The Alchemist's Apprentice

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  It was all I could do to keep my legs moving as I hurried down to the kitchens. Cook was nowhere to be seen, so I flagged down one of her assistants - Jeanette, the only one who seemed willing to talk to scullery maids - and asked her where to find the wine. She seemed inclined to think I was talking about cooking wine until I explained it was for Reginald, at which point she directed me to the wine cellar. The giant chamber looked like an ironhold. I couldn’t help looking at the labels as she helped me find a suitable bottle and a glass, wondering if some of them held potions and draughts instead of alcohol. The family seemed to have gone to a great deal of trouble for a mere wine cellar.

  “That should be suitable for the young master,” Jeanette said. “Do you know anything about wine?”

  I shook my head, desperate to get back to Cyanine’s room before it was too late. “Nothing,” I said. I was vaguely aware that there were differences between the cheap beer my stepfather drank and the wine available to the aristocracy, but I couldn’t have described them to save my life. Master Travis had warned me to stay away from alcohol and I’d never dared defy him. I’d seen women - and men - drink themselves to death. “Lady Younghusband’s staff never saw fit to instruct me in the details of choosing wine.”

  “They were probably afraid you’d take their place,” Jeanette said. She winked as she led the way back to the stairs, then rattled out a great deal of detail I knew I wasn’t going to remember. “Just remember that that’s a bottle of sweet garland, laid down ten years ago ... if he asks. The young master is known for his taste in wine.”

  “Thank you,” I said, when she’d finished. “I’m sure he’ll thank me for it.”

  Jeanette’s lips thinned. “Just don’t be around him for too long afterwards,” she said. “It’s a little early in the day for him to be drinking.”

  I nodded, then carried the bottle back up the staircase and down the corridor to Cyanine’s room. The door was still closed, bothering me more than I cared to admit. I hesitated outside the room, then tapped on the door. It opened a moment later, revealing Reginald sitting on a chair, glaring at Cyanine. Her earlier confidence was gone. She was sitting on the bed, her arms wrapped around her legs. I could see tears in her eyes. She looked relieved to see me, even though she knew there was nothing I could do to help her. I felt a pang of guilt as I offered Reginald the bottle of wine. I wanted to bring it crashing down onto his head.

  “You’re meant to bring a tray,” Reginald said. “Didn’t they think to tell you that you’d need a tray?”

  I kicked myself, mentally. I’d just given him an excuse to be angry with me, if he wished ... if he needed an excuse. I had the feeling he’d been horrible to every single servant in the household. Ginny had hinted at that even before he’d murdered Master Travis and forced me to flee. I lowered my eyes, trying to look contrite. I really didn’t dare let him look me in the eye. My hair was concealed behind a cap, and I’d put on the makeup Ginny had given me, but I knew I didn’t look that different. Reginald might see through the disguise at any moment.

  Reginald stood and took the bottle. “Inform Cook that I will be taking my lunch in my chambers,” he said, grandly. He didn’t bother to take the glass. “You can pick up the bottle later.”

  “Yes, Young Master,” I said, carefully. It hadn’t occurred to me, at least until it was too late, that he might recognise my voice. We’d bandied more than enough words before he’d tried to kill me. “I’ll pick it up personally.”

  Reginald turned and walked out of the room. I sagged in relief as the door closed behind him, heedless of the danger. Cyanine was watching me. I could feel her eyes boring into my back. She let out a faint sound of pain and I turned to face her, composing myself as best as I could. Cyanine was rubbing her upper forearm slowly, trying to massage out the pain. I shuddered when I saw the bruise against her pale skin. My arm ached in sympathy. My stepfather had left bruises when he’d grabbed me by the arm. I’d had to expend far too much makeup to cover the marks before Ginny or someone else saw them. I had no idea what they’d think, but I doubted I wanted to know.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, as I walked towards her. She needed a healing salve, not sympathy. “I can find you something ...”

  “On the table, in the next room,” Cyanine said. Her voice was faint, as if she was on the verge of blacking out. “Bring it in here.”

  I opened the door and peered inside. The room was pink, of course, but otherwise it looked more like a private workroom than anything else. I felt a stab of envy as I saw the collection of books on magic, ranging from a standard book of spells - Master Travis had owned an outdated copy - to the latest edition of Basic Potions Recipes . The table was covered with bottles, jars and tiny bags of potion ingredients, scattered all over the table in a manner I knew would’ve horrified Master Travis. I reached out with my senses, checking that the room was protected by powerful wards. There was nothing really dangerous on the table - no Dragon Scales, no Lambeth Water - but I felt uneasy anyway. Master Travis had told me, time and time again, that I had to keep my workspace under tight control. A single mistake could prove fatal.

