by Natasha Lowe
“But this is ridiculous,” James finally burst out. “These girls need protecting, not persecuting.”
“And that’s just what Dame Bessie’s been doing,” Della said. “Teaching us how to survive so we don’t get caught. Except it’s dangerous magic,” Della added. “Not the sort of stuff witches should be learning. No one wants to go around turning knights into hares, but you don’t give us much choice.”
“Well.” Lord Hepworth hung his head for a moment. “Well,” he said again. “I had no idea.”
“We should be teaching them to make lasagna and mend boots,” James pointed out.
“Exactly,” Della agreed, giving Lord Hepworth’s brother her warmest smile. “Finally, someone who gets it.”
“So let’s start a school for witches,” James suggested, enjoying being the popular brother. “A place where they can learn all these useful things.”
“Wait!” Della panicked, suddenly realizing what James was proposing. “It’s too soon.” She looked around in alarm. “This isn’t how it happens.”
“I’ll give you a nice piece of land in Potts Bottom,” James said generously. “You can build your school there.”
“That’s my land,” Lord Hepworth said.
“No, you just gave it to me, remember?”
“You did, Father,” Ivan reminded him, and then under his breath, “Let’s not start another fight.”
“And what shall we call it?” James said. “The school needs a name.”
“Dupree Academy?” Ivan suggested. “After you, Della.”
“No, you can’t call it that. It’s not the right name at all.” This was all going terribly wrong. Who knew what would happen in the future if Ruthersfield were called Dupree?
“Well, since you’ve been teaching these girls already,” Lord Hepworth said, turning to Dame Bessie, “perhaps we should call it after you?”
“Bessie Academy.” Mary giggled. “That sounds funny!”
“What is your full name, mam?” Lord Hepworth inquired.
“Oh, I’m too old for such nonsense as this,” Dame Bessie muttered.
“No you’re not,” Faye insisted. “Come on, Dame Bessie.”
“Very well.” And Dame Bessie actually blushed. “It’s Dame Elizabeth Ruthersfield.”
Della’s mouth dropped open. She let out a soft gasp, and Ivan grabbed her as she started to sway.
“Are you all right?” Ivan said. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I think—I mean—” Della stammered, feeling too hot then too cold as she tried to sort out what she did mean.
“Do you want to sit down?” Ivan suggested.
“I can’t believe this,” Della murmured, giving a slightly hysterical laugh.
“Believe what?” Ivan said, and Della could see him looking at her as if she’d gone mad.
“I’m Witch Dupree,” Della whispered, trying to absorb what she had just figured out. “There isn’t another one with red hair and pots of courage who’s off fighting dragons, Ivan! I mean, I am Witch Dupree!” Della shook her head in amazement. “I thought I’d messed everything up, but this is how it happens. This is the start of Ruthersfield.”
“So you approve of the name?” Lord Hepworth asked. “Because without you there wouldn’t be a witch school.”
“Of course I approve,” Della said, laughing harder.
“Ruthersfield Academy!” Lord Hepworth nodded. “I like that. It will be the first official school for magic in the country.”
“In Potts Bottom,” James reminded him.
“You can help teach,” Dame Bessie suggested. “You’ll be a wonderful teacher, Della.”
“Wait, no.” Della felt as if she’d just been dunked in a bucket of cold water. Her laughter dried up as she stared at Dame Bessie. “I don’t want to teach.”
“You don’t?” Lord Hepworth inquired.
