Katie Watson Mysteries in Time Box Set

by Mez Blume

  There had been so much newness to take in, it hadn’t occurred to me before now that the magic painting I’d fallen through that morning must be in the house somewhere. What would I find if I visited the secret cupboard now? Did the household even know the cupboard existed? Maybe it was Tom Tippery’s secret, right under the Earl’s nose.

  Though I wasn’t overly eager to jump back into the modern day world just yet, I felt it would be more pleasant to know for certain that a way home existed … when the time came that I wanted it. Besides, curiosity about the cupboard was becoming so strong, I thought I might burst if I didn’t at least try to have a look into it.

  There was no one in the portrait gallery when I poked my head around the corner. I tried to tiptoe in my hard, high-heeled shoes, but the floorboards still squeaked relentlessly! I kept reminding myself that I wasn’t doing anything wrong walking down the corridor. After all, I was a guest in this house. And yet, being caught could lead to uncomfortable questions, and the thought of meeting Nurse Joan’s hawk eyes around a corner made the hairs on my arms stand up.

  But I made it down the corridor without a single eye spotting me — except those belonging to the nosy old portraits — then turned right into a window-lit passage that looked down into the stone courtyard. A serving woman carrying a pail in each hand and a man with an armful of firewood crossed each other’s paths; but there was no sign of Nurse Joan below, thankfully. The larger Billiard Gallery was just as quiet and empty as the corridor, and there was straw thresh on the floor, which helped to muffle my footsteps. I made my way to the far corner of the gallery, ready to face that fateful Green Man once again.

  The Green Man was there, tongue tucked politely away in his cheek; but in place of Sophia’s portrait was that of Mr. Fancy Pants that had been in the Great Hall that morning. And now that it was close up, he looked even more ridiculous than I remembered. Everything about him curled: his eyebrows curled, the tips of his moustache curled, the ribbons on his shoes and doublet curled, and one corner of his arrogant mouth curled in a kind of snarly grin. What Charlie would make of this absurd character! For the second time, the thought made me snort with laughter.

  “Pray, what amuses you so, my lady?”

  I choked on my own laughter and spun around. The deep voice that had come out of nowhere belonged to a tall, straight man standing right behind me. How he had sneaked up so close without my hearing, I will never know!

  “Nothing!” I said in a voice that belonged to a five-year-old. “I was just thinking of a joke I heard … once.”

  “Oh?” He looked at me with dark, piercing eyes, and I realised with a twist in my tummy that he was waiting for me to tell him the joke!

  In hot-faced desperation, I pretended to study the portrait.

  “Do you know this gentleman?” the tall man asked in what I now recognised was some sort of European accent. He certainly looked foreign with his chin-length straight, brown hair that stuck out from beneath his hat, and his thick, black beard that looked just like sheep’s wool.

  “No. I … I don’t know him,” I answered. I didn’t care for the way he glared at me down his long nose. I just hoped he wouldn’t follow up his question by asking who I was. I had a name handy, but I hadn’t taken the time to come up with a believable history just yet.

  Thankfully, he was much more interested in the portrait than in me. “That is the Earl’s youngest brother, the noble Baron of Chudleigh. It is one of my proudest accomplishments.”

  “Oh, you painted it?” I squeaked. Though I’m tall for my age, I felt suddenly very small caught between the snooty gaze of the man in the painting and the hard stare of the black-bearded man.

  “It doesn’t belong here, a masterpiece like this.” He spoke right over my head, as if to the painting and not to me. His dark eyes scanned over it like a man looking at his love. “But soon enough … soon enough it shall be restored to its place of glory in the Great Hall.”

  I swallowed more loudly than I’d meant to, and his eyes focused back on me with a look of suspicion. “I believe you do not belong here either? Shouldn’t you be waiting on your mistress?” He stood so close, I had to scrunch up my neck and forehead to look up at him. I felt just like a tortoise pulling its head up inside its shell.

  “Sophia, that is, my mistress, has gone to her lessons. I was just … admiring the paintings.” I had the sudden fear that if I took a step backward, the panel behind me might just swing open and give away my secret. I stood as stiff as a wood panel myself, still craning up at the man frowning down at me.

