight on rain drops. The coachman shut the door and flew upwards to his seat. The command was given to the restless horses, and thunder broke out as the carriage leapt forward and was gone from sight, leaving a trail of rainbows in its wake.
Harriet could only comfort herself with talk of tea. Myrtle sighed with longing as the carriage disappeared, and announced that she was returning to the library to finish her book.
Rue stood for a moment, looking at the wand in her hand. ‘I feel like a real Godmother,’ she said. ‘Think of what I could do…’
‘Rue!’ warned Harriet, though her soft voice sounded more like a caress than a caution. ‘Take the key and lock it away.’
‘Alright,’ said Rue, pocketing the key. ‘Yes, I know!’ she said to Cloe-Claws who was trotting close at her heels and talking in growls. ‘I’ll go and activate the Dust, and then it will be locked away, alright?’
7
A New Object of Interest
‘Oh, Mistress Woodhouse, where shall we begin?’ Harriet looked at the blank first page of her notebook.
‘We have two projects now, Harriet.’
‘We do?’
‘Our first project is to observe people in Highbury, to practise our senses.’
‘And the second project?’ queried Harriet. ‘My riddle and rhymes book?’
‘No. We shall continue with that, as it is good practise for future spell making. My second project, Harriet dear, is you.’
‘Me?’
‘As my practise ward.’
‘Oh, yes.’ Harriet laughed. ‘Though I’m sure I can’t think who you would match me with. I have thought ten-hundred-thousand times of it, but I cannot think of anyone. But, of course,’ she added, ‘I am only a practise ward. Not a real one.’
Emma ignored these last words, and said, ‘I have an excellent notion of who would be a good match for you. But I will do as we have been bid, and carry out a little observation first.’
‘So, it is a secret?’
‘For now.’
‘And how long shall you observe for before you decide?’
‘Oh, I dare say a few observations are all that is needed. How hard can it be?’
‘I’m sure it would not be hard for you, for you are so clever, but I don’t know where to begin with my match. Mother Goodword said to begin with conversing with our wards.’
‘Well, I have plenty of opportunity to converse with you. Now we’ll begin with our exercises. We shall take a line from the book that Mother Goodword so obligingly lent me and sit in silence while we consider it and practise stilling our thoughts.’
‘Very good, Mistress Woodhouse. I’ve always had trouble with stilling my thoughts, so it would be good to practise. I do practise every day, when I remember, but I get distracted. Which line shall we choose?’ Harriet leaned over the table where the book lay. She turned over the cover and ran a finger lightly down a page. ‘She who matchmakes without direction will take a wrong turn.’ Harriet looked up with a stricken expression. ‘Is it a warning?’
‘No, indeed,’ said Emma, coming to stand beside Harriet, and turning the page. ‘We are only practising. It does not apply to us.’ Her finger hovered over the book and fell randomly on a line.
‘She who hastens against counsel, hastens to regret.’ She turned the page quickly and selected another line. ‘Closed ears hear no wisdom. That’s a silly proverb.’ She attempted once more. ‘Even a donkey is considered wise if it listens to instruction.’ She snapped the book shut. ‘How are we to focus our minds on such things? Donkeys and regrets indeed!’
Harriet reopened the book. ‘This one is nice,’ she said. ‘I have used this one before. A faithful heart brings its own reward. I like that. Is that not pretty?’
‘Pretty enough,’ said Emma. ‘It will do. I think we shall go up to the tower to practise.’
‘Oh, yes, I long to see the view from the tower.’
‘We shall not be looking at the view, Harriet, we shall be meditating on wise sayings. I thought we might sit up there, for we shall be in no danger of being interrupted.’
Harriet ran to the window of the tower and leaned against the deep stone sill.
‘Oh, what a view! I never could tire of it.’ She was still panting a little from the exertion of the climb. Emma came to stand beside her while she recovered her breath.
‘One can see as far as the city,’ exclaimed Harriet. ‘It is but a blur, but surely it is the city. And that tiny line must be the Great River that flows through it.’
‘No Harriet, that is our own River Don. However, it does join with the Great River. The city is beyond that blue line, see? No, that way, Harriet. You are looking towards Kingston.’
‘May I look through the spyglass?’ Harriet took up the spyglass from its case and squinted through it. ‘Oh, I can see everything as clear as can be! There is the school! That chestnut sprite is being rude again. He’s throwing things at the girls walking underneath, but he ought not to throw them at Sarah Dovecote, she is a dear little thing, oh, here comes Sister Rue, she will give him a scolding.’ She swung the spyglass to look elsewhere. ‘There is Mistress Baytes, walking down the broadway. She is going to the bakery, no doubt. Oh, it is Master Elftyn! How well he looks, he always dresses so nicely. No doubt he is on his way to do some good deed. He is very good, he visits the poor every week, you know.’
‘That is his work,’ said Emma. ‘Being entrusted with the charitable offerings of the village. But I am glad to hear you think well of him.’
‘Oh, I can see Abbey Mill Farm! I cannot see anyone of the family, but I can see the cows in the home meadow as clear as day!’
‘Let’s begin our lesson now,’ said Emma. She sat down on a bench and patted the cushion beside her.
‘What a wonderful spyglass this is,’ said Harriet, putting it down with reluctance. ‘It is a marvel that
one can see so far and so clearly.’
‘It’s fae made,’ said Emma. ‘Come and sit down. Now, what was that proverb we were to meditate on?’
‘A faithful heart brings its own reward,’ repeated Harriet.
‘Let us begin.’
‘It’s so nice to have someone to practise with,’ said Harriet. ‘Rue and Myrtle will not sit with me any more during practise.’
‘I suppose we ought to close our eyes,’ Emma said.
‘Yes, to be sure. We must close our eyes, concentrate on the words, and empty our minds of our own thoughts.’ Harriet repeated what she had been taught. ‘We must be perfectly still in thought and body.’
‘Let us begin,’ said Emma.
Half a minute later Emma said, ‘Harriet, please stop saying the words aloud, you said stillness and silence. Say the words in your mind.’
‘Sorry. I didn’t realise I was saying them aloud. I do that sometimes.’
Half a minute later.
‘Harriet, speaking under your breath is still speaking aloud, I can hear you.’
‘Sorry. I did think I was speaking in my mind.’
A minute later.
‘Harriet why are you giggling?’
‘Oh, forgive me, Mistress Woodhouse, but I was speaking the words in my mind and they were jumbling up and they came out as reward a heart its own, and then, faithful reward brings a heart—’
‘Harriet, please be silent, or we cannot proceed. We shall sit for fifteen minutes. I have reset the sand timer.’
‘I shall be absolutely silent, indeed I will.’
A minute later.
‘Please do not keep yawning.’
‘Sorry, Mistress Woodhouse, but sitting silently makes me feel so sleepy. I’ve given up thinking of the words, for they will jump around. Goodness, how much sand is left, it feels like half an hour already, yet it is barely five minutes.’
‘Try harder, Harriet.’
Silence fell again for a minute.
‘Do cease fidgeting.’
‘Sorry.’
Another minute passed. Harriet sneezed. ‘Sorry!’