The Velvet Fox

by Catherine Fisher

  ‘You did! I saw you!’

  ‘You must have been dreaming. Honestly, Seren, you’re making it up.’

  They were outside the post office, the only shop in the village, waiting for Lady Mair. Through the small panes of the window Seren could see her collecting letters for the house. Lady Mair had suggested a walk through the autumn lanes, just for the three of them, and Seren was glad of it because she had been looking for a chance to get Tomos on his own, away from Mrs Honeybourne, who seemed to be stuck to his side.

  Now she kicked the step, annoyed. ‘Look, I’m not making it up. And, anyway, it’s not only that. When I went into the nursery the carousel was playing, as if you’d wound it up. But the weird thing was, all the figures were missing.’

  She didn’t want to tell him about the sounds she had heard.

  Tomos instantly turned on her. ‘My carousel! You were messing around with that. Again!’

  ‘Tomos, I wasn’t…’

  But it was too late. He took his mother’s arm as she came out of the shop and walked back with her, talking loudly, and Seren was left to trail at the back and kick the leaves.

  Once Lady Mair glanced behind, a little concerned. ‘Are you all right, Seren?’

  ‘Oh yes. I’m fine.’ She gave Tomos a meaningful stare. ‘There’s nothing wrong with me.’

  As soon as they reached the house Tomos ran straight up to the attic and Seren hurtled after him. She found him in the nursery, staring at the mantelpiece in fury.

  ‘I never would have believed you could do this, Seren.’

  The carousel was just like it had been last night. The horses went round but the saddles were empty. Only the golden ball shimmered on top of the striped pole.

  ‘Where are the figures?’ Tomos demanded.

  ‘I don’t know! I told you…’

  ‘Oh, don’t be silly, Seren! Where have you hidden them? Tell me right now or I’ll tell my father about this as soon as he gets back and he’ll…’

  ‘He’ll what?’ she snapped. ‘Send me back to the orphanage? Is that what you want, Tomos?’

  ‘Of course not. But you’ve spoiled my present, and…’

  ‘That’s crazy! I haven’t spoiled anything.’

  ‘You’re crazy,’ Tomos turned away. ‘You’re jealous, Seren, and it’s horrible. And after all my parents have done for you.’

  She couldn’t stand that. She marched downstairs, and snatched up her coat. Mrs Honeybourne came out of the drawing room and watched her, her gloved hands folded.

  ‘Ready for more lessons, Seren dear?’

  Seren didn’t stop. ‘I don’t want your stupid lessons,’ she snapped, and then she was out of the front door and running down the steps and away into the gardens, racing round hedges and through archways, through the little iron gate on to the lawns, rampaging through the fallen leaves, kicking them high in fury and frustration.

  How could Tomos say that to her? Everything seemed to be going wrong these days. And she was getting the blame for it!

  By the time she’d stopped running and had calmed down a bit she was at the lake.

  Breathless, she threw herself on the grassy bank and stared out at the swans and geese as they streamed towards her, hoping for some crumbs.

  ‘I haven’t got any!’ she said, sadly.

  The swans arched their proud necks.

  The lake water was dark; leaves coated its surface. She remembered how she and Tomos had once been underneath it, had beaten their hands against its frozen lid in the snowy underworld of the Tylwyth Teg. The memory made her remember that strange, cold land and its beautiful and deadly Family, and it made her wonder. Could They be behind all this? After all, it had started when Tomos boasted he had beaten Them…

  Instantly she remembered the strange swirling of the leaves, the red coach with the chestnut horses that had driven up the drive just at that moment. How could she have forgotten that?

  She clenched her fists in her pockets.

  What if Mrs Honeybourne was one of Them!

  The more she thought about it the likelier it seemed. And, if it was true, that must mean that the carousel was a magic thing, and Tomos was already under its spell, and the figures on it were alive and loose somewhere in the house right now, up to any amount of mischief…

  ‘SEREN!’ The yell came from behind and she turned, and saw it was Denzil. The small man was striding towards her over the wet grass. She realised it was raining and that she was very wet indeed. How long had she been sitting here?

