by Holly Webb
They met at the corner of the square, Rose bundled up in her Macintosh cloak again. She’d almost left off the hated galoshes but had added them at the last minute. She did not want to get her feet any wetter than she had to, as it was well-known that wet feet led to all sorts of horrible illnesses and now was not the time to contract a putrid sore throat. She had put on her good bonnet to try and take away the effect of the ugly galoshes.
Rose eyed Bill a little worriedly, hoping that he wasn’t going to start anything silly. She knew that going to the Frost Fair with him would make anyone else think they were sweethearts, but Bill had better not try kissing her.
Luckily Bill seemed more concerned with looking at the lowering snow clouds than Rose. “Can’t believe it. Look, there’s going to be another fall tonight, I’ll bet. It ain’t natural, Rose. I swear, not in October.” He looked down at her in surprise when she said nothing. “Hey! Has the master said something to you? Is it a spell, all this?”
Rose looked around nervously, not that she really expected anyone would be spying on a couple of servant kids. Still, it would be disastrous if anyone heard them. Then she eyed Bill. She was pretty sure she could trust him—even though he was as silly about magic as the rest of the servants, he’d still seemed to be on her side. Did he think she was capable of turning him to stone or feeding him to a dragon? He was remarkably rude to her if he did, but Rose would rather have it that way.
“He thinks so,” she muttered. “You mustn’t say anything! To anyone, do you promise?” I should have made him promise first, she thought wildly, watching the color drain out of his face, leaving it the same color as the grubby snow around their feet.
“Yeah, I promise,” Bill whispered. He looked sick.
“You said it was magic first!” Rose protested. “I was only telling you that you were right!”
“I know, but…if he says so…” Bill wiped a hand over his face, which was covered in a sheen of sweat, despite the freezing air. “Well, then it really is, isn’t it?” He grinned shamefacedly. “I was just moaning, you know, about the weather, like Mrs. Jones does all the time, with her rheumatics telling her there’s rain on the way. I didn’t really mean it…” He sighed. “Maybe I did. No one’s ever known a Frost Fair in October. What’s he going to do about it, then?”
“He doesn’t know who’s making it,” Rose admitted.
“But he’ll find out! And then he’ll get them,” she added loyally, though Mr. Fountain had not been in a very martial spirit the last time she’d seen him.
Bill nodded, looking more cheerful. “’Course he will. He’s a genius, ain’t he? Don’t you worry, Rose. He can do anything.”
Rose wished she could believe him. But she looked around at the London streets covered in a foot of snow, with battlements of icicles dripping from all the roofs; the scale of the magic was so huge that she couldn’t see how one man could fight against it. Perhaps Mr. Fountain was recruiting other magicians to help. He must be—unless he was worried about creating a panic, she supposed. She couldn’t help wondering if he’d told the king. If the snow and the attack on the princess were linked together somehow—and the snow was still falling—well, she wasn’t sure what that meant…
“We’re nearly there, Rose. I can hear music!” Bill forgot the snow spell in an instant, content to leave magic to those who understood it.
The scraping of a violin brought even Rose out of her worried daze, and they both hurried forward, making for the river.
“We’ll go down the Fothergill steps,” Bill told her excitedly.
The steps down to the river had been swept clear of snow but were still slippery, and Bill handed her down graciously. The sight of the huge river, set solid between the bridges, was so amazing that Rose forgot to worry about what had caused the scene. Instead, she was swept up in the excitement. Everyone on the river was there either to enjoy themselves or to make money, preferably both. All along the central channel of the river, a double line of booths had been set up, selling food, large amounts of drink, and every kind of entertainment.
“Tuppence to enter!” A large man shouldered himself in front of them, wearing an odd uniform of a bright red jacket, most old-fashioned, and all wound around with mufflers.
“I’ve only got tuppence,” Rose whispered sadly to Bill. She was still paying back the cost of her dresses, and Miss Bridges only allowed her a few pennies at a time.
