by Holly Webb
“Oh!” Rose hissed crossly through her teeth. “You shocking liar!”
“What Gustavus is trying to explain to you,” Mr. Fountain glared at his cat, “is that you would actually find things.”
Rose nodded, not understanding. “I might even be good at it,” she pleaded.
“Rose, the police employed a finder to look for Emmeline Chambers after Miss Sparrow stole her. It was at the request of her parents when no progress had been made in the case—they even paid the exorbitant fee. The man found nothing—or rather, he swore that Emmeline had been taken to Paris by a man on a black horse.”
“But that’s nonsense,” Rose said slowly.
“Of course. And that man makes a very good living by peddling nonsense.” Mr. Fountain twirled the end of his mustache. “If you go out there and show people like that your talent, Rose, you’ll be back in a cellar in—I disagree with Gus here—much less than a fortnight.”
“More likely in pieces in a succession of sacks floating down the Thames,” Gus purred ghoulishly.
“You’re probably right. Rose, you would put them all to shame. Someone with an inferior talent would get rid of you. Or some unscrupulous person would decide to take you under their ‘protection.’ Purely for your own safety, of course.”
“And then how long do you think it would be before you were finding things that weren’t lost in the first place?” Gus stared into Rose’s eyes, his own particolored ones deeply serious.
“If you were shown a picture of a jewel case, Rose, do you think you could find where in a house it might be hidden?” Mr. Fountain asked her.
“I suppose so…” Rose whispered miserably. She could see that they were right. She would never be able to reveal what she could do.
Another dream was gone.
“Don’t look like that, Rose,” Mr. Fountain told her gently.
“But if I can’t let anyone know that I can find things, or see pictures, what am I going to do?” Rose asked. “I thought I’d be happy being a maid. I’d always known I wanted to have a job and earn my own living. But…I don’t think I could go back to only that now. And I can’t get rid of my magic anyway, I tried.”
Mr. Fountain smiled. “I’m not saying you should give up. Just stick it out for a couple more years, Rose. When you’re trained enough to control your power properly, to protect yourself, then you can go anywhere, do anything, be anyone you like.”
“But for now, you need to stay where we can protect you,” Gus agreed.
Rose gave him a slightly old-fashioned look, as though wondering how much protection a middle-sized white cat was going to provide, and Gus glared back, shook his whiskers, and suddenly there was a Bengal tiger sitting on Rose’s lap. She nearly fell over backward, and Gus downshifted again.
“Sorry,” Rose muttered, stretching her legs to see if they felt broken. She decided Gus must have taken on the tiger glamour without actually making himself all that heavy, but it still felt as though she ought to be squashed. “I see what you mean.”
“Good,” Gus said sniffily. “After all my help with Miss Sparrow, no more demeaning glances, please. A white cat is a very useful form to keep to. Attractive, unthreatening, and I have my own integral defenses.” He ran a claw sharply into Rose’s leg to demonstrate, and she winced but didn’t say anything.
“Don’t maul her, Gus,” Mr. Fountain said. He was looking thoughtfully at Rose, a gaze that made her feel uncomfortable, as though it was rubbing away the surface of her skin.
“What is it, sir?” she asked defensively.
“I was just wondering about you, Rose. I’ve been wondering for a while, to tell the truth, where you could have come from.”
“I came from the orphanage,” Rose told him, her face obstinately set.
Mr. Fountain frowned at her, and she wriggled on her chair.
“You know quite well what I mean,” he told her gently. There was a firmness in his voice that she usually heard him use with Freddie when he was being particularly dim. Rose thought that Freddie was being dim on purpose quite a lot of the time, and she had a feeling he was doing it more since she’d come along. It wasn’t that he didn’t like her, but he didn’t like her showing him up. If he wasn’t going to be as good as Rose, he was going to be not as good his way. So she reckoned, anyway. She was trying to be sympathetic, but the temptation to clip him around the earhole was growing by the day. She had a feeling Mr. Fountain felt the same way about his first apprentice. Gus certainly did, and Freddie had a nice collection of scratch patterns on his hands from annoying Gus too much. The cat wasn’t known for his patience.