  The corners of his woolly moustache turned up, though his eyes stayed cold. “Your taste does you credit. Allow me to introduce myself. I am the Master Painter Van Hoebeek, commissioned to portray this household as befits them.” He gave a slight bow with his head. “And you must be Mistress Sophia’s maid?”

  I cleared my throat. “Watson. Katherine Watson.” I made an awkward curtsey as I could hardly move.

  I felt warm relief melt over me when Sophia’s bell-like voice called from the other end of the gallery. “Katherine, are you in there?”

  Like a spell snapping, Master Van Hoebeek stepped aside and I could breathe again.

  “My Lady.” This time, as Sophia approached, the painter made a low bow so that his silky straight hair made a fringe curtain right over his face.

  Sophia smiled politely but looked unimpressed. “Master Van Hoebeek.” She curtseyed and turned back to me. “I am sorry to have kept you so long, Katie. Master Fiorelli was most passionate about today’s piece. Shall we go and dress for supper?” She curtseyed once again to Master Van Hoebeek, then linked her arm through mine.

  I had the prickly feeling that Master Van Hoebeek was watching us make our way down the gallery, but when I chanced a glance over my shoulder, he had vanished as silently as he had appeared.

  8

  A Royal Announcement

  Although I was meant to be a chambermaid, Nurse Joan and another younger maid came to help Sophia into her supper gown and do up her hair in what looked to me like a fishing net. Thankfully, Nurse Joan appeared to be pretending I didn’t exist. I was happy so long as she didn’t look at me with those piercing eyes.

  When Sophia was washed and dressed and all pinned up, she looked at me, tapping her finger against her cheek. “And what about you, Katie? Your hair is a little short for combs or nets.”

  She was right about that. When Sophia’s blonde hair was let down, it hung in one long curtain right down to the small of her back. My strawberry-coloured hair was straight and fine. It used to be long, but a lot of it had to be cut off for surgery after my accident. It had grown back fast enough, but still only just brushed the tops of my shoulders. There wasn’t much anyone could do with hair like mine.

  “Aha!” Sophia said, struck with an idea. She ran to her dressing table and came back with the fanciest headband I’d ever seen, covered in light blue ribbon and pearls. “There,” she said, fixing it on top of my head. “Now you are ready for the Great Hall.”

  Sophia had her supper with the Countess and important guests like Master Van Hoebeek in a room called the Great Chamber which was in a part of the house near the family’s private rooms. I was to have my supper in the Great Hall with the rest of the household servants. That was part of Sophia’s cleverly devised plan in making me a chambermaid, so that I could escape the notice of the Earl and Countess.

  It was rather nerve-racking going down that Grand Staircase all by myself. I stepped into the Great Hall, now softly lit with summer twilight and flickering firelight, and truly alive with a hundred or more servants. The sight of all those people gave me a knot in my stomach that reminded me of my first day at middle school, walking into the cafeteria and looking wildly around for a familiar face while trying to appear like I knew where I was going.

  To my relief, and the relief of the knot in my stomach, I did spot a familiar face. Digby sat at the near end of the closest long table with the table cloth stuffed dow
n his shirt and a drumstick in one fist. I waited for him to finish speaking to the man beside him, then approached. There was a seat on the bench in front of him, and I hoped he just might invite me to sit there.

  “Hello again, Digby,” I said, trying to sound chirpy and confident.

  “Greetings, Mistress Katie.” Digby turned to the man at his side and said, “Jack, this is Katherine, Mistress Sophia’s new chambermaid and companion.”

  “Jack Hornsby.” The man tipped his shaggy brown head and smiled pleasantly. “Second Groom.”

  “You work in the stables as well?” I asked, with genuine chirpiness. “I’d love to hear more about the Earl’s horses.” I decided to take my chance. “Is anyone sitting here?”

  Digby threw his head back and guffawed. “Mistress Katie, your place isn’t with a couple of lowly stable hands likes us. ’Tis at High Table,” — he gave his head a toss towards it — “with other important personages like yourself.”

