Lord Schofield regarded Frederick with approval. “It is only good sense for you to inquire. The experiment I have in mind will not harm you in the least. If what you have told me is true, we will be finished in five minutes, and I suspect it will seem to you to have been an utter waste of both your time and mine.”
Although very much against the idea of helping a wizard do anything, Frederick couldn’t think of any safe way to refuse. “Very well, my lord.”
Lord Schofield turned for the door. “I shall conduct the experiment in my study. Follow me. Don’t speak unless you must, and at all costs, don’t touch anything.”
Together, Frederick and his employer made their way to Lord Schofield’s workroom. As his lordship unlocked the forbidden door and let them into the room where he did his wizardry, Frederick felt a thrill of excitement.
It was a spacious room, lit by a large brass lamp like a turnip with tentacles. The floor was bare. Except for a long table in the center of the room, there was hardly any furniture. The walls were lined with shelves of books and scientific equipment. If he closed his eyes, Frederick had the sense the room was crowded, as if there was a party going on just outside of his range of hearing.
Marveling, Frederick let his gaze travel around and around the room. On the shelves with the books he recognized a clock, a set of scales, a globe, and what looked like a lizard in a green glass jar.
Frederick knew it was wrong to point, but he couldn’t stop himself. “What’s that?”
Lord Schofield finished lighting the lamps. “I told you not to speak unless you must.”
“But what is that thing?”
Lord Schofield sighed. “Once it was a lizard. Now it is merely a travel souvenir. If you have no further questions, I will begin. Stand over there. Don’t move. Don’t say another word until I tell you that you may.”
Frederick took his place near the table and watched in fascination as Lord Schofield drew a circle around Frederick with a bit of blue chalk, muttering the whole time. When the circle was complete, Lord Schofield made another circle, far smaller, a few feet away. Then he put the chalk on the table, held one hand in the air, put the other in his pocket, and said some words Frederick didn’t understand.
Frederick’s ears popped and abruptly the smaller circle was no longer empty. Standing inside it was a creature like a grumpy little man, hardly up to Frederick’s knee, dressed all in green.
“Ow.” The little man glared at Lord Schofield. “I was asleep, you know. No call to haul me out of a sound sleep.” His voice was as deep as the hum of bees.
“Sorry,” said Lord Schofield, without sounding apologetic in the least. “Not such a waste of time after all, it seems. Do you know this fellow? You may speak now, Frederick.”
Frederick rubbed his eyes and took a long look. It was the little man he’d dreamed of, no question. He thought carefully about the question he had been asked. Lord Schofield was nothing like as cross as Mr. Makepeace had been. But still, dreaming of the little man was not the same as knowing him. “My lord, we have not been formally introduced.”
“Oh, haven’t you?” Lord Schofield turned his attention to the little man. “Do you know this young chop-logic, fellow?”
The little man studied Frederick with interest. “I might.”
“Suppose you introduce yourself to him properly, then,” said Lord Schofield.
“Suppose I don’t?” the little man replied. “Names are powerful things. I don’t introduce myself lightly.”
“Don’t you, indeed?” Lord Schofield moved his hand in the air.
“Ow!” The little man rubbed his left elbow. “That pinches, you know.” To Frederick, he said, “My name is Billy Bly.”
Frederick studied the little man before he answered. Billy Bly gave him back look for look, bright and friendly. Frederick trusted him at once. He reminded himself to be careful and go slowly. He was almost sure Billy Bly had saved him from a day locked in the orphanage still room, but he had been wrong about trusting people before. “How do you do?” Frederick gave the little man a polite bow. “My name is Frederick Lincoln.”
Billy Bly looked pleased. “Very civil of you, I’m sure.”
Hesitantly, Frederick went on. “Did we meet at the orphanage? I seem to remember seeing you once before. In the kitchen there.”
“I know. Vardle wasn’t so bad, though the things he did to good honest food ought to be a crime. He meant well. But that Makepeace was a right swine, wasn’t he? How did he ever come by a good name like that? He should be called something far more like his nature.” Billy Bly made a very rude noise. “Something like that. Horrible man.”
