At the House of the Magician

by Mary Hooper

  I shook my head quickly, for the question smacked of witchcraft and such talk was dangerous, even between friends. ‘I don’t think so,’ I said, ‘for I never had it before I came to the magician’s house.’ As I spoke, though, I remembered the strange feeling I’d had on approaching the dark house. Remembered, too, the dreams I’d sometimes had.

  ‘But Dr Dee must have the Sight,’ Isabelle said. ‘ He must have magickal powers.’

  I shrugged. ‘I’m certain that he’s exceeding clever,’ I said, ‘but I’m not sure that he has …’ And I told her the whole story of the queen’s visit to the house and how I’d hidden in the fireplace and been discovered by her fool (who had called me pretty, I could not resist adding), about the gentleman who’d wanted to contact his daughter, and how I’d been asked to be a stand-in for her.

  She listened intently to my story, asked questions which I did my best to answer, and our journey was almost done by the time I’d finished. ‘Would you have done what I would not?’ I asked at the end of it.

  She thought for a moment, then shook her head. ‘I’d do much to possess two gold angels, but would not dress up as a dead corpse in a graveyard!’ she said and, laughing, pushed her heels into the horse’s flanks and we went on.

  As we approached Hazelgrove I became much afeared, remembering my nightmare, but as we rode down the main street and I looked across to where our cottage stood, I saw the roof of it and was much relieved. It was still standing there, just as on the day I’d left.

  I pointed it out to Isabelle. ‘’Tis very close – but I’d be obliged if you’d go the long way around by the church and across the green, so I can reassure myself that everything else is the same,’ I said.

  Smiling a little, she said she was happy to go wherever I bade her.

  As we entered the village I could see that the main street was busy and that a small crowd had gathered by the stocks in front of the church. Feeling a sudden foreboding, I asked Isabelle to pull up the horse some distance away, then slipped down from its back and, after rubbing my aching limbs, walked quietly towards the church, keeping behind the trees as much as I could.

  As I approached the stocks I saw that a man was being held there. His head had fallen to one side, his mouth gaped open, and the villagers had taken the opportunity to unload their rotten vegetables on to him, for his face was stained red and there were tomato skins and other foul things in his hair.

  He cursed as he sat there, and spat at the ground and groaned – and yet I felt no sympathy for him, for I knew he was probably being justly punished for some wrong-doing. Besides, ’twas not the first time my father had been held so.

  I watched him for a moment, and then I silently made my way back to where Isabelle stood beside the horse.

  ‘Someone you know?’ she asked, observing my face.

  I nodded and told her, and asked if she’d mind if I went to my cottage on my own, for I knew Ma would be deeply ashamed of whatever Father had done, and ’twas not at all the right time to introduce Isabelle to her.

  Ma was sitting on a stool outside the cottage, which I found very surprising, for the day was chill for October and a fine drizzle had started to fall. As I approached her I became uneasy, for I saw from the way she sat, slumped, her shoulders drooping, that there was something very wrong.

  She looked up, saw me and began to weep, not bursting out with sobs, but crying sad and hopeless tears, as if resuming some misery that had begun long before.

  I sat down beside her, not caring that the grass was soaking wet.

  ‘Why are you out here?’ I asked. ‘Let’s go indoors and we can speak properly and you can tell me what’s happened.’ For I knew already that this must be more than my father being held in the stocks.

  She shook her head. ‘I can’t go in there again,’ she said, shaking her head violently. ‘No, I cannot. ’Tis all gone. ’Tis hopeless.’

  ‘What d’you mean, all gone?’ I asked.

  ‘Quite, quite gone,’ was all she said.

  I got up, went to the door of our cottage and looked in. And then I knew what she meant, for every last piece of the interior had been removed, right down to the window shutters. Our coffer, the table, every stool and utensil, the ladder which led to the bedroom, even the fire irons and the rusty old cauldron which had always hung over the fire were gone.

  The sight was enough to bring tears to my own eyes, for although ours had never been a rich or happy home (and we had Father to thank for this) my brothers and sisters and I had some good times within its walls, and Ma, despite everything she’d had to contend with, had ever done her best to keep us warm and fed and sheltered. Now the house was just a bleak and empty cell.

