“Miss, you’ve a kind face!” he said to her. “Please help me!”
“Oh, of course I will!” Violet said, her fear forgotten. She moved closer to the boy. “Whatever’s the matter? Are you hurt?”
“He stole my bun money!” the boy wailed. “I’ve been saving up for buns for my mum’s birthday tea. It’s taken me months. And he stole it! Awww! Awww!”
“Who did?” Lucy asked. She had to shout to be heard above the din. Although she felt sorry for the boy, the dreadful wailing was rather wearing on the ears.
“A big brute of a lad! And now there’ll be no buns for tea!”
“How horrid!” Violet replied. “But do stop crying. I’ve got threepence. You can have that to buy some buns.”
The boy looked up at her with a shocked expression on his face. It seemed he was unused to kindness. “Really?”
“Of course! Now, you should get up out of that puddle or your bottom will rot! Then you really will have problems!” Violet said. The serious expression on her face indicated she earnestly believed in bottom-rot.
The boy did as Violet suggested and stood up, muddy water dripping off the seat of his ragged trousers. Violet held out her silver threepenny coin to him.
“You’re so kind, miss. I wish I could give you summat in return.” He began patting the pockets of his jacket. Lucy frowned as she noticed something puzzling about him. His jacket didn’t match his raggedy trousers. It was new-looking and made of good, thick material. Perhaps he’d stolen it? But Lucy didn’t have time to dwell on this as by now the boy had found something in his pocket to give Violet. There was a flash of silver as he whipped out a knife.
The boy leaped at Violet, wielding his blade. He knocked her to the ground, then pinned her down by kneeling on her arms.
Violet shrieked wildly.
Lucy charged towards the boy, her fingers tingling with heat the way they had earlier that morning when she’d been practising magic with Lord Grave. Barely thinking about what she was doing, she drew her hand back and sent a flurry of attack sparks whizzing towards the boy’s exposed nape, just above his collar. The sparks struck their target perfectly.
The boy screamed in pain, clapping his hand over the back of his neck. Violet managed to free one of her arms and punched the boy. The punch didn’t have much power behind it, but it did land somewhere sensitive, and the boy squealed. At the same time, Lucy let fly at him with another volley of sparks. The combined assault completely unbalanced the boy and he ended up flat on his back in the mud. Cursing, he quickly scrambled to his feet, snatching up something he’d dropped. He stepped towards Lucy, clearly considering charging at her. But then he stopped, and for a few seconds he just stared at her, then over his shoulder at Violet, then at Lucy again. His eyes widened.
“You’re her! I thought she was … That stupid frog!”
Lucy had expected the boy to demand more money, so his words confused her. Caruthers had fallen out of her cloak during the fight and was now lying with his head in a muddy puddle. What did he have to do with anything?
“Leave us alone or I’ll hurt you some more!” Lucy yelled. Her heart was pounding so hard she could hardly hear her own voice, which sounded far more threatening than she actually felt. She pointed at the boy, her fingertips stinging with heat again. The boy stepped back, his gaze fixed on the attack sparks that were beginning to crackle around Lucy’s hand. Her heart lurched. Not only could the boy feel the sparks, he could see them too!
After a moment’s hesitation, the boy turned and ran off down the alley. His gait was somewhat lopsided as he splashed through patches of muddy water, no doubt due to Violet’s lucky punch.
When the boy was safely out of sight, Lucy hunkered down next to the little scullery maid and helped her sit up. “Violet! Are you all right?”
“He c-cut me!”
“Where?”
Violet held out her right hand. The soft flap of skin between her thumb and forefinger was bleeding.
“Anywhere else?”
Violet shook her head.
“Thank goodness.” Lucy took out her handkerchief, which fortunately was freshly washed, and wrapped the wound as best she could. Then she helped Violet to stand up.
“Where’s Caruthers?” Violet asked.
“Don’t worry, he’s here. He’s a bit mucky, though.” Lucy retrieved Caruthers from the muddy puddle and handed him to Violet, who clutched him to her chest with her uninjured hand. Then the two of them stumbled shakily out of the alley and back on to the high street.
