Lilian's Spell Book

by Toby Litt

  I was very aware of Lilian’s golden brown eyes upon us. I wondered if she was pleased or displeased at what we were saying. Were we getting any closer? How would she let me know?

  Mary had stopped feeding almost immediately. Her loss of appetite was starting to worry me. I didn’t want her to have lost weight, the next time the Health Visitor came. I cradled her in my arms and felt her little fingers grabbing at my collar.

  ‘I’m hoping,’ continued Mr. Gatward, ‘there will be some answers in the archives. If I can find some contemporary records, I might be able to tell you more.’

  I thought about telling him to look for a tiny book that had a red ribbon bookmark with a phoenix on the end of it. But, because I felt he was holding back, I decided to hold this back from him. Before I said anything, I would have a look myself.

  ‘Alchemy is about eternal life, too, isn’t it?’ Peter said.

  ‘Yes,’ said Mr. Gatward. ‘Though I think that’s partly a metaphor. It’s about being attuned to the matter of creation. If you can make gold out of base metal, then you can probably stop your own body aging, fly, make nuclear explosions, anything you feel like. But anyone who’d succeeded would probably exist on such a high spiritual level that they wouldn’t be interested in anything so trivial.’ He stood up. ‘If I find anything,’ he said, ‘I’ll let you know straight away.’

  I was no longer sure that he would.

  When he was gone, I said to Peter, ‘I have some more keys to try, downstairs.’

  ‘Where from?’

  ‘Robert. He says he doesn’t know what half of them are for.’

  I handed them over, and Peter examined them closely.

  ‘They certainly look like they might fit.’

  Mary was still awake, but she was due for a sleep. I told Peter I thought I could probably get her down in ten or fifteen minutes.

  ‘Why don’t I just try them now? On my own?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I need to be there.’

  ‘It’s air and fire, you reckon,’ said Peter. ‘Could be dangerous.’

  ‘So, we won’t tell Jack,’ I said. ‘Give me the keys back.’

  He hesitated before handing them over.

  ‘I just thought it might be easier,’ he said.

  I was back downstairs in half an hour. Mary didn’t go off until she’d had a cry, a change, another unsuccessful attempt at a feed and then a winding.

  Peter was sitting in the office. He had Michael Francis’s photograph album out in front of him, on the desk. It was open at the last shot of Michael Francis – the last before he left for the Arctic.

  ‘Does that man look a hundred and five?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Peter. ‘Even if it’s true, it might not be good.’

  ‘What are you thinking?’

  ‘There might be some sort of price to pay. I mean, if Michael Francis thought he could live forever, why did he leave the house? It would be suicide, like Mrs. Forster said.’

  ‘Perhaps it was,’ I said.

  ‘Suicide is a mortal sin,’ said Peter.

  I held up the keys. ‘Let’s go and try them.’

  I half-expected someone else to be sitting down in the cellar – Matthew Maddox and Grace Dearie, perhaps – sitting on the flagstones, having a cosy picnic, when we turned on the light. Of course, it was completely empty – though there were a few toast crumbs left behind where Longbone and Mrs. Forster had been sitting.

  Peter had already fetched the other sets of keys, and in a couple of minutes had unlocked the first two of the East doors – the one with the Yale lock and the dull black metal one.

  We were now standing in front of the third door, which was covered in papery old leather. The keyhole was square-shaped, as were three of Robert Mew’s keys.

  The first was too big to fit. The second went in but just rattled uselessly around inside the lock. I crossed my fingers. One more chance.

  The third fitted snugly into the hole.

  Peter began to twist it. Then he stopped and said to me, ‘I think you should stand further back.’

  ‘Come on,’ I said. ‘No one’s going to get hurt.’

  Peter turned round. ‘Now that’s a really stupid thing to say.’

  ‘The house doesn’t want to hurt us. One day you’ll understand that. Open the door. Please. I can’t bear the suspense.’

  Peter opened the door.

  PART THREE

  Chapter 31.