“Your parents must have known,” Mr. Fountain muttered. “So why leave you?” He shook his head. “Something must have happened to them. You must have been left with someone who didn’t understand. That’s all I can think.”
Rose shivered and hoped they didn’t notice. She couldn’t help remembering what Susan had called her. A changeling. It sounded much the same as what the master was saying now.
“Would I have been—strange?” she asked with difficulty. “I mean, would people have been able to tell?” There had been nothing odd noted in her records at St. Bridget’s.
Mr. Fountain shook his head. “Not necessarily. I mean, some small children can show signs early, but it’s more usual at around your age. Freddie manifested his powers particularly early—he was only seven—which is why it’s so damned annoying that the boy won’t apply himself now.” He blinked and bowed to her slightly. “I do apologize. Most unfortunate language. Idiot boy provokes me.” He shuddered. “I expect my daughter’s magic will start to show soon. We will need to find her a somewhat more hard-wearing governess.” Rose giggled. Miss Anstruther was definitely on the delicate side. But then, anyone would be, shut up with Isabella all day. Rose had already seen the little girl grow claws in a temper. She wouldn’t put it past Bella to hide whatever magic she was growing until just when she wanted it.
“Which reminds me, I must speak to Isabella. Will you send her to my study, Rose, please?” He smiled at her hopefully. “You will stay, won’t you? I can’t let you go. It would be like throwing you to the wolves. Freddie and I have a responsibility for you now, until you’re grown. Don’t you realize that? Our magic binds us together, a shared heritage—even if we don’t know where we inherited it.”
Rose dropped her eyes, not wanting him to see her tears. It sounded as though he was calling her family.
Six
Rose took her time going to the schoolroom to fetch Bella. Mr. Fountain wouldn’t notice. It was well-known in the household that he lived in a dream world half the day, shut away in his study. One had to catch him at the right time. Bella was possibly the only person who could snap him back to reality whenever she wanted to.
Rose hid herself in one of the window alcoves on the corridor, ducking behind a table bearing a large pottery horse. Rose rather liked it, as it was more battered than a lot of the ornaments in the house. The rider had been knocked about a bit, and the horse was dark brown, with odd greenish splotches on him. It seemed as though it had been decorated by someone who’d gotten bored and decided just to flick a brush at it. But for all that, it looked very like a horse, although one with a rather big bottom. Rose stroked it gently and leaned her head on her arms, staring at the horse’s hooves.
Isabella could have the same skin-scrubbing effect as her father, and if Rose went to the schoolroom now, Bella would have every last detail of Susan’s insults and Rose’s innermost feelings out of her. Rose wanted her innermost feelings to stay innermost, and Bella was an interfering little gossip who’d love to sneak down to the kitchen and wreak some horrible revenge on Rose’s part—a revenge that would almost certainly backfire on Rose. So staring at the horse’s smooth, brown legs to calm down for a few minutes was worth the risk of being caught idling.
Something nuzzled her hair, and R
ose jumped, realizing her daydreams had slipped into real dreams. She looked around for Gus, assuming it was he who’d woken her, but he was nowhere to be seen. Rose blinked at the horse, which was staring off into the middle distance with the innocent expression of someone thinking the grass in the painting of the foolishly dressed shepherdess on the far wall looked quite delicious. The rider was grinning more than he had been too.
“Thank you,” Rose murmured, sliding around the table. The horse flicked its odd little stub of a tail, just a smidge.
The schoolroom was ominously quiet. Bella was curled up in the window seat, clutching a large doll and looking both angelic and bored, which was a dangerous combination, particularly as she seemed quite delighted to see Rose.
“Where’s Miss Anstruther?” Rose inquired, cautiously.
“Prostrate. Again. If Papa didn’t pay her such enormously high wages, she’d definitely have gone into a decline by now,” Bella purred.
“What did you do?” Rose was intrigued. Bella was never short of ideas. Perhaps she could borrow something to use on Susan.
“Nothing.”
“I don’t believe you.” Rose shook her head, but Bella smiled. She looked much less angelic smiling.
“Really. Absolutely nothing. That’s what I did. Miss Anstruther’s always saying Sit still, Isabella, and Silence, Isabella. So that’s what I did. I was only doing what I was told,” she added innocently.