  I stood there for a moment, then went back to Ma and asked her to tell me what had happened.

  ‘It was because of your father,’ she whispered.

  ‘Oh, I know ’tis he who must be behind it all,’ I said bitterly. ‘Who else would it be? But what did he do?’

  ‘Gambled all our money away, every last penny. And afterwards, sold everything in the cottage to pay the debts. He sold my clothes, he sold the window frames, he even sold the wood that I’d been collecting for our winter fires, but he still owed half the men in the Pig and Flute. And he also stole Sam Taylor’s sow and sold it at market and took the church poor box.’

  ‘Oh, Ma!’ I squeezed her shoulders, held her thin body to mine. ‘But what will happen now? What will you do?’

  ‘Your father will be let out of the stocks tomorrow, and then we’ve been told that we must go to a house of correction.’

  ‘No!’ I looked at her in dismay, remembering my dream.

  She nodded, sighed. ‘’Tis all that remains for us.’

  ‘But you shouldn’t be punished! What have you done wrong?’

  ‘The rent on this cottage hasn’t been paid since summer, and Lord Ashe’s man means to repossess it.’ She began to cry again, rocking backwards and forwards on the stool. ‘The shame,’ she kept saying. ‘Oh, the shame of it!’

  I gripped her shoulders. ‘Ma,’ I said, ‘you must try and be strong.’ I felt in my pocket but did not have any coin with me, not as much as a penny. ‘I’ll get some money and send it to you.’

  ‘You couldn’t get as much as your father owes!’

  ‘I’ll try,’ I said, hugging her. ‘I’ll get every penny I can. And in the meantime you must refuse to leave this cottage. Tell Lord Ashe’s man that someone in your family is sending you money this week.’

  ‘But you have not the means …’ She suddenly seemed to rally a little. ‘But Lucy, what are you doing here? Where have you come from?’

  ‘From a little way off,’ I said. ‘I live in Mortlake and I have a job as nursemaid in a big house.’

  She raised a hand to touch my cheek. ‘My girl. You’ve got away from him as you should have done. Ah, I’m proud of you, Lucy. You ever were a canny child.’

  I kissed her. ‘I’ll find the money. I’ll not let you down, Ma. I promise.’

  She nodded and tried to smile, but I knew she didn’t believe me, so I hugged her once more and then fairly ran back to where Isabelle and the horse were waiting.

  The journey back was a lot quicker, for the horse seemed to have been warmed up by its earlier jog and took off at a fair gallop all the way. For my part, I was hardly bothered now about my safety and whether I might fall, just concerned that we should return as quickly as possible so that I could do what I had to.

  Arriving back, I had a joyous reception from Beth and Merryl, for they seemed to think I might have gone for good, like their other nursemaids. Promising them that I’d tell them the tale of my journey home soon, I took Isabelle to my room and presented her with my apple-green bodice and skirt.

  She looked at me, surprised and pleased. ‘Why are you giving me these?’

  ‘I was going to give you them anyway,’ I said. ‘But now I want you to take them in return for another trip to Hazelgrove.’

  ‘You want t
o go back?’ she asked, for I’d told her nothing of Ma’s dilemma, just said that she was in a bad way.

  ‘Not I,’ I said, ‘for I’d not be allowed the time from work. But if you happen to be exercising another horse …’

  She nodded, wide-eyed. ‘I could be.’

  ‘Then there’s something I’d like you to take to Hazelgrove for me. Something which I hope to give you tomorrow, which will be of the utmost importance to my ma.’

  ‘Of course,’ she said, and folding and tucking the outfit under her arm, she kissed me goodbye, vowing she wouldn’t let me down.

  I made Beth and Merryl ready for bed, telling a tall tale of a ride in which I’d got lost in a deep forest, thwarted a highwayman and made friends with a great variety of talking animals. After that I washed my hands and face and made my way to the library, for Mistress Midge had told me that Dr Dee and Mr Kelly had been ensconced there all day. ‘And they have twice sent me out for mutton pasties and a jug of ale from the tavern,’ she added sourly.