“Oh, just let ’em in, Ezra, poor little things.” An equally large woman, made even larger by the huge quantity of shawls she wore, lurched toward them, carrying a black bottle which Rose strongly suspected was full of spirits. Still, she wasn’t going to complain. The waterman let them pass, with much grumbling about losing his trade, and Rose and Bill hurried into the fair, stammering their thanks.
“What’ll we do first?” Bill asked eagerly. “You’ll never guess, Rose: Barney from next door told me this morning there’s an elephant!”
“Don’t elephants come from Africa and India?” Rose asked doubtfully, as she skidded along on the pitted ice. “The poor thing won’t like it out here, not at all.”
But Bill was right. Up at the end of the lane of stalls was a large enclosure of rickety fencing with an enormous and morose-looking elephant. Rose had known in theory what an elephant looked like from the large number of books about foreign missionaries in the orphanage schoolroom, but the tiny illustrations—even those with elephants carrying Indian princes in little houses on their backs—had not prepared her for the reality. The beast’s legs were wider than she was, even in a Macintosh cloak, she thought, staring open-mouthed.
The elephant was harnessed to a sort of sled, fancifully decorated like a ship, and the owner was charging a shilling a ride. There were a surprising number of customers.
Bill looked at the elephant regretfully. “I’d rather ride on its back. Not much point in being dragged around after it. All you’d see’s that strange little tail.”
“And a whole shilling!” Rose pointed out.
“Yeah, I haven’t got one of those, either.” Bill grinned. “Good, though, eh?”
Rose nodded. “It’s wonderful.” She gazed around at the stalls. “Do you think there’s anything I can buy for tuppence? I wish I had more.”
Bill chewed his lip thoughtfully. “We can look,” he suggested, but he sounded somewhat doubtful. “Anyway, I’ll buy you something. I said I’d buy you gingerbread, didn’t I?”
Rose shook her head. “You shouldn’t,” she told him, smiling. “But I’d like something I can keep. This might never happen again. You said it wasn’t meant to happen at all.” She shook off the memory of how wrong it all was, determined to enjoy it while she could. It wasn’t as if there was anything she could do, after all. Rose was used to being insignificant. Orphans were never special.
The uneasy thought floated at the back of her mind that insignificant was sometimes easier too.
“What about this?” Bill suggested, as they started back down the line of stalls. “Look, it’s got the elephant on it.” Rose peered into the booth, where a strange machine had been set up, almost as magical-looking as those in Mr. Fountain’s study. A boy a little older than Bill was stroking ink on to a block of metal letters and fixing them into the machine.
“Brand new picture of the Frost Fair,” he droned, as though he was sick of saying it. “With the elephant added. Poetry extra. Your name printed on for tuppence.”
“You can put my name on it?” Rose asked, fascinated. She had never seen a printing press, and she had no idea how they worked, even such an old-fashioned one as this.
“’Course I can,” the boy muttered, rolling his eyes. “You want it or not?”
“Yes.” Rose nodded frantically. The elephant was rather odd-looking, with a hump like a camel and an over-long trunk trailing round its feet, but it was still clearly an elephant. She wanted it on her wall. “My
name’s Rose.”
The boy searched through his tray of letters. “No surname?”
Rose shook her head, flushing. “Just Rose, please.”
“If you say so. There.” He pulled down a wooden handle and peeled a piece of paper off the block. “Mind, the ink’s still wet.”
Rose gazed at it delightedly. TO COMMEMORATE A REMARKABLY SEVERE FROST. PRINTED ON THE RIVER, OCTOBER 1843, and then her name, in ornate lettering, and the elephant below. It was wonderful, and she handed over her two pence gladly. She wafted the handbill to and fro to dry the ink before folding it carefully into her reticule.
“Don’t you want one?” she asked Bill.
“I’d rather have gingerbread. Come on.” And Bill set off again, dragging her along, sniffing out a sweetmeat stall.
They walked along the rest of the stalls, munching happily. The gingerbread was shaped into snowflakes, and gilded. The luxury of eating gold! It seemed almost sinful. And it tasted wonderful, the rich, peppery spices warming them from inside.
