by Natasha Lowe
The woman in the purple dress leaned over and kissed Lord Hepworth on his cheek. “My husband is a happy man.”
Lord Hepworth patted the boy beside him. “Ivan, too. He’s on his third helping. Gathering strength for his jousting match, eh!”
Della noticed the boy subtly roll his eyes, as if he wasn’t too keen on the idea of jousting.
“You’re new here, Mrs. Chambers tells me,” Lady Hepworth inquired.
“I—I arrived yesterday,” Della said, trying not to look at the floor.
“Give the girl an extra halfpenny, Mrs. Chambers,” the lord shouted out. “You don’t want to lose her.”
There was a great deal of cheering from the guests at this, and Della wondered how much ale they had consumed. Far too much for eight o’clock in the morning, she decided.
“Very good, my lord,” Mrs. Chambers said.
He dismissed them with a wave of his hand, holding up his cup for more ale.
“And tonight, my friends, you are in for a treat,” Lord Hepworth bellowed down the table. “Tom Foolery will be here to amaze and delight.”
“Tom Foolery.” Della stopped and glanced back.
“He’s the castle jester.” Mrs. Chambers gave an indulgent giggle. “Cheers you up when you’re full of the miseries.”
And steals your only way home, Della thought. Forcing herself to smile, she said, “I can’t wait to meet him.”
Chapter Twelve
A Bold-Faced Lie
DELLA SPENT THE REST OF the day taking orders from Mrs. Chambers and trying to keep an eye out for Tom Foolery. He had taken over from Gwyneth (the witch from Little Shamlington) as the main topic of conversation.
“He’s so funny,” one of the maids said.
“And clever,” another replied. “Do you remember when he made that apple roll down the table without touching it and pulled a ribbon out of Master Ivan’s mouth?”
“I laugh every time I hear his bells coming,” Mrs. Chambers said.
The kitchen door opened, and one of the stable boys rushed in. “Lord Hepworth isn’t too happy. Master Ivan just got knocked off his horse. Again.”
“They’re holding a big jousting tournament here next week,” Mrs. Chambers explained. “And Master Ivan is entering. He’s meant to bring honor on the Hepworth name, but judging from what I’ve seen so far, that is not going to happen.”
“Good thing Tom Foolery is back tonight,” Myrtle said, chopping up a turnip. “His lordship’s going to need some cheering up.”
“What time is he getting back?” Della asked.
“You’ll know when you hear his bells,” Mrs. Chambers replied, smiling.
* * *
It couldn’t be soon enough, Della thought, feeling more and more desperate to get back home. She had discovered that the castle toilet consisted of a bench with a hole in the middle. Down below was the moat, and the smell from this chamber was so disgusting that Della had been forced to put a lavender-scented spell on the room; otherwise it was literally impossible to breathe in there. This was clearly a great improvement, because Lady Hepworth had actually come out smiling.
But Della couldn’t perfume the entire castle, and when the stench in the kitchen got to be too much, she slipped outside for some fresh air, usually heading for the stables. This was her favorite place, because she could check to make sure her beech branch was still there, and the grassy, animal smells of hay and horses were a welcome relief after the castle.
On one of her trips Della was leaning over a stall door, stroking the muzzle of a reddish-brown horse, when she caught sight of Ivan, sitting on a hay bale in the corner. He was whittling away at a small piece of wood that looked to be in the shape of an animal, only this time he didn’t seem so cheerful.
“Hello again,” Della said, realizing she felt slightly annoyed with him. “You didn’t tell me you were Lord Hepworth’s son.”
He glanced up at her. “I try not to think about it if I can help it.”
“I would never have called him scary if I’d known.”
Ivan kept on whittling. “Well, he can be scary.”
“Sorry about your jousting match,” Della said. “I hope you didn’t hurt yourself.”
“It wasn’t a proper match. More of a lesson, and no, I didn’t hurt myself. I think it pains my father more than me when I fall off.” Ivan sighed rather deeply. “I hate jousting.”
“Then why do you do it?” Della asked, kissing the velvety muzzle of the horse.