  Trembling, for I was afeared they might have changed their minds or found someone else to do the job, I knocked at the black door and waited for permission to enter. When I did so, I saw both men seated at the long table with a number of parchments before them. Behind them, on the wall, were two vast charts. One of them, Merryl had told me, was for plotting the movement of the stars, the other gave the times of the tides all round the world.

  ‘Yes?’ Dr Dee asked, looking annoyed at my interruption.

  I sank into a curtsey. ‘Excuse my boldness in addressing you directly, Sirs,’ I said when I straightened up, ‘but the other evening you made a proposition. You asked me to take part in a … a performance that you intend to put on.’

  Mr Kelly started, looking up from his parchments for the first time.

  ‘I refused you then, but now I think I might like to act in this masquerade.’

  Dr Dee glanced at Mr Kelly, stroking his beard from top to bottom. ‘You’ve changed your mind? Why is this?’

  ‘I’ll be frank, Sir,’ I said, feeling myself blush. ‘A member of my family is badly in need of money and I want to help them.’

  ‘I see,’ said Dr Dee slowly.

  ‘Not worried about your father’s Puritanism now, Lucy?’ asked Mr Kelly sardonically.

  I shook my head, blushing further. ‘I’ll do it if you want me to.’

  The two men exchanged glances. ‘There is still a part for you to play, certainly,’ Dr Dee said.

  ‘You mentioned two gold angels, did you not? So if I agree to join the masque, then – begging your pardons – would it be possible for me to have my fee in advance?’

  Dr Dee snorted. ‘I haven’t got so much. How about you, Kelly?’

  Mr Kelly somewhat reluctantly produced a small velvet pouch from his pocket. Shaking the contents of this on to the table, he picked up two gold coins and held them out to me, saying, ‘In return for these you must promise to do whatever it is we ask of you and vow never to utter a word of it.’

  I’d already told Isabelle, of course, but I nodded just the same. ‘Yes, Sir, and thank you kindly. When … when is it likely that this masque will take place?’

  They exchanged glances. ‘Next Wednesday would be especially opportune,’ said Dr Dee.

  Mr Kelly smiled, but I didn’t like his smile, for it reminded me of that on the face of the ally-gators. He said, ‘Yes, next Wednesday, the thirty-first day of the month.’

  I shivered. ‘But that date is the Eve of All Hallows, Sir,’ I said, for I well knew that on this date all good citizens should keep within their doors, leaving ghouls, witches and other evils free to roam.

  ‘It is. But you have nothing to fear, child,’ said Mr Kelly.

  ‘Indeed not,’ said Dr Dee. ‘Unschooled and simple souls can always go abroad on this night, for God in His mercy will protect you from witchcraft.’ He waved his hand. ‘You may go now.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  The following morning I went to the hut where Isabelle lived, and gave into her keeping a purse I’d newly sewn. It contained the two pieces of gold and the few copper coins I had left from the money I’d brought with me from home.

  ‘’Twill be enough to keep my ma from the poor-house,’ I said to her, and added, ‘And my father, too – even though I wouldn’t care if he never saw the light of day again.’

  ‘I’ll take it tomorrow,’ she promised. ‘And my brother has said he’ll ride with me and see that I get there safely. He’s grateful, see, for what you’ve done, for if you’d gone to the Watch when …’

  I hastily told her, not another word, and she smiled and put the purse into her pocket. She looked over her shoulder into the hut, where Merryl was playing a staring-out game, as little girls do, with Margaret, the youngest of Isabelle’s sisters. ‘You’ve told your gent’men you’ve decided to take part in the deception, then?’ she asked in a low voice and I nodded.

  ‘When will it be?’

  ‘October the thirty-first,’ I replied.

  Her eyes widened. ‘But that’s …’

  I nodded, then tried to make light of it. ‘But ’twill be all right; the ghouls and ghosties won’t come after me, for they’ll think I’m one of them!’

  ‘You shouldn’t joke about such things,’ she said anxiously. ‘Be sure to carry some crossed rowan twigs – and also a moonstone, for that’s said to be efficacious against witches. And they say that the sound of a brass bell which has been blessed in church will rid any place of demons in an instant.’

  I began laughing. ‘If I take all those things I’d be so hung about with charms that I’d be unable to walk!’

