An Enchanted Christmas

by Barbara Metzger

  The wolf whined. “You don’t want us?”

  She shook her aching head. “No. Thank you.”

  They left and Laurel sank onto a chair, her head leaning back against the chair rail. If she slept, she might wake up soon to find this had all been a nightmare.

  The servants came in to remove the empty plates, and the empty sugar bowl, the empty butter dish, the empty flower vases. “Coffee,” Laurel ordered her butler. “Hot coffee. With a dash of brandy. Or brandy with a dash of coffee. I do not care. And I am not at home, not to anyone.”

  Her sister-in-law was furious to be turned away, but Bettina did meet a handsome gentleman on a black horse on her walk back to the dower house. He smiled at her in a way no man had ever smiled, not even her husband. She invited him for tea.

  Laurel did manage to rest despite the servants’ excited chatter—the ones who had not given notice to quit. By the afternoon she was composed enough to walk to her sister-in-law’s house to make amends. She hated to be at odds with anyone, even Bettina.

  On her way to the dower house, however, she passed a bent old man pushing a cart. On top of the cart was a battered trunk decorated with stars and moons in peeling paint, lettered with the faded name: SPINROD THE SORCERER. Oh, no.

  Before the old man could say a word, Laurel pointed back toward the village. “We are not interested. I have changed my mind about magic. I am sorry you came all this distance for nothing.”

  Since he seemed old and rather ragged, in worn leather breeches, fraying wool cape, and scuffed boots, she tossed him a coin to see him on his way.

  He caught the coin with an agility surprising for an ancient with a long white beard and white hair tied back with a leather thong. His voice was stronger than she expected, too, as he said, “Nay, my lady. I came for something.”

  “Then you have had your recompense. There will be no performance.”

  He shrugged, then stretched, showing he was not as crippled as she had thought, merely bent from pushing the heavy cart. He must be a poor magician indeed, that he could not afford a horse and wagon. “I fear there will be a performance, my lady, will you or won’t you. I doubt you will enjoy it, nor your neighbors.”

  Laurel was confused. “I hired no one.”

  He waved a gnarled hand. “But they are here. They won’t miss the opportunity to win you over, now that you have called them.”

  “I called no one,” she scoffed. “I did put an advertisement in the newspaper for a magician.”

  “No, my lady, you called for real magic.”

  “No, I did not! I wanted a bit of happiness for the children, that was all.”

  Spinrod shook his white head. “No, you wished for far more. Here on this sacred hill, amid a circle of holy oaks, and coming from a family of sympathetics—”

  “My grandmother was fey, they said. That did not make her—”

  He ignored her interruption. “A lady named Laurel, which has magic of its own, on a night of possibilities, wished for true magic. That is what you got. Wizards, shape-shifters, apparitionists, pyromages. Such as they are not easily swayed from their course. They mean you no good.”

  The old man’s words rang true, as odd as they were. He spoke kindly, so Laurel was not afraid of him, yet fear entered her heart like a burrowing insect. “And what of you?” She gestured toward the name on his trunk. “You claim to be one of their ilk. What do you mean to do?”

  He smiled, showing even white teeth, and laugh lines formed around his clear blue eyes. “Why, I mean to protect you, my lady.”

  Her hero was a crazy old man in a dusty cape, with a scarred trunk? Faugh.

  Chapter Four

  “Why should I trust you? You might not be who you seem.”

  “Oh, I am definitely not who I seem. You must learn not to trust appearances.”

  Her head was aching again. “If you admit to being a charlatan, why should I believe a word you say?”

  “Because I am your best hope.” He tapped his chest. “I still have a human heart. The others have become something else.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “Of course you do not, poor puss. It took me ages to figure it out. You see, true magic gives a man more power than he is meant to have, and makes him want still more. More gold, more knowledge, more years to his life, no matter who dies in his stead. He always wants more. Magic, money, and power, they all go together to steal a man’s soul.”

  “And you?” she asked, nearly whispering, although no one was nearby to hear. Grooms and gardeners would come if she shouted, she knew, but such an old man could not mean her harm, could he? “What of you?”