“We should get back.” Bill sighed.
Rose nodded. “There’s one last stall over there though,” she pleaded. “We could look at that quickly and then go?” She didn’t want to go back to the house and the magic, and her fear. Not just yet.
The last stall was on its own and had a white canvas roof decorated with silver ribbons. A crowd of people was in front of it, jostling to see.
“It’s probably another of those ‘find the lady’ games,” Bill suggested, as they tried to peer round the edges.
Rose shook her head. There had been lots of those, fleecing customers out of their money, and she knew Bill had been tempted—luckily, gingerbread had tempted him more. This was different. There was a smell about it, like Mr. Fountain’s study. Her heart thudded unpleasantly—was someone performing magic on the ice? A magic stall?
Bill was wriggling and pushing his way through the crowd, and Rose was more frightened of losing him than she was of whatever was in the white tent. She followed, making judicious use of her elbows and trying to look innocent.
“Look at that!” Bill whispered.
Rose just nodded, unable to stop staring. The stall was full of little glass globes, each containing a miniature scene, tiny houses, or streets. The one closest to Rose and Bill showed the river and the bridge.
Rose had seen snow globes before—Bella had one in her room, with a little girl in it, feeding doves. But Bella’s globe was still, until you shook it to make the snow fall—which Rose had never dared to do.
These ones moved. The figures danced, and the water running under the bridge rippled. It wasn’t clockwork. When the stallholder shook a globe for a beautifully dressed lady who looked as though she might actually buy one, the little figures all rushed to hold on to something. Rose shook her head, unbelieving. They were the prettiest things she’d ever seen. She couldn’t imagine how much they’d cost, and when the stallholder told the lady only a guinea, she looked at Bill, her mouth falling open. They knew how much magic cost. These delicate baubles were worth a hundred times more than that.
Rose looked at the globes distrustfully. It couldn’t be right. The stallholder was a young man, with curiously light eyes, a strange icy blue. Rose wondered if he was the magician who’d created the globes or just an assistant. He had a slightly strange voice, an accent she didn’t recognize.
The lady who wanted a snow globe was arguing with her husband now. He was shaking his head and muttering. Surely he couldn’t think it was too expensive? Didn’t he realize what a bargain he was getting?
His voice rose, and Rose could hear him properly.
“I won’t have it in the house! You know that magic’s dangerous. Look at the weather! Too much of the stuff floating around. Put it back.”
The lady sighed, stroking the snow globe lovingly with one finger as she handed it back to the stallholder. He tried to reason with the husband, but the man wouldn’t listen and started to walk away, turning back and shouting, “You should be ashamed, showing these abominations off here! We’ve had enough after what you magicians did to our princess!”
A surge of whispering and muttering ran through the crowd, as though they’d been entranced by the globes, and had now just realized what they were. There was a strange hissing noise, and Rose realized, shivering, that it was a crowd of people all saying the same words, over and over again. The Princess…the Princess…
Everyone believes it was magic, she thought to herself. And they’re blaming all the magicians.
The first globe hit the canvas at the back of the stall and didn’t break, though Rose swore she could hear a high, thin scream as it hurtled through the air. Then Bill grabbed her, diving sideways as the crowd surged forward and tipped the trestle table over, sending a jeweled rush of sparkling glass onto the ice. Huddled against the side of the tent, Rose and Bill watched the stallholder crying, pleading, begging them not to do it—or was he begging the globes not to shatter? He was scooping as many of them as he could rescue into his apron, cradling them and cooing in a rush of unrecognizable words.
They were so beautiful. Even if she didn’t trust them, Rose couldn’t bear the globes to break amongst all those stamping feet. She tucked the nearest one under her skirt, feeling it pulsing against her ankle, painfully cold even through her stocking. It wasn’t glass. Even lying on ice, glass couldn’t be so cold that it burned. Curled still against the canvas, Rose thought warm thoughts as hard as she could. She felt as though the snow globe were turning her to ice, so she would shatter too.