  She scrambled up.

  ‘You are in such trouble, girl!’ He stopped, hands on hips. His ankle-length coat streamed rain. ‘What on earth is wrong with you? Rude to the teacher. Storming out of the house … messing with the boy’s present…’

  ‘I was a bit rude,’ she said quietly. ‘But I didn’t touch the wretched present.’

  ‘They want you back there. Right now.’ Denzil rubbed his thatch of black hair and took a breath and then said ‘So. What’s wrong, bach? What’s amiss?’

  She wiped rain from her eyes. She said, ‘Denzil…’ and then stopped.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  She had to be sure she was right. Or accusing Mrs Honeybourne would make things worse.

  He frowned, and looked at her shrewdly. ‘When you’re ready to tell me, Seren, I’m waiting to hear. But now, come on. Let’s get in. You’re soaked. Look at your shoes.’

  She looked down; she had come out in her house slippers. Mrs Villiers would have plenty to say about that.

  ‘It’s just that things are a bit strange, Denzil,’ she whispered.

  To her surprise, he nodded. ‘I know.’ He turned and looked back at the windows of Plas-y-Fran. ‘I’ve heard things, in the night. Things I shouldn’t be hearing. Drumbeats. Feet. Soft voices whispering. It worries me. It’s as if They are inside, as if They’ve got into the Plas. We have to be careful, girl.’

  She had to say it. ‘I think it’s the teacher, Denzil. Mrs Honeybourne.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘Indeed? No, Seren. She’s just a kind lady. It can’t be her, but … something’s not right.’ He looked at her: a sharp, meaningful glance. ‘If you have any friends that can help, maybe now might be the time to call on them.’

  Then he turned and walked towards the house.

  Her heart jumped as she hurried after him.

  Did Denzil know about the Clockwork Crow?

  But yes! She would go straight to her room and write the letter, right now.

  But at the house Lady Mair was waiting with Mrs Villiers and Mrs Honeybourne, a row of three faces at the rainy drawing-room window, sad and cross and smiling.

  Seren went in and stood in front of them.

  Her hair dripped.

  Her coat was bedraggled and soaked.

  Clots of mud slid from her shoes on to the carpet.

  ‘Oh, good heavens. What a disaster,’ Mrs Villiers snapped. ‘All that will have to go straight into the laundry.’

  Lady Mair clasped her hands together. Though she tried to look cross, her eyes were sad instead.

  ‘You really must apologise for your rudeness to Mrs Honeybourne, Seren. I’m so disappointed in your behaviour – I can’t believe it of you.’

  Seren swallowed. She turned and faced the governess. Mrs Honeybourne stood by the fire, the flames shimmering on her glossy dress. Her small, gloved hands were folded together. Her frizzy red hair glittered with small silver combs. She smiled and waited.

  Seren said grimly, ‘I’m very sorry for saying the lessons were stupid.’

  ‘And for running out into the rain,’ Mrs Villiers said.

  ‘And for running out into the rain.’

  ‘Ma’am.’

  ‘Ma’am.’ She hoped it sounded contrite. To make sure she looked down at the floor as if she was ashamed.

  Mrs Honeybourne shook her head very sadly, but her voice was cool. ‘Well, it’s dear Tomos you really ought to be apologising to. What have you d
one with the figures from his carousel?’

  ‘I haven’t got them.’ Seren looked up, straight at Lady Mair.

  ‘Oh, Seren…’

  ‘Honestly. It’s the truth! I don’t know where they are.’

  Mrs Honeybourne gave a small sigh. ‘Such a shame, to be so obdurate.’

  ‘It’s a disgrace.’ Mrs Villiers was frowning. ‘Maybe bread and water for supper might help you remember, you silly girl.’ She turned to Lady Mair. ‘Don’t you think?’