Rose grinned. “Your father wants you.”
Bella looked faintly worried. “How on earth did he know? Oh well. Perhaps it’ll convince him that Miss Anstruther just isn’t up to the task of educating me.”
Rose shook her head. “I don’t think he knew about you prostrating her again. He just wanted to see you about something. And I’ll be back up with your tea in a minute, miss,” she added.
“Oh, good, sitting still makes one dreadfully hungry. Can you make sure there’s lots of cake?” Isabella disappeared in a whirl of lace petticoats, and Rose smoothed her apron, readying herself to go back belowstairs.
When she came back with the tea tray, which Sarah had refused to hand to her, putting it down on the kitchen table so Rose had to pick it up herself, Isabella hadn’t returned.
Rose tidied the schoolroom, putting away the books and picking up Miss Anstruther’s chair, which seemed to have been knocked over, perhaps as its owner ran out of the room.
She wondered if Isabella was having tea with her father, and she was just about to take the tray back downstairs when Bella stamped back in and slammed the door. Her golden ringlets were like springs, coiling out from her scalp and vibrating with crossness. Rose eyed the china nervously.
“I hate them!” Isabella snapped. “I hate them, and I can’t say so, and I’ll have to behave, and they’re so idiotically stupid! It isn’t fair!”
Rose wondered for a moment if Miss Anstruther had been replaced with a fleet of new governesses. “Who is?” she asked, daringly, considering she was so close to the teapot.
Isabella flounced over to the table and seized a biscuit, biting it viciously with small, white teeth.
“I have to go to tea at the palace tomorrow,” she told Rose blackly.
“The palace?” Rose gasped. “The king’s palace?”
“How many other palaces are there?” Bella snapped. “Of course the king’s palace. I have to go and eat Bath buns with those perfect, sweet, deathly dull little princesses.”
Rose’s legs wobbled, and she sat down at the table and gazed at Bella, her mouth hanging open. “You’re having tea with them?”
“Close your mouth, or I’ll throw crumbs in it,” Bella snarled. “You look like a fish.”
“Princess Jane and Princess Charlotte?” Rose persisted, ignoring the warning signs. “Don’t throw that at me!”
Bella had seized the plate of cake, and Rose wrestled it away from her. “I thought you were hungry,” she said, waving it at Bella with considerable cunning. “You can’t eat it if it’s been on the floor, can you?”
Isabella sighed moodily and accepted a piece of currant cake. “Even the cake isn’t as good as you’d expect from a palace,” she muttered.
“Do you go there often?” Rose asked eagerly. She couldn’t help it. The little princesses were fairy-tale characters, yet the whole country felt as though the girls belonged to them.
Princess Jane was nearly eight years old—the same age as Isabella. She had been born—most inconveniently, the royal family had thought at the time—on the eve of a great sea battle with Talis, a battle that the Admiralty had been rather expecting to lose. The Talish had been worryingly close to swarming across the Channel, and if their ships had destroyed the flower of the Royal Navy, as they had confidently expected to, they would have been followed by transports carrying an invasion.
Instead, the battle had turned into the most amazing victory, as the captain of the most strategically placed man-of-war had made a gallant speech to his men about fighting for their country and remembering that their beloved prince had a new baby daughter, who must not be allowed to be brought up Talish. It had been stirring stuff, and the salient points had been repeated to the other ships of the line using flags, which had made it somewhat shorter but still most affecting. After the Talish had been driven away in tatters, the ships had limped triumphantly home to port, and the navy had been given royal permission to rename the man-of-war, previously called the Redoubtable, which nobody liked very much, Princess Jane.
The little princess had become an unofficial mascot of the Royal Navy, and adoring sailors were always presenting her with pieces of furniture made from spare bits of ships. On one occasion a sailor had almost been dismissed from the service for borrowing a bulkhead to whittle a doll for the princess, who was visiting his ship. But she had admired the doll, and he had been raised to master’s mate instead.
The battle had caused a dramatic change of heart in the Talish government. Because it had been such a disaster, the emperor had been forced to give up on the invasion plan, due to popular pressure, and a fragile peace had lasted ever since. It was very fragile though, and most people thought that the Talish were bound to try again eventually.
