by Nina Clare
William Larkins looked down at the golden apple in his hand. ‘Good chance Ben would give it to the young coachman’s maid he’s been mooning over. The missus would have a fit if our Ben were to up and marry her when she’s her heart set on him wedding the Martin maid.’
He shook his head of thick curls; the same curls his tall son had inherited.
‘I’m not getting in the middle of all that,’ he murmured. He tied a knot of twine around the woody apple stalk and put it on the top of the last bushel in the cart. ‘Let Lady Providence have her own way. I know better than to get into the middle of any woman’s plans, be that of the missus or Lady Providence herself.’
‘How very cold it has turned this morning,’ said Mistress Woodhouse at breakfast. ‘One would think it was January, rather than the mild October we have enjoyed.’
‘I hope we are not in for an unseasonable frost,’ said Master Woodhouse over his square of dry toast. ‘What will happen to our parsnips and carrots? Master Knightley’s poor strawberry beds may not have been covered yet, and I daresay his apples have not been stored away. It will be dreadful to have so early a frost. I do not know what Mother Goodword is thinking of going away at such a time, she should not be permitting such unseasonable weather. Everything seems out of sorts, Emma.’
‘All will be well, Papa. The gnomes will see to all in the gardens. They are never taken by surprise by a change in the weather. They are far better than we at anticipating such things. They will have covered Master Knightley’s strawberry beds with straw and put cloches over our root vegetables without a moment’s hesitation.’
‘I hope so, Emma. It would very dreadful not to have the usual harvests. It would be a dreadful sign to have the bounty blighted, it would portend something quite terrible.’
‘I will speak to the gardeners after breakfast and ensure that all is in order, but I know very well it will be.’
‘But what of poor Master Knightley’s strawberries?’
‘What of my strawberries, sir?’ said a clear voice from across the room.
‘Master Knightley!’ exclaimed Emma with pleasure. ‘Come and have some breakfast. What brings you so early?’
‘I breakfasted three hours ago,’ said Master Knightley, crossing the room to bow to Master Woodhouse and his daughter. ‘Early is a relative adjective. But I will take a cup of tea with you.’ He sat down between them.
‘Take a piece of toast, Master Knightley, if you please,’ urged Master Woodhouse. ‘Or a little slice of this boiled ham, let Emma help you to a little slice of ham. You must taste the bounty, it would be remiss not to taste the bounty.’
‘My dear sir, I have breakfasted heartily already this morning, but I will take one of Serle’s excellent sweet rolls, if you insist.’
‘Oh, I do not recommend the sweet rolls.’ Master Woodhouse looked agitated. ‘Too much honey is disagreeable on an empty stomach so early in the day.’
‘But Papa,’ protested Emma gently, ‘you forget that Master Knightley is not eating on an empty stomach as we are. He has been up and very busy, I daresay, for some hours. One of Serle’s sweet rolls will not harm him.’
Master Woodhouse’s objections were silenced by this, but he advised Master Knightley not to put too much honey in his tea, for there was honey enough in the roll. Honey was very rich. It must be taken with prudence.
‘Papa was speaking of your apples and strawberry beds, Master Knightley,’ Emma said. ‘The weather seems to be turning unseasonably wintry today, and he is concerned that you are unprepared, but I assured him you would not be.’
‘The apples were all gathered in yesterday,’ said Master Knightley. ‘But the change in the weather is precisely what I’ve come about. The North Wind is coming unexpectedly, Master Woodhouse. I am sure you know what that likely means?’
‘Oh, my!’ said Master Woodhouse. And he trembled.
‘All will be well, Papa,’ Emma said. She looked to Master Knightley for support in this declaration, but Master Knightley looked grave as he dabbed a crumb from his mouth and put down his napkin.
‘I have felt something remiss for some time,’ he said. ‘The early arrival of the North Wind confirms it. I think it would be wise to go before the Green Man. Do you agree, sir?’
Master Woodhouse made a whimpering sound but was kept from replying by a sudden gust of wind swirling around the outer walls of the manor with such force that it rattled the windowpanes.
