Lilian's Spell Book

by Toby Litt

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’ll enjoy the view, while I’m up there. Always do. It was one of the reasons I took the job.’

  I left Peter to discover the other reasons.

  Mary was still asleep when I got back to her, so I needn’t have worried. Babies have an uncanny knack of sensing when there’s a real crisis, someone hurt, and going into hibernation-mode for a while. My scalding was obviously real enough for Mary. After her long feed in the hospital, she had taken herself out of circulation. I decided it might be a good idea to have a lie-down myself.

  I found Jack in the library, playing Nintendo. I told him to go and see what his father had discovered in the attic. Then I carried Mary upstairs to the four-poster and laid myself down beside her.

  *

  Perhaps I had gone a little into shock. It wasn’t until one o’clock in the afternoon that I woke up. Mary’s squeaky grizzling noises had dragged me from the depths. I knew I’d been having some kind of complicated anxiety dream, but I couldn’t remember a thing about it. I fed Mary then went to find out what was going on, taking her with me.

  ‘He’s finished on the roof,’ said Peter, from the top of the spiral staircase. I’d gone in the room and shouted up to him. ‘Took his money and left. It’s all working – aerial and satellite. We’ve officially rejoined the twenty-first century. And Mr. Gatward’s still here. You’ve never seen a man so excited.’

  ‘Jack?’ I asked.

  ‘He’s here, too. We’ve had lunch, so don’t worry about that. You had a good long sleep.’

  ‘I needed it,’ I said.

  ‘How’s your arm?’ I could tell that Peter was a long way from forgiving me. He should be – I’d forgiven him far worse, hadn’t I? It was at times like this my taking him back came into play.

  ‘It’s fine,’ I said, and it was true. I’d been expecting the arm to sting something horrible but it just ached a little. That first dose of painkillers would have worn off by now. I didn’t think I needed any more.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mrs. Jonson,’ said Mr. Gatward, appearing alongside Peter. ‘This is remarkable. Unprecedented. I’ve never seen so many virgin documents.’ Virgin - interesting choice of word.

  ‘What are they?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, I can’t even begin…’ he said. ‘There’s household accounts dating back to before the fire. Wills. Indentures.’

  ‘Tell her about the books,’ said Peter.

  ‘Amazing. Absolutely stunning,,’ he said. ‘Among the finest libraries of its kind in England.’

  ‘They’re magic-spell books!’ shouted Jack, also coming into view. All three of them were now standing on the rickety staircase. Jack had one of the ivory volumes in his hands and was holding it above his head, like he’d won a cup for football.

  I remembered Mr. Gatward’s history book had mentioned necromancy. Was that the kind of magic Jack meant? Devil-worship?

  Chapter 23.

  ‘Abracadabra!’ yelled Jack.

  ‘What he means – ’ said Mr. Gatward.

  ‘They’re all about alchemy,’ said Peter.

  ‘Most of the volumes I’ve looked into, that is,’ Mr. Gatward said. ‘But there are closely related subjects, such as astrology. I haven’t had time to make more than a cursory examination.’

  Jack was very keen on magic. He had watched the first two Harry Potter films round at a friend’s house. When I started to get angry about this, he told me he hadn’t been scared at all – not even, he insisted, by the man with a second face on the back of his head. In the weeks after this, Jack had gone off into one of his crazes. Every drawing he did at that time had a black figure with a triangular hat. The black felt-tips always ran out long before any of the others.

  ‘They’re really, really old,’ said Jack.

  I heard a sharp rap-rap-rap that somehow I recognized. It was the front door. Then I remembered – we had been expecting another visitor.

  ‘Jack, it’s Father Trovato, I think.’

  Jack looked disappointed. Magic was obviously more exciting than Catholicism, although Catholicism was pretty exciting.

  ‘You’ll have ages to look at these,’ said Peter, taking the probably-priceless volume from Jack’s hands. ‘Go and be friendly to Father Trovato. You can use the downstairs living room.’

  Jack juddered down the stairs, two at a time.

  ‘Be careful,’ I couldn’t stop myself saying.

