Frederick was not sure whether Lord Schofield was joking or giving him his first magic lesson. Just to make certain, as he handed over the top hat, he tested his employer with a question intended to make him roar with laughter. “I am to learn Greek?”
“Classical Greek.” Far from laughing at Frederick, Lord Schofield seemed perfectly serious.
“I am to learn Greek?” Frederick stared up at him. “But who will teach me?”
“I will.” Lord Schofield looked pleased with himself. “If you prove an apt student, when you are ready for more advanced instruction in magic, I shall arrange it.”
“Wait.” Frederick could not take it in. “I am to learn magic?”
“If you prove an apt student. I’ll find you the right tutor myself. Pickering, perhaps. Serve him right for his overconfidence.” Lord Schofield set his second-best top hat at just the right angle and turned for the door. “Be warned. I intend to order Kimball to engage a new assistant valet. Soon you must train someone else to black my boots and press my neck cloths. No pushing the task off on Piers. He’s hopeless with neck cloths.”
When Lord Schofield had gone, Frederick stood before the looking glass and said to his own thunderstruck reflection, “Blow me down.”
Then, wondering if he was still asleep and dreaming it all, Frederick went to tell Mr. Grant that Lord Schofield had gone out.
Halfway down the back stairs, Frederick met Bess on her way up with a basket of clean linen.
“You look so strange. What’s wrong?” Bess felt his forehead. “Are you ill?”
“No.” It took Frederick a few tries to get started, but once the words began to come, they tumbled out until he’d told her everything.
Bess beamed at him. “So you’re to learn magic?”
“I’ll try.” Frederick broke off, overwhelmed by the sheer size of the task before him.
“You’ll do it.” Bess seemed able to read his feelings in his face. “If he didn’t believe you could do it, Lord Schofield would never waste a moment of his valuable time on you.”
“That’s true enough.” Frederick stood up a little straighter.
“I’m so proud of you.” Bess added, “Not surprised, mind. Fingers as deft as yours—it stands to reason there’s magic in them somehow.” She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and brushed past him with her basket on her hip. “Now, if I don’t get Mrs. Dutton these sheets, she’ll box my ears for certain.” With steps quick and light as a dancer, Bess was on her way.
Frederick just stood there until the last of Bess’s footsteps faded into silence. If Bess thought he could do it, then he could. He already knew the housework magic required. He could learn to be a wizard.
Frederick collected himself and set off for the kitchen. He still had to tell Mr. Grant that today Lord Schofield would require no breakfast whatsoever.
17
IN WHICH FREDERICK TRAINS HIS REPLACEMENT
By Yuletide, deep midwinter had closed in on Skeynes. The skies were cold iron. The roads were mud. Frederick had never been busier. When he was not practicing the most basic elements of magical spells, he was memorizing lists of Greek words set him by Lord Schofield. When he was not studying, he was in Lord Schofield’s dressing room, teaching.
“Stand up straight.” Frederick poked his student into position.
Bess’s brother, Clarence, was the new assistant valet. He had come all the way from London by mail coach. It was a good thing Bess was around to keep an eye on him, for he was already homesick for the rest of his family in London.
Clarence’s hands were still small, which meant he was good at detail work. Frederick showed him everything he knew about using a smoothing iron, and Clarence fairly soaked it up. He knew any dallying or familiarity would be reported to Bess immediately. So he spoke less than ever, but he worked hard and learned fast.
Frederick showed Clarence just how much starch to put in Lord Schofield’s neck cloths. He taught him the trick of folding the fabric when pressing it. Clarence was at his very best polishing leather, but he was a keen student on other topics as well. He took to the work of an assistant valet—every duty but one: tying the cravat.
“Look, it’s easy.” Frederick smoothed the worst of the wrinkles out of the practice neck cloth they were using and stood in front of Clarence. “Stand up straight. Now, look at the ceiling.”
At first Clarence stared patiently upward while Frederick wrapped his neck in fabric. But before the wrapping was complete, Clarence moved his head as if he were listening intently. “What was that?”
For a moment, Frederick stopped what he was doing to listen. There was nothing to hear, no sound that did not properly belong to the household. “What was what?”
“There it is again.” Clarence was staring upward. “Don’t you hear that?”
“Hear what?” Frederick seized the ends of the neck cloth and lifted them into position. “It’s important to keep the fabric taut while you wrap the cravat. Stop that fidgeting.”
“What is that?” Clarence craned his neck. Ignoring Frederick completely, he was staring all around the room, as if he expected an attack but did not yet know from which direction it would come. “What’s that rustling?”
Frederick froze. There was no rustling that he could hear. But was there a familiar sense of peace and companionship? Frederick released Clarence’s neck cloth and tried to soothe him. “Even a small house can make strange noises now and then. Wood dries out; stones settle. A big old place like this? Might be anything at all.”
“I know about old houses. This isn’t anything like that. It sounds like the wind in the trees.” By now Clarence was looking ready to jump out the window at the next shadow he saw. “What is that?”
“Forget it.” Frederick put the neck cloth aside and found a length of string. “Look, let me show you another way. You can learn to tie the knot in a bit of string first. We’ll work up to using the neck cloth. As soon as I finish that Greek primer, Lord Schofield will send me to study with Mr. Pickering. I’m not going to be here forever to explain things, so mark me well. Here’s the first thing you need to know about tying knots, in a cravat or anything else.”
In the deep midwinter, at the great house called Skeynes, day dimmed to evening. The big house glowed with simple comfort and careful housekeeping. In Lord Schofield’s dressing room, there was warmth and light and work to do.
For Frederick, there was peace. He never saw Billy Bly anymore. He couldn’t hear even the faintest note of his deep voice. Yet Frederick was certain Billy Bly was near. He took comfort from the knowledge. For the next seven years, the brownie would watch over the whole household at Skeynes, not just the infant heir.
There was serenity in that, to Frederick’s way of thinking. Back in London, in the days of Billy Bly’s banishment, when Frederick’s senses had worked perfectly, there had been no Billy Bly in the house to watch over them. Better this way, Frederick promised himself. Far better.
When seven years had passed, what then? Frederick was already determined to learn as much magic as he could. If he was good enough at magic in seven years, perhaps he would be able to call Billy Bly by himself. Perhaps someday he would see the brownie again, not because he needed him. Frederick wanted to ask how Billy Bly had tailored the suit of livery to fit him, and to thank him for all he had done.
When Frederick dismissed Clarence for the day, he added one last duty to the list. “Now and then, put down a dish of cream. Take care not to let it stay too long, for it will sour if it goes untouched. But every week or so, leave out a dish of cream.”
“Why?” Clarence looked confused. “Does Lord Schofield keep a cat in his bedchamber now?”
“No cat,” Frederick said. “Do it anyway. That’s my advice to you. The freshest, best cream available.”
ACCORDING TO BESS
Magic Below Stairs Page 14