“Ah!” The stallholder made a desperate dart forward, but he was too late. The burly waterman, Ezra, who’d tried to charge Rose and Bill for entry, had lifted his heavy oilskin boot. The snow globe splintered with an eerie shriek, and the ice-eyed man wailed as he searched the crystal pieces. They didn’t cut him—in fact, Rose realized, shivering, they were melting back into the ice, as though they were a strange kind of ice themselves. Their owner scrabbled up the little figures, thrusting them squeaking into a pocket, and the waterman spat.
“There. We’ll do that for all your magic. Your kind aren’t welcome here anymore. Go on, get out of it.” And he kicked the pole holding up the white canopy, sending the canvas slewing down across the ice and into the stallholder. It didn’t knock him down. He stood watching the waterman walk away, the ice from the shattered globe dripping between his fingers. His eyes were darker now and colder, and the air around seemed suddenly to prickle with cold as he stared after the striding man. The humble, pleading posture was forgotten.
Rose wasn’t sure how long the waterman would last. The crowd straggled away, tittering. No one else seemed to have felt the sharp thrill of magic. Bill hauled Rose up, eyeing the stallholder cautiously, and Rose picked up the snow globe, shivering as it seemed to send a piercing, icy cold running through her veins.
“Sir…”
The ice-eyed man stared at her, sharp-eyed.
He hadn’t noticed them before, Rose realized. She wished they’d stayed still. Hesitantly, she held out the snow globe, her hands trembling as it stung them with cold. “It rolled… I hid it…”
“Oh.” The man smiled slowly, and his voice softened to a purr. “You are a good girl. I thank you.”
“Come on, Rose,” Bill muttered, tugging her arm.
“Your companion does not trust me, but you—you have some knowledge, hmm?” The smile was fixed now, and Rose and Bill edged out of the collapsing stall as fast as they could. The man followed, step by step, his eyes stabbing Rose. Then he seemed to change his mind, shook his head. “No. Servant children. I am wrong, of course. Just a good little girl.” The man smiled wider, showing very small, very white teeth, little tiny pearls. “Keep it, dear heart. A present.”
Rose nodded and turned and ran.
“Who was he?” Bill gasped, as they reached the top of the Fothergill stairs aga
in and stopped for breath.
Rose shrugged. “I don’t know. A magician though, definitely.” Rose wished she had met more magicians—with only Mr. Fountain and Alethea Sparrow to compare the stallholder to, it was hard to pin down why the man had scared her so. Perhaps she was wrong about him. He had been kind to her after all. But she still didn’t trust him.
“That thing’s worth a fortune,” Bill whispered, staring at the snow globe still clutched in Rose’s mittened hands. “Why’d he give it you?”
“Don’t know that either.” Rose looked at it, the little scene glittering against the wool. It had stopped burning her now, and it looked innocent, like a pretty toy. But Rose was sure it wasn’t. There had to be something more to it—and to the man who’d given it to her. She wished she’d had the courage to refuse the gift, but at the time it hadn’t felt like a choice. Staring down at the delicate bauble, Rose wondered how many others the ice-eyed man had given away.
Skaters on a frozen pond, whirling and skimming among the snowflakes. Bill had put his finger on the most important thing. The stallholder had to have some reason for giving Rose the globe—and for selling them at only a guinea apiece to start with. There was definitely something wrong there.
“Hide it away, for heaven’s sake,” Bill pleaded. “Someone’ll steal it otherwise, and anyway, I don’t like it.”
Rose looked up in surprise. She didn’t either, but she couldn’t say quite why. She hadn’t expected Bill to pick up on the strange sensation the globe gave off—she’d thought he would call it a silly trinket, that was all.
Even if it had cost Rose a hundred guineas, she still wouldn’t have trusted it. She tucked it reluctantly into her little bag, wishing she could just stuff it into a snowdrift instead. But she had a feeling that wouldn’t work. It might follow her.
It seemed to weigh her down as they walked back, though it wasn’t really that heavy. Rose dragged her feet, still cursed with those stupid galoshes, and sighed.
