by Nina Clare
The lady listened, then withdrew her hand in a modest manner and, at last, she spoke.
‘I am very much astonished, Master Elftyn. This to me! You forget yourself – you take me for my friend– any message to Maid Smith I shall be happy to deliver; but no more to this to me, if you please!’
Master Elftyn was all amazement. ‘Maid Smith! Maid Smith!’ This was some error, some jest, some feminine ploy, and most earnestly did he resume the subject of his own passion, and was very urgent for a favourable answer. But no favourable answer was given.
He was vexed. He was angry. He was confused. Why had the magic failed? Why had this young woman, sitting in icy pose across from him, avoiding his eye and clearly wishing him gone from her, why had she shown him so much encouragement only to confound him with such behaviour? Why did she harbour the delusion that he had been playing court to Maid Smith these many weeks?
He felt somewhat dazed as the carriage came to a halt, and the door was pulled open by the coachman.
He could not say one word of parting, he was too astonished.
‘Good night,’ the lady said, her tone as cold as snow from the depth of the carriage.
‘Good night,’ he replied, summoning up some vestige of pride. ‘Wait,’ he said, before the carriage door closed; his befuddled mind grasped for some reason, some explanation.
‘Yes?’
‘The wassail cup I brought to you. Did you drink it?’
‘What a singular question.’ Surprise tinged the crispness of her voice. The carriage creaked into motion. ‘I do not care for mead,’ were the lady’s parting words. ‘I never drink it.’
The carriage moved on, and he watched it go, as snowflakes pattered down softly on his new velvet cloak.
The three Sisters picked their way down the broadway in the dark, their forgetfulness cloaks raised up, and their firefly lanterns covered. The cold did not surprise them, for the copper fox had promised snow. They turned down Green Lane, removing the covers from the lanterns just in time to startle away a pair of imps who were plotting to trip them up in the dark.
There was only one lamplight glowing from Master Elftyn’s cottage, and it came from the kitchen, where likely the brownie was at work. They had agreed that Harriet would do the talking; there was something about Harriet’s sweet manner and soft blue eyes that the fae liked. She got teased less than most people.
‘Midwinter greetings,’ said Harriet, when she had rapped the swan-shaped door knocker, and the door had opened a few inches. ‘We come on Godmothering business. We have reason to think that someone may have hidden an object of stolen magic within your house. Perhaps you have noticed something amiss? Perhaps you have come across something in your work?’
The door did not move, and no sound was made. Harriet looked round at Rue and Myrtle for aid, wondering what else she could say to persuade the brownie to let them in, but they had no suggestions. The three Sisters stood on the doorstep, the door remained almost closed, and Harriet was desperately trying to think of something that would engage a brownie’s assistance.
‘I hear this is the best-kept cottage in all of Highbury,’ she said. ‘How many times I have walked by and admired the pretty curtains at the window and the shiny door knocker. It would be too dreadful to see such a well-kept house ruined by the Wild Man pulling it apart, searching for stolen magic.’
The door opened a few inches more.
‘Good thinking, Harriet,’ whispered Rue.
‘If we could but come in and search ever so carefully for the magic. We would not leave one tiny bit of mess behind us, no one would know we had even been here. And there would be no angry Wild Man come to ransack the house.’
The door opened wide enough to admit entry, and the Sisters filed in, taking care to wipe their boots on the mat.
‘I’ll search in here,’ said Rue, moving to the parlour.
‘I’ll search the housekeeper’s room,’ said Myrtle.
‘I’ll go upstairs,’ said Harriet, feeling awkward, for no visitor would ever go upstairs. She reminded herself that she was not a visitor, she was on important Godmothering business. So up the stairs she went.
The brownie was at the top of stairs. She gestured to Harriet to follow, then pointed at a door. Harriet pushed it open to find herself in Master Elftyn’s bedchamber. It felt rather transgressive to be standing in his most private of spaces. There was the bed he lay down on every night, with its patchwork coverlet. There was his washstand, his shaving implements, his comb, his shelf full of grooming treatments. He used a surprising number of those.
There was his little dressing room, adjoining the bedroom. Three discarded cravats lay on the back of a chair, as though he had tried several on before being satisfied with his appearance. She was surprised by the size of his mirror; it was as large as the one she had seen in Anne Cox’s dressing room.
