Ella and the Panther's Quest

by Lisa Anne Nisula

  Mistress Leone had said he enjoyed an evening in the library. Presumably he read, but there was also a large desk in the corner. Maybe he used that too. It was as good a place as any to start.

  The desk was used frequently; I could tell by the blotter that was criss-crossed with the remains of blotted messages. I tried to read anything I could from it, but there had been many words blotted, and all of them in different directions. I couldn’t tell how old any of them were, only that none were new enough for the ink to be wet. That didn’t seem very helpful. I looked at the rest of the desk. There was nothing unusual there, just a row of pens lined up neatly, a stack of notepaper, and two bottles of ink. I picked up one of the fountain pens, but I couldn’t tell if it had been used recently either. It seemed like a silly thing, but I put the pen back on the opposite side of the row from where I’d taken it. As an extra test, I found a piece of hair sticking to my sleeve and draped it over the other pens.

  It wasn’t even lunch time and I had exhausted my ideas. The desk had been my last good one. I couldn’t think of anyplace besides his rooms where the master would leave his mark. I considered the stables, but I wasn’t sure what I would be looking for, and I didn’t know if he was a frequent traveler or rode often for pleasure, so couldn’t just ask if things were quiet there. I would have had to ask directly, and I was trying to avoid that.

  With no other ideas, my master hunting detour was over for the moment, so I turned my attention to my main concern — finding Panther. I spent the rest of the day exploring the manor. I saw the ballroom again, two galleries filled with paintings, more of the gardens, the kitchens, even the laundry and Mistress Leone’s stillroom off the front hall. There was always someone willing to point the way to anywhere I wanted to go. No place seemed off limits to me, except for the master’s suite, and that worried me. Panther was no where.

  *

  That evening the book and the slippers were by the master’s chair. I kept an eye on the footmen as I prepared my tea. The second they left the room to light the candles in the hall, I scrambled to the other chair and picked up the master’s book. The first thing I noticed was that the last signature, a group of about twenty pages, had not been cut. The tops of the pages were still folded over and attached to each other. I’d read about books sold like that in Victorian novels, but it was the first time I’d seen it. I forced myself to remember what my intention had been, and opened to the marker and read.

  “The laird leaned over the body. There was a faint scent of bitter almonds. ‘This was not natural.’

  “The magistrate followed his gaze. ‘But my liege, if he was murdered, then he could not have killed the others.’

  “But the laird was too deep in his own thoughts to respond.”

  Those were the same words I had read the night before. He hadn’t gotten any farther. I thought about the words. It looked like Laird Arthur was close to solving the case. I doubted anyone would leave a book for long at that point if he had a choice, unless he’d read it before, and the uncut pages made that unlikely. If he was in the house, I would think he’d want to read his book even if it was upstairs, away from his strange house guest. I glanced at the bottom of the page. He’d left off on page 256.

  I went to the desk, pretending I needed a piece of paper to mark something in my book in case I was being watched, and looked at the pens. The one I had moved was back in place and the hair I had draped in around the others was gone. So all of the pens had been looked at, not just the one that was noticeably out of place. I wasn’t sure what to make of that. Did the servants tidy the desk that carefully every day or was someone using the pens there? I returned to my seat and picked up my book, and folded down the bottom corner of page 256 so I could refer back to it in case I had the chance to check his book again and forgot where he had left off. Then I sat there trying to look like I was absorbed in the mystery in my book, not the one in the house.

  *

  When I woke up the next morning, I had no new ideas. I suppose it had been too much to hope for inspiration while I slept, but it had been a nice thought.

  Phoebe bustled in, still in a good mood and still not inclined to talk about her engagement. “Good morning, my lady. You’ll be wanting to spend the day indoors, I think. It’s been raining since Joseph went around lighting the fires.” Phoebe took two dresses half out of the closet, considering which one to bring me.

  “Then I’m sure I can find plenty to do inside.”

