by Nina Clare
‘She is a difficult and capricious woman,’ Mistress Weston said. ‘She rarely lets poor Frank out of her sight. Even when she is away from home herself, which she often is, she insists on him remaining at her manor.’
‘How dreadful,’ said Harriet. ‘He sounds as though he is quite a prisoner.’
‘I fear to some extent he is.’
‘But why did Master Weston give up his son to her?’
‘She had a claim on him as his kin,’ said Mistress Weston. ‘Master Weston was not as you see him now in those days. He was greatly reduced in circumstances after the death of Frank’s mother. He had barely the means to raise a child, and the aunt stepped in and quite persuaded him that it would be for Frank’s good to be adopted by her.’
‘Master Weston trusted he would be raised up to be a great gentleman,’ said Emma. ‘And an heir to a good estate.’
‘But Master Weston could not have foreseen that Frank would have been spirited away from England for most of his life,’ said Mistress Weston. ‘And though he has come of age these three years, yet his aunt will not release him into independence, but keeps him bound to her.’
‘She sounds very selfish,’ said Harriet. ‘Making a prisoner of her own nephew. But what did you mean, Mistress Weston, when you talked of being safe?’
Mistress Weston looked troubled and cast a glance at Emma.
‘I have told Harriet about her,’ Emma said.
‘What have you told me, Mistress Woodhouse?’ Harriet felt a little prickle pass over her skin. Mistress Weston and Mistress Woodhouse both looked so grave, as though there were some terrible secret haunting them.
‘The witch, Harriet. Recall I told you the story of the witch and Papa and the salad leaves.’ Emma unconsciously put a hand to her crown of hair.
‘Yes, to be sure I remember that dreadful story.’
‘The witch of the Wild Woods met Master Weston one day, when he was newly widowed,’ said Mistress Weston. ‘She was prowling about the outskirts of Highbury, up to mischief, and he had the misfortune to meet her as he rode home one night, across the heath.’
‘Dear me,’ said Harriet. ‘But why should she wish to cast misfortune upon him when he was only riding home?’
‘He had interrupted her vile workings, for she had trapped a poor fairy and was taking it away to do what foulness she wished with it. He challenged her right to enter into the domain of the Green Man.’
Harriet paled to hear this. ‘How brave of him to challenger her. What happened? Did she throw his horse? Did she curse him?’
‘Worse. She threatened to take his son, his little motherless child to be her slave in place of the fairy she had lost.’
‘Dear me! What a dreadfully wicked thing to do! What did Master Weston do next?’
‘You can imagine his anxiety. He thought to take little Frank far away, so the witch should not know what county they dwelt in, but he had not the means. He was quite poor at that time. So when Frank’s aunt made her offer to take the little boy—’
‘It seemed the most providential thing in all the world!’ finished Harriet. ‘Poor little Frank would be quite safe in an enchanted manor with a powerful aunt to look after him. No wicked witch could steal him from a Faerie manor!’
‘Quite so,’ said Mistress Weston. ‘And that is the sad conclusion of the tale of Frank.’
‘But now there is new hope,’ said Emma brightly. ‘With the blessing of the Green Man, we shall bring Frank home again, I am sure of it.’
Harriet beamed with pleasure at such a happy ending, but Mistress Weston did not look convinced. She put down the last of the glasses. ‘I think it will still be hard for Frank to get away. Master Weston has quite set his heart on Frank being here this month, but I think the aunt will delay it.’
‘What a pity he could not ride up to Highbury from the south,’ said Harriet innocently. ‘I wonder that he did not jump on his horse and fly up here. If he should have a Faerie mount, he could ride as the wind and be here in no time.’
Mistress Weston looked a little troubled by this, as though she had thought the same thing, and was trying not to dwell on it.
‘Master Frank Charmall would certainly have wasted no opportunity to come, had he been at liberty,’ said Emma confidently. ‘If he were restrained in the south, it must have been something of importance.’
‘Thank you, Emma,’ said Mistress Weston softly.
‘I have long held a foretelling regarding Master Frank Charmall,’ said Emma. ‘I foretell that he will certainly come to Highbury. I have been anticipating it for many years, and you know that my foretellings always come to pass.’