  He looked at her with longing and sadness. “I am not yet entirely a true wizard, and I pray never to become one.” Then he brightened and smiled once more, and the chill in Laurel’s heart eased. “But that is a tale for another day. Will you accept my aid?”

  He really had a lovely, gentle smile, Laurel thought, but he himself had warned her to beware of appearances. “Can you do any magic tricks at all?”

  He frowned, as though insulted by her request. “I do as little as possible, just to earn my keep, so that I do not become one of them.” Seeing her still doubtful look, he tossed the coin she had given him up into the air. The coin became a white feather that floated to his shoulder, turning into a tiny white owl

  “Merlin,” he said, stroking the bird.

  No, a merlin was a small hunting falcon. This, unbelievably, was a tiny owl, round yellow eyes and all.

  “That is his name,” Spinrod said, as though he could read her mind, his lips curving up at her astonishment.

  Laurel gathered her wits. “You pulled him from your sleeve. You shall have to do better than that if you wish me to believe even half of your words.”

  “I told you, true magic has too high a price.” Spinrod stroked his beard, then reached into his cape. He pulled out a small, pale gold egg. “But here, this ought to convince you of my bona fides.”

  Laurel took the little egg into her hand. It did not fill a quarter of her palm, but felt warm. She could feel it stirring. “Oh, it is going to hatch!” She heard a tiny pecking, and the shell started to crack, then bits of it fell away. Laurel held it higher, to see the emerging infant—and found herself inches away from a baby snake. “Yiee!” she cried, throwing the egg and the snake away from her.

  “Uh-oh, wrong egg.” Spinrod caught the newborn serpent before it reached the ground and tucked it into a pocket of his cape. He took out another egg, but Laurel would not hold the thing. He held it out where she could see, although she did step back a pace. This time a butterfly hatched out of the egg, a brilliant, glittering gold and scarlet butterfly that flapped its wings to dry them off, then flew up to land on Laurel’s shoulder.

  “It is magnificent,” she whispered, so as not to disturb the resting beauty. “But butterflies do not hatch from eggs.”

  Spinrod smiled, taking decades off his appearance. “Magic,” was all he said, and his smile was as bright as the butterfly.

  Oh, how the children would love this gentle man, Laurel thought, setting aside all the far-fetched, sinister warnings. If he could not perform a lot of tricks, he could amuse them with his fairy stories, like some bard of old telling tales of derring-do and dragons. The adults would enjoy him, too, she thought, once he was washed and made presentable for company. She could have her entertainment, yes, and give the old fellow decent meals and a warm bed to sleep in before she sent him off with a heavy purse.

  She was well pleased with her decision, but had to ask, “What payment do you want, then?”

  “Oh, I seek no recompense. Except a kiss.”

  Laurel was disgusted, both at the licentious old goat and at herself for nearly being taken in by another trickster. “At least one of the others wanted my firstborn son.”

  “Oh, I’d like that too, as long as he were my son also, but I think a kiss has to come first, don’t you?”

  Both the owl and the butter
fly flew away when she slapped his cheek. “I shall have no sons, and you shall have no kiss, you cad.” Laurel spun on her heel. She was going home, and to the devil with her sister-in-law’s wounded sensibilities.

  “Wait, my lady,” Spinrod called after her. “I beg you, please stay so that I might apologize for being forward. I did mean what I said about the danger, so you must not send me away. You need me.”

  “What, to frighten away warlocks and wizards with butterflies and baby snakes? Go tell your fairy tales elsewhere, sir. I am not interested.” The butterfly returned to her, though, landing on a stray lock of her fair hair so its wings brushed against her cheek. She did not want to frighten it away again, so did not rush back to her house as she had intended to do.

  Spinrod took advantage of her hesitation. “I cannot leave you unprotected. Please, my lady, accept my help. I swear I will not ask for anything more than you are willing to give. In fact, I will accept nothing.”

  Now the owl alighted on her shoulder, looking up at her with head cocked, making small chirping sounds. Laurel looked at the owl, not at the man. “I always pay for services rendered.” She spoke softly, so as not to disturb either of her companions. “I shall pay you what you are worth, after the performance. Is that acceptable?”

