Her Perilous Mansion

by Sean Williams

  Neither of them told the other that in truth they didn’t mind failing so much. It was easy sometimes to forget that the outside world even existed. Certainly, compared to their previous lives, living in the manor house was much better than they had ever dared imagine it might be. Maybe it didn’t matter what the sign said, after all, or what the spell might have done to them. Maybe they would be happy if they never left at all.

  It was on one such walk that Etta revealed that the map of the manor she had started making on the day of their arrival had grown much larger and more complicated than anticipated.

  ‘I mean,’ she said, ‘it’s a big house. I still get lost sometimes, if I’m not careful. But I never guessed how big it really is. It was Lady Simone who told me that there was a South Wing, as well as the East and North, but she never even mentioned the West Wing, which—’

  ‘Wait.’ Almanac held up a hand to stop the rapid flow of words. ‘You’ve been talking to Lady Simone?’

  ‘Yes. I visit her every afternoon and she tells me stories about when she was a young girl, touring all around the world. You know, she came here after being chased by pirates across the Southern Seas? True! I wish I could have a life like hers – without the pirates, though. They sound pretty horrible. Are you thinking I shouldn’t talk to her? Because I wouldn’t agree. I’m not sneaking in on her when she’s asleep to see what she looks like, or anything. That would be rude.’

  ‘Yes, it would,’ he said. He remained in the habit of checking in on Lord Nigel and Doctor Mithily, although neither of them was much of a conversationalist. Lord Nigel was writing a detailed diary about events during his time in the Royal Court, and Doctor Mithily’s experiments seemed to be concerned with energy flows of some kind. That was as much as he had learned.

  It was simply curious how they had each naturally adopted different inhabitants of the manor without telling the other. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well, so there’s a West Wing and a South Wing, and a tower, although you can’t see it from the outside, unless you stand in exactly the right spot – which is by the well, if you want to give it a try.’

  ‘There’s a well?’

  ‘Didn’t I tell you? I found it when I was looking for Olive’s boiler room, which I still haven’t found, by the way. Anyway, a lot of the rooms are just empty bedrooms, but there’s a print room and a sauna, and let’s see … a boarded-up observatory, several galleries and a conservatory full of dried-up orchids and mushrooms. There’s even an empty bathing pool! I wish there was some way to fill it, but I think the bottom is cracked.’

  Almanac was impressed. ‘Have you found anyone else?’

  ‘No – and no secret passages either, but I’m not giving up.’ She grinned. ‘It’s so exciting. Would you like me to give you a tour?’

  ‘Yes, not now, though. I’m too tired.’

  ‘Okay,’ she said, although she had been looking forward to showing off her knowledge of the house to him. Her latest discovery was a corridor lined with busts of men and women in cool, white marble. Their empty eyes seemed to follow her as she moved between them. ‘How goes the cellar?’

  ‘Oh, it goes,’ he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. They were blistered from a week’s hard labour. As fast as he dug out the rubbish, more seemed to accumulate at the edges of the candelabra’s flickering light. Maybe that was where all the leftovers went when the kitchen was magically cleaned.

  ‘If you’re tired of books, I’m happy to trade.’

  ‘No, thanks,’ she said without needing to think about it. She would endure a million paper cuts rather than smell like he did at the end of a day.

  ‘What’s that?’ Almanac said, pointing.

  Through the undergrowth, he had spied a slate-tiled roof.

  ‘Another building,’ said Etta, breaking into a run. ‘Come on!’

  Etta’s exuberance overcame Almanac’s natural caution. Presently they were standing in front of a small, stone structure with moss-covered walls and a single, broken-paned window. There was a doorway with no door, and plants growing out of a rusted metal chimney.

  ‘Does this count as a ruin?’ she asked.

  ‘I think it’s a garden shed,’ Almanac said, noticing several dozen mossy flowerpots stacked upside down along the wall facing them.

  ‘Just as long as it’s not another manor … ’ She stepped carefully inside, mindful of cobwebs, and waited as her eyes adjusted to the gloom. Sure enough, every space was occupied by evidence of Silas’s trade. The walls were lined with garden tools, and seedlings crowded sagging benches.