  The rest of that day I couldn’t help but feel greatly afeared – not merely about the date of the masque, but about my purse, for although I liked Isabelle very much and counted her as a friend, that money would mean life or death to my ma. I hadn’t ever met Isabelle’s brother, so how could I know whether to trust him or not? Would he, on hearing of what the purse contained, be tempted to steal it away?

  Mistress Dee visited the kitchen that afternoon, which was only about the second time I’d ever seen her out of her room. She was not attired as a lady should be, but wearing a poor nightgown, her hair hung from under her nightcap in thin wisps. She looked very unhappy, poor lady, for on Dr Dee’s insistence, Mistress Allen had taken little Arthur off to his wet nurse early that morning, and there he had stayed.

  It was a strange little scene: Beth and Merryl standing one each side of their mother, each holding a hand and talking to her, the cook fussing, trying to coax her mistress to take something nourishing and above this a continual shrieking and a rattling of the cellar door from Tom-fool, who’d been locked down there on account of his making Mistress Dee extremely nervous.

  ‘Would you take a little light chicken gruel, Madam?’ said Mistress Midge. ‘I could send Lucy out for a boiling fowl.’ This only bringing forth a shake of the head from the mistress, she went on, ‘Or a little conserve of sage and scabious to aid your melancholy?’

  ‘Thank you,’ sighed Mistress Dee, ‘but I could not swallow a morsel of food.’

  Mistress Midge looked at me in despair, shrugging.

  ‘After child-bed my ma always got my sisters to take a tonic of elderflowers and barberries in claret,’ I said tentatively, but Mistress Dee again refused, saying she’d rather not, and even Merryl’s offer to make her a plate of gilt gingerbread could not persuade her to change her mind.

  ‘Arthur. Poor wee babe,’ she kept saying. ‘He won’t know where he is or who his mother might be. He’ll think I’ve abandoned him.’

  ‘Begging your pardon, Madam,’ Mistress Midge said, ‘but the child is far too young to worry about his whereabouts. And a finer wet nurse with such milk in abundance you’ll not find anywhere in the county!’

  Mistress Dee’s eyes closed in anguish. ‘Oh, but he’s so tiny and helpless,’ she sighed. ‘And he’s our heir!’

  ‘Mama,’ asked Merryl suddenly, ‘were you
this unhappy about leaving me with a wet nurse?

  ‘And me?’ put in Beth jealously.

  Mistress Dee rallied slightly. ‘Of course, my darlings,’ she said, ‘every bit as anxious,’ and Mistress Midge caught my eye and gave me a half-wink.

  The next day, towards evening, there was a tapping on the kitchen window and I looked out to see little Margaret standing there, proffering a scrap of paper. I took this from her eagerly. I knew that Isabelle could read and also write a little, for she’d been taught her letters by a teacher she’d washed for, and when I studied the paper I found, much to my delight, that I could read the few words she’d written. The note said: Your ma says you ever were a canny child, and I knew from this that Isabelle had truly delivered the purse, and that I’d done right to trust her and her brother, even though my heart had misgiven me several times during the day.

  After the children’s bedtime I was summoned to speak with Dr Dee. Whether Mistress Midge was curious about this interview with my employer or any of the subsequent ones I don’t know, but she never questioned me about them or enquired as to what we might be talking about.

  In the library, Dr Dee and Mr Kelly were sitting one each side of the large fireplace, looking at me seriously.

  ‘Lucy, we must rehearse your part,’ Dr Dee said, when I’d wished them a good evening.

  ‘Indeed, Sir,’ I said, and tried to sound keen and biddable, so that they wouldn’t suspect that I knew the real reason for the masquerade. ‘What must I do?’

  ‘We want you to impersonate the daughter of Lord Vaizey, who’s an important personage at the Court of Her Majesty.’

  I nodded slowly.

  ‘We have obtained various descriptions of this young lady, who was about your age …’

  ‘She was, Sir?’

  ‘She has passed over to the land of shadows,’ said Mr Kelly soberly.

  ‘I am to pretend to be a dead girl?’ I asked in a shocked voice. ‘That seems a very strange masquerade …’