Ella and the Panther's Quest

by Lisa Anne Nisula

  Footstool led me down the stairs and through to the kitchen door. I flinched every time his legs clattered on the floor. I lifted the latch and let the door swing open. As soon as there was enough of a slit, Footstool wriggled out. I slipped out after him. I pushed the door closed, trying to set the latch so it wouldn’t lock us out, but I couldn’t find the right position. I gave up and left one of my shoes in the door so it wouldn’t slam all the way shut. I didn’t know how I would explain being out at night if I had to pound on the front door to be let in.

  Footstool waited for me by the herbs. When he saw I was coming, he led me across the garden to the round shed, the place I had met Clive for my tour of the grounds, and stopped at the oak door. I reached for the knob. “It’s locked.” I hadn’t seen locks on the other sheds. Why would anyone only lock one shed if there was nothing of any value in it? I edged closer to the door. Footstool moved aside.

  I couldn’t see anything clearly, but I ran my fingers over the area around the knob. I felt a keyhole, a padlock, and down at the bottom, another keyhole. “Three locks on a tool shed?” I whispered. “Is there a window?”

  Footstool crept away from the door. I followed. At the side of the building closest to the forest, there was a small window just above the ground. I flattened myself on the grass and peered through.

  I was looking into the basement of the shed. It was a large room, made of stone, like the building. Panther was curled up on the floor beneath the window, asleep. The room was divided in half by a series of iron bars with a hinged panel in the middle. There was a tray pushed near the bars, with a brown clay bowl that had been licked clean.

  “At least they’re feeding him. But it’s still a cage.” I wondered how to get Panther’s attention. Tossing a stone was the normal thing, but he was sleeping soundly and I didn’t think he would wake up with any stone small enough to fit through the grating on the window.

  “Stop that.” Footstool was hitting my side. I shooshed him away and went back to thinking about waking Panther. But Footstool kept at it. When hitting didn’t work, he ran at me and crashed into my side until it felt like he was bringing up bruises. I finally looked over at him.

  But he wasn’t what I was supposed to see. There was a light in the house. Someone was moving around, going downstairs. I pushed myself to my feet and scooped up Footstool in one motion. I started running back to the house before I’d even gotten Footstool off the ground.

  The light stopped by the window. I recognized it as being on the landing in the servants’ staircase. I froze, not wanting any movement to give me away, hoping my cloak was hiding us. The light moved on. I clutched Footstool closer and sprinted across the lawn. If the unknown candle was going to the kitchen for a snack, they would see my shoe in the door and lock us out, or worse, investigate and think I was holding the door open for robbers or killers.

  The candle had reached the ground floor. I could see a glint of its light through the window, then it disappeared as the person moved away from the landing. I couldn’t tell if the candle was going to the kitchen or the front hall.

  With a final burst of speed, I made it to the kitchen door, cramming my foot back into my slipper and grabbing the edge of the door to stop it from slamming as it swung closed.

  No one was there. The kitchen was empty. I pulled the door closed very gently, easing the latch down. There was a little click as it fell into place. I stayed very still, but I didn’t hear anyone. Still holding Footstool, I pulled my cloak more closely around myself and eased the hall door open. The candle was still not there.

  I edged out of the kitchen. There was just enough light in the passage to see the stairs. I pulled my hood over my head and made a dash for the stairs, not worrying about keeping quiet. Hopefully whoever was up would think it was just another servant moving around. On the ground floor landing, I saw the candle just turning the corner toward the front door. I didn’t try to see who was up and about, just padded upstairs and hurried to my room as quietly as I could manage.

  Safely behind my door, I put Footstool on the floor and returned my cloak to the wardrobe, tucking it behind the dresses I wore most often. I slipped behind the screen and changed back into my nightgown.

  Footstool stayed by the fire until I emerged. As I sank into the armchair, I saw Footstool look up and decided he was awake and I wouldn’t bother him by talking. “You found him, but how do we get to him?”