  “Very well.” Phoebe put the plainer gray-blue dress back in the closet and brought a sea-green dress with pink trim to me. She pretended she was waiting for my approval, but had the dress ready for me to slip into almost before I’d had a chance to approve.

  As I went down to breakfast through the front hall, I saw a man’s coat hanging on the rack with a hat and rain boots. Not a servant’s coat; the wool was too fine and the detail of the buttons and stitching too rich. I looked down the hall in both directions. No one was there. I slipped over and touched the edge of the sleeve. It was dry. It had not been out in the rain. Neither had the hat. I was about to check the boots, but I heard footsteps coming down the hall and decided it was time to go in to breakfast.

  *

  As I ate my pancakes, I tried to figure out who could own the coat and why it was there, but I didn’t come up with anything new. I was stuck inside today, the rain saw to that, so I had the perfect excuse to explore the house, if only I knew what to look for.

  After I’d finished my food, I went to get Footstool, but found him curled up in a corner. He didn’t look at me as I approached, so I left him alone and went exploring myself, hoping for inspiration. As I passed the black draped door, I was tempted to knock, or even try the knob again, but the curtain was pulled closed and I didn’t want to disturb it. I wasn’t sure if I was more afraid that it would be unlocked or that someone would answer.

  Chapter 12

  I tried every room, every closet, every hallway for any clue to help me find Panther. I found signs of the master of the house — pens spread out in the same particular order as the library and carefully dusted around on the desk in the study, slippers by the fire, a walking stick near the garden door — but nothing that could belong to Panther. I was very excited when I found a hidden door in the morning room, which led into a paneled hallway, but every door in that hallway proved to be a hidden door in a room I’d already explored. I quickly realized that it was a servants’ staircase. I was going to step out of the next door, which would have left me on the ground floor sitting room, but there was a flight of stairs at the end of the hallway. I hadn’t explored anywhere below the ground floor. I decided it was worth following the hallway a little longer.

  The stairs took me to another hallway, this one bare stone with iron brackets on the walls for torches. It made me think of dungeons and prisons, and, for an instant, torture chambers. I considered turning back almost at once, but then I thought about what I would tell Footstool about this passage I’d found, and I wanted to have just a little more to say about it.

  The passage did not get any more cheerful as I followed it, but it didn’t get any worse either. There were no doors along the sides, and no windows, no sign of what this place was or where it led. The stone and darkness made it cold, and it got colder the farther I walked. I was considering going back again before I got hopelessly lost and froze in some out-of-the-way corner of the house, when I saw a sliver of light in the distance. I couldn’t leave without finding out what that was. I edged down the hallway, keeping one hand on the cold wall to guide me toward the bit of light.

  The hall dead-ended into a heavy wooden door with thick iron hinges. The light I had seen was leaking in around the edges of the door. I pushed the door and it swung right open.

  It wasn’t a prison. I was entering the kitchen from a side door. Mrs. Boswell was at the long table, kneading bread. “Clara, come here and read this for me. Oh, miss, I didn’t see you there. May I help you?”

  I hesitat
ed. The kitchen was empty except for Mrs. Boswell, Clara and another maid, and cozy with the smell of yeast and sugar, completely unlike what I had been imagining in the passage.

  “I guess I’m hungry … I mean …”

  “Come try some of the fresh rolls and I’ll brew you a cup of tea.” Mrs. Boswell pounded her dough into a loaf and covered it with a cloth, then bustled around the kitchen. She brought a basket of rolls and two cups to a smaller table by a window. “It must be lonely for you here. If the master were in residence, there would be someone to talk with you.”

  I would never find a better opening. “Where is the master?”

  Mrs. Boswell looked down at the kettle. Clara put down her knife and watched us. The other maid turned away and made herself very busy washing carrots.

  Mrs. Boswell wiped her hands on a cloth. “It’s a sad story, I’m afraid.”

  Clara was still watching Mrs. Boswell. “Yes, it was a sad night.”

  Something in her tone made Mrs. Boswell look at Clara. Clara made a small move of her head and nodded. “Would you like some tea, miss?”