  As Peter pushed the door inwards, a waft of lukewarm air passed over us. It smelt like the oldest thing you could imagine. Not rotten, gone-off, or even dusty. More like the soul of age.

  The room itself on first glance was small, foursquare and completely empty – nothing like as interesting as the water one.

  We were about to step inside when we heard a shocking slamming sound behind us.

  I glanced around, expecting to see a figure. It was just the door at the top of the cellar stairs. It must have blown open and slammed against the panelling. When I looked up, I could see it swinging closed again.

  ‘You’re out now,’ I muttered to myself, and to whatever spirit had just escaped.

  I was about to follow Peter into the air-room when I heard approaching footfalls, coming at a run.

  ‘Hey,’ Jack shouted from the doorway. ‘Hey, you promised!’

  ‘Come on then,’ I said.

  He rushed down, looking around him all the time.

  ‘Why didn’t you let me join in?’ he asked.

  ‘We thought it might be dangerous,’ I said. ‘We were just checking it out first.’

  Peter stood with the air-room behind him.

  ‘Is it a dungeon?’ Jack asked.

  ‘Doesn’t look like it. No shackles, anyway,’ Peter said. ‘Come and see.’

  I followed Jack through the three doors.

  The walls, ceiling and floor of the room were all made of bricks – very thin bricks, more like modern-day tiles placed sideways. They had been arranged in fishbone patterns. The more you looked, the more amazing it seemed. The patterns didn’t repeat regularly, but they didn’t seem irregular, either. There was probably some hidden logic to it, if you knew enough maths and could spend enough time studying it. Jack, however, was disappointed.

  ‘I thought there was a skeleton,’ he said.

  ‘Let’s show him the water,’ I said.

  Peter started to lock up the air room, which I knew was going to take a few minutes. I remembered the fox.

  ‘I’m just going to check on Mary,’ I said. ‘Don’t go in without me.’

  ‘Mum,’ said Jack.

  ‘I won’t be long.’

  At first I thought what I could hear was Mary sobbing. I was just onto the landing, moving quite quickly, a dreadfully afraid at what I might find. But then I realized it was something else – Mary was cooing, like she did when she was very happy, like she did when I made faces at her.

  I wondered whether I should go in. I knew she was okay, and if she was happy it was likely she’d go back to sleep. Seeing me would excite her too much, and possibly keep her awake.

  The cooing was quite odd, though. I’d never heard her make those sorts of sounds when on her own. A few grunts of satisfaction as she digested her meal and the odd spooky giggle – that’d been about it.

  I decided to try and get in and out without her catching sight of me.

  When I peeked round the door, into the travel cot, Mary wasn’t there.

  Then I saw her, about four feet off the ground, over by the window, hovering, rocking. There was absolutely nothing to be seen around her, behind her, beneath. She was in mid-air.

  My heart seemed to try to leap out and catch her.

  The world was in slow-motion.

  Mary was rocking, or being rocked. Mary was making cooing noises. Mary was levitating.

  I started to run forwards.

  Suddenly, Mary swung round until her head was towards me.

  It was as if someone was holding he
r, and had turned to see who had come through the door. And then I realized that someone was holding her, rocking her.

  I stopped dead.

  ‘Be careful,’ I said. ‘Please.’

  Mary bounced up and down in the air. The drop beneath her was onto parquet flooring. Her neck might break. Her skull would shatter.

  I walked slowly forwards.

  ‘Please give her to me.’

  Immediately, Mary flew towards me – or that’s how it seemed. The slight dip and rise in her flight showed she was being carried.

  I held out my hands.

  Even though she was moving quite fast, it seemed an age before Mary was close enough to reach for.

  As she settled into my arms, I felt warm and fragrant air waft over me. It was a very different smell to down in the basement. It was like oranges and cinnamon and cloves and rosewater all mingled together. I knew it was Lilian’s smell.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said.

  For a moment, I could sense the fullness of Lilian’s presence, right beside me. It was such an indescribable feeling – like what would be left of a friend if you took their physical body away but left their friendship. I loved what appeared to be an empty space, and then, with a few swift, soundless, invisible paces, I could sense that the room was again empty but for Mary and me.