  ‘Well … if you think that’s best.’

  ‘I do. Straight to bed, my girl.’

  Seren walked to the door, her back very straight. But it wasn’t fair she should get the blame, so at the last minute she turned and said to Lady Mair. ‘All right. I’ll tell you but you won’t like it. Tomos must have done it. He was walking in his sleep and I saw him.’

  Lady Mair stared, but immediately Mrs Honeybourne cried out, ‘Oh, what a wicked thing to say! Blaming dear Tomos! We all know that’s impossible.’

  Lady Mair looked even more upset. She shook her head but, before Seren could say another word, Mrs Villiers pushed her out and marched behind her up the stairs, telling her off all the way.

  In her bedroom Seren took off her soaked dress and wiped her hair with a towel. Mrs Villiers bundled the dress up. ‘You’d better just sit and think about what you’ve got here, Seren. And whether or not you deserve it. I would never have thought it of you, I really have to say.’

  Before Seren could answer, the door slammed and she was gone.

  For a moment Seren sat, cold and shivery in her white petticoat. She felt as if she had been dragged through a hedge, as if her skin and hair, her very heart, were all prickled and torn. It was horrible. But she had a plan.

  She put on her old blue dress, then pulled the Treasure Tin out from under her pillow and took the lid off. Everything was there. She touched the red-bead bracelet, sadly. Then she looked for the feather the Crow had given her. For a moment she had a tiny fear that it would be gone, but no, here it was, as tatty and black as before.

  She smoothed the barbs out, found her penknife and sharpened the feather into a quill that looked like the nib of a pen. Carefully, she made a tiny split in it.

  Then she took it to her table by the window, unscrewed the lid of the ink bottle and dipped the black nib in. It held a tiny blob of ink.

  The only paper she had was a sheet torn out of her schoolbook – that would cause more trouble for sure, but she didn’t have time to think about it now.

  She started to write.

  DEAR CLOCKWORK CROW

  I hope you are well.

  Listen. I need you to come back to Plas-y-Fran, right now. You said to write if I was in trouble. Well, I am. There is something wrong in the house. It’s a magical toy. The governess brought it with her, and I think she is one of Them…

  She stopped, the black quill poised over the paper.

  Had that been a tiny creak of the floorboards outside? She put the feather pen down, tiptoed to the door and peered out, but the corridor looked empty, its pictures and cabinets of china all shadowy in the dimness.

  She came back in. It was getting late. The room was almost dark now and there was no fire, so she couldn’t light her candle. She dipped the feather in again – it was scratchy and hard to write with; the letters were distorted and there were lots of tiny blots and spatters.

  ‘Wretched thing,’ she muttered. But she finished the letter.

  She is after Tomos and she wants to get me in trouble and maybe get rid of me and it is working because Mrs V and Lady Mair all think I am to blame. Please come soon.

  Yours sinserely

  Your friend

  Seren Rhys

  PS. I miss you.

  She blotted the paper and folded it neatly. Then she frowned, and sudden dismay came over her. What should she do with it now?

  She didn’t have any address to send it to!

  The thought made her so miserable that she almost missed the small rattle of a tiny stone against the glass of her window. Then it came again.

  She hurried over and opened the casement.

  A figure stood below on the gravel. She could hardly see him in the dusky twilight.

  ‘Sorry you’ve been sent to bed,’ he whispered.

  ‘Oh Gwyn!’ She was glad it was him.

  ‘Did you really break the present?’

  ‘Of course I didn’t. Gwyn, listen, I need you to do something. I need to post a letter and I don’t want anyone else to see it. Especially the governess!’

  ‘That’s all right. Throw it down then.’

  She turned and picked up the piece of paper, her mind racing. Hadn’t the Crow’s brother Enoch said something about taking him to see a magician in York, to try and unspell him? So maybe if she just put:

  Mr Enoch,

  York,

  England,

  it might get there.

  ‘Drop it down!’ Gwyn’s voice said. ‘Be quick.’