  “I would, thanks.” I let the subject of the master drop. I didn’t want to bring up painful memories for Mrs. Boswell. Maybe I could find someone else to ask.

  Clara brought the tea chest over.

  Mrs. Boswell reached across the table and pulled the other cup over to herself. “The master. It’s tied to the curse, of course. And if you’re traveling through the forest …” She spooned tea into the pot. “Yes, yes, you should know. Of course it didn’t start with the master, although he got tangled up in it.”

  Jane left her carrots and came to the table. “Mistress Leone …”

  Clara glared at her,

  “That’s enough, Jane,” Mrs. Boswell murmured. “As I said, it didn’t start with him, and you do have to know where it started to understand where it ended.” She sighed. “It was very sad. He was so young.” She added hot water to the pot. “There was a wizard, a cold, evil man. Crawa, the raven. He wanted the palace and power over the whole valley. He had minions; he created them, I think. Powerful, evil creatures that attacked our palace. Say when.”

  “That’s fine, thank you. Why did he attack you?”

  Mrs. Boswell stirred a spoon of sugar into her own tea. “Crawa had lived in his own tower for many years, long before my time, carrying out experiments in magic, alone for the most part. Every so often he would capture slaves, and the lucky ones would escape and look for shelter in our lands. If even half of what they said was true, there was evil in that place. And then he decided to take a wife. No one knew why. Some said to have a servant who wouldn’t leave him, some that he wanted an alliance with a powerful kingdom to aide him in his desire for power, some even said he needed a maiden for his dark magic. Whatever the reason, he found a suitable princess in a nearby land, with a family desperate enough, made all the right arrangements and sent for her.

  “But, as she was traveling to his tower, she passed through our lands, and the prince saw her. It was love at first sight. He followed the caravan at a distance, until they approached Crawa’s tower.

  “When he saw where she was being taken, the prince attacked the caravan and stole her away. He brought her home and they were married.

  “Of course Crawa was not pleased. He gathered his army. But the prince had foreseen that and our borders were well protected. And he kept them well protected.

  “That was in my grandmother’s time. Their son also kept our borders safe, and all of our children took their turn guarding the land, but there was no attack. Our master, Prince Nathaniel, sent spies as soon as he came to power, and learned Crawa was deeply involved in his experiments. Prince Nathaniel sent most of the army home. With our young people back, the land of Greenhaven had some of the most prosperous years in a century.

  “But Crawa eventually noticed that our guard was lowered. Prince Nathaniel heard he was coming, and was as prepared as he could be. He even asked the sorceress Sagessa for help. When an attack was imminent, he sent the servants to the tunnels under the gardens, in case the worst happened. McNair, Grigsby and I stayed behind, to tell the others if it was safe to return. And we saw it.

  “The villain had a huge monster. A panther larger than anything we had seen before. It attacked the master and — and swallowed him whole.” Mrs. Boswell took her napkin and dabbed at her eyes.

  I stared at Mrs. Boswell. “Surely you saw …”

  Mrs. Boswell shook her head. “He was gone, completely gone, and Crawa’s minions led the monster away.” She reached across the table and patted my hand. “I am sorry, my lady, but you have been deceived by the panther. Grigsby, Mistress Leone and I are waiting for McNair to return from his hunting party, then we will cut the beast open and look for the royal ring as proof that we have punished the murderer. Then it will be finished, and we can decide what to do with ourselves. We will find you a suitable escort to your destination.”

  I stared at Mrs. Boswell. “But surely …”

  “My lady, we saw it. The battle was confused and violent, but in the end, it was very clear. Our master was gone, and the only one left standing on the balcony was the panther, snarling and howling in triumph. Then the light went out of the castle, and we left. We will avenge the death of our liege. Crawa is out of our reach, but his monster has fallen into our hands. I am sorry. The minions of Crawa are very skilled at deception. I am amazed he brought you here, unless he did not recognize Mistress Leone. She was in the tunnels with the other servants, preparing to guide them here if the worst, when the worst happened.” Mrs. Boswell was silent for a moment.