  ‘Look,’ she said, ‘a shovel. That’d make your rubbish duty so much easier.’

  ‘Yes, but I couldn’t possibly just take it.’

  ‘There are two of them. Silas can’t use both at once.’

  That seemed fair. There was also a wheelbarrow with a hole in it, which he could still load by using his trusty box. The enormity of his task seemed instantly less daunting, and this eased the disappointment of not finding a second manor after all.

  Back inside the house. Sitting close to a hot stove and polishing off the last of a leftover stew, they discussed their plans for the following day.

  ‘I’m going to finish the list of books,’ she said. ‘There doesn’t seem to be anything in there that sounds or smells like magic, so the next step is to start looking inside each one.’

  With the aid of the shovel and the wheelbarrow, Almanac anticipated making much shorter work of the cellars than he had to date. ‘I’m also going to finish learning Olive’s alphabet, if she hasn’t lost patience teaching me.’

  The pipes clattered a negative, then added something Almanac couldn’t quite understand.

  Before Ugo could translate, a single chime sounded behind them. Etta and Almanac twisted around in their seats to stare open-mouthed at the row of bells on the kitchen wall. Not a jingle in a whole week, and now they had been summoned. What did it mean?

  ‘Ignore it,’ said Ugo, unexpectedly.

  ‘B-but,’ stammered Almanac, ‘we can’t. Isn’t it our job to answer the bell-pulls?’

  ‘That’s your job, you mean, apprentice second footman,’ said Etta. ‘I’m a chambermaid.’

  ‘Neither of you should,’ said Ugo. ‘It is only Madame Iris.’

  ‘The madwoman?’ Etta scowled at the fireplace. ‘Why didn’t you say so? I want to meet her!’

  Hastily, she crossed the kitchen to see which bell had been rung. One was still vibrating on its spring beneath a sign that said Gaming Room.

  It rang again, making her jump.

  ‘Let’s go!’ she called to Almanac and was up the stairs in a trice.

  When he caught her, she was in the main East Wing hallway, outside the room that doubled as the combined gaming room and music room. She raised a finger to her lips.

  From inside the room came soft sounds of movement.

  Almanac nudged Etta to encourage her onward, but she was having second thoughts on realising that ‘madwoman’ was an apt description of her Aunt Aud, the only person she knew who could properly work magic. What if Madame Iris was the source of the spell, and had put in an appearance to tell them off for trying to unravel it? There were far worse fates than being confined to a luxurious manor house containing endless supplies of food and firewood.

  ‘Why have you stopped?’ Almanac hissed. ‘Oh, all right. I’ll go.’

  He straightened his collar and walked through the door.

  ‘You rang, Madame Iris? I’m sorry it took us so long but … ’

  His words died on his tongue. The room was empty.

  ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Where did she go?’

  ‘She’s not here?’ Etta pushed past him. ‘But we heard her!’

  ‘We heard something.’

  ‘Well, it wasn’t rats.’

  ‘I know, but … ’ Almanac sniffed the air. ‘I can smell perfume.’

  Interrupting her examination of the cupboard in which board games were stored, thinking it might
be large enough to hold a grown woman, Etta lifted her nose and took a long draught. ‘Ink, therefore magic, with a hint of lavender and rosewater. Lavender is my ma’s favourite scent.’

  ‘She can’t be hiding,’ he told her, even as she looked under a settee. He sniffed again. He couldn’t smell the magic like she could. ‘Can she?’

  ‘Mad is as mad does,’ she riposted, but he made a good point. Old ladies didn’t play hide and seek, even if they were batty.

  ‘Or maybe she’s a ghost,’ Etta joked.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘Is it, though? Ridiculous?’ Her eyes filled with delicious dread. ‘A house this big and old … it’s bound to have at least one ghost!’

  ‘That would explain why Ugo told us to ignore her,’ Almanac said. Then he firmly shook his head. ‘He didn’t say she was a ghost. He said she was mad. And ghosts aren’t even real.’ He glanced at her, but she wasn’t agreeing with him. ‘Tell me they’re not real.’