“Because I have to. Family honor. My father’s hosting a tournament here, and I’m expected not to disgrace myself. There’s no chance I’ll win, but he’s going to be so ashamed if I get knocked out in the first round. Which will happen,” Ivan added with another deep sigh.
“Can’t you tell him you don’t want to enter? He seems much nicer than I was expecting. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”
“Oh, he would. You have no idea. The man can be terrifying.”
“Sounds like Ms. Cray,” Della murmured, thinking of her headmistress. She pointed at the carving in Ivan’s hands. “Is that a horse?”
“It’s Chestnut, my steed.” Ivan held up a perfectly sculptured miniature horse.
“How do you do that?”
“I don’t know.” Ivan shrugged. “I’m just good with my hands. How do you make pheasant stew taste so good?”
For a moment Della wondered what would happen if she said “magic.” Not that she would risk it. But Ivan seemed so nice and understanding, it was hard to believe he would have her locked up. “We both have our skills,” Della said.
“Except according to my father, wood carving is peasants’ work. And not what a lord’s son should be doing.”
“And what does your mother say?”
“I don’t think she minds as much, but she would never voice that opinion to my father.”
“Oh.” Della sounded surprised. “Well, good luck with the jousting.” She gave Chestnut another kiss. “I’d better go. I don’t want to get into trouble with Mrs. Chambers.”
“Wait.” Ivan stood up. “It’s been nice talking to you. You seem”—he hesitated a moment—“different from other girls. And I don’t mean that disrespectfully,” he added.
Della laughed a little wistfully. “I feel different,” she agreed. “You’re not wrong there.” A faint sound of bells drifted into the stables. “Hey, do you hear that?” Della cried. “Is it bells?”
“Sounds like Tom Foolery has returned.”
“Oh goodness. I must go.”
“Can we take a walk on the morrow?”
“I’m not sure your father would want you walking with a kitchen maid. And I don’t even know if I’m going to be here, Ivan. I might have to go home at short notice.”
“Is someone in your family sick?” Ivan asked, looking worried.
“Not sick, but there is a family crisis going on,” Della said, which felt close enough to the truth. She gave Ivan a wave and, with her heart beating like a trapped bird, hurried out of the barn, anxious to find Tom Foolery.
Della followed the sound of bells, which led her straight back into the kitchen. And there was Tom Foolery, eating a piece of bread and honey, surrounded by a crowd of workers. He licked his sticky fingers and gave a deep bow in front of Mrs. Chambers. “That was delicious, madam.” Straightening up with a jingle, Tom Foolery pulled a little bouquet of pansies out of Mrs. Chambers’s ear. She slapped her chest and roared with laughter.
“Oh, you are too much, Tom. That is clever.”
“And shouldn’t this fish be cooking for the lord’s supper?” Tom said, reaching into Myrtle’s apron pocket and tugging out a trout by the tail.
“Oh my goodness,” Myrtle gasped. “How did that get in there?”
“It is good to have you home,” Mrs. Chambers chuckled. “I bet you cheered up his lordship’s cousin.”
Tom Foolery gave a proud smile. “When I pulled a rabbit from under his nightcap, he laughed so hard he almost fell out of be
d!”
“I bet he did,” Mrs. Chambers agreed.
“And now, if you’ll excuse me, I must head to my chamber to rest before entertaining Lord Hepworth’s guests.”
Managing to catch the jester’s gaze, Della saw a flash of recognition in his eyes. He quickly dropped to the ground and turned a series of somersaults across the room, clearly wanting to escape. Della rushed after him, her panic overriding the fear of confronting him.
“Tom Foolery, please wait,” Della called out. “It’s nice to see you again.”
Turning around, the jester hesitated a moment, acting as if he had only just noticed her. “Ahh, it’s the girl from the woods.”
Della swallowed, relieved he at least acknowledged her. “You were so kind to my friend that day, cheering her up.”
Tom Foolery made a sad face and mimicked tears streaming down his cheeks.