“You helped me sort the peas and beans,” Frederick said. He opened his mouth to thank the little man, but Lord Schofield held up an index finger to hush him.
“Think carefully before you speak,” Lord Schofield advised. “Fellows like Billy Bly sometimes react with unexpected violence to being thanked for their help. If he is under a spell, it may free him. Beware. Brownies can be unpredictable.”
“Are you under a spell?” Frederick asked Billy Bly.
“Thank you for your kind concern, I’m sure. As it happens, I’m not. Though if I were under a spell,” Billy Bly added, with a superior glance at Lord Schofield, “I wouldn’t be allowed to say.”
“Then I thank you for your help,” said Frederick. “And did you black the boots as well?”
Billy Bly beamed at Frederick. “Not bad, eh?”
“Perfect,” said Frederick. “I never saw leather with such a shine. I wish you’d show me how to do it.”
“If he hadn’t made those boots shine so, I might not have noticed he was here. At least not until this came to my attention.” From a silver tray on his worktable, Lord Schofield picked up a blackened rag.
To Frederick’s horror, he recognized that the black rag had once been one of the fine damask napkins used by the guests who dined with his lordship. Now it was crumpled and stained with what looked very much like boot polish.
Billy Bly took no notice of the rag. “Yes, I noticed the protective charms you and your family have put on the place,” he said airily. “Nice work indeed. Very sound, very workmanlike.”
“Very rude of you to ignore them.” Lord Schofield sounded nettled.
“It was never my intention,” said Billy Bly, “to be rude. It is less than polite, some folk might point out, to set charms on your house to keep folk like me at a distance. Condemned without a hearing, you might say.”
“You might say so, but as it is my house, I would not,” said Lord Schofield. “Did you come to us from the same orphanage young Frederick did?”
“That’s right,” said Billy Bly. “Been there for years. I was among the students, barristers, and benchers next door at Lincoln’s Inn for years before that.”
Lord Schofield looked amused. “No doubt that’s where you picked up your legal education.”
The question seemed to make Billy Bly cross. “If you mean I am a stickler for rules, that’s right. I also like a place with plenty of interest, lots of things happening. Splendid grub, too.”
“If life there suited you so well, why leave?” asked Lord Schofield.
“The usual story.” Billy Bly sighed. “Too much of a good thing. The place attracted a low element, hobgoblins no better than scaff and raff. They fought over scraps.”
“So you moved on in search of better neighbors?” Lord Schofield guessed. “Before they moved you out by force?”
“No competition to speak of at the orphanage,” Billy Bly agreed. “No surprise there. The cooking was so bad, the mice complained.”
“Why did you stay?” Frederick asked. “If it’s good food you like, the orphanage was no place for you.”
“That swine Makepeace.” Billy Bly looked embarrassed. “His favorite amusement was punishing you orphans. There he was spilling beans and then ordering you boys to pick up after him, or to put things in order by size, or to count them. Counting is my fav
orite. Once I’ve begun a task like that, I have to finish it. It’s not my fault, it’s the way I’m made. I could no more walk away from counting mustard seeds than I could walk into a church on Easter morning.”
“Then why did you leave?” Frederick asked, more puzzled than ever.
If possible, Billy Bly looked even more embarrassed. “You seemed a nice lad,” he said at last. “When you flitted, I thought I’d flit with you, see you were looked after properly.”
Frederick was horrified to feel his throat tighten with tears. Except for Vardle perhaps, no one had ever cared tuppence whether Frederick had been looked after properly or thrown in the river. He could hardly keep from showing how much the little man’s words meant to him. “That—that was very kind of you.”
“The pleasure was all mine,” said Billy Bly. “The food here is far better, and whatever his shortcomings, the cook here knows when to put down a nice saucer of cream and look the other way.”
“Oh, he does, does he?” Lord Schofield looked thoughtful. “I can see I’ll have to have a chat with Grant about that. You have done very little damage during your stay here. I commend you for your restraint. But I know the ways of brownies and hobgoblins too well to believe that can go on for long.”