  ‘Of course they are. But they’re not magical – not that I’m aware of, anyway. All they are is what’s left when a person’s body is … gone. Not everyone becomes a ghost, though, so why Iris would become one is anyone’s guess. Maybe Aunt Aud would know.’

  ‘What a shame she’s not here, then.’

  ‘I just mean that, with the right kind of magic, anything’s possible.’

  ‘Keeping an old lady around as a spirit so she can pop in once a week to ring some bells?’

  She didn’t know why Almanac was suddenly being so tetchy with her. ‘But there is magic here, in this house. We felt it when we arrived. Who knows what else it’s capable of?’

  ‘Great. I’ve been down in that cellar every day for a week now, telling myself there’s nothing to be scared of, and now you’re telling me that I should be, because ghosts are real. Wonderful!’ He threw up his hands and stomped out of the room.

  ‘Almanac, come back! I didn’t mean it like … ’ She hurried after him and took him by the arm. ‘Look, even if Madame Iris is a ghost, you’re right: she’s not doing anything. So there’s no reason to be afraid of her. She’s just existing. For all we know … ’

  Her hand flew to her mouth as a horrible thought occurred to her.

  ‘What?’ he asked, frowning at her. ‘Know what?’

  She dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘For all we know … everyone we’ve met in the house is a ghost.’

  He stared at Etta like she was the madwoman, and then his eyes grew wide and his lips formed a matching O.

  ‘Do you think so?’

  She shied away from the possibility that she herself had raised. The thought of one ghost she could handle; a house full of them was a different story. ‘No, it can’t be true. Don’t pay any attention to me. I don’t know what I’m talking about.’

  ‘But that would explain why we never see them, and why they never seem to eat any of the food,’ he said, following the logic even though the idea had seemed crazy at first. ‘They’ve been dead all along!’

  ‘Don’t say that. I’m wrong. I must be.’ She shook her head, thinking of Ugo and Olive and all the others. ‘And if I’m not, they’re nice ghosts, except possibly Madame Iris, who rang the bell and then ran away. That really was a mad thing to do.’

  ‘But what killed them?’ said Almanac. ‘Or who?’

  ‘I don’t know. The person who cast the spell?’

  ‘So the same thing might happen to us if we’re still here when they come back?’

  ‘Don’t say that either!’ Etta gasped, taking both of his hands in a tight grip, mainly to stop her own from shaking.

  Some of her fright was beginning to infect Almanac.

  ‘You don’t really think … ’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘But what if … ’

  ‘We have to get out of here. Now!’

  He started to say ‘How?’ but an idea came to him before the word had even crossed his lips.

  ‘I know where we can get a ladder.’

  They hurried out into the cold to return to the garden shed. The ladder Almanac had seen there seemed small at first glance but could be unfolded. Measuring it with his precise eye, Almanac decided it might indeed reach high enough for them to attain the top of the wall. They balanced the ladder on the wheelbarrow and hurried through the trees to the nearest stretch of wall. Taking the ladder and extending it as far as it would go, they leaned it against the slippery stones. The top rung was within easy reach of the wall’s jagged summit, some fifteen feet off the ground.

  ‘I’m going first,’ Etta said, rushing up the rungs.

  ‘Are you sure it’s safe?’ Almanac held the base steady as it shifted uneasily in the muddy soil. ‘The wood looks a bit mouldy to me.’

  ‘Pooh,’ she said. ‘Don’t be such a nervous nelly.’

  Nevertheless, Etta slowed her ascent at the hinge between the bottom half of the ladder and the top. She could feel the rungs sagging under her and was beginning to wonder how the ladder could support her weight, let alone that of an adult like Silas.

  ‘Almost there,’ she said, keeping her eyes on the uppermost rung as she ascended hand over hand. One more step and she’d be able to see over the wall. ‘Almost th— Ulp!’

  With a wet splitting sound, her left foot went through the soft wood bearing her weight. Etta lunged for the next rung up, but when that gave way too, she was left with only her right foot for balance, which was utterly insufficient. Wailing, she slid down, raining fragments of rotten ladder, until the entire thing split in two, depositing her on top of Almanac, who gamely tried to catch her but succeeded only in being squashed face-forward into the mud.