  Clara looked up from the table. “But Mrs. Boswell …”

  Mrs. Boswell shook her head. “Not now, Clara.”

  “But I heard …”

  “You thought you heard.” Mrs. Boswell sipped her tea.

  “But Mrs. Boswell — oh!” Clara dropped the tray of bread she’d grabbed and stuck her fingers in her mouth. Jane ran to the pump and filled a basin with cold water and rushed to Clara with it.

  Mrs. Boswell got a jar from the shelf by the door. “This should fix you up.” She looked at the contents, then passed it to the maids. “Not much left. Use the rest of it and I’ll get another jar from Mistress Leone’s cupboard.” She watched Clara soak her burn until it cooled, then rub some of the salve from the jar on it. Mrs. Boswell held out her hand, and Clara came over and let her have a look at her injury.

  “It could be worse. You should be fine. Keep it clean. Now where were we?”

  “I was telling you about … “

  Mrs. Boswell interrupted her. “What you thought you heard. But that is not a story for a day like this. Look, the rain’s let up.”

  “But all of his things, the book, the coat, the slippers …”

  “Mistress Leone has her little rituals. We all do I suppose, to put off finally admitting that Prince Nathaniel is really gone. But let’s talk of something more cheerful.”

  But I no longer wanted to talk. I wanted to be alone. “I …”

  Mrs. Boswell patted my hand. “I know that look. The master had it whenever he wanted to be alone to think. I’ll fix you a nice tray, and you can bring it up to your room.”

  Mrs. Boswell arranged fresh rolls and a cup of tea on a small tray. I accepted it only because I knew Mrs. Boswell would continue to offer it until I did.

  “Would you like me to call someone to carry it up for you?”

  “No, thank you, I can manage.” I didn’t want to see anyone else, not with so much to think about. Once Jane held the kitchen door open for me, I had no trouble navigating the main stairs with the tray in my hands.

  Footstool was waiting for me by the fire. I put the tray on the table where I had eaten breakfast. I took one roll and lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling and picking at the crust, trying to fit what I’d learned from my new friends with what I knew about Panther. The two stories did not mesh easily.

  Clearly, Mrs. Boswell and the ot
hers had seen something terrible. I didn’t doubt her story or the devotion of the staff to their master. And I didn’t think it was misplaced. The glimpses of Prince Nathaniel I’d seen suggested someone kind and protective of his people, not someone deserving a curse.

  So that left Panther. As much as he annoyed me, I couldn’t see him in league with someone like Crawa. I remembered how he’d protected me against the knight, the glimpses of concern I’d seen when he hadn’t known I was watching. And the cage. I couldn’t forget the dismal prison I’d found him in.

  No, the two stories didn’t fit together. It was like having two pieces and realizing that they came from different puzzles. Clara had a piece too, or thought she did. I wished Mrs. Boswell had let her tell me what it was. I rolled onto my side and curled up, planning to nap. There had to be some way both stories, Panther’s and Mrs. Boswell’s, could be true. Maybe I needed to turn the pieces over.

  But he had known Mistress Leone. I remembered he had called her “Mistress.” He’d known her title. Even if that was standard for housekeepers here, in her black dress and large apron she could easily have been part of the kitchen staff collecting herbs for cooking. So how had he known?

  Unless … I sat up. I wasn’t sure I was right, but if I was, everything fit. And sitting here wasn’t helping anything. I nudged Footstool.

  “Come on. I’m going to lunch, then we’re going to explore the woods again.”

  Footstool was still my best guide to the house. He didn’t seem to mind that I still needed him to find the dining room. He left me by the door and went to his favorite spot by the window. I guess it was boring watching meals when you didn’t need to eat.

  Lunch had been set out on the sideboard. I helped myself to a plate of fish and chips and sat to the left of the master’s chair. As I cut into my fish, I could feel eyes on me. I hadn’t heard Footstool come into the room, so I couldn’t think of anyone with a reason to watch me.