The violin player was the first person to spot they were in trouble. She laid her instrument down in its velvet-lined case and dashed over to them, her shaggy dog trotting alongside her.
“Hell’s teeth! What happened to you two?”
“A boy. Attacked her with a knife!” Lucy said.
“He attacked her? What about you? Did he get you?” the girl asked, sounding extremely concerned.
“No, he didn’t.” Lucy shook her head. She was beginning to feel rather sick at the thought of what might have happened if they hadn’t managed to fight off the boy. By now, some of the shoppers bustling about had noticed something was amiss too. A little crowd began to form round Violet and Lucy.
“Ooh, look at the little one, her hand’s bleeding!”
Violet, who had turned very pale, said, “Could someone please fetch my mother?”
“Your mother, chicken?” replied a tall, dark-haired woman.
“She’s a seamstress. She works at the draper’s.” Violet closed her eyes and began swaying dangerously.
“I’ll take you to your mother, don’t you worry!” The woman quickly scooped Violet up before she could fall and then began heading towards one of the shops at the other end of the street. Lucy hurried after her, stumbling over the cobbles. When the three of them burst into the draper’s, the bell hanging above the door jangled madly, startling the man behind the counter. He looked up from the bolt of cloth he was folding and cried out in alarm.
“Brenda! What’s going on? Is that little Violet Worthington?” he said.
“Get her mother.” Brenda carefully deposited Violet on one of the tall stools that stood in front of the counter. The man swiftly obeyed and hastened through a pair of fringed red curtains that hung behind the counter, concealing the back room of the shop.
“You should sit down too, chicken, you look dreadful,” Brenda advised Lucy, who gratefully slumped on to a stool just as Mrs Worthington, a plump woman with kind brown eyes, ran through the curtains. She lifted up a section of the wooden counter and rushed over to Violet.
“My little girl! What’s happened to you?” Mrs Worthington took Violet’s wounded hand gently in her own and began carefully removing the handkerchief.
“Some lad attacked the two of ’em, down in the alley,” Brenda explained.
Mrs Worthington glanced at Lucy. “You must be Lucy, the new boot girl. Violet’s always talking about you. Can you tell me what happened, dear?”
As Lucy began explaining the attack once again, Violet laid her head on the shop counter. She was fast asleep by the time Lucy had finished speaking.
“That little one needs to be in bed,” Brenda said.
“I’ll take her home,” Mrs Worthington replied.
“What about you, chicken?” Brenda asked Lucy.
“I’ll be fine. I can walk to Grave Hall,” Lucy said, although she was so shaken up that she was dreading the long slog back.
“If you like, I can take you. I’ve got my pony and trap.”
Lucy gratefully agreed. She followed Brenda out of the draper’s shop to where the pony and trap were standing. Brenda produced an apple from her pocket and gave it to the grey-and-white pony to munch on while she and Lucy climbed up on to the driver’s seat.
Lucy fell silent as Brenda geed the horse out of the village and on to the road that led back to Grave Hall. Was she going to be in trouble for casting magic in a public place? And what about the boy? She wa
s certain that he’d seen the attack sparks. What if he started telling everyone what he’d witnessed? Lord Grave would be furious!
“You mustn’t worry, Lucy,” Brenda said at that very moment, as though she guessed exactly what Lucy was thinking. “Lord Grave will understand that you had to use magic to defend yourself, I’m sure.”
Lucy turned and gaped at her. “You’re a …”
“That’s right. My talents are mostly lowly, but I’m a magician just the same.”
“But how did you know I used magic?”
“There were a few little sparks floating around you when you came out of the alley. Now, tell me, how is everyone up at the Hall? Does Mrs Crawley still concoct revolting recipes? Bernie and I were very close when I worked there. I do miss her.”
“You used to work at Grave Hall?”
“I was the gardener there.”
“Why did you leave?” Lucy asked.
Brenda kept her eyes on the road. “An agricultural difference of opinion, chicken. Lord Grave sacked me. I don’t really like to talk about it, to be honest.”
Brenda dropped Lucy at the bottom of the long drive which led to Grave Hall.
“Hope you don’t mind me leaving you here,” she said, gazing rather wistfully towards the house as Lucy clambered to the ground. “Much as I’d like to see Bernie again, I don’t want to risk bumping into his Lordship. You take care now.”