  “That is fair, my lady. Perhaps I might even prove worthy of that kiss. Who knows?”

  “I know,” she declared, turning on her heel. “There will be no more talk of…of taking liberties or our bargain is off.” She moved so fast the owl toppled off her shoulder and the butterfly tangled in her hair. “Oh, dear, it will be hurt.”

  He came closer and said, “Let me.”

  As the man’s hands touched her hair, Laurel could not help noticing the clean, lemony scent of him, despite the layer of travel dust on his cape. His hands were those of an old man, or one who had pushed a cart for years, but they were gentle, like the touch of a breeze, as he freed the fragile creature.

  “Trust me,” he said. “I would never hurt you.”

  She did not know if he was speaking to her or the butterfly.

  “You can sleep in the stables,” she said by way of acknowledging that he was going to stay. “The grooms have rooms above.”

  “No, I do not think that wise. Animals do not like me. The horses will be disturbed.”

  “Fustian nonsense,” she said as the butterfly, flew toward his trunk and the owl landed on his shoulder again.

  Spinrod shook his head as he took up the handles of his cart. “These are magical beasts. Natural animals are afraid of what they sense but do not understand. People would be better off if they had not lost those instincts. But do not fret over it. I can sleep under the stars. I am used to that. When it rains I crawl under the cart.”

  “This is December, however. The nights are too cold. I would not have anyone in my employ”—especially not an elderly man—“sleeping out of doors. Too bad that old gamekeeper’s cottage burned down. But there are empty rooms in the attics where the staff sleeps. We have them prepared for the guests’ servants.”

  He bent lower over the cart handles. “I doubt these old bones will thank you for the stairs, my lady.”

  She could not take a strange man into her home—and Spinrod was one of the strangest she had encountered—as a guest, especially not a traveling performer. No matter that she was a widow and he was old, people were bound to talk.

  On the other hand, he spoke like a gentleman and treated her with respect. And he was old. For once Laurel decided to follow those instincts he had mentioned. Intuition told her Spinrod was to be trusted. Besides, she did wish to hear more of his stories. “Very well, then. There must be an unused chamber somewhere in Mumphrey Hall. Heaven knows it is big enough.”

  He smiled in satisfaction as he followed her along the path.

  After a few minutes of walking toward the Hall, Spinrod raised his head and looked back, in the opposite direction. “Who lives there?”

  “My sister-in-law. Why?”

  He was suddenly running in that direction, leaving his cart behind. So much for his old bones, Laurel thought as she trailed after him, constrained by her narrow skirts. When she reached the dower house, she saw that other madman Cauthin’s wild stallion waiting outside, with no tie or tether. The door was ajar and Spinrod was already inside, shouting. Laurel headed toward the raised voices, giving the snorting horse a wide berth.

  “No, lady. Do not drink that!” Spinrod was yelling as he leaped between Bettina and the handsome gentleman who was handing her a cup of tea.

  Bettina’s mouth was hanging open, but Cauthin was shouting back at Spinrod. “Get out, you maggot, you miserable half-mage, you ensorcelled slug. Do not interfere with my business unless you want me to put another spell on you!”

  Spinrod did not even look at the other man. He stooped to Bettina’s level and told her, “He means you ill, madam. Do not drink anything he hands you.”

  Bettina had found her tongue. “What is the meaning of this? Who are you, old man, to barge into my house and insult my guest?” Then she noticed Laurel coming into the parlor. Her eyes narrowed. “I know what this is about, missy. You are jealous, that’s what, jealous that such an attractive gentleman is visiting me.”

  Cauthin smiled and preened, straightening his cuffs, patting a curl into place.

  “No, Bettina, I do not envy you your caller. If Spinrod, ah, Mr. Spinrod thinks you ought not drink that beverage, you should listen.”

  “Why should I heed either of you? Your old uncle does not resemble a physician or apothecary. He does not even resemble a gentleman, while Mr. Cauthin is everything pleasing.”