“Yes, she was very upset,” Della agreed. “But you made her feel so much better.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” Tom Foolery said, narrowing his eyes at Della. “What are you here for, I wonder?”
“Mrs. Chambers gave me a job. I—I’m working here now.” Della could feel her heart throbbing, and her mouth had gone dry. “Do you think you might give me back my necklace?” she said. “I know you didn’t mean to, but you forgot to return it. And… and… it’s very special to me. I can’t go home without it.” Della could see Mrs. Chambers giving her a strange look. “I would get into a lot of trouble.”
Tom Foolery cocked his head to one side. “A necklace, you say.” He gave an elaborate shrug. “I don’t remember.”
“You must remember.” Della could hear the wobble in her voice. “Please just give it back.”
“Oh, but I would if I could,” Tom Foolery said, turning his pockets inside out. “Empty, empty, as you can see.” He waved his hands over them and then, reaching back inside, pulled out an onion from each one.
“Well, I never!” Mrs. Chambers shrieked in amazement. “How in the world? You are clever!”
The jester grinned and tossed the onions to Mrs. Chambers.
“Please,” Della begged. “It couldn’t have fallen off. I know you took it.”
“He’s not a thief. Now that’s enough,” Mrs. Chambers broke in, putting an end to the conversation.
Tom Foolery held Della’s gaze steady for a few seconds, as if challenging her to disagree. He seemed about to say something, then just as quickly changed his mind and pranced out of the room. Della sank down on a stool. She covered her face with her hands, terrified to think about what any of this meant. That she might never see her family again, or her friends, or go to school, or stop in at Poppy’s bakery for a cupcake… But she had to think about it, because the necklace was gone. And unless a miracle occurred, she was going to be stuck here, in the smelly, witch-hating thirteenth century for the rest of her life.
Chapter Thirteen
Della Explores
ENOUGH MOPING,” MRS. CHAMBERS ADMONISHED. Della stood at the table beside her, attempting to pluck a chicken. “You look like the world is about to end.”
“That’s how I feel,” Della said, thinking that pulling feathers out of a chicken was one of the worst jobs she had ever done.
“Oh now, stop this. I’m sure your family will understand about the necklace. If it was such a treasure, they shouldn’t have let you wear it.”
“They didn’t. I took it without asking. You have no idea how much trouble I’m in, Mrs. Chambers.”
“I dare say it’s not as bad as you believe,” Mrs. Chambers said, tossing chicken parts into a bowl of sour milk.
“Yes it is. I can promise you.” After a few more feeble plucks Della said, “You don’t know anyone else called Della Dupree, do you, Mrs. Chambers? She’s a sort of relative of mine. I was named after her, and I’m trying to find her.”
“No, I can’t say I do.” Mrs. Chambers shook her head. “Is this Della going to get you out of trouble?”
“I’m hoping she might if I can ever track her down.” Della sighed. “I thought she was supposed to live near here.”
“Well, I’ll ask around. There are folks from all over at the castle. Someone may know of her.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Chambers. I really appreciate it.”
The rest of the afternoon passed in a fog, with Della growing more and more anxious. The thought of being stuck here was so distressing that she stopped paying attention to the pile of carrots she was chopping and sliced her finger instead.
“Ouch!” Della winced as blood dripped onto the table.
“Stupid child,” Mrs. Chambers barked. “Watch what you’re doing.”
“Wrap this around,” Myrtle said, throwing Della a piece of dirty cloth. “It will stanch the bleeding.”
“I—I have to clean it,” Della cried, holding up her finger and rushing outside to the well. Except what was the point of cleaning it and then wrapping a dirty cloth around the wound? She would probably end up with blood poisoning anyway. Stumbling behind the stables so she wouldn’t be seen, Della took out her beech wand and in a shaky voice whispered a healing spell, waving the stick over her cut. She still wasn’t used to the powerful tingling that rushed up her arm whenever she used it. But the spell worked the way it was meant to, and Della watched in satisfaction as the wound on her finger closed up. She wiped the blood away and then tied the cloth around where the cut had been, not wanting to draw attention to the fact that her finger had miraculously healed.