  Mary’s eyelids were already fluttering. Although being cuddled by a ghost had woken her, she still wanted more sleep. I thought I could probably leave her safely on her own. Lilian wouldn’t come back.

  I settled her down in the cot. I loved her so much. My eyes were full of tears.

  I hadn’t even dried them when I walked straight into Mr. Gatward on the landing.

  ‘Oh dear,’ he said. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Fine.’

  ‘That baby’s not ill, is it? The fox bite…?’

  ‘No, she’s fine.’

  ‘Good,’ he said, then seemed to consider that everything must therefore be hunky-dory. ‘I’ve made a rather exciting discovery.’

  He held something out towards me – something which I didn’t recognize straight away. It was very small and dark and then I saw the red ribbon dangling from the bottom of it. I reached out and lifted the ribbon up – the phoenix on the end was pulled out from beneath Mr. Gatward’s thumb.

  ‘It’s Lilian’s,’ I said.

  Mr. Gatward was completely astonished.

  ‘But – But how did you know?’

  ‘Because it’s the one from the painting, the one she’s holding.’

  I was disappointed, and slightly fearful. I’d been hoping to find Lilian’s book for myself, before Mr. Gatward did. But it was also amazing to see the picture, and snow statue, turn into reality.

  ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘I think it’s the very same one. I was just coming down to check. Shall we go and see?’

  ‘Can I have a look?’ I asked.

  Mr. Gatward was reluctant to hand it over. ‘Please be careful. Although it’s in wonderful condition, it’s still very delicate.’

  I held out my hand. He placed the book in my palm. It wasn’t much larger. The leather of the cover was warm and damp from Mr. Gatward’s touch.

  ‘Have you read it?’ I asked.

  ‘Only a little. I found it just a few minutes ago. It wasn’t on the shelves. It was in a brown envelope in one of the filing cabinets.’

  I was about to open the book when a whispered shout came from downstairs.

  ‘Mum?!’

  ‘What is it Jack?’

  ‘Hurry up. You’re taking ages.’

  I didn’t want to give the book back to Mr. Gatward. More than anything else in the house – apart from Peter and the children – I felt it belonged to me.

  ‘Follow me,’ I said to Mr. Gatward.

  We went down to the cellar door.

  ‘It might be better to stay out of here,’ said Mr. Gatward, sternly. ‘Until you’re sure what you’re dealing with.’

  ‘Well,’ I said, ‘we have a better idea than we did before. We’ve opened three of the doors.’

  ‘Three?’ said Mr. Gatward. He seemed quite scared. ‘Then close them, please.’

  ‘Why don’t you come and have a look?’ I said, and went down the stairs.

  Mr. Gatward’s curiosity won out over his fear. I could hear him following me.

  Peter was standing beside the water door, which was still shut.

  ‘Mary okay?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, not wanting to go into details. ‘Asleep now.’

  Mr. Gatward was looking all around him, talking to himself, trembling. ‘Just so. Four doors. North, South, East, West.’

  ‘Ready?’ said to Peter to Jack.

  ‘Is it really that good?’ Jack asked.

  Peter pulled open the door.

  Part of me was expecting the water-room to have changed in some way – I don’t know how. Perhaps for it to have become just another disappointing empty cell, like the air-room. Or perhaps for it still to have water in, but going in completely different directions. As it was, the waterfall-like sheet was there, just as before. And, beyond it, the pipe shot its gush of water sideways into the whirlpool.

  ‘Great God!’ said Mr. Gatward, then added, ‘Excuse me.’

  ‘Can I go in?’ Jack said. ‘Please can I go in? I’ll put my swimming trunks on.’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘This is very dangerous. We don’t know what it is.’

  ‘No, we don’t,’ said Mr. Gatward. ‘We certainly don’t.’

  ‘What do you think?’ asked Peter. ‘Impressed?’