“I’m not meant to be a teacher.” Della swallowed around the lump in her throat. “I want to go home,” she said softly, her voice cracking. But this was her home now. And there was no point in waiting for Witch Dupree to turn up and sort everything out, because (although it didn’t seem nearly so funny anymore) she clearly wasn’t coming.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Courage
EARLY THE NEXT MORNING LORD Hepworth and his brother returned to the castle accompanied by a great many knights and a group of exhausted witches. At the sound of horses’ hooves, Lady Hepworth, their guests, and the rest of the castle staff rushed into the courtyard, astonished to see the brothers riding over the drawbridge together, and even more amazed to witness a number of knights and witches chattering away, as if they were all coming back from a fun day out and not a battlefield. Tom Foolery stood at the edge of the gathering, fidgeting and ringing his bells, more from nervousness than any feelings of joy, Della sensed. Why had he turned them in and then tried to help them escape? It didn’t make sense. She caught the jester’s eye, and he immediately performed a series of handsprings across the cobblestones, impressing the crowd, but leaving Della with the distinct feeling that he was once again trying to avoid her as he disappeared inside the castle.
“Don’t look so sad, Della,” Dame Bessie murmured, pulling her aside. “You can’t stay away from home forever. Not because of a lost necklace.”
“I’m not sure anymore that Tom Foolery has it,” Della said, aware that in all the commotion she hadn’t mentioned her biggest worry to Dame Bessie.
“Then you must be brave and tell your parents. I’m sure they will understand.”
“It’s not that simple,” Della said, wondering how to begin, wondering if Dame Bessie might actually know something about time travel. Lowering her voice, Della whispered, “What if I told you I came from another time, as well as another place? Could you help me get back there?”
“I’m not sure I understand. Are you talking about the future?”
Della nodded. “Can you time-travel, Dame Bessie?” Just saying the words gave her a shiver of hope. “Is there anything in the grimoire that tells you how to move through time?”
Dame Bessie looked at Della for a long moment. “Is that what the necklace did?”
“Yes,” Della admitted, brushing a sleeve across her face. “And now I’m stuck here. But you can help me, can’t you? You have to be able to.”
“I wish I could,” Dame Bessie said softly, touching Della’s arm. “But I’m afraid that is an impossible sort of magic.”
“It’s not impossible,” Della sighed. “It just doesn’t get invented until the fifteenth century.”
* * *
Lord Hepworth had suggested a banquet in Della’s honor, for helping bring about peace between the brothers, and for showing him the joys of magic. He ordered the portrait of Lord James to be dusted off and hung alongside his own splendid painting. “And everyone is invited,” he announced, indicating Dame Bessie and the rest of the witches, who were gathered in the great hall. “Bring your families, and we will all celebrate.” At the mention of “families,” Della’s stomach clenched, but she tried to be happy for the others.
Since none of the girls felt too keen about returning to their villages alone, with the mark of a witch hanging over them, Lord Hepworth sent along a contingent of knights to offer protection and explain what had happened.
“I’m not sure what my family will say,” Mary said anxiously. “I’m quite certain they still hate witches.”
“It’s going to take a long time to change how people feel,” Della told her, “but a school is a good place to start. You’re going to love Ruthersfield, Mary. I promise.”
“You sound as if you know what it’s like.”
“I can imagine,” Della said with a sigh. “We have witch schools where I come from, and I really liked mine.”
Dame Bessie took Della’s hand and squeezed it. “And it will be wonderful to have your help in setting this one up.”
“Ladies,” Lord Hepworth called out, striding over to them. “I was t
hinking about a coat of arms and a school motto, like the grand universities have.”
“Perhaps Praticus ladamay?” Dame Bessie suggested, glancing at Della.
“What does that mean?” Della asked. “I’ve never heard it before.”
“Protect yourself,” Dame Bessie said, and then, noting Della’s reaction: “You don’t look too sure?”
“Well, it’s not about teaching girls how to survive anymore. It’s about teaching them to love magic. To be good witches,” Della reminded her.
“How about Kibet fallow da? That was something the first high priestess of magic wrote about. It means to follow your passion.” Dame Bessie turned to Lord Hepworth and added rather frostily, “Because let’s not forget there was a time when witches followed their passion quite openly.”
“I like that,” Lord Hepworth said. “ ‘Follow your passion’ it is! And our coat of arms shall be a cauldron for cooking lasagna in.”
Della couldn’t help thinking how strange and dreamlike this all felt. Listening to Dame Bessie come up with the school motto. Being right here for the start of Ruthersfield Academy and still trying to absorb the fact that she was Witch Dupree.