‘Indeed they do,’ agreed Mistress Weston. ‘But can you foretell if the weather will hold off from snow tomorrow?’ She moved to the window to look at the clouds gathering in the sky. ‘Your father would certainly be induced to remain at home if it were to snow, and then all my preparations will be for naught.’
‘I checked the weather vane this morning,’ Harriet said.
‘And what did it predict?’
‘That it would snow. Sorry. But not until later tomorrow night,’ she added quickly. ‘It shall not snow until after moonrise.’
‘Then we shall be sure to be on our way here before moonrise,’ said Emma. ‘We shall close the shutters and curtains, so we can see no snow from within. Of course, if it is a heavy fall, we shall have to leave a little earlier than hoped, but we will have our Yuletide feast.’
‘I think it will only be a light fall of snow,’ Harriet assured Mistress Weston. ‘The weather fox fluffs his tail up when it is to snow, and this morning his tail was only a very little fluffed up. Poor thing,’ she murmured, ‘his elemental charm is fading. He will be quite green with verdigris if things do not change for the better.’
‘How are you at the school?’ Mistress Weston asked. ‘It must be difficult with Mother Goodword gone, and the school closed up. I almost feel ashamed of looking forward to the pleasures of Yuletide season when things are so worrisome in the village. I wish I could invite you all to Randalls, but I fear Master Woodhouse would be alarmed to hear that there at two unexpected guests.’
‘Papa would be anxious,’ Emma agreed. ‘You know him too well. It is a marvel that he has agreed to come. It is precisely because it is a small party of his most familiar friends and family that he has been persuaded.’
‘I hope your Godmother Sisters will enjoy some Yuletide cheer, even if the school is empty at present. I shall ask Cook to boil some extra figgy puddings and send them over. What a pity Mother Goodword has not come back in time for Yuletide.’
Harriet imagined to herself what a dreadful thing it would be for Mother Goodword to appear at that precise time. Were she to come now, she would find the school closed and the wand missing and what would she say to that?
‘You bought a dragon from a roamer!’ cried Rue. ‘Merciful Mushrooms, Myrtle, what was you thinking of?’
Rue was at the door of the school entrance. Harriet was hiding behind a cabinet in the hall, ready to run if the dragon-creature was to fly at her or breathe fire.
‘I rescued him,’ said Myrtle, standing unrepentant on the doorstep. ‘I had to.’ She could go no further, for Cloe-Claws stood guard in the doorway, hissing and growling at the dragon who was flapped its wings and puffed out red, sparky clouds in reply. The tree sprites in the courtyard awoke from their wintry slumbering, and squealed with terror at the scent below them.
‘But what are you going to do with it?’ cried Rue. ‘Where are you going to put it?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Myrtle, looking down at the creature she held on the chain. He was rising a few feet into the air, then dropping again, as he rebuffed the insults of Cloe-Claws.
Myrtle’s defiance wilted a little.
‘Well, it can’t come in here,’ Rue said firmly, her hands on hips. Not that Myrtle could get past Cloe-Claws even if she wished to.
Myrtle had never realised how big and powerful Cloe-
Claws could be when she needed to. She was rather impressive.
‘Dragons are dangerous and unpredictable,’ said Rue. ‘Anything could happen. The whole school could burn down.’
‘I’ll take him to the old barn,’ said Myrtle, the idea coming to her in that moment.
The old barn was made of stone and had been a shelter in the days of the Dragon War. No one used it for anything now, other than storing unwanted furniture, but it kept its enchantment in its stones, causing it to be fireproof, and invisible to any except those who knew its exact location, or had enough magic to see it.
‘I suppose you’re still hungry,’ said Myrtle, eyeing the dragon who sat up on the barn floor making whining noises.
‘Let’s make you up a bed,’ she looked about at the abandoned bed frames and broken chairs for something to make a den out of. A rolled-up old rug and a pile of sacks caught her eye.
‘Now, stay here, while I find you something to eat.’
The dragon turned round and round and flopped with a sigh onto the nest, as though he were too exhausted to protest. He watched her gravely, his head resting on his forelegs.