  Footstool shook his head.

  “Did Grigsby have a key?”

  Footstool nodded.

  “Was it kept with the others?”

  He nodded again.

  “Then we’ll have to get the keys. I saw Mistress Leone…”

  Footstool shook his head frantically.

  “Different from Mistress Leone’s keys?”

  Footstool nodded.

  “So different from the keys to the rooms. Are they small, like safe keys or cabinet keys?”

  Footstool nodded again.

  “Then asking for the key to my room won’t work. If only I’d kept the bolt cutters … “

  Footstool nudged my leg, trying to comfort me.

  “I suppose it wouldn’t have been much help with the two keyhole locks, would it?” I rested my hand on Footstool’s back. “Any ideas?”

  He shook his head.

  “Neither have I. I suppose we should get some sleep then. Good night.” I got into bed, but I couldn’t fall asleep. My mind kept going back to Panther sleeping on a cold stone floor again.

  I also thought about all of the other times I’d tried to help Panther: the keys in his cell, the hedge, the knight. He probably didn’t want my help now either.

  No, it was more than that. He probably didn’t think I had any help to offer.

  And that didn’t matter. He may have wanted a hero to free him and go with him on this quest, but I was the only one who had come back. He was stuck with me whether he liked it or not. And I wasn’t going to leave him a prisoner here. I’d thought my way out of other corners on this quest; I’d manage it here too, whether or not he wanted my help. I pulled the covers more tightly around myself and closed my eyes.

  *

  The next morning, all of my worries about the candle came back. The light had stopped on the landing. It could have been looking out the window, could have seen me, and could have wanted to avoid the confrontation until there were witnesses. I watched Phoebe closely, but I didn’t see any sign that she had a new reason to be suspicious of me. As I left my room to go down to breakfast, I was very tempted to run back to bed and ring for a tray. The fewer people I saw, the less chance someone would ask about my wandering. But Footstool had been watching me and I couldn’t bring myself to explain that to him, so I forced myself to go downstairs.

  I saw Grigsby on the stairs and almost ran back, certain he was waiting for me. He heard me approach and looked up.

  “Good morning, my lady.” He had the silver polish in one hand and one of the large vases from the foot of the stairs in the other. It had nothing to do with me.

  “Good morning.” I hoped my voice wasn’t trembling as I answered.

  In the breakfast room, I picked at my food, keeping an eye on any servant who walked past, hoping no one would ask me about the night before.

  Mistress Leone came in, scanning the room as she entered. I looked up, prepared to meet her eyes and get it over with, but Mistress Leone’s gaze slid right over me and kept going. “Clara, are you well enough to be waiting table?”

  “Yes ma’am. I got up last night and put some more of your salve on it. I’m much better.”

  “Let me see your arm.”

  Clara went to Mistress Leone and showed her her arm. The burn had faded to a scaly brown patch.

  “Very well.” Mistress Leone nodded and left the room without looking at me.

  I went back to my food, finishing my pancakes and fruit without any worries except the problem of how to get the keys. If no one had gone to Mistress Leone or Grigsby yet, then I w
as pretty certain I had not been seen, or had been seen by someone who had not recognized me in the dark.

  First I’d have to find out where the keys were kept; then I could find a way to get them. It was obvious I couldn’t ask about the keys I wanted, but maybe there was something else in the house that was locked with a small key, something I could ask about without raising any suspicions. That was something I could work on.

  None of the servants seemed surprised or suspicious when I went from room to room after breakfast, looking for anything that was locked. By lunch I’d found many locked drawers and cabinets, all with their keys sticking out of their keyholes. The only things that were locked and missing their keys were the silver case at the foot of the stairs, a gun case in the upstairs hall, and something I was sure held jewelry in one of the unused bedrooms. I didn’t think I could ask for any of those to be opened. I finally gave up and went to the dining room. At this rate we’d never get Panther free.