‘She must be here,’ said Emma, moving to the window to watch the trees of the elm walk bend in the wind. When the fierce gale passed by some minutes later, all the trees, saving the evergreens, were stripped bare of any remaining leaves.
Emma returned to the table. She knew what Master Knightley wished for her father to do. He wished for her father to take up his responsibility as the Wild Man Guardian. If things were out of balance, and Winds became unseasonable, it was the Guardian’s responsibility to find out the reason why and correct it.
‘Papa, will you not lead us to the Green Man to ask for counsel? Master Knightley will accompany us, I am sure.’
Master Knightley agreed readily to go with them, but Master Woodhouse trembled more violently, protesting against leaving the warm breakfast room to go through the draughty corridors into the Great Hall. They would all catch cold. It was hardly worth the risk.
‘My dear sir,’ said Master Knightley, ‘we need your aid if we are to get to the bottom of this turn of events. We have a responsibility to our neighbours to be watchful and ready to quell any mischief.’
‘I shall call for your house-cap and coat, Papa,’ Emma moved to the cord to call for a servant. ‘With your house-coat and fur-lined slippers you shall be safe from cold well enough as if you were in the northern mountains in winter.’
‘Oh, do not paint such a shocking picture, my dear,’ moaned Master Woodhouse. ‘Very well. I will go. But only if you wrap up, Emma. And Master Knightley, I hope you came here in your winter cloak. You must put it back on, indeed you must.’
The well-wrapped-up party of three entered the Great Hall, where the air was cooler, though a blazing log fire in the immense fireplace kept the edge off the chill.
Emma was already discarding her hood and loosening the ties of her cloak that she had put on to please her father. Master Knightley looked flushed with warmth within his cloak, but he kept it on for the time being, so as not to grieve Master Woodhouse.
They waited before the Green Man, who stood nine feet tall, his carved panel filling the length of the wall. Master Woodhouse took much patient encouragement, but finally he spoke, gripping his staff.
‘Here stand we before you, Guardian of the Forest,’ began Master Woodhouse in a tremulous voice. ‘With an eye that looks for good, and an ear that listens for truth, and a tongue that refrains from evil, and a desire to watch the border between mortal and Faerie, just as you have appointed.’
Master Woodhouse faltered, and Emma patted his hand. ‘Would you continue, Master Knightley,’ Master Woodhouse pleaded, his voice grown weak and raspy. ‘I am sure you will be heard. I fear I have not any more words.’
Master Knightley stepped forward, his firm voice resounding up to the high rafters.
‘We ask for wisdom in restoring the balance we feel has shifted. Please direct our eye and ear to see and hear that which will aid us in redressing any wrong, and let no trouble fall on us.’
Master Knightley stepped back again so Master Woodhouse could take his arm. All three stood for some minutes, listening to the sound of the fire crackling. The fierce wind outside was muffled to a harmless purr by the stout oak doors and the thick stone walls of the Great Hall.
The fire in the hearth gathered a green hue; the flames looked as long ferny waves.
Finally, the Green Man spoke.
The carved body and face rippled as though the wood became water. The pair of harts at his side turned their slender necks and large eyes towards him; the birds in the trees above him shook out their wings. He be
nt at his ivy-clad waist to look down on the three upturned faces, one elderly and pale, one young, fair and expectant, one tall and resolute.
‘There is a meddler and a thief among you,’ said the Green Man. His voice was of the deep woods, strong as oak, dark as roots, full of ancient life. ‘Bring the transgressor before me, before the peace between us ruptures.’
‘How shall we find him?’ Master Knightley asked.
The Green Man rippled as he stood tall, and the sound of rustling leaves and the scent of earth and moss filled the hall. The birds about him trilled and fluttered. ‘Open your eyes and ears. The evidence cannot be long-hidden.’
The fluid figure resumed its form of wood. The woodland birds were silent, the pair of harts looked away and were still. The face of the Green Man was stern, and the fire resumed its usual yellow flame.