  ‘Ow!’ she exclaimed, clutching her hand, from which protruded a wicked splinter.

  ‘Could you possibly … ? Oof, thanks.’ Almanac rolled onto his back once disentangled from her limbs. ‘Let me see.’

  He tweezed the splinter between two fingernails and slid it out. The wound immediately began to bleed. Etta blinked back tears, more out of embarrassment than any actual pain.

  ‘We should get that cleaned up,’ he said. ‘Should we tell Silas what happened?’

  ‘Why?’ Embarrassment was turning rapidly to anger. ‘Serves him right for leaving a defective ladder lying around. I could have broken my neck!’

  ‘But you didn’t,’ he said, with less sympathy than she felt she deserved. ‘I told you to be careful!’

  ‘That’s not what you said. You said—’

  ‘Does it really matter what I said?’ He didn’t want to argue. ‘The ladder is broken now. It was probably always going to break. What happened is no one’s fault, really, just bad luck.’

  Etta wasn’t so sure about that. ‘What if it was the spell?’

  ‘That broke the ladder?’

  ‘Yes. To stop me getting over the wall.’

  ‘But where is it? I don’t see words written anywhere around here.’

  ‘Because it’s hidden, remember? Somewhere else. It doesn’t have to be written down here. Haven’t you been listening to anything I’ve told you?’

  He shrugged, certain that she had never mentioned this fact, and checked her hand again. The bleeding was slowing, but he still wanted to clean out the dirt that had got into the wound and put a preventative poultice on it.

  ‘Let’s go back inside,’ he said. ‘I’ll wash our uniforms and hang them up to dry overnight.’

  ‘Oh, cranberries!’ she said, looking down at her muddy smock. So focused was she on her failure that she hadn’t even noticed the ruin done to her clothes. Almanac too was heavily spattered with mud and wet leaves. That, on top of their utter failure to escape, seemed an insurmountable insult. She knew she was more than a grubby chambermaid, but that was all she looked like now. ‘Yes, I suppose we’d better.’

  ‘Okay, but what’s with the cranberries?’ he asked her, taking the handles of the wheelbarrow.

  She blushed. ‘Did I … ? Oh, dear. That’s how Ma curses when me and my sisters
are around.’

  They set off in the direction of the manor, Almanac remembering how he and the other boys of the orphanage had had a similar set of coded cusswords for when the mistress was within hearing, although Josh was ever-ready to revert to real ones at the first opportunity.

  He felt a twinge of guilt. It had been easy to put off sending the letter to Josh while he attended to his chores, and got comfortable in his new life. But now, if the spell stopped anyone from leaving the manor grounds, how was he going to send Josh a letter? That thought tortured him as much as the fear of being killed by some unknown sorcerer.

  ‘Biscuits and barnacles!’ he said.

  She glanced at him. ‘Mother of pearl!’

  ‘Frogs’ earlobes!’

  ‘Cheese wigs!’

  Before they went up the steps and through the blue door with its winking-lion knocker, Almanac took Etta by the elbow.

  ‘Do you really think it was the spell?’ he asked.

  ‘It has to be. The gate won’t open and it looks like we can’t get over the wall … ’ She stared up at the façade of the manor, and shivered. ‘There’s only one way to know for sure if that’s because of the same spell.’

  ‘And that’s by reading it, and then trying again,’ Almanac said. ‘We should definitely do that before whoever cast the spell comes back.’

  ‘Yes! Which means finding it, first. Starting tomorrow, no more chats with Lady Simone, no more listening to Ugo’s songs—’

  ‘No, you should keep doing that. Act normal, and don’t tell them anything about … whatever they might be.’

  ‘Why not? Surely they already know.’

  ‘Maybe they don’t. If they were caught here when the spell was cast on the house, it might have crept over them so slowly that they didn’t notice. Learning the truth now will only make them upset, particularly if we fail. I don’t think I’d want to be told, in their place. By the way, new friends, you’re actually dead. It would be a blessing not to know, in fact.’

  She wrestled with her conscience. It was a pretty big secret to keep. But there was also a chance that she and Almanac were wrong, in which case it definitely was the right thing to keep this uncanny, new thought to themselves.