She looked back at it, admiring the way its dark blue scales overlapped so beautifully. ‘Be good while I’m gone. You’re safe here.’ It gave a little green puff in reply.
25
A Bad Business. A Good Scheme.
Harriet poked her head round the door of the sitting room where the Sisters gathered in the evening. She looked gingerly about.
‘Don’t worry, it ain’t here,’ said Rue, bending at the fireplace, stirring up the fire, ready to throw on another log. It had turned colder, and the copper fox’s tail had fluffed out considerably larger since Harriet had checked it that morning.
Harriet came in, when satisfied that there was no dragon lurking beneath the furniture. ‘Do you think she’s gone mad?’ she said, sitting near the fire and holding her hands towards the flames to warm them. ‘Bringing a dragon back with her? What a mercy the school is empty, can you imagine how scared the girls would have been?’
‘The whole village has gone mad,’ said Rue. ‘This morning when I was out looking for clues, I met Farmer Mitchell complainin’ there was poachers or trolls stealing game from him. The metalsmith said all his silver’s been took, and he’s sure he saw a darkling dwarf running off with it down the street. The miller won’t work, ‘cause he saw troll tracks round his mill, so there’s no flour to be had, and the butcher’s wife disappeared and were found wandering in circles half way to Langham, saying she was following a fairy to the pool.’
‘You don’t mean to say she was being lured?’ said Harriet, recalling the tales of wicked nixies in the pool near Langham who lured folk to a watery fate. They had been sent away over the border when the bridge had been closed; a reappearance of them was very troubling.
‘But this is dreadful, the bridge must be opening for darklings to be abroad.’ Harriet stared at the flickering flames in the fire, seeing the horrors of nixies and goblins and trolls and dragons. ‘Oh, Rue, what are we to do?’
‘Find the thief and undo all the mischief,’ said Rue, rubbing her forehead vigorously as though trying to think up a solution. ‘I can’t find no clue at all.’
‘I did have one thought…’ began Harriet, recalling the conversation she’d had with Mistress Perry. ‘It seems unlikely, but I can’t stop wondering about it, and I was going to ask you and Myrtle what you thought.’
‘Spit it out, Harriet.’
Harriet flinched at Rue’s coarse expression. Rue saw the look. ‘Pray, do tell, Harriet,’ she said with decorum.
‘I think someone in the village…’ Harriet spoke hesitantly ‘…is concocting a love potion. A strong one. And to make it work…’
‘They’d need magic to activate it,’ completed Rue. Her eyes brightened, and she stopped rubbing her forehead. ‘Who is it?’
Harriet hesitated. ‘It’s only an idea. I don’t know for certain…’
‘Tripe and Tatties on Toast, Harriet, spit it out, things are right desperate!’
‘Master Elftyn,’ Harriet whispered.
‘Have you seen this concoction?’
‘No. But the ingredients for a love potion were taken from the storeroom, and Master Elftyn said something the other day about using his own exertions regarding a marriage proposal, and when he said it, it was the strangest thing, but he looked… not like Master Elftyn.’
‘You mean, not a vain and shallow coxcomb?’
‘Rue! How could you say such a thing of him? Master Elftyn is—'
‘I know what you think of him, but his charm don’t work on me. Now, how can we find out for sure if what you suspect is true? Let’s talk to Myrtle about it.’
‘But she must be in the barn,’ protested Harriet. ‘I saw her take half a side of bacon out earlier.’
‘So, let’s get out to the barn.’ Myrtle jumped up from her chair. ‘Come on.’
Harriet hesitated, squeezing her fingers together tightly. ‘I am very frightened of dragons,’ she said.
‘I don’t care for ‘em either. But so far I’ve only seen it blow smoke.’
Harriet made a little whimper.
‘I’ll get her to come in here,’ said Rue.
An idea struck Harriet, and her face lit up, but Rue had gone.
The scent of coming snow was strong as Rue picked her way through the twilight to the stone barn. If Rue had not known exactly where to look, she would never have found the barn, for the track leading to it had been magicked to lead elsewhere. She ignored the track before her eyes, walking by the light of her lantern and following her senses.