She found a few dried chamomile petals beneath the tall boy, and there was a trace of a smell of speedwell lingering in the air. Was this where he had mixed up his love powder?
She looked carefully through the tallboy, even pulling out the drawers to check for hidden compartments. She went through the clothes chest, blushing at sorting through the linen shorts and silk stockings.
She rolled back the rug on the floor to check every board for loose ones. She felt the lining of the curtains, the pillowcases, the eiderdown – but there was nothing.
Heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs, and Rue appeared in the doorway. ‘Found anything?’
Harriet shook her head. ‘I’ve searched everywhere. I don’t understand, for I’m sure the brownie said there was something in here.’
Myrtle came in. ‘I’ve been through everything,’ she said.
‘Me too,’ said Rue. She sat down on the clothes chest, looking about the room. ‘Did you check under the mattress?’
‘No,’ said Harriet. ‘Help me lift it, Rue.’
Rue’s sturdy arms lifted it easily, and Harriet dove under it. ‘I’ve got something!’ came her muffled voice, she pulled out a book. Myrtle plucked it from her.
‘Spells for Spinsters, Charms for Bachelors: how to secure a spouse in nine easy steps. Well, this is evidence!’
‘But it ain’t a wand,’ said Rue. ‘Is there nothing else under there? Feel the bottom of the mattress.’
Myrtle pulled her knitting needle from her hair and poked at the underside of the mattress. There was a dull thunk as her wand struck something.
‘There is something inside it!’ Harriet cried. She put her hand into a loose seam, rummaged about and withdrew a long iron box.
‘Ha!’ cried Rue, dropping the mattress in triumph. ‘He hid it in iron, so the magic wouldn’t be sensed, the sneaky toady, but we found him out!’
Harriet undid the catch and flung back the lid.
‘Oh,’ said Harriet.
‘Empty,’ said Myrtle.
Rue snatched the box, turned it upside down and shook it, not quite believing that there was no wand inside.
‘Perhaps he took it with him,’ suggested Myrtle.
‘Or p’raps the brownie got it wrong,’ said Rue.
‘Perhaps he’s not a thief,’ said Harriet.
‘He is,’ insisted Myrtle, tapping the book.
‘What’s that noise?’ said Harriet.
Rue was nearest to the window overlooking the front garden. She lifted a corner of the closed curtains. ‘Blasted Bullfrogs! It’s him!’
Harriet rushed to her side to peek out.
‘I thought you said he wouldn’t be home before eleven?’ said Rue.
‘He’s early,’ gasped Harriet, seeing the carriage door open, and Master Elftyn alighting in a handsome black cloak with snowflakes dusting his head and shoulders. ‘They must have broken up the party early because of the weather.’
‘We’ve got to get out without him seeing us,’ said Rue.
‘Is there a back door in the kitchen?’ asked Myrtle.
‘No,’ said Harriet. ‘There�
�s only the front door.’
‘Merciful Mushrooms, we’re in for it now,’ said Rue. ‘Let’s just brazen it out.’ She dropped the curtain and squared her shoulders.
‘Oh, Rue, what are you going to say?’ Harriet looked terrified. But Rue had left the room, clunked down the steps, and stepped out into the garden.
Master Elftyn did not immediately notice the young woman stood on his porch. His head was bent dejectedly, his shoulders hunched, and he slammed the garden gate shut with a show of temper. He made a ‘Waaahh!’ of fright when Rue stepped into his path.
‘Who are you?’ he cried, moving back a step. Then he peered again into the shadows. ‘Are you mortal?’
Rue took advantage of this confusion, and swirled her cloak about her in a dramatic manner, saying in her best voice, the one she used for queens in storytelling with the schoolchildren, ‘I have come on behalf of the offended, to take back what you have stolen. Return the wand or suffer a fulsome, foulsome fate from the Court of Faerie!’
Master Elftyn made an odd strangled sound and staggered back another step. ‘How did you know? Who told you?’ He pulled something out from beneath his cloak and held it out.
‘The wand!’ cried Rue, dropping her queen’s voice and dashing forward to snatch up the slender wand.
The door behind her opened, and a gleam of light illuminated her.