  “He is not my—”

  Spinrod did not wait for the women to establish his social standing. He picked up the cup of tea. Cauthin reached into his jacket, but before he could retrieve a weapon or a wand, Spinrod poured the tea into a potted fern. Cauthin cursed, Bettina called them all Bedlamites, Laurel held her breath while Spinrod panted after his exertion, and the fern shriveled up and died.

  While the others were watching the fern turn to dust, Cauthin headed for the door, leaving a curse behind him.

  “Tell him not to come back, Bettina. Tell him you will not pay his price.”

  But Bettina was shrieking and kicking her feet against the floor.

  Spinrod shouted out a parrying curse that Laurel could not understand, thank goodness. She was too busy trying to stop her sister-in-law’s fit.

  When he was certain the black wizard had gone, Spinrod returned to Laurel’s side. He pulled a white feather from his sleeve and stroked it down Bettina’s cheek. She was so startled by the soft touch, the gentleness, and the sweet smile of the old man kneeling in front of her that she stopped screaming.

  “Are you truly a physician?” she asked him.

  “Oh, no, I am a sorcerer, ma’am. When I am not an earl.”

  This time Bettina did not bother with apoplexy. She swooned instead.

  Laurel rang for Bettina’s maid, but Spinrod picked up the thin woman with surprising ease for an old man, although Laurel had ceased being surprised by anything this day. He carried Bettina’s inert form to the stairs, up to her bedroom and the maid’s care.

  He returned to the parlor to make sure all signs of Cauthin and danger were gone. Then he turned to Laurel, smiled, and said, “You see, my lady? You need me.”

  Chapter Five

  “What do you mean, about being an earl?” Laurel clutched at the one thing she might understand, something that was not about sorcery and spells and insanity.

  “Later, my lady. You would not believe me now.” She did not believe her own eyes, much less whatever had just happened. She wanted to believe something, anything, that was real and solid and ordinary. The kindly old man who was pushing his barrow again seemed as commonplace as dirt, despite the small white owl on his shoulder. “How do you know I will not believe you?”

  “Do you believe in ghosts?”

  “Of course not.”

&nbs
p; “What about divination? Communion with the afterlife? Curses? Vampires? Were-creatures?”

  She walked faster, putting distance between them. “That is the stuff of ancient myths and old pagan religions.”

  “When people believed that magic surrounded them.” Somehow he was able to keep up with her, walking at her side along the carriageway.

  “Bah, those are tales told to frighten children.”

  “Which is why you would not believe me. Yet. But tell me, lady, do you believe that Cauthin is a wizard?”

  “I believe that he is evil.”

  “Good.” He smiled his approval. “You are not entirely without the old instincts and understandings.” The look she gave him made him add, “Not that you are without intelligence and education. Mankind’s senses have become dulled. I am glad you listen to what lies in your heart, not merely what fills your brain.”

  Laurel was as confused as ever, but found his smile so reassuring that she decided to let the matter rest for now. With her party and Christmas both approaching, she had too much to do to fret herself to flinders over the impossible, the improbable, and the incomprehensible.

  Thinking of the party, she said, “I think I should like to see you practice your performance tomorrow.” She’d had enough surprises. If Spinrod turned out to be a complete fraud or a Captain Sharp, she wanted to know it before all her guests found out how she’d been taken in by somebody’s grandfather. Of course he did not act like an ancient, pushing that cart effortlessly, without breathing heavily or perspiring. All the more reason for her to make sure he was what he said he was—an earl?

  Oh, dear. Could she truly let a lunatic with grandiose delusions practice illusions in her parlor? “Perhaps you should use the barn for your performance. We will look it over tomorrow.”

  “No, we will be too busy tomorrow. You have to come with me.”

  Laurel thought she had hired the man to do her bidding, not vice versa. She stopped before they reached the front doors of Mumphrey Hall and drew herself up into her best daughter-of-the-nobility demeanor. “I beg your pardon. If I say you shall rehearse tomorrow, that is what you shall do. Otherwise you might turn your wagon about and find a room at the inn with the circus folk. Perhaps they will let you join their band. No, I believe they were looking for a magician who could also be the animal trainer. That leaves you still looking for employment, does it not?”