  As I passed through the front hall, I heard a clatter and a crash. I ran around the staircase to find Grigsby sprawled on the floor. “Are you all right?”

  Grigsby lay very still for a moment. “I think so.” He shifted and started to rise.

  I knelt down beside him and helped him to sit up. He rested for a moment, then got his legs under him. As Grigsby put weight on his right leg, he moaned, collapsing back onto the floor.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “Yes, my lady. I don’t believe anything is broken.”

  “I’ll get some help. Wait here.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.” He managed a shaky smile.

  I took that as a good sign and ran to the bell pull, giving it a few hard jangles. John and Henry were there quickly, with Mistress Leone a few seconds later.

  “Are you all right, my lady?”

  “Yes, it’s Grigsby. He’s fallen.”

  Mistress Leone knelt down beside Grigsby. “Can you get up?”

  “I could if my right leg would let me.”

  Mistress Leone examined Grigsby’s foot, pressing along his leg, then turning it gently. “A sprain. You need to rest this. John, Henry, help Mr. Grigsby to his room. And you, Grigsby, are going to spend the rest of the day in bed. We’ll see about tomorrow.”

  I watched John and Henry help Grigsby to his feet and support him as they climbed the stairs. Mistress Leone turned to me. “He’ll be fine. Now come to lunch before it gets cold.”

  As I allowed myself to be led away, I saw Footstool hiding behind the curve of the stairs. I didn’t ask if he’d had anything to do with the fall. I didn’t want to know.

  Chapter 17

  After lunch, I went to the library again. I always thought better surrounded by books. With Grigsby out of the way, I had the perfect opportunity to get the keys, or at least find out where they were kept. I just needed an excuse.

  And then I noticed it. The far wall of the library had a bookcase with glass doors filled with old, rare books and manuscripts. And it was locked. I could see the little gold keyhole from where I was sitting. To be certain, I got up and tried the cupboard door. It rattled, but stayed closed. Definitely locked. It was perfect. No one would think it was odd if I wanted to see a book. Who would be best to approach? Most likely Mistress Leone took over when Grigsby was ill.

  I went to the main hall and tried to look interested in the flowers arranged in a large silver vase. It took fifteen minutes, but Mistress Leone came down to her closet and put away her medicines. I waited until Mistress Leone had her things arranged, then walked up to her.

  “Can I help you, my lady?”

  “I was looking at the manuscripts in the library.”

  “Ah, yes. The master was a great collector of art, as were his father and his grandmother. This house has one of the finest collections in all of Greenhaven. You’ve been enjoying it today, haven’t you?”

  “Yes.” That was as good an excuse as any for my wandering. “But the manuscripts look particularly interesting.”

  “They were the master’s favorite. Some of them date back to the formation of Greenhaven.”

  “Do you think it would be possible for me to look at them? Up close, I mean.”

  “Of course, my lady. Grigsby has the keys.”

  “Oh, I don’t want to disturb him.”

  “Come along. I know where he keeps them.”

  I followed Mistress Leone upstairs to the third floor hallway.

  “Mind the floorboards there. They creak, and I don’t want to wake him up.”

  I was careful of the floorboards, stepping gingerly so the creak was soft and trying to memorize where they were in relation to the landing. Mistress Leone opened the second door on the left and went into a sitting room. “Just me, Grigsby,” Mistress Leone whispered toward a closed door. I assumed it was Grigsby’s bedroom. “I’m borrowing the keys to the cabinets.”

  I didn’t hear a response. I peered around the door and watched Mistress Leone unlock the bottom desk drawer on the left and pull out a ring of keys, smaller than those for the rooms. I watched until I saw Mistress Leone put the desk key between the pages of a green leather book, then went back in the hall to wait.

  Mistress Leone took me back to the library and unlocked the manuscript case. “Let me know when you’re ready for me to lock up again.”