  The room needs a proper cleaning , I thought, eying the remnants of previous experiments that were now practically baked onto the worktable. Whoever had the job of cleaning it wasn’t being paid anything like enough. I wouldn’t have cared to do it myself without proper equipment and a collection of expensive neutralisers. Master Travis would have been furious if I failed to clean up after my experiments ...

  I picked up a small jar of healing salve - it didn’t smell quite right, but it was close enough to work - and carried it back into the bedroom. Cyanine took it with a grunt and slathered it on her arm, visibly wincing as she moved her fingers over the bruise. I watched her grimly, wondering if I should offer to brew something better. Or to suggest she went to her mother and told her what Reginald had done. The salve was stronger than I’d thought. The marks were already fading to nothingness.

  She looked up, as if she knew what I was thinking. “You’re to tell no one,” she said. The shame in her eyes brought me up short. “Or I guarantee you will never work again.”

  “I won’t,” I said, wishing I could offer some words of comfort. “Cyanine ...”

  “Don’t say a word,” Cyanine said. “Please.”

  I nodded, reluctantly. I’d seen kids - and adults - who were unwilling to admit they were being abused, but no one in Water Shallot would care. They’d be lucky if they were only laughed at by their peers. Here ... surely Cyanine’s mother would care? How could she just sit back and let Reginald abuse his half-sister? Or his father? My stepfather would have snapped my neck like a twig if I’d even thought about harming my half-sisters. I cursed Reginald under my breath as I helped Cyanine clean her room, then watched her read until her governess returned from her break. I hated him. I hadn’t thought it was possible to hate someone as much as I hated him. But what could I do about it? I tossed the problem over and over again in my mind as the governess dismissed me with a curt nod, trying to think of something. Nothing came to mind.

  I was halfway down the stairs when it hit me. Cyanine - little Cyanine - had been the girl who’d come to the shop. The shock nearly made me drop my glass. No wonder she’d thought she’d known me. It was hard to believe that such a young girl would walk into Water Shallot on her own, but she was an aristocrat. She’d have all sorts of protections woven into her magic. No one would dare to stop her and if they did, they wouldn’t live to regret it.

  But they’re not enough to protect her from Reginald , I thought. She’d been utterly terrified at the thought of being caught by him. What is he doing to her ?

  In truth, I didn’t want to know.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I had no time to mull over what I’d discovered - or find a way to turn it to my advantage - over the next few days. I barely even had time to eat and sleep as Lucinda put me, Jill and a small army of servants to work making preparations for the ball. We
helped slice ingredients for Cook, change the bedding in rooms that didn’t look to have been used for generations and hundreds of other finicky little tasks I’d never had to worry about while I’d been working at the shop. Master Travis had been fussy about some things - and he’d been a fanatic about keeping the workrooms and shop counters clean - but otherwise he hadn’t been too fussed. I silently blessed my ancestors for allowing me to cross paths with him. I honestly didn’t know how Jill had managed to put up with being a scullery maid for years .

  “It beats living in the orphanage,” she said, when I asked her. “And you get fed better here.”

  I nodded as we moved down the corridor, sweeping up flecks of dust that were practically invisible to the naked eye. Lucinda would see them, Jill assured me; worse, the mistress would see them. Everything had to be absolutely perfect. I caught sight of a pair of men fiddling with a giant chandelier - it was so large that they couldn’t lower it to the floor, even with magic - and silently hoped they wouldn’t have an accident as they waved cheerfully at us. Jill seemed to want to stop and chat for a bit, but she knew better. Lucinda would make us regret it if she caught us slacking during the day. I’d heard Daisy grumbling about being told she was being docked a day’s pay for dropping a bowl of chopped vegetables on the kitchen floor.

  Which would have got her in worse trouble if she’d done it in a potions’ lab , I thought, as we moved to the next room. Master Travis would probably have kicked me out on the spot.

  The only advantage to the endless list of preparations, as far as I could tell, was that it was a chance to explore the remainder of Bolingbroke Hall. No one would ask questions if I was on the upper levels, as long as I was carrying a pile of clothes or otherwise looked as if I was doing something important. My mental map of the hall was growing larger by the day, allowing me to deduce the existence of a number of hidden rooms. Reginald’s chambers were actually close to his father’s, right next to his late brother’s. I wondered, as we walked past the doors, just what secrets lurked inside. The wards were strong enough to deter me from trying to enter without a very good excuse.

  “The guests will start arriving tomorrow,” Jill informed me, once we’d finished changing the bedding in one of the larger suites. “And this whole place will turn into a madhouse.”

  I winced. “It isn’t a madhouse already?”

  Jill snorted. “Everyone who thinks they can claim a blood tie to the family will try to make it to the Bolingbroke Ball,” she said. “They won’t want to be forgotten. And each and every one of them will bring a servant. The high-class servants will sleep in rooms next to their masters, but the others? We may wind up sleeping in the corridor after Lucinda has finished allocating the beds.”