The navy now had another ship named Princess Charlotte, and shortly after the new little princess had been born, her grandfather, the old king, had died. Prince Albert had become king, and the little princesses had played a large part in the coronation ceremony, embedding themselves deeper in the nation’s hearts. Even the orphans at St. Bridget’s had shared in the joy of the populace, as there had been cake, which was so rare as to be unforgettable.
So to Rose, the princesses were a source of cake and amazing stories. Princess Jane wore underwear entirely made of the finest lace, the orphans had said wisely, while laundering their plain drawers. Princess Charlotte had a little carriage drawn by two enormous wolfhounds, sent by the emperor of Russia, her father’s cousin. Their older sisters, the princesses Sophia, Victoria, and Lucasta, only washed in water from golden bowls and occasionally had baths in milk. The orphans had not been quite sure about this, as it sounded rather smelly, although undeniably grand.
“I can’t believe you don’t want to go…” Rose sighed, staring at Isabella dreamily. “I’ll go instead if you like…”
“Done. Get Gus to help you make a glamour,” Bella snapped. “They’re so awfully good, Rose. Even you would be bored. All Princess Jane talks about is her duty to the country. It’s a great pity she’ll never be queen—I mean, they can’t possibly lose three older princesses. That would just be wasteful.”
Rose looked at her thoughtfully. “I suppose you actually have to behave at the palace. It must be quite difficult.”
Isabella stared at her icily. “Won’t you have been missed in the kitchens?” she asked, her voice honeyed. “What are you going to tell them? That you were clearing up after I had another tantrum? Would you like me to
throw the tea tray at the wall? I’d hate you to have to lie.”
Rose got up very quickly and curtsied. “Have you quite finished, miss?” she asked, seizing the tray and holding it protectively.
Isabella sighed. “Let me have another piece of cake,” she muttered gloomily. “I need to make up for tomorrow. Princess Jane actually prefers bread and butter.”
Seven
Isabella duly went to tea the next day, in her best red velvet cloak with the sable around the hood. Rose watched her through one of the upstairs windows, which she was supposed to be washing. As Isabella climbed into the carriage, she looked like she was being taken to the palace to be executed, not to eat cake. Or even bread and butter.
Rose took Bella’s supper up to the schoolroom later, wondering if she would get away without having the cocoa thrown at her.
Bella was grumpy but resigned. “Oh, Rose, not more bread and butter,” she moaned, when she saw the tray.
“Don’t tell,” Rose murmured conspiratorially, drawing a piece of shortcake out of her apron pocket. “I don’t think Mrs. Jones thought you’d want much after tea at the palace. Did they really only have bread and butter? No éclairs? No talking gingerbread men?”
“They have them,” Bella explained. “The éclairs at least. But I can’t eat them unless the princesses do. And they don’t. Maybe because they can have them all the time, but actually I think Jane just likes bread and butter.” Bella shook her head. “Can you imagine turning down éclairs for bread and butter?”
Rose considered briefly. “No.”
“Nor me,” Bella sighed.
“Perhaps you won’t have to go again for a while,” Rose suggested.
Bella shook her head grimly. “No, I have to keep going. For some reason, Princess Jane finds me amusing, and she wants me to come to tea every week.” She shrugged. “Papa says I must. It would be disadvantageous to his career to say no, not to mention mine, eventually. I wouldn’t mind being a palace magician. And anyway, Papa says he wants me to be at the palace. There are a lot of horrible rumors going around about magicians and how they aren’t to be trusted. He says me being friends with the princesses just now is diplomatically useful.” She brightened a little. “I might ask him if you can come too, Rose! I promised Princess Jane I would bring Freddie next week, so he could show her some magic—they don’t get to see an awful lot of it, and Freddie can do some things, even if he is a bit useless. I wouldn’t feel so terribly dowdy if I had my own maid with me. I think they were quite surprised that I didn’t.” She frowned, her bottom lip sticking out. “I wish Papa would have more servants. I should like to have a proper lady’s maid.” She looked hopefully at Rose. “You would come, wouldn’t you? I mean, you’d have to if I said so, but you would anyway?”