By the time Della unrolled her rush mat, she had never felt so alone and unhappy in her life. She could hear the scratching of rats as they sniffed about the floor, helping themselves to scraps. Della tucked herself up in a tight ball, terrified that one of them would start nibbling her toes. Her throat grew tight, and she dug her nails into her palms, trying not to cry. Because once she began, Della worried she wouldn’t be able to stop. This must be how Katrin had felt when she started at Ruthersfield, missing her home in Iceland with no one being very nice to her.
“Full moon,” someone murmured from across the room. “Witches will be out tonight, hexing the crops, turning the milk sour, riding the salmon up the river.”
Della let out a choking laugh. That was such a ridiculous thing to say. Witches just liked full moons because it was easier to fly at night. These people didn’t know the first thing about being a witch, Della realized, any more than Melanie knew the first thing about being from Iceland. In fact none of the girls had bothered to ask Katrin what her home was actually like. She must have felt so sad and misunderstood, and Della wished she’d been more of a friend.
“Witches are no joking matter,” another voice whispered through the gloom. “My mother’s cousin’s uncle saw one with his own eyes, sitting on a giant mushroom in the forest, casting her evil spells. Chased her with a stick, he did, but she turned into a bird and flew away.”
“Witches are not evil,” Della whispered under her breath, but softly so no one could hear. A rat ran by, and she gave a muffled squeal. Right now all she wanted was to get back home, where witches were considered national treasures, where they were respected and admired and invited to Buckingham Palace for fancy teas. And the only way to do that was the travel amulet, which she felt quite certain Tom Foolery had. So, since he refused to give it to her, she would just have to steal it back.
* * *
The next morning Della asked Mrs. Chambers if she could possibly work in the castle and not the kitchen because of her finger. “It’s difficult to chop with,” Della said. “And I don’t want to cut myself again.”
“Humph. I suppose,” Mrs. Chambers agreed rather grumpily. “Although his lordship was looking forward to more of your pheasant stew.”
“I will make it again,” Della promised.
“You can sweep the floors, put down fresh rushes, and see about making beds,” Mrs. Chambers muttered. “William will be in charge of you over there.”
William, it turned out, was the person who had open
ed the door to her when she first arrived. He was rather like a butler, Della thought, giving out orders but not doing any of the work himself.
Sweeping the dirt and trampled rushes out of one corridor took over an hour, and Della realized that if she was going to use her time to hunt for the travel amulet, she would have to speed things up. Honestly, these people had no idea how much easier their lives would be with a little bit of magic. Della started sweeping the great hall, waiting for William and a group of knights to leave, and as soon as they did, she pulled out her wand and cast a quick tidy up spell. “Tidylisious,” Della murmured, waving her beech stick around. The jolt of magic was so strong she dropped her wand, the hairs on her arms standing up. “A little gentler next time,” Della gasped, watching the rushes blow themselves into a heap by the door. But it was worth it, because all she had to do was sweep the pile outside. Now she could hunt for Tom Foolery’s room.
Heading up the main staircase, Della found herself standing in the gallery that overlooked the great hall. This was where the musicians played at mealtimes. There were doors leading off it, and peeking inside one, Della saw that these were the bedchambers. The largest one, with tapestry wall hangings and an ornate four-poster bed, had to be Lord and Lady Hepworth’s room. The other rooms were smaller, and rather plain, and it was hard to tell if Tom Foolery slept in any of them.
Keeping an eye out for people, Della cast the same tidying spell in each chamber, remembering not to wave her stick so dramatically. This seemed to keep the magic from shooting out in a great rush, and it was very satisfying to watch the mattresses stand up and give themselves a good shake and the covers roll smoothly into place. Della stood by the door while the old rushes blew out of the narrow windows, and a fresh straw covering blew in, looking from outside like nothing more than a strong wind. Since there was a faint whiff of unwashed bodies up here, too, Della cast a lavender-scented spell over each of the rooms so the subtle fragrance lingered in the air.