“You may dock the cost of the napkin from my wages,” Frederick said. “It was my fault for falling asleep before my work was done.”
Lord Schofield looked a little sad. “Billy Bly helps you with your work. He came with you from the orphanage. If he leaves, will you leave with him?”
With a pang, Frederick thought of his clean clothes and his comfortable bed. He thought of the food, good and plentiful, and the pleasure and pride he took in earning a steady wage. “Must I go?”
“That’s for you to decide. But go Billy Bly must. I don’t blame either of you for ruining the napkin. You didn’t do it and he couldn’t help it. That’s his nature. Hobgoblins make chancy houseguests. Next time he may take it into his head to clean the chimneys with a featherbed.”
A little desperately, Frederick said, “If he does, I’ll pay for the damages.”
“Your wages won’t cover the damage a hobgoblin can do,” said Lord Schofield. “A brownie took a liking to my brother, Edward, when we were both boys. Every plant the gardener set out would turn up in Edward’s room sooner or later, in every container you can imagine, from shoes to chamber pots. By the time my mother banished him from our house in the country, that creature had the whole place turned upside down.”
“What if Billy Bly promised not to do any damage? What if he swore?”
“Wouldn’t swear,” said Billy Bly. “Wouldn’t promise.”
“You may keep your position, Frederick. But the brownie must go.” Lord Schofield lifted both hands in the air. “No hard feelings, Billy Bly.”
“None at all, your bossiness,” Billy Bly replied. To Frederick, he said, “Mind how you go, lad.”
Lord Schofield moved his hands in a quick, graceful gesture. Frederick’s ears popped again, and the chalk circle was empty. Billy Bly was gone as if Frederick had dreamed the whole thing; nothing remaining of his presence but the fading sound of dry leaves rustling from every direction.
“That’s that.” Lord Schofield dusted his hands. “You may scrub the floor now, Frederick.”
With a sense of chill disbelief heavy in his stomach, Frederick fetched a bucket of water and a brush. Carefully he scrubbed the chalk marks off the study floor. While he cleaned up after the very first magic spell he had ever seen cast, Lord Schofield wrote notes in a big leather-bound book.
So finally he knew, Frederick told himself. It was no dream. Billy Bly had been as real as Mr. Vardle. Now Billy Bly was gone. The empty feeling soaked into him the way the cold water soaked his knees as he worked.
Now Frederick was alone in Schofield House, lonely in a way he’d never been before. He was used to feeling alone. But he wished he had known Billy Bly had been there. Frederick would have asked Billy Bly a thousand questions, trying to learn everything there was to know about brownies and hobgoblins. More even than the lost chance to learn, Frederick mourned the loss of his unseen companion. He wished, more than anything, that he’d known someone in the world had cared about him enough to follow him from the orphanage. Too late. In a house full of people, Frederick found himself alone.
5
IN WHICH FREDERICK GOES UP IN THE WORLD
From the day he banished Billy Bly from Schofield House, Lord Schofield took an interest in Frederick. He already behaved to everyone as if the work they did for him was important, and he never seemed to notice there was a rule that the servants should not speak to him unless he had spoken to them first. In Frederick’s case, Lord Schofield added curiosity to his usual courtesy.
“You haven’t seen anything of Billy Bly since I sent him away?” Lord Schofield asked, almost daily. “You would mention it if you had, I hope?”
Sometimes Frederick would listen hard as he polished furniture, but he never heard leaves rustling, nor ever felt the slightest sense of unseen companionship. “No, my lord,” he assured his employer. “Of course I would, my lord.”
“Excellent, Frederick. Good work. Keep it up.”
Frederick was unsettled by Lord Schofield’s air of friendly interest. Since he had explained about the business with Billy Bly to Bess first chance he had, he asked Bess for her opinion while they were scrubbing the kitchen floor together.
“No mystery there,” Bess said. “Magic is the one thing Lord Schofield truly cares about in this world, right?”
Frederick knew no such thing, but he could tell from Bess’s voice what the answer was supposed to be, so he echoed, “Right.”
“What is this Billy Bly thing?” Bess demanded.
