by Maggie Hoyt
To trigger the falling sack, I only needed to remove the props. I pulled out my twine and tied one end around the middle of one of my spare planks. Then I placed that board behind the two props. One good tug and we’d have a fairy surprise. I just needed to run the line outside.
I gently unwound my twine, keeping it close to the tower wall, until I reached the wooden stairs leading up to the floating door. I unwound quite a lot of twine from the spool and cut. Then I threaded the end up between the planks that formed the little landing right in front of the door.
Now I had to get the door open. I placed one shoe on the line to hold it in place and then hobbled outside and up the outer stairs and unlocked the door. I pulled the twine through the door, tucking it in the corner, and tied it to a nail I hammered into the side of the platform.
Back inside the tower, I surveyed my handiwork. The twine, I thought, would only be visible if you were looking for it. The boards in the fireplace, on the other hand, were obviously up to something. I took the rest of my demolished crate and piled it in the fireplace, arranging boards to look like I’d just dumped scraps in the hearth.
I bit my lip. It wasn’t perfect, but how many people would look twice at a fireplace full of wood? Even if two beams were standing on end? More to the point, I supposed, was whether Lord Piminder would look twice at that fireplace. I couldn’t afford to underestimate him, but I certainly didn’t have any better ideas. If I didn’t want him to look at the fireplace, where did I want him to look?
The crates. I’d pack them full of fabric scraps, newsprint, and brown paper, and tomorrow morning I’d let him waste his time taking them all apart.
The war council met later that evening. Mr. Sherman arrived after dinner to discuss his findings, while Maribelle, giddy with excitement, had invited herself over. And Fanchon, of course, lived here.
“You have a very successful argument that Lord Piminder did not provide notice of the loan to Lord Babcock in the requisite amount of time. I think a court could reasonably decide to deny Lord Piminder interest accumulated since the elder Babcock’s death,” Mr. Sherman said.
“That’s good,” I said.
“Unfortunately, I can’t find any evidence that would completely invalidate the loan. If the senior Piminder somehow took advantage of the senior Babcock, it can’t be proven. And there’s nothing to suggest that Lord Piminder has actively interfered with Lord Babcock’s ability to repay the loan. But as long as Clarrie’s fairy godmother spins enough gold to cover the loan’s principal, you should be able to convince Lord Piminder to accept it.”
My heart sank. I wasn’t going to offer Lord Piminder any gold at all. In fact, I suddenly realized, I had no way to spirit the gold away, so no one with a discerning eye would catch on. And now, if I had to hand it over to Lord Piminder, I needed to convince everyone that the gold had suddenly turned into brass wire in his hands. I grimaced. I wasn’t ready for this. I was so far from ready, and Clarrie’s future was marching on ahead. How could I have thought I could turn this into a business?
“Isn’t that a good thing, Mom? Clarrie’s fairy godmother will at least bring her that much gold, right?”
I looked around at the faces of my supporters. They all looked so hopeful. To them, the problem wasn’t whether Clarrie’s fairy godmother would come, it was whether she could possibly have enough gold to pay off the loan. And now she was bound to. I couldn’t tell them the real reason I was worried.
“I’m just very worried that Lord Piminder won’t accept it. What if he insists that it’s fake?”
“But it’s gold. If it’s fake, he doesn’t get it. He’s not going to talk himself out of gold,” Fan said.
“Unless he thinks he can get the Babcocks’ land. The Babcocks owe Lord Piminder more than their estate is worth. Denying him the interest only means that he can take their estate and they’ll be even.”
We sat in glum silence, having apparently realized that fairies can’t fix everything. You really should have known that, Evelyn. You should have told the Babcocks to seek legal counsel in the first place.
“Then we need someone to verify the gold,” Fan said, unwilling to give up. “As soon as Clarrie exits the tower, we need a goldsmith to certify that it really is gold. Then Lord Piminder can’t argue!”
Oh God, no, I thought. I’d have to bribe the goldsmith.
I shook my head. “Lord Piminder doesn’t trust me, and I don’t trust him. I’d suspect him of bribing a banker, and vice versa.”
“Perhaps,” Mr. Sherman said, “it is actually best if he does not accept the gold. If I were taking this to court, I would press the judge to order a payment plan so the Babcocks had time to pay back the loan.”
In other words, Evelyn, it would have been best if you hadn’t gotten involved.
“I think most judges would be willing to grant that,” he finished.