Lucy waved Brenda off, then began to toil towards the house. When she finally stumbled in to the kitchen, exhausted and relieved, Becky was there, shelling broad beans. Mrs Crawley was too busy attending to some bubbling pots on the range to notice Lucy arrive at first.
Becky gave Lucy an appraising glance. “You took your time, Goodly. You look a right state. Did you have some sort of accident?” Becky’s tone of voice suggested she keenly hoped something bad had happened to Lucy,
“Not an accident. Sorry to disappoint you, Becky,” Lucy snapped. “I was attacked. So was Violet. She got the worst of it. She got cut by a knife.”
“Violet got cut?” Becky said, accidently knocking the bowl of beans off the table and on to the floor.
Mrs Crawley turned from the range. Her face was bright red and sweaty from the heat of the pans. She hurried over to Lucy and put an arm round her shoulders, her forehead dripping gently on to Lucy’s cloak. She steered her in to one of the kitchen chairs. Lucy was grateful as she was beginning to feel rather odd.
“Vonk! Get in here!” Mrs Crawley cried. “Lucy, are you all right? Where’s Violet now?”
“She’s with her mother,” Lucy told her.
Vonk came shooting out of his butler’s pantry, a copy of the latest Penny Dreadful clutched in his hand. He’d clearly been having a sneaky break while everyone else was working.
“Whatever’s wrong, Mrs C?”
“The girls were attacked! Violet’s been hurt, but don’t worry – she’s safely at home now.”
“What?” Vonk dropped the Penny. He took one look at Lucy and said, “Mrs Crawley, a pot of hot, strong tea is in order, I think.”
“Right you are! Becky, get that kettle boiling.”
“You’ll have to do it! I need to pick all this up!” Becky said. She was down on her hands and knees, scrabbling about for her spilled beans.
While Mrs Crawley clattered around making tea, Vonk sat down opposite Lucy. “What happened?” he asked.
Lucy shakily explained everything, or almost everything. Becky was in earshot, under the table picking up stray beans, so she didn’t mention that she’d used magic to defend Violet.
“And you’re not hurt?” Vonk asked when she’d finished.
“No.”
“Here you are – this has plenty of sugar in it.” Mrs Crawley put a cup of tea in front of Lucy.
“Thanks.” Lucy blew on the tea and then took a sip. It was hot, sweet and very comforting, and she began to recover a little.
By now Becky had finished picking up the beans and sat back down at the table. She took another pod and resumed her shelling in silence. Lucy noticed Becky’s hands were trembling. Becky always made a point of being horrible to Violet, but the attack on the poor little scullery maid seemed to have genuinely upset her.
“I think I’d better go and see Lord Grave and tell him what happened. He’ll want to know,” Lucy said when she’d finished her tea and felt a little more like her usual self.
“Don’t worry, I’ll explain it all to him,” Vonk said.
Lucy glanced at Becky, who luckily seemed distracted by her beans, then shook her head gently at Vonk. He immediately understood that there was something more Lucy needed to tell Lord Grave, and it couldn’t be said in front of Becky.
“On second thoughts, perhaps it might be best if you hurry along and speak to his Lordship yourself. I’ve got a lot to do.”
As she left the kitchen, Lucy glanced over her shoulder and caught Becky staring at her. Their eyes met for a second before Becky swiftly diverted her gaze back to her bowl of beans. In that second, Lucy realised that the normally abrasive under-housemaid was not simply upset by what had happened to Violet; she was frightened.
“I’m really sorry. I know I shouldn’t have used the attack sparks. I did it without thinking,” Lucy said, when she’d finished explaining the morning’s events to Lord Grave. She was sitting in one of the green wing-backed armchairs next to the fire in the drawing room.
“There’s nothing to be sorry for. You probably saved Violet’s life,” Lord Grave replied. He was sitting in the chair opposite Lucy’s. Bathsheba lay near him, snoozing in front of the fire. Her mouth was partly open, the gleaming points of her fangs on display, and she was dribbling rather gracelessly on to the green woollen hearthrug.