‘A thief and a meddler,’ said Master Woodhouse faintly. ‘How shocking. How very dreadful. Whoever can it be?’
15
Grave Displeasure
The copper fox lunged true north, the sudden shift giving him a surprised expression. The North Wind swept into the school.
The cuckoo had lighted on his perch to sound the hour, but the icy blast gusting through the hall ruffled his feathers and stole his voice. He put his head under his wing and waited for the storm to pass.
The tree sprites outside came out of hiding to see what was happening. They peered in at the windows, chattering like a flock of young starlings, pushing each other out of the way to see in.
The gnomess housemaid hid behind the settle in the hall to watch the visitor, for it was not every day that the North Wind came to call. The students and their masters and mistresses lined the corridors, hoping for a glimpse of the North Wind, yet fearful of her icy blast.
Cloe-Claws sat serenely beside the three Sisters in the entrance hall. Harriet was pale and quivering. Myrtle stood tall, her dark blue eyes as intense as ever, but with a tautness to her jaw and shoulders. Rue could not stand still; she clenched and unclenched her hands and shifted from one foot to another.
‘Greetings, Grand Godmother North,’ the three Sisters said in unison, bowing politely, then falling silent. The Sisters could say no more. They could not say that it was a pleasure to see their superior, for they knew the visit was not one of pleasure. They could not say that it was a surprise, for the fox on the wind vane had heralded her coming.
From the entrance door behind Grand Godmother North, the whirling, ice-blue shapes of her horses snorted and pawed the ground, turning every cobble their hooves touched to a frosty finish.
Myrtle nudged Rue’s elbow to prompt her to speak. The Sisters had drawn straws to determine who would act as spokesperson before the North Wind. The short straw had fallen to Harriet, but Rue insisted she would stand before the North Wind in her place, seeing as she had been the one to misplace the wand.
Rue summoned up the courage to say what she was sure Mother Goodword would have said at that moment: ‘Would you come into the parlour for tea?’ Her teeth chattered as she spoke, partly from cold, and partly from fear. The North Wind glared round in one sweep of iciness, then stormed away to the parlour.
Busie had already laid the tea tray and poured the tea. The Sisters were glad of the warmth of their cups, and they huddled together before the fire. Grand Godmother North’s teacup turned ice-cold as soon as she touched it, but she drank it down before gliding to the window and looking out through the frost-rimed glass. The sprites ducked out of sight at her appearance.
Myrtle gestured to Rue to say something as spokesperson. Rue wracked her mind for something polite to say, but everything seemed so trite. Foolish thoughts flitted through her mind, as they often did when she found herself in a grave situation, and she had to stifle down the urge to make a silly joke. It was the North Wind who spoke first.
‘A rupture in the air of Highbury has occurred.’
Great Grandmother North stood at the window, her back to the Sisters.
‘Explain the cause of it.’
Rue put down her cup and saucer and tucked her cold fingers inside the sleeves of her gown. She stepped forward, feeling the loss of the warmth from the fire immediately.
‘There has been a theft, ma’am. Of an object of magic.’
‘Which object?’
‘A… a wand.’
The North Wind whirled round and a needle-sharp blast of air struck Rue’s face.
‘A wand. The great honour of a Godmother. The mark of trust between the kingdoms. The sign of authority of our Order. The source of power gifted by the Faerie queen. You took so little care of such a possession?’
Rue’s lips were turning blue, and she blinked cold flakes of snow from her eyelashes.
‘I…’ she stammered through chattering teeth, her words making little puffs of steam, ‘I confess… I didn’t… take care as I ought… never guessed no-one would steal it… thought we lived among friends.’
‘Among friends,’ scoffed the North Wind. ‘Magic is a temptation to all. Even friends can fail if desire for power is stronger than affection.’
Rue nodded miserably. She hung her head. She had determined to accept her fate with dignity, but now that the moment had come, she felt only sheer misery at her folly. How could she have been so careless?
‘What have you done to recover the wand?’ The North Wind. lessened the frosty air about her, so Rue could speak without chattering.