  ‘I’ve never seen anything like it,’ said Mr. Gatward. ‘There must be some sort of spring beneath the house. But to create that force of water pressure…’

  ‘Can I touch it?’ Jack asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Peter said. ‘Just with your fingers. Don’t get soaked.’

  Jack put his fingertip out, into and then through the sheet of water. A thin line appeared beneath it, going down out of sight. He moved his finger slowly from side to side, and the line followed. Then he wiggled his finger faster, and the line became a wavy zigzag.

  ‘May I?’ asked Mr. Gatward.

  ‘Of course,’ said Peter.

  The historian went and stood alongside Jack. His finger, when he put it through, made a thicker line. He followed this with more fingers, making a hole through which he could peer into the room beyond. Jack leaned over to look through, as well.

  ‘The tiling is Victorian, at the latest,’ said Mr. Gatward, turning round. ‘I would suspect earlier.’ He had another peek then stepped away, shaking the water from his hands.

  Jack now stuck all his fingers into the water. He was getting wet down his arms. He wanted to get a better sight of the tiles.

  ‘Be careful,’ I said, but Jack was already toppling forwards.

  Chapter 32.

  Jack wouldn’t have fallen in, but Mr. Gatward made a clumsy grab for him and ended up pushing him rather than catching hold. Through the curtain of water Jack went, the sheet closing behind him instantly.

  The next thing I knew, my lovely boy – who’s not a strong swimmer – was being swept round the room, anticlockwise.

  Peter was about to jump in after him, but I held him back.

  ‘You’ll just get swept in, too,’ I said.

  Jack was now floating round on the far side of the room. At least he was the right way up – though I could see him spluttering. It felt like if he couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t breathe myself.

  Jack went under the pipe on the left where the water spurted out. I thought he might bang his head and go under.

  As he swept past, Peter made a grab for him.

  ‘Your hand!’ Peter shouted.

  Jack heard, a little too late. Their fingers met, but couldn’t catch hold.

  Peter shouted in disappointment. Mr. Gatward was holding on to Peter’s belt, to make sure he didn’t fall in.

  Jack circled round the room again. This time,
he was a little closer to the middle. He was being drawn into the whirlpool. There must be a hole in the middle of the room where the water rushed out. He would never survive going down there.

  This time round, Peter managed to grab Jack’s left hand, but the force of the water was too much. He couldn’t keep hold.

  With each circuit, the chances of catching Jack grew fainter – he was further away, he was weaker.

  ‘Both hands,’ shouted Peter, himself now completely soaked. ‘I need both hands! Try really hard.’

  Jack’s head went under for a moment. Then he spluttered back up. But he was still trying to gasp a breath as he swooshed past, and his hands were under the water.

  ‘This time!’ Peter shouted.

  Jack tried really hard – reaching up as he approached. Peter grabbed one wrist, some fingers. Jack was swept onwards. Peter tensed as he tried to hold on, but it was no use.

  ‘I’m going in,’ said Peter.

  ‘Try again,’ I said.

  He did. And again.

  I knew it was up to me.

  Jack was now so much closer to the centre of the whirlpool that he almost couldn’t be reached from the door.

  ‘Let me try,’ I said.

  ‘You’re not strong enough,’ said Peter.

  ‘I’m going in,’ I said, and put Lilian’s book down on the cellar floor.

  ‘Don’t look at me,’ I said. ‘Both of you – look away.’

  First, I made a test. I put my hand under the waterfall. Pulled it out. It was still dry. I hadn’t felt anything.

  ‘I can do it,’ I said. ‘Let me.’

  ‘No,’ said Peter.

  ‘I’m going in,’ I said. ‘Keep your eyes closed.’

  I stepped over Peter and jumped into the water room.

  He and Mr. Gatward must have done what I said, and closed their eyes, because I went under, but didn’t feel pushed around by any rush. Once I found my feet, I was able to stand up and hold my head above the surge. Jack, unconscious and all floppy, was swept towards me. I braced myself, and managed to stop him. With his body being pushed against me, it was like trying to walk through the strongest gale you’ve ever experienced. I couldn’t do it.

  I realized it was easier to go in the direction of the water.