  “Ouch,” I said. Lucinda had never warmed up to me. I didn’t know if she thought I was a threat to her position, or if she merely disliked half-castes, but it hardly mattered. She had never failed to find an opportunity to put me down. “Have you had to do that before?”

  “A couple of times,” Jill said. “It isn’t so bad as long as someone doesn’t kick you awake in the middle of the night. Cook once let me bed down in the kitchen, which was surprisingly warm. She taught me a couple of charms to make the floor more comfortable too.”

  “That was good of her,” I said, as we headed back down the stairs. “Do we get to sleep in after the ball is done?”

  Jill gave me a sidelong look. “Did your previous mistress allow you to sleep in?”

  I said nothing. That had been careless. The family might sleep in until lunchtime - they certainly didn’t seem to have a regular breakfast time; I’d taken trays to various rooms throughout the morning - but the servants weren’t permitted such luxuries. Lady Younghusband hadn’t been that eccentric. Master Travis had let me sleep in on weekends, although the cold had often driven me out of my bed until I’d learnt a handful of heating charms. Lucinda wasn’t going to be anything like so kind. I was sure of it.

  A manservant was standing at the bottom of the stairwell, having a quick smoke. I smiled at his stricken face as he saw us, then tapped my lips in a wordless promise to be quiet. I didn’t really blame him for taking an unofficial break, although I hoped he didn’t get caught by his master - or Lucinda. Lucinda would take a petty delight in reporting him, I was sure; his master would have to do something , even if it was just a quiet reprimand. A servant who embarrassed their master would be in real trouble. It would make the masters look bad in front of their peers.

  “The wards will take care of the smoke-stench,” Jill muttered, as we headed down to the kitchens. The sound of clattering pots and pans was almost deafening. “But he’ll be dead meat if Lucinda catches him.”

  “Poor guy,” I said.

  Jill snorted. “Manservants are often the worst,” she said, rudely. “They think they can do what they like, just because they work for the Duke of Something Somebody. I knew a girl who let one of them ...”

  She broke off as she entered the kitchens. Lucinda was standing by the door, looking tired and cranky. I wondered, feeling a flicker of sympathy, just how hard she’d been working over the last few days. Lady Antonia was, in theory, in charge of preparing for the ball, but Lucinda was doing most of the work. It felt as if she’d dumped everything onto us ... no, that wasn’t true. There were duties that Lucinda couldn’t pass down to her subordinates.

  “The Lord of Harlington will not sit next to his lady,” she said to Cook as we entered. “Make sure you put his special meal in the right place.”

  “It will be done, Your Ladyship,” Cook said. “Just make sure you get the final list to us before the night of the ball.”

  Lucinda’s eyes narrowed at the mockery. “Don’t blunder now,” she snarled. “I won’t have it be said that ...”

  She broke off as she saw us. “Rebecca, Jill,” she said. “Have you finished in the upper levels?”

  “We did all five rooms as you said, Miss Lucinda.” Jill’s voice was painfully polite. But then, there was nothing stopping Lucinda from striking her - or simply dismissing her on the spot. Cook seemed to be immune to the housemistress’s charms and threats. “Do you wish us to do more?”

  “Later,” Lucinda said. Her eyes moved to me, her gaze narrowing. “You have a visitor, a messenger boy. He’s waiting in the stables.”

  I blinked. “A visitor?”

  “With a note that absolutely has to be put into your hands,” Lucinda said. “You’ll bring it to me, of course.”

  It was all I could do to keep from snapping an outraged response. Master Travis had never insisted on reading my letters, although I hadn’t received many letters. Most of the notes I’d drafted for his signature had been to suppliers, not to friends and family. And now ... who would be writing to me now? No one knew where I was, except Zadornov. My blood ran cold. Zadornov could easily have written a letter to me and insisted that it be put directly into my hands.

  “I won’t have my staff receiving messages from unsuitable people,” Lucinda informed me, coldly. “You will not, of course, reply until after I have seen the letter.”

  “Yes, Miss Lucinda,” I said. Of course ... I didn’t have any privacy in the hall. I wondered, sourly, if my handful of possessions had already been searched. Lucinda didn’t strike me as the kind of person to care about private property, at least when it belonged to her social inferiors ... and besides, I had brought it into the hall. “I’ll bring the letter to you after lunch.”

  “Tell the messenger that he can join the stableboys for lunch,” Cook interjected. “I’m sure he’s missed his food.”

  Lucinda rounded on her. I took advantage of the argument to slip away and hurry down to the stables. I hadn’t been there before - the stables were outside Lucinda’s domain - but I knew where to find them. The messenger was leaning against the wall, watching a pair of horses being brushed down by the grooms. I blinked in surprise - and then wondered why I was surprised - as I recognised him. Clive looked as if he’d walked all the way f
rom Water Shallot to North Shallot without taking a break. I felt a stab of dismay as his face lit up upon seeing me. What was he doing here?