‘We made a list,’ said Rue, ‘of folks who might have wanted something from the storeroom where the wand was.’ She pulled a roll of paper from her pocket. ‘There’s rather a lot,’ she said, letting the scroll unravel to the floor. ‘Anyone in the school or village could have gone in, it being unlocked.’
‘Why was there no protection charms on the door?’ demanded the North Wind. ‘Is Mother Goodword so remiss?’
‘It weren’t Mother Goodword’s fault,’ said Rue.
‘We did not renew the charms,’ Myrtle confessed. ‘They were only out of date by a day,’ she added as a weak defence.
‘A day or a century – a lapsed charm is of no use,’ said the North Wind icily.
‘We know the wand ain’t on the premises,’ said Rue. ‘We made a finding spell, and it didn’t show up within a quarter of a mile.’
‘Why only a quarter of a mile? Why have you not extended the search?’
The Sisters shared glances.
‘We used all our Dust up,’ said Harriet in a small voice. ‘And without the wand we can’t activate any more.’
‘Could you activate a new batch while you’re here?’ A tentative note of hope crept into Rue’s voice.
‘Do you think I would trust you with more magic?’ snapped the North Wind.
There was a dismayed silence.
‘This is my decree,’ announced Grand Godmother North.
Rue stepped back to re-join her colleagues. They would share their fate together. Harriet shivered. Myrtle braced herself, her face graver than usual.
‘There will be no resumption of magic or teaching in this school until the wand is recovered.’
There was a gasp from Harriet. ‘But the children?’ she whispered.
‘The children may return when the balance is restored.’
‘The school is to be closed!’ Harriet stifled a sob.
‘I take all responsibility,’ Rue said. ‘Please don’t send everyone away.’
‘Recover the wand and restore the balance, and they shall return.’
The cold in the air lessened. Rue could again feel the warmth of the fire behind her. She looked up in surprise. The North Wind had drawn in all of her cold, wrapping it around her so that ice glimmered on her pale blue gown and sparkled in her white hair like tiny diamonds.
‘You have one chance,’ said the North Wind. ‘If all things are not in order on my return at the end of the term, there will not be a second chance.’
‘We are grateful for your clemency.’ It was Myrtle who spoke. Rue could only nod i
n agreement. Harriet stifled another sob.
‘Have you no mirror to show you the culprit?’ the North Wind asked.
‘A magic mirror?’ asked Rue.
‘We have no mirror,’ said Myrtle.
‘Have you a globe?’
‘No,’ said Myrtle and Rue together.
‘How ill equipped this school is! I shall speak to the Council. It is fortunate I carry a pocket globe.’
It was always a wondrous thing to see the North Wind’s magic. She was very elegant and precise in her work. There was none of the excessive showiness of the South wind, and none of the bluntness of the East.
The magic swirled like a snowstorm, with all the beauty and symmetry of snowflakes. When the air cleared, there was a globe, the size of a prize pumpkin, hovering between them.
‘How beautiful,’ said Myrtle, who loved maps and atlases.
Grand Godmother North turned the globe until the adjoining kingdoms of mortal Old England and Faerie Albion were shown. She touched a long, white finger to the small depiction of England and Faerie, and they magnified; she touched again until the county of Surrey came clearly before them; she touched again and the little village of Highbury was depicted in close detail, its cobbled streets and half-timbered houses filling the face of the globe.
The boundary line between the kingdoms glowed. The Faerie paths were silver threads, winking and glinting mischievously as they came and went to the mortal eye. The Door into Faerie shone out from Hartfield, and the Wild Woods stretched away beyond the river.
‘I only see small magic,’ Grand Godmother North said, examining the globe carefully and looking at the pinpricks of light that signified magic at work. ‘That of the Guardians and fae servants. Apart from your school,’ she pointed an ice-blue nail at the schoolhouse which glowed brightly, due to her own presence, ‘there is no other magic.’
‘Then either the thief has removed from our boundary—’ began Rue.
‘Or is not using the wand at this precise moment,’ Myrtle interrupted. ‘And knows how to hide it in the meantime.’