“Are you sure you’re feeling all right, Della?” Lord Hepworth inquired. “You don’t seem quite yourself.”
“I have an excellent reviving tonic I can make you,” Dame Bessie murmured. “In case you are in need of it.”
“I do feel very tired,” Della said, wondering if a reviving tonic could stop her heart from aching.
“Not surprising after all that has happened,” Dame Bessie said. “But think how wonderful it will be not to have to hide anymore. To practice witchcraft openly and in a safe place. Honestly, I never thought I’d see this day.”
“Nor did I,” Della answered truthfully, trying her hardest to see the wonderful.
* * *
The castle bustled with activity, although Tom Foolery was clearly keeping out of sight. There was no time to worry about this now, because Lord Hepworth had asked her to show off a cobweb-sweeping spell to his guests. So Della was demonstrating with one of the castle brooms, making it fly around the great hall by itself, dusting all the cobwebs off the beams. The guests oohed and aahed in fascination, but none of them stood too close to Della, flinching every time she raised her hand.
“And just wait till you try her special stew,” Lord Hepworth said. “It’s made with a pinch of magic and is magnificently delicious.” He beamed at Della proudly. “The girls are going to learn all these spells at Ruthersfield Academy.”
“So long as they don’t poison us first,” someone in the crowd muttered.
“Well, I never thought I’d say this,” a lady in a green velvet gown announced, “but there is a small part of me that rather wishes my daughter was a witch.”
“Rosanna, no!” another woman said, clapping a hand over her mouth. “Never say such a thing!”
“I’ll put up with this as long as you’re sure they aren’t going to turn evil on us, Hepworth,” a lumpish man with a ponytail said. “Start changing us all into pigs.” The man snorted and scratched his stomach, and Della could tell that attitudes weren’t going to change overnight.
She looked around for Ivan, needing to see her friend, but he wasn’t anywhere in sight. Della guessed he must be outside, getting ready for the big jousting competition that was going to take place after lunch. All the knights were strutting about, trying to outdo each other with chivalrous acts toward the ladies. One of them had even scaled the castle wall to try to rescue a maiden from the north tower, except there wasn’t a maiden up there to be saved, so he had to come down again, looking rather foolish. They clanked about in their chain mail and big boots, and Della suddenly hoped that Ivan had taken his courage potion. He was going to need all the courage he could get against this lot.
She was just about to head into the kitchen to help Mrs. Chambers whip up a batch of chicken curry when the castle door opened, and in strode Ivan.
“Ahhh, there’s my boy,” Lord Hepworth bellowed. He turned to his brother. “Now you can see your nephew bring some pride and glory on the Hepworth name.”
Ivan marched right up to his father and said in a loud, clear voice, “I’m not going to be entering the competition, Father.”
“Excuse me?” Lord Hepworth said, wiggling a finger around in his ear. “I don’t think I heard you properly.”
“I don’t want to joust. I don’t like jousting, and I’m tired of pretending I do.” Ivan reached into his tunic pocket and took out a little wooden carving of a figure sitting on a horse. The figure was holding a jousting pole and even wore a helmet. “This is for you.”
Lord Hepworth turned it around. “You made this?”
“I carve a lot of things. It’s what I like to do.”
The guests had grown quiet. “But you’re my son,” Lord Hepworth blustered. “My only son.” His cheeks were turning a rather worrying mottled purple.
“But isn’t it wonderful,” Della said as everyone turned to look at her. Ignoring the sweat pooling under her arms and the heat in her face, she took a deep breath and continued. “He’s following his passion. Just like the motto for Ruthersfield. You should be proud of Ivan, Lord Hepworth. He’s got a real talent for carving.”
The great hall was silent as Lord Hepworth studied his son. “Maybe you’ll change your mind, Ivan?”
“I won’t, Father.”
“Well, I’m certainly not happy about this.”