  I had hoped the keys would be left, but there wasn’t any way I could have crept out to Panther unnoticed in broad daylight, and if I took the keys, it would be obvious that it had been me, so I settled down with the rare manuscripts and started to read On the Second Son of King Theemim and the Formation of Greenhaven.

  *

  I didn’t see Footstool in my room as I prepared for dinner. I had been looking forward to telling him I had found the keys. As Phoebe fiddled with my hair, I wondered if I should leave some kind of a message for Footstool. I’d have to encode it somehow, in case Clara or someone came in while I was gone, and leave it without Phoebe noticing. I was sure she would try to read anything I left, if she’d taken advantage of the same lessons Clara had. Which reminded me that I wasn’t sure if Footstool could read anyway. So it was likely that a message would only be read by those who shouldn’t. But I still wanted to share my news with him. I wouldn’t have wanted to be left in suspense about it, especially since I suspected he had been instrumental in my getting the keys. I kept my eyes open for an opportunity.

  On my way out the door, I saw my chance. My room key was on the table by the door. I bumped against the table and hit the key to be certain it was knocked onto the floor. That gave me an excuse to bend and pick it up. While I was kneeling on the floor, I found a leaf sticking out of the carving of the table leg that was long enough to hook the key over it and low enough that Footstool would see it when he came back in. Hopefully he’d understand.

  I barely noticed the food put before me at dinner again. Poor Mrs. Boswell’s talent was being wasted on me. I took rice from the offered plate without even looking at it. Only habit got it to my plate without spilling. I didn’t realize the footman had stepped back until I found myself with the serving spoon and no place to put it. I rested the large spoon on the edge of my plate and started to eat. I didn’t notice when the footman removed it, either.

  I didn’t come out of my thoughts until I saw John pass the door with a bottle of red wine for the fish course and stop to stare out into the hall. Looking for a guard, I wondered. Someone watching me, perhaps? I knew it was ridiculous, but he had definitely looked out into the hall, and he had been looking for something.

  I was so deep in my worrying, I remained almost unaware of the plates laid out on the table until one of the footmen gave me a strange look as he cleared an untouched plate of potatoes gratin that I had taken two servings of a few days before.

  “I didn’t see that. Could you leave it for the next course?”

  “Very well, my lady.”

  After the plate of chicken had been placed in front of me, I reached for the potatoes to be certain I didn’t
forget them again. But when I pulled out what I thought was the serving spoon, it turned out to be a knife. I stared at it, so lost in my own thoughts, I was not quite certain what had happened. A footman quickly stepped forward and took the knife from me. “I’m very sorry, my lady.”

  “That’s fine.”

  But it did seem to shake the routine back into place, and everything was back to normal through the cheese and dessert. As I scraped the last of the ice cream from my plate, I wondered if the change in the staff had been due to the change in me. After the incident with the knife, I became very aware of what I was doing, trying to appear as normal as possible.

  As I finished my dessert, I considered skipping my visit to the library again and going straight to my room. I dismissed that idea as soon as I thought it through. I was trying to seem normal, and varying my routine would not do that. Mistress Leone would probably think I wasn’t feeling well if I said I was tired two nights in a row, and insist on treating me.

  Anyway, even though it meant more time pretending everything was normal, spending time in the library would break up the evening. I knew I couldn’t go up to Grigsby’s room for the keys until I was certain all of the servants on the floor were in bed and asleep, and that wouldn’t be until well after midnight.

  I put my napkin on the table and rose. The footmen scrambled to get candles and guide me through the main hall.

  *

  The main hall was filled with servants, far more than I was used to seeing at night. Most of them were only pretending to be busy. I could see Phoebe polishing the same bit of the banister over and over. I had the feeling they were waiting for something, or maybe guarding the hall. I immediately thought they had guessed my plans. Even though I knew that was silly, I was very glad I had decided to stick to my routine.