  Seren addressed the letter and sealed it. She leaned out of the window with it and held it out, and just at that moment, a sudden gust of wind came from nowhere and snatched the letter from her fingers. ‘No!’ she cried, but it was too late; the wind lifted the frail piece of paper and sent it soaring high against the stars, up over the gardens like a huge pale moth.

  ‘Get it! Oh, Gwyn! Catch it!’

  He was already running, but the letter did not come down. It was over the lake now, above the tops of the trees.

  Then she couldn’t see it anymore.

  It had vanished into the autumn night.

  ‘What are you doing hanging out of that window?’

  She turned quickly. Mrs Honeybourne stood in the doorway, with a tea tray.

  Seren scrambled in at once, but the governess was already in the room; she came to the table and put the tray on it, and before Seren could even breathe she had picked up the Clockwork Crow’s quill.

  Her small, gloved fingers closed tight around it. ‘Oh dear. What a very poor pen that is. I’m sure I can find you a much better one than that.’

  Furious, Seren faced her over the tea tray, with its cup of water and plate of bread and butter.

  ‘I know who you are,’ she hissed. ‘I know where you come from. And you won’t get Tomos again if I have anything to do with it!’

  Mrs Honeybourne turned to the door. She had never looked so satisfied. Her hair was a crackle of russet. Her scent, that odd rankness, lingered in the room. She tipped her head on one side and said, ‘Oh poor, dear Seren. It’s so sad. You see, nobody believes anything you say! Lady Mair is writing to the captain right at this moment to tell him all about you. So naughty. So ungrateful. So rebellious.’

  ‘You won’t win,’ Seren snapped. ‘I’ll make sure of that!’

  ‘But if they send you away, what can you do?’

  ‘They won’t send me away.’

  ‘Are you sure of that?’

  ‘They like me better than that. Tomos is my friend.’

  ‘Ah, dear Tomos. But he loves the carousel so much. The sound of it is like magic for him. He won’t forgive you for breaking it.’

  ‘You know I didn’t break it. And it’s just a toy.’

  Mrs Honeybourne went to the door. Her smile was the sugariest thing Seren had ever seen. She said, ‘Not just a toy, Seren. We’re here in the house now and We’reonly just getting started. The Drummer and the Dancer and the Juggler. Not to mention the Velvet Fox. We’re all here and we are going to have such fun and cause you so much trouble! Because Plas-y-Fran and all the people in it are ours now.’

  She snapped the Crow’s quill in her fingers so that it bent in half, and then she tore off the barbs and shoved the broken thing into the pocket of her glossy gown.

  ‘And you won’t be able to do anything about it. Anything at all.’

  She went out and closed the door. The last thing Seren saw was her hateful smile.

  Then a key was turned in the keyhole outsid
e.

  A key! There had never been a key!

  Seren grabbed the handle and wrenched at it but the door didn’t move. She was locked in!

  ‘Let me out,’ she screamed. She kicked at the door. ‘Let me out right now!’

  But all she heard were footsteps going away.

  And, far off, somewhere downstairs, a soft drum began to patter.

  5

  A velvety laugh

  Pots and pans spatter and crash.

  And what demon’s in the ash?

  Seren couldn’t sleep.

  She tossed and turned. She threw the blankets off and stared up at the ceiling.

  Everything was bad. For one thing, the Crow’s letter was lost, unless Gwyn could find it, and now she had no way of writing another. Could she use an ordinary pen?

  No, that wouldn’t work. The magic had been in the Crow’s feather and the feather was gone.

  She turned over and curled up. She was hungry, because bread and water didn’t go very far. She was cold with no fire and no candle. But, more than that, she was very, very angry.

  And there were noises. The drumming hadn’t stopped. It was low, so that she barely heard it, but it was there all the time, like a mockery, and sometimes there was a creak of boards and sometimes, just outside her door, a whisper.

  She gritted her teeth and told herself to sleep, but it was no use.