  “Oh …” Once again, I wasn’t entirely sure whether Digby was being serious or pulling my leg. The important thing was not to let the two men see how clueless I really was. “But, aren’t I a servant too?”

  “Yes, but not all servants are created equal, now are we?” Digby answered with a sarcastic note in his voice. “You’re one of the waiting servants. That makes you cream of the crop along with the steward and the dressing ladies and our chief groom. Off you go, up to your seat of honour!”

  I didn’t feel particularly honoured being sent away like that; but I walked away with my head held high, as I imagined Sophia would do, and stepped up onto the platform (which I’d learned that morning was called a dais, just like the ones kings and queens sit on) to take an empty seat at High Table.

  Nobody greeted me or even smiled at me when I sat, but a couple of teenage maids peered over at me and whispered to one another. A skinny arm appeared over my shoulder, and I glanced up to see a serving girl putting some sort of pie on my plate.

  “Thank you,” I said, but she said nothing and moved on to the next seat. I noticed then that her clothes were quite a bit plainer than what I and the other girls at High Table had on. The serving girl’s dress looked like coarse wool or cotton and was cut in plain, straight lines. Mine was made of a finer, stiffer sort of stuff, and though my skirt didn’t poof like Sophia’s, it certainly had more flounce than the serving girl’s. Clothes, it seemed, were a sort of code language here, and one I would have to learn to read very quickly if I was to fit in without notice.

  I didn’t mind so much that no one spoke to me. It was certainly better than stirring up more suspicion! But I did begin to feel self-conscious after several minutes sitting there staring down at my plate. Luckily, my apron had pockets, and by a stroke of good luck, I’d put my little leather-bound The Hound of the Baskervilles in one. I reached under the table, slipped it out and spent the rest of supper holding open the book with my left hand whilst shovelling bites of hot pie with my right. The book provided a nice sort of shield from curious looks, and I could glance over the page without being quite so obvious.

  That morning on the tour with Nan and Pop, there had been a chart on the wall showing the different members of the household staff. I decided to make a game of guessing who was who at High Table. I thought the two whispering girls must be the Countess’s waiting ladies. The finely dressed, portly man with a wig and an enormous nose had to be the head steward. And after him … I nearly choked on the bit of pie in my mouth when I caught the eye of Nurse Joan seated at his side, her wiry frame nearly hidden by his barrel of a belly. She had obviously been giving me a sideways glare which she quickly tried to cover up when I caught her. I too tried to make myself look less suspicious by pretending to be examining the paintings on the wall behind the High Table. I had just decided the middle one — an austere looking man with a long white beard — must be the Earl, when another wigged man came positively bounding up the dais. He scurried around to the other side of the table like he hadn’t a second to lose and placed a sealed letter in the steward’s hand.

  I watched as the portly gentleman flicked it open, held a funny little pair of spectacles over his eyes and hastily scanned the page. Though it was hard to tell through his thick layer of powder, I could swear his face went whiter and his eyes swelled like balloons. He threw the cloth from his shirt and stood up, knocking the table with his big belly so that the cups rattled and every eye turned to watch him.

  He gathered himself for a breath or two, then bent down and whispered into the ear of a lady, who in turn looked amazed and whispered to a gentleman on her other side. The steward marched out of the room and disappeared into the Great Staircase chamber, but the chain of whispers continued right down the length of the High Table.

  And it didn’t stop there. Soon the entire Great Hall was a hushed murmur of excitement. But strain as I might, I could not make out what any of the murmur was about!

  I was beginning to wish I had made a little more effort to speak to the servants at High Table as at least one of them might have passed the secret on to me. I turned in my seat to take in the commotion in the hall behind and saw that Digby and the Second Groom were just getting up from the table, locked in conversation.

  “Digby!” I swished over as quickly as I could without tripping over my skirt. Digby and Jack turned and waited for me. “Is everything alright?”

  Digby ran his fingers through his wild straw hair and blew out a whistle. “Depends on what you mean by alright. Nobody’s died, but some of us may be driven to our graves by the morrow!”

  Jack nodded in agreement.