  ‘Make up your own mind,’ called Mr. Gatward to Jack. ‘About everything. Judge it for yourself. Don’t take anything on trust.’

  This seemed a bit odd, coming out so passionately, but I didn’t question it at the time. I probably should have.

  As we walked out onto the gallery, something made me whisper, ‘Don’t tell Father Trovato about the spell books. He might not approve.’

  ‘Really?’ asked Jack, a little disappointed. I could see he’d been looking forward to making the big announcement.

  ‘Maybe you can say something next week.’

  The sharp raps began again.

  I tried to smooth Jack’s hair as we crossed the hall, but he batted my hand away. ‘Mu-um!’ He seemed, in his excitement, to have forgotten all about what I’d done that morning. I was glad.

  It was Father Trovato but it was also – although I’d never met him before – our M.P., The Right Honourable Douglas Longbone.

  ‘We come on separate business,’ said Father Trovato. ‘Good afternoon. Hello, Jack. Hello, Mary.’

  ‘Oh, so this is Jack, is it?’ said Douglas Longbone, going into hearty M.P.-mode. ‘Very pleased to make your acquaintance.’

  Jack really didn’t like it when people spoke to him as if he was an adult, but with a jokey tone. Sarcasm he liked, but irony was pretty much rubbish.

  ‘Hi,’ he said.

  ‘And you must be Mrs. Jonson,’ said Longbone. ‘Really delighted to meet you.’

  His handshake was firm, something he’d worked on and thought about. I suppose Masons all have to think about their handshakes more than the rest of us.

  ‘Please come in,’ I said. I really didn’t want him to kiss my baby.

  Jack took Father Trovato by the hand, ‘We’re going to sit in here,’ he said, pulling him towards the living room. ‘Would you like some orange juice?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ said Father Trovato, as if that had been exactly the drink he wanted.

  ‘With ice?’ asked Jack.

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ said Father Trovato.

  Longbone had watched this little scene with me, taking mental notes. It was rare to meet someone as exceptionally good with people as Father Trovato.

  The priest – our priest – waited without impatience in the middle of the hall. Maybe he really did want orange juice.

  ‘My business is with your husband,’ said Longbone. ‘I expect you know what it’s about. Is he in?’

  ‘I’ll just fetch him,’ I said. ‘Would you like something to drink?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Longbone said. ‘I’ll wait and see if I’m invited to stay.’

  I went and fetched Peter from the attic.

  I was aware that Father Trovato was listening, so I didn’t just shout – that would have given my location away – but climbed the spiral staircase and went into the secret library. Mr. Gatward and Peter were bent over a large handwritten book.

  ‘We’ve found the catalogue,’ said Gatward. ‘It must have taken years.’

  ‘It’s our M.P.,’ I said. ‘He’s back for your decision.’

  ‘Oh God,’ said Peter. ‘I haven’t made it.’

  ‘You have.’ I said. ‘You just haven’t got the guts to tell him.’

  ‘Are you a mason?’ Peter asked Mr. Gatward.

  ‘No, no, no,’ he said. ‘Complete waste of time. I had quite enough of secret societies at Cambridge. In fact, I had quite enough of society of any sort.’

  ‘Is Longbone very powerful in the area?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, I suppose so. If you want to put an extension on your
house. Or stop your neighbour putting an extension on their house. He can cause some trouble, smallish trouble. But if you have something he wants, he can’t risk making enemies of you. The one thing he does have is patience. He’s developed that skill. He has spent quite a long time out of government. Some of his associates, however, are a little less pleasant.’

  Peter said, ‘Thank you,’ then went to break the bad news.

  I waited for a couple of minutes. Mary looked around the room curiously. This was the first time she’d been up there.

  ‘It’s very clean, isn’t it?’ I said.

  ‘Hardly a speck of dust,’ said Mr. Gatward. ‘I assume Mrs. Forster had something to do with that.’

  ‘I don’t think she does up here,’ I said. ‘I’ve never caught her coming up.’

  ‘But it wasn’t locked,’ Mr. Gatward said. ‘Did Peter unlock it?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ I said.

  ‘And the chapel is locked?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Peter has the key.’