“Magic.” Frederick was in no doubt whatsoever about that.
“Right. So why was Billy Bly here?”
“Because of me?” Frederick ventured.
“Right. Now, why is Lord Schofield keeping you under his eye?”
“Because Billy Bly liked me?” Frederick asked.
Bess rapped his knuckles with her scrub brush, but not very hard. “Because you brought him with you, fool. Lord Schofield wants to know why, and what else you may have brought with you without knowing.”
“But I didn’t even notice Billy Bly was here,” Frederick protested. “Or at the orphanage, for that matter.” But he had noticed at the orphanage, Frederick reminded himself. He just hadn’t understood what it was he had noticed.
“Don’t go all pie-faced worrying over it. Lord Schofield is curious as a cat. Billy Bly made him curious about you. That’s all. Don’t worry. He’ll lose interest soon enough.” Bess went back to scrubbing.
In a way, she was quite wrong about Lord Schofield. He didn’t lose interest in Frederick. But in a way she was quite right, for Lord Schofield was as curious as a cat. The thing that most interested Lord Schofield about Frederick was the way he tied his cravat.
“You look remarkably tidy on a daily basis, and I know for a fact you can’t have more than two neck cloths to your name. How do you manage it?” Lord Schofield demanded when next they met. “It takes Piers an hour and a dozen neck cloths every morning, and if I’m not to go out looking like a badly made bed, I have to tie the thing myself.”
“It’s just a knack. Sometimes I have to find a looking glass,” Frederick admitted.
Lord Schofield frowned at Frederick’s cravat. “There’s more to it than a knack. Explain the trick of it to Piers.”
The very next morning, Frederick presented himself to Piers in his lordship’s dressing room.
“Lord Schofield sent me,” Frederick said.
Piers, a well-scrubbed, muscular young man, looked up from reading his lordship’s morning newspaper. “Ah, young Frederick. Yes, I was told to expect you. You’re to give me lessons in how to tie a cravat properly.”
“If you please, sir,” said Frederick politely. “Lord Schofield’s orders.”
Piers si
ghed as he folded the newspaper away. “You can save it. I haven’t the aptitude.”
“How do you know?” Frederick asked. “You haven’t tried.”
“Oh, haven’t I?” Piers looked gloomy. “Dozens of neck cloths I’ve spoiled doing it wrong. They wrinkle if I so much as look at them. Fan won’t even speak to me anymore.”
“Did Fan show you how it’s done?” Frederick asked. “All I know is what she showed me.”
“She tried a few times.” Piers shook his head. “Lord Schofield’s orders, of course. But it’s no use. I ruin them every time.”
“Let me show you, just once,” said Frederick, “so we can honestly say we tried.”
“Just once, then.” With another sigh Piers opened a drawer and drew out a crisp clean neck cloth, neatly folded. As he handed it to Frederick, he was already undoing his own cravat. “Have at it, lad.”
Frederick shook out the neck cloth and put the valet’s smoothing iron to heat in the fireplace. He cleared a place among the brushes and razors on his lordship’s dressing table and folded a towel to serve as a pressing cloth. When the iron was hot, Frederick smoothed the ends of the neck cloth as if it were his own, then positioned Piers before the dressing room’s looking glass.
“Now, watch me.” Frederick worked as quickly as he could, given that Piers was so tall he had to climb on a chair at times to get the angle right. Deftly, Frederick twisted and folded the fabric around Piers’s neck. “Look up at the ceiling. Hold still.”
Piers tilted his head back meekly. Frederick made the final adjustments and tied the knot just so. He let the folds of cloth go where they wanted to go, soft but not too soft, crisp but not too crisp.
“Now lower your jaw as you bring your head forward so that the fabric squashes down and the folds turn out properly.” Frederick surveyed the result with disfavor. “If we do this again, I shall fetch a step stool. You’re too tall.”
“No need.” Entranced, Piers was gazing at himself in the looking glass. “Frederick—you’re a marvel.” He turned his head this way and that, admiring his cravat. “How smart I look. Hang on a moment.” He left the dressing room abruptly.
Magic Below Stairs Page 4