  “Why? What’s going on?” I asked, anxious to hear what horrible calamity was coming to Otterly Manor on the morrow as Digby put it.

  My anxiety must’ve shown on my face, because Digby took one look at me and snorted. “Don’t worry yourself. It’s no mishap for you lot. All you must do is see that the Mistress is dressed in her finest. Meanwhile, we lot will be breaking our backs whilst the Earl and family put on their pageantry.”

  I was properly confused by then. “What pageantry? You mean the Earl’s coming home? That’s what this fuss is all about?”

  “Well no, that’s not the whole of the matter, is it?” He elbowed Jack, then put on his air of confidentiality again. “It’s like this, Mistress Katie. The steward’s just had a letter from the Earl. Says he’s riding home post-haste on the morrow because he’s just received word direct from the Royal Court that His Majesty has changed the course of his Summer Tour. So the King will now sojourn at Otterly Manor starting from two days hence. It seems His Highness wants a look at the Earl’s refurbishments on his grandfather King Henry’s old place.” Digby and Jack were both shaking their heads in bitter disbelief, the way Nan and Pop do when complaining about the weather.

  “Wait.” I was trying very hard to boil down Digby’s explanation. “The King is coming here? In only two days?” His language was so funny, I wanted to be entirely sure I’d got the message right.

  “Not just the King. The entire Court is coming here in two days,” Digby corrected, waving his hands for emphasis. “Well Jack, we’d best begin readying the stalls. There’ll be no respite for the likes of us ’til the King and his royal equines depart.”

  Jack and Digby walked away, deep in conversation about the work that awaited them, and I found myself the only one standing still in a swirling sea of bustling bodies. With the news of the King’s coming, the Hall had become like an agitated beehive, and my head was buzzing from the excited chatter. I slipped out into the Great Staircase chamber without anyone noticing and climbed the stairs as quickly as I could. This day had been nothing but mad, and I needed somewhere quiet just to think and be.

  When I crept into the red bedchamber, Sophia was already there. The two dressing maids were helping her out of her supper gown and into her nightgown.

  “Have you heard the news, Katie?”

  I thought for the first time Sophia sounded more like an excited twelve-year-ol
d than a prim and polite lady.

  “About the King? Yes. Just now.” I tried to match her excitement.

  “Do you know what this means?” Freeing her hair from its net, the maids released her, and she skipped across the carpet to take my hands.

  I thought for a second, then shook my head. “Well, no. Not really. What does it mean?”

  “It means,” her blue eyes sparkled, “the Earl is riding home from Oxford on the morrow to oversee the preparations for His Majesty, and Frederick shall ride with him! He is coming home at last, and the two of you shall meet!” She was so happy, she skipped me around in a circle before the fire that crackled as merrily as laughter.

  After I’d slipped into one of Sophia’s spare nightgowns and we’d washed our faces in the basin, we climbed into the giant canopy bed. I nestled down under the weight of the covers and laid my head on the downy pillow. Sophia’s long blonde locks fanned out over her pillow, and she was smiling so broadly, her rosy cheeks looked like two red apples.

  We chatted happily for a while, Sophia describing her brother to me and all the fun we would have in the coming days. I listened, but at the same time I thought how strange it was that I’d only just arrived in this other world earlier that very day. Sophia treated me as if I belonged here. As if we’d been friends forever. As if she almost forgot I lived in a world hundreds of years away.

  As if she read my thoughts, she became silent, then rolled over on her side to look me in the eye. “It is so nice to have a friend with whom I can share this happiness … you don’t mind being here for a while, do you, Katie?”

  “Of course not! I’m having a wonderful time!” I said, pillowing my cheek in my hand. “I mean, everything is still a bit … new. But honestly, this is the best summer holiday I’ve ever had.”

  She smiled, then her face turned to concern. “But I am sure you miss your family. Just as I miss mine. On the morrow, we shall speak to Tom Tippery. But I am glad you will stay long enough to meet Frederick first. He will love meeting you and hearing about the world you come from!” Sophia rolled over to her other side and blew out her candle. “God bid you fair dreams and peaceful sleep, Katie. I am glad you are come.”