She rapped at the wooden door. ‘It’s me!’ she called out, not wishing to startle Myrtle, or rather, startle a dragon. Who knew what dragons did when startled?
Myrtle appeared at the door, looking a little wild with her black hair tumbling loose from its knitting needle. Her eyes were ink-dark in the shadows.
‘Are you going to stay out here all night?’ Rue asked. ‘You’ll freeze.’
‘I don’t want to leave him alone,’ said Myrtle. ‘I’ve made a bit of a fire. Though, he doesn’t seem to like it, which is odd for a dragon.’
Rue looked over at the corner where a cracked brazier held a sorry fire. The dragon had made a nest out of sacking as far from the fire as he could get. ‘Is that a safe thing to give it for a bed? One little flame…’
‘He doesn’t have any flame. I think he’s too young.’
That made an important difference. Rue felt emboldened enough to step nearer to look at the creature. Myrtle closed the door behind her. In the soft lamplight, as it lay on his back, playing with something between its talons, it looked almost appealing. But then Rue realised what it was it was playing with. A dead mouse. ‘Ugh!’ she said, as it took a little nibble of it before tossing it up in the air again. ‘Revolting.’
‘He is a dragon,’ said Myrtle. ‘Though what kind, I’m not sure.’ She frowned.
‘I s’pose you’re itching to get to the library and look it up?’
‘I am. I need to know what he is, and where he’s come from, and how to get him home again.’
‘Well, you’d best come back to the school and hear what Harriet’s got to say, I think she might have found a clue to the thief.’
‘She has? What is it?’
‘Come and hear for yourself. You can’t stay out here all night, an’ she won’t come out, she’s right scared of that thing. We need to make a plan.’
‘All right, I’ll come. But first, watch this!’ She picked up a piece of kindling and tossed it across the barn; the dragon squealed and pounced on it. It sat up with the stick in its mouth, tossed it in the air, then swallowed it with a few crunches.
‘Am I supposed to be impressed?’ said Rue.
‘Did you see how fast he moved? Did you see how powerful his teeth are?’
Rue stared at her friend. ‘You’ve gone soft over it.’
‘I feel a bond wit
h him. I can’t explain it. It’s very inconvenient, I don’t welcome the responsibility, I assure you.’
‘Come on, let’s go. We’ve got important things to decide.’
’Wait!’ said Myrtle. ‘What’s that noise?’
They froze, listening hard. There was a strange noise outside. Whatever it was, it was not human. It had a metallic ting and rattle to it.
‘You don’t think it’s the Wild Hunt going by, do you?’ Rue whispered, her brown eyes widening. ‘It used to go by at Yuletide.’
‘That was centuries ago,’ whispered back Myrtle. ‘What would bring the Wild Hunt here?’
‘A dragon?’
There was a sharp banging at the door, and both Sisters jumped. The dragon dropped its headless mouse and blew a stream of red smoke from his nostrils.
Rue was about to call out, and ask who was there, but Myrtle put a finger to her lips to silence her. No one knew where they were, save Harriet, and few people knew how to navigate the hidden path. But the dragon let out a half-barking sound and a half-squeal. Whoever, or whatever, it was, they would know someone was inside now!
The door flew open, crashing against the wall behind it. Rue gave a yell – Myrtle rushed to stand in front of the creature, pulling her knife from her reticule and looking as fierce as a mother dragon.
‘Get back!’ Myrtle yelled as a bulky figure in clanking armour came crashing into the barn. A knight come to slay the dragon! How did he know where to find it? Myrtle raised her knife, though it would be no defence against a knightly sword.
But the knight had no sword. Nor shield. And he seemed to have trouble walking. He lurched forwards, gave a little totter, and fell with a jangling crash to the floor. The dragon shrieked, ran back and forth, then leapt into Myrtle’s arms, knocking her to the floor.
Rue found her courage and rushed at the knight, lifting the visor to see who it was who had launched this strange attack.
‘Harriet!’
Harriet groaned. ‘Help me up!’
‘Merciful Mushrooms, Harriet, what are you playing at!’ cried Myrtle, sitting up, her black hair strangely wreathed in red smoke.