“But I am,” Lady Hepworth said softly, joining the group with a smile. Della saw her pull her shoulders back and stand a little taller as she faced her husband.
“Can I joust in his place?” James suggested. “Someone needs to hold up the family honor.”
Lord Hepworth was quiet for a moment, and then he slung an arm around James’s shoulder. “Yes indeed, brother. And you must wear the Hepworth colors.”
* * *
“He wasn’t as angry as I expected,” Ivan said, talking to Della in the hallway. “Not that he jumped for joy, but he didn’t disown me, or send me to my uncle’s pig farm.”
“I’m sure he’ll come around. And that was very brave of you, Ivan, going up to him like that.” Della started to giggle. “You drank the courage potion, didn’t you! It was meant to give you courage for the jousting competition, not for taking on your father.”
“But I didn’t drink it,” Ivan confessed. “I was going to, but then I thought about how brave you have to be every day, just for being a witch. So I decided to be brave too. And I can’t take courage potion every time I feel scared, otherwise I’d always be drinking it.”
“Oh, I’m not brave,” Della scoffed, but she had to admit she would never have spoken to Lord Hepworth the way she did when she’d first gotten here. “Well, maybe a little bit,” she admitted.
A faint jingle of bells came from the far end of the corridor, and Della grabbed Ivan’s arm. “Do you hear that?” she said as the jester appeared at the top of the hallway.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
How It Began…
MIGHT I SPEAK WITH MISTRESS Della alone?” Tom Foolery said, walking up to them without his usual spring. Della could hear the shakiness in his voice.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” she said.
“I have,” the jester admitted, hanging his head. He cupped his hands together, blew into them, and pulled out a red silk handkerchief, which he dabbed his eyes with.
“It’s okay, Ivan,” Della reassured her friend. “I’m sure this won’t take long. Can you check on Dame Bessie and the others for me? Make sure they’re all right, especially Mary?”
The jester led Della upstairs to his chambers. He didn’t say anything until they were safely inside. Scuffling his shoes, Tom Foolery murmured, “I owe you a sincere apology.”
“Why did you do it?” Della asked, her anger slipping away, because the jester looked so sorry.
Tom Foolery walked over to the cupboard and took out the crystal bal
l. “This belonged to my grandmother,” he said, rubbing the surface gently. He raised his gaze to meet Della’s. “She was a witch too,” he confessed. “A good one.”
“Your grandmother?”
“She kept it secret, of course, but I would see her call for the rain in a dry season and keep the storms from coming until after the wheat was cut.”
“Then you know,” Della exploded. “You know witches aren’t evil.” She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “So why? Why did you turn us in?”
Staring at the floor, Tom Foolery said, “I am ashamed to admit I was jealous.”
“Jealous? Seriously?”
“I know what real magic can do. And my magic isn’t real. It entertains and amuses, but it’s nothing more than smoke and mirrors. People laugh at me.” He gave a heavy sigh. “When I look into this crystal ball, I see nothing, and there you were, stirring up visions and purple smoke, just like my grandmother used to.” He sniffed and blew his nose on the handkerchief. “Envy is a horrible thing. I should throw myself on a sword, but I’m too much of a coward.”
“So you did see,” Della said softly.
The jester nodded. “I did, and it made me so bitter I acted in haste. Told the guards and had you followed to Dame Bessie’s.” He gave another deep sigh. “I regretted it right away, but when I went back to let you out of the dungeons, you had gone.” A tear ran down his cheek. “I am the one who should be locked up.”
“How long have you known?” Della asked, wondering if he had seen her performing magic around the castle.
“I had my suspicions from the beginning. A glimpse of you in your strange clothes and then that burst of purple light, and the faint burnt-honey scent that reminded me of my grandmother’s hut. It smelled like my memory of magic.”
“And you didn’t say anything?”
Tom Foolery shook his head. “Not at first. I wanted to, but I knew how disappointed my grandmother would be if I betrayed a witch. And I wasn’t completely sure until I saw you with her crystal ball.”