“But what if I’m right and the boy saw the sparks as well as felt them?”
“I suppose he might say something to any accomplices he might have, but he’s not likely to go to the authorities to report anything suspicious, is he?”
“Could he have been a magician?”
“Hmm. I know all the magicians in the area, young and old. I don’t recognise him from your description. It’s possible, though, that he might have come from somewhere else.”
“I wonder what he wanted? Why would he bother attacking a servant girl like Violet? He must have realised she wouldn’t have jewellery or anything like that. And she’d already given him threepence, all the money she had on her,” Bertie said, picking absentmindedly at the frayed material that covered the footstool he was perched on. Bathsheba had a bad habit of using it to sharpen her claws on.
“That’s a good point, my boy.” Lord Grave took a puff of his cigar, which was unlit as he was trying to give them up. Or at least he was when Bertie was around. “Lucy, is there anything more you remember that might give us a clue?”
Lucy thought carefully. “There is something that I don’t understand. Just before the boy ran off, he said something about Caruthers. Something like ‘that stupid frog’ … Why would he say that?”
“Where was Caruthers at the time?” Bertie asked.
“He was on the ground. I dropped him.”
“You dropped him? When the boy attacked you and Violet, who was holding Caruthers?”
“Me.”
Bertie leaned forward, his dark bushy eyebrows drawn together in a thoughtful frown. “Did the boy say anything else?”
“Yes. Something like … ‘you’re her’. He seemed quite confused.” Lucy replied, remembering how the boy had looked from her to Violet and back again. “Maybe … maybe he thought I was Violet because I was holding Caruthers?”
“And maybe he thought Violet was you!” Bertie said excitedly. “Which means he meant to attack you first.”
“It’s a good theory, my boy,” Lord Grave said. “But it still leaves us with the same question. Why would anyone want to attack Lucy? We need to speak to little Violet in case she saw anything that might provide a clue as to the boy’s motive. Lucy, you go and rest for an hour, then we
’ll visit Violet. In the meantime I’ll ask Vonk to ready the carriage.”
Half an hour later, Lucy was lying on her brass bed in the little attic room she shared with Becky. She felt too keyed up to nap. Bored of staring at the ceiling, she got off the bed and went over to the window. One of the few good points about her bedroom, which was so small the door opened outwards instead of inwards to save space, was the view of Lord Grave’s wildlife park. Lord Grave’s wife had been an animal lover. When she was alive, she had made a habit of rescuing animals: anything from birds to elephants.
Lord Grave had recently employed extra help to care for the animals. That extra help could be seen lumbering about now, carrying meat for the lions. Lucy smiled as she watched the golem going about its duties. It had been her idea to make the golem a wildlife park keeper. Of course, the creation of golems was a strictly forbidden type of magic. A rogue magician called Jerome Wormwood had brought this particular one to life just a few weeks ago. Thanks to Lucy, Wormwood was now safely locked up and wouldn’t be creating any more monsters for a very long time. However, that had left MAAM with the problem of what to do with the golem, who was now harmless, thanks to some vigorous retraining, but still somewhat alarming.
Realising that humans, especially anyone non-magical, might be rather disturbed by the golem, Lord Grave had put a special shielding spell on it. This meant that its true form could be seen only by MAAM associates and the magical residents of Grave Hall. Anyone else would see a rather portly, unkempt, slightly smelly man who went by the name of Mr Gomel. This all worked well enough, although care had to be taken to make sure no one tried to engage Mr Gomel in meaningful conversation, as that might give the game away.
As she gazed out at the wildlife park, watching some pelicans flying around the lake, Lucy went over the attack again in her mind. She frowned as she remembered that when the boy had tumbled off Violet and on to his back he’d dropped something and then quickly snatched it up again. Lucy closed her eyes and gripped the edge of the windowsill. She concentrated as hard as she could, trying to visualise again what she’d seen. The boy’s hand reaching out to grab the object. What was it? But it was no good – she couldn’t bring it to mind. Perhaps Violet would be able to remember something more. Eager to find out, Lucy hurriedly left her little attic room and set off downstairs to meet Lord Grave.
Goodly and Grave in a Case of Bad Magic Page 2