‘You’re no Faerie servant!’ he sputtered, now that she was close enough for him to see by the light from the doorway. ‘You’re one of those Godmother girls from the school!’
Myrtle came to stand beside Rue, and Harriet lingered behind them, as though to hide, but she hid in vain.
‘You!’ cried Master Elftyn, pointing at Harriet. ‘Why, you traitorous little – you were supposed to help me! What kind of useless Godmother are you?’
‘I’m sorry,’ Harriet whimpered. ‘But why did you do it, Master Elftyn? I never would have believed you could steal.’
‘Do what? Get out of my garden! What are you doing in my house? I’ll get the authorities onto you! I’ll have you thrown out of Highbury, you meddling little—!’
‘You’ll be the one thrown out of Highbury,’ said Myrtle. ‘For stealing magic.’
Master Elftyn drew himself up and glared at her. ‘I did not steal it.’
‘Oh, you just borrowed it, I s’pose,’ said Rue.
‘I recovered it.’
‘From where?’ demanded Rue.
‘From whom?’ said Myrtle.
Master Elftyn hesitated. ‘I cannot say. But I was going to return it.’
‘When?’ said Myrtle. ‘When you’d finished endangering all of Highbury just to satisfy your own ambition?’
‘I was going to return it in the morning. I’ve only had it one day.’
Rue snorted in disbelief.
‘Did it work, Master Elftyn?’ Harriet said. ‘It is very bad to make someone marry you.’
‘No, it did not work,’ snapped the disappointed man. ‘No more than your useless schemes did. I’m done with matchmaking and magic nonsense. I’m going to get myself a wife the sensible way. Now take that wand and get out of my garden!’
‘I’ve a mind to tell the Wild Man what you’ve done, if you don’t tell us who you got this from,’ Rue said, holding up the wand.
‘Rue, take care,’ Harriet begged ‘Don’t wave it about, you might activate it.’
But Rue ignored Harriet and looked to Myrtle. ‘Have you got a rhyme for extracting the truth?’
‘I’m sure I can think of one.’
‘You mustn’t make any new spells!’ cried Harriet.
‘We’ve got to know if he’s the thief,’ Rue said, still holding the wand aloft.
‘I tell you I recovered it,’ said Master Elftyn, edging towards his front door, away from the wand. ‘I did a good deed. I did not steal it, and you cannot even prove that I ever had it. It’s your word against mine, and no one will believe a gaggle of silly schoolgirls over a respectable man like me!’
‘Do it, Myrtle.’ Rue handed her the wand. ‘He called us a gaggle of schoolgirls.’
‘He called us silly.’ Myrtle narrowed her eyes and raised the wand.
‘Answer true, lies begone, was it you, who stole the wand?’
The wand was activated, and a shower of tiny sparks flashed in the darkness. Master Elfytn ducked out of the way, but the sparks settled on his head, and the snowflakes on his dark hair glowed like a fairy crown. His mouth scrunched up and his face contorted as though he were trying to keep back the answer to the be-spelled question, but out popped the answer against his will.
‘I did not steal it.’
Rue and Myrtle looked at each other in surprise.
‘Well, who did?’ Rue demanded. ‘Go on, Myrtle, blast him again.’
‘Answer true, lies begone, tell us who did steal the wand!’
Another soft cloud of sparkles fell on Master Elftyn. His mouth scrunched up again, his face contorted, his lips opened to speak, but no sound came out.
‘Why ain’t he speaking?’ Rue said.
‘He can’t say it,’ said Myrtle. ‘He can’t answer the question.’
‘But he has to. It’s a be-spelled question.’
‘Has someone bound you to secrecy?’ Myrtle demanded. ‘The wand thief – did they put a binding spell on you?’
Master Elftyn nodded, still unable to speak for the moment.
‘Do you know any spells for unbinding a bind of secrecy?’ Rue asked her fellow Sisters.
Harriet shook her head.
‘Mother Goodword never taught us any,’ said Myrtle. ‘It’s advanced work.’
‘Blasted Bullfrogs and Blundering Bearcubs,’ said Rue. ‘We’re flummoxed.’
The magic faded from Master Elftyn’s head and his voice now returned. He had gained his doorstep and glared round at them.