  ‘And the cellar, too?’

  ‘What do you know about the cellar?’

  ‘It’s under the staircase.’

  ‘Come on,’ I said, ‘you know more than that.’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  For the first time, I suspected Mr. Gatward might be lying to me. It wasn’t a good feeling. But I didn’t want to get into it, then. I wanted to be downstairs, where I could hear what Father Trovato was saying to my son, and where I could overhear what Peter was saying to Longbone.

  I left Mr. Gatward with his archives – with our archives, that should be.

  Chapter 24.

  The Right Honourable Douglas Longbone was already gone by the time me and Mary reached the hall.

  ‘Not a happy bunny,’ said Peter. This made me laugh. Longbone did have big front teeth, and not much of a chin.

  ‘Did you say no forever?’

  ‘He wouldn’t let me. He said he’d come back in three months, when we’d had time to settle in, acquaint ourselves with the local community, get to know how things work round here.’

  ‘Was that a threat?’

  ‘Yes,’ Peter said. ‘I think so.’

  ‘So, you’re not going to get served for ages in the local pub?’

  ‘And we can’t build that extension we so desperately need.’

  ‘Dammit,’ I said, then remembered Father Trovato. I looked through into the living room. Father Trovato was sitting on the sofa, looking back at me. I had no doubt that he’d understood what had just gone on between Peter and Longbone, even if he hadn’t heard every word.

  ‘Good idea about the pub, though,’ said Peter. ‘We could go at the weekend. Sunday lunch.’

  ‘I doubt the cook’s a mason,’ I said.

  ‘At least we know he isn’t,’ replied Peter, nodding towards Father Trovato – who was now laughing at something Jack had said.

  ‘Let’s see if Jack’s been brainwashed yet,’ I said to Mary.

  ‘Don’t joke,’ said Peter. ‘They had me for years.’

  Father Trovato stood up when I entered the room. He looked towards the open French windows to the garden. I think he thought I was going out there. Maybe he even hoped I was.

  ‘Is it okay if I join you?’ I asked.

  ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I would like you to.’

  I thought I’d try breastfeeding Mary, even though she wasn’t hungry. You always learn a lot about a man when you do that right up close to them.

  ‘Mummy,’ said Jack, ‘do you have a soul?’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, a bit startled, ‘you’re onto that already?’

  Father Trovato said, ‘I was asking Jack where he felt the Jack bit of him was.’

  Jack pointed to his head. ‘And I said here. In my brain.’

  I reached under my top, undid the flap on my bra and brought Mary up to the nipple. Father Trovato did not react at all. He didn’t look, and he didn’t look away.

  ‘Good answer,’ I said.

  ‘And Jack’s was a good question,’ said Father Trovato. ‘Mrs. Jonson, do you have a soul?’

  He made eye-contact and held it. I felt completely exposed. How could I answer no, in front of my son? But, then, I didn’t really believe I had nothing, that when I died that would be it, me and everything about me gone, forever.

  ‘I don’t know if I’d call it a soul.’

  ‘But it’s here,’ said Jack, and pointed to the side of my head. ‘I can smell it,’ he said, putting his nose into my ear. ‘It smells of poo.’

  ‘No, no, no,’ said Father Trovato. ‘Your mother’s soul is not like that.’

  ‘And what about yours?’ I asked, glad to turn things around.

  ‘Yes,’ said Jack. ‘Let me smell.’

  Father Trovato let Jack stick his nose up close to his curly hair.

  ‘You smell of strong stuff,’ he said.

  ‘Garlic,’ said Father Trovato. ‘I eat it for the blood. And, when people are in the confessional, then they know it’s really me.’

  ‘I bet they do,’ I said.

  Jack wanted to know was a fessnal was – and Trovato said that they would talk about that later, but it was a place where people went to whisper all the naughty things they’d done.

  ‘Wow,’ said Jack. ‘Can I listen?’

  ‘No,’ said Father Trovato. ‘But I can.’

  If Jack had been fascinated before, he now became totally bewitched. I could see that he was dying to tell Father Trovato all about the spell books upstairs. It was lucky I was there, otherwise the whole thing would have been confessed.

  Very gently and subtly, Father Trovato started to explain about what souls were, and how they could be healthy or unhealthy. He didn’t mention God at all, and it wasn’t until the very end that he mentioned Jesus. Then, from inside his bag, he produced a picture book for Jack. ‘We can talk about this next time,’ he said.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Jack, awestruck. He gave a friendly goodbye to the priest, then sat down on the carpet for a read.

  Father Trovato’s voice had lulled Mary to sleep. I put her down gently on one of the sofas.

  As I showed Father Trovato to the front door, he asked, ‘Mr. Gatward has begun, has he?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  ‘I saw his car, parked.’

  ‘He came this afternoon.’

  ‘I hope he has a head for heights,’ said Father Trovato.

  It took me a moment to understand. ‘So you knew where the archives were.’

  ‘I have never seen them. Mr. Jonson would have been happy to show me, but I never wanted to see them.’

  ‘What do you know about the cellar?’ I asked.

  Father Trovato changed completely. I thought for a moment he was going to be sick, so suddenly green did he look – green and unnerved. ‘Keep it shut,’ he said, ‘and keep it locked.’

  ‘Why?’ I asked.

  ‘You will understand later. I hope we will be able to begin your instruction soon.’

  ‘Perhaps in a while,’ I said.

  ‘It is very important,’ said Father Trovato, taking my hands in his. ‘More important than you know.’

  We were now in the porch.

  ‘See you on Sunday,’ I said.

  ‘Yes,’ said Father Trovato. ‘But, if you need me before then, you can contact me here.’

  He presented me with a business card. I expected to see the word Priest beneath his name. Instead, there was just a long list of letters beside it.

  As I listened to the high-pitched engine of his car driving off, I felt like rebelling. He was a brilliant teacher, but I didn’t like the idea of someone so biased interfering in my son’s mind. I began to wonder if we could legally challenge the whole Catholic thing in Michael Francis’s will. Perhaps we needed to get Gibbons & Jump back.

  ‘Jack,’ I said, going back into the living room. He was looking through the picture book. I saw Jesus on the cross – not as gory as he might have been. ‘Would you like to have a
look in the cellar?’ I asked, feeling mischievous.

  Jack dropped the book immediately.

  I fetched the cellar key from the kitchen. Jack was already waiting by the door.

  ‘Is it smelly?’ he asked.

  ‘Not really,’ I said. ‘You tell me.’

  I thought for a moment that we should go and get Peter. But that was just silly. There was nothing to be afraid of.

  I unlocked the door and turned on the light. It seemed to me that a little sound came from below – a gasp and a shuffle. Maybe it had been a mouse, or a rat.

  ‘Come on,’ I said. I took Jack’s hand, pretending that it was for his benefit, when really it was for mine.

  I went down first, he was two steps behind and above me.

  ‘Wow, it’s big, isn’t it?’ he said.

  ‘Very big,’ I said. ‘You have to promise again that you won’t come down here on your own.’

  ‘Promise,’ he said, but he was looking all around him.

  We were halfway down the stairs. I heard another sound, like shuffling feet. Then another sound. This one was more like a scrape from something metal.

  By now, I was getting properly spooked. Jack didn’t seem to have noticed either the sounds or me becoming terrified. What if something had come out from behind one of the doors? Something monstrous. But that was impossible. All of them were locked. But what if…

  We were three-quarters of the way down the stairs when I heard screaming. It was Mary, and it sounded very like she’d fallen off the sofa again – even though I’d put two pillows between her and the edge.

  ‘Come on,’ I said, glad this was an excuse to get out of the cellar.

  Jack took a moment to realize what I meant – expedition over.

  ‘But Mu-um.’

  ‘We’ll come back later.’

  Mary’s screaming was harsher than usual. Perhaps she’d broken her arm. I grabbed Jack by the wrist, to stop him going down any further.

  ‘Run and see she’s all right,’ I said.

  Jack was still reluctant.

  ‘It might be a ghost,’ I said, and he was off at a sprint.

  I wasn’t far behind, though it took me a couple of seconds to lock the door.