‘Now I bid you all to leave my property before I call the authorities and report you for trespassing, impudence and treachery.’ The last word of insult was cast at Harriet.
‘Let’s go,’ Myrtle said. ‘It’s freezing out here. We’ve got what we came for.’
‘You ain’t heard the last of this!’ Rue could not resist saying in parting as she swept out of the garden gate.
Harriet cast a sorrowful glance at her failed ward as she left. He glared at her in return.
27
A Series of Strange Blunders
The Sisters spent the rest of the night planning what to do next.
‘We’ve got to undo our bad spells,’ said Rue.
‘No,’ said Myrtle, ‘you have to undo your bad spells. Put that chestnut sprite back to normal.’
‘And Elizabeth Martin’s cow,’ added Harriet, who’d been upset to hear of the little Welch cow turning blue, for she had grown very fond of it over the summer. She’d even had the privilege of naming it.
‘Are you sure there was nothing or nobody else you meddled with?’ Myrtle asked.
‘What do you think I am, a walking disaster?’ Rue said, her brown eyes flashing with irritation.
Myrtle and Harriet shared a look.
‘We’ve all made mistakes,’ Rue said defensively. ‘It’s not just me. Harriet swapped her perfectly good ward for a sneaking, thieving rascal, and you had the nut blunder, not to mention bringing home a fire-breathing worm.’
‘He is not a fire-breathing worm,’ said Myrtle. ‘And as for the nut incident—'
‘Please don’t argue,’ begged Harriet. ‘Don’t get angry, Rue, I can’t bear it.’
Harriet, while relieved to get the wand back, was still feeling miserable over the matchmaking failure of Master Elftyn, and wondering what Mistress Woodhouse would say about it all.
‘Harriet’s right,’ said Rue, her anger melting as quickly as it sparked up. ‘We’ve all blundered, we’re in this together. I’ll put right the sprite and the cow, and lock up the wand where it ought to be, and everything should settle back down.’
Myrtle nodded. ‘Agreed. And I’
ll figure out what to do about the dragon.’
Rue’s mood changed. ‘What are we sitting about looking so glum for?’ she cried. ‘We’ve got the wand back, and it’s Midwinter Eve – we should be celebrating!’ She jumped up. ‘I’m going to see what Busie has made. Hope there’s gingerbread!’
Rue bounded out to raid the pantry, but Harriet only sighed. ‘I’m so glad and so very relieved about the wand,’ she said to Myrtle, ‘but we still have to finish our matchmaking assignments, and I’ve made such a mess of mine. Things are not quite right yet.’
‘No,’ agreed Myrtle. ‘Rue has no clue as to Elizabeth Martin’s match, you’ve got to start all over again with Master Knightley, and I suspect that the bailiff’s boy is the one for my ward, but I don’t know how I’m supposed to bring about a proposal when his mother is so against it.’
‘And you’ve got the problem of the dragon,’ Harriet reminded her.
‘And I’ve got the problem of the dragon. Who’s getting restless cooped up in the barn. He nearly escaped earlier, I caught him just in time.’
‘How did he nearly escape?’ Harriet’s eyes widened at the thought of a dragon wandering around Highbury.
‘Through some loose tiles on the roof. He must have flown up to the rafters. I secured his chain to an old bed frame, but he chewed through the wood. I caught him with his head poking out by the chimney. I could do with Master Martin coming round to fix the tiles.’
Harriet felt the usual lurch at the mention of Master Martin. ‘I don’t think he will ever come here again.’
‘Why not? He’s been coming here for years.’
Harriet could not bear to speak of the proposal and her refusal. ‘We had a bit of a disagreement over something,’ she said in a small voice.
‘I hope you make it up. This place will fall apart without him.’
Harriet gulped and changed the subject. ‘You must wish you’d never brought the dragon here. It’s such a worry.’
‘Yes, and no. It’s a worry I could do without. And yet… it’s as though there’s some bond between us. I can’t explain it, and I don’t understand it. I’ve gone through all the books on dragons in the library, but I can’t find out what kind of creature it is.’ She frowned, staring into the fire. ‘I wish Mother Goodword would come back,’ she mused. ‘I don’t know who else to ask advice from.’