“That’s just it,” I said. “Most judges. What if you don’t have a sympathetic judge? And Lord Piminder has the resources to tie this up in court for ages, while the Babcocks are shelling out legal fees they can’t afford.”
“But the fairies are going to help!” Maribelle cried. “I just know Clarrie’s fairy godmother is going to come! And it won’t even be that little creepy man.”
“Then we have to make Lord Piminder cooperate,” Fan said.
“Don’t you think he will? When he sees the fairy miracle?” Maribelle said.
“Well, I would,” Fan said. “But I’d have been reasonable with the Babcocks in the first place. We’ve got to have a plan, just in case he doesn’t have a change of heart.”
“Oh, I think when she comes out carrying gold, his heart will melt, and he’ll realize the error of his ways, and everyone will be happy, and—”
“Wait,” I interrupted. “Are we the only ones who know Clarrie doesn’t want to marry Terence?” They just stared at me, puzzled. “The original bargain was that if Clarrie could spin enough gold, Lord Piminder would let them get married. When I spoke to him, Piminder demanded the full loan amount, but I didn’t say anything about the marriage. We all know this is about the Babcocks’ loan, but doesn’t everyone else think this is about true love?”
Fan’s mouth dropped open while she thought, her eyes scanning the ceiling for answers. “Well,” she began, “she told you, me, and Maribelle a few days ago that she didn’t want to marry Terence. I haven’t told anyone.” She looked at Maribelle.
Maribelle shook her head. “Everyone’s been asking me about you. Sorry, dear. I did change the subject to Clarrie, but I think I only talked about fairies. I’m pretty sure.”
I could believe that, so I spoke up before Maribelle could spiral into indecision. “Then when Clarrie comes out of the tower with gold, everyone there will expect Lord Piminder to give his blessing to their wedding. And if he doesn’t—”
“Ooh, people will be really angry!” Maribelle exclaimed.
“I think he’ll cooperate if he realizes he’s the villain.” What I didn’t add was that Clarrie’s fairy gold would come with a caveat: it becomes worthless in the hands of the impure, or some such nonsense. Lord Piminder would neither like it nor believe it, but I prayed he would be swayed by the disapproval of his peers—or at least, their wives. “We need as many people there as possible. Maribelle—you’ve got the most connections. You’ve got all of tomorrow to get people to the tower at dawn the next day.”
Maribelle nodded so seriously I thought she might salute.
“I can drop a mention to my wife,” Mr. Sherman said. “She’s not well connected, but she does like to talk. I will, of course, be there tomorrow and the next day.”
“Can you bring your wife tomorrow morning?” I asked. “I don’t want Lord Piminder to know we’ve hired a solicitor until the last minute.”
“Oh, certainly. No need to give him time to hire ten. I will appear as an innocent bystander.”
“Well,” I started, suddenly feeling the need to give a speech. We needed a good
team rally, I thought.
“Are people really asking about me?” Fan suddenly said.
Maribelle nodded with a sympathetic pout. “They just want to know who you’re going to pick. And if I think one of the lads can really make you laugh. Also, they’re wondering if you’re cursed not to laugh.”
“Then tell people I’ll be at the tower. And that you’ve heard the boys each have plans to make me laugh.”
Maribelle gasped. “Oh, that’s good! People will want to see that! It’s not lying, is it? They do have plans?”
Fan shrugged. “They do if Roompilda has anything to say about it.”
I gave Fan a weak smile. “Thank you, sweetheart,” I said. “Thanks to all of you. Now go home and get some sleep. We’ve got a busy few days ahead.”
I lay in bed for a good while that night before I fell asleep. If I hadn’t gotten involved, the Babcocks would have been ruined. Yet my interference wasn’t shaping up to be much help—except in humiliating me. I pushed the anxieties out of my head and lulled myself to sleep with one last problem: How could I convince everyone that fairy gold was only pure in the hands of Clarrie Babcock?
CHAPTER TWELVE
I STOOD THE next morning at the door to the tower, face-to-face with Lord Piminder. It was going to be swelteringly hot today; although it was early morning, the air was still, promising a stationary heat that would cling to your hair and face and hands. At least Clarrie wouldn’t even think about using that fireplace.
Terence stood at Lord Piminder’s side, arms folded with a smug grin. Behind them were five of Lord Piminder’s valets and a wagon full of straw. My ragtag contingent was spread out a few yards back from the tower. Maribelle and Fanchon watched with tense anticipation; a few busybodies were casually watching the proceedings, probably to see if it would be worth coming back tomorrow. I saw Mr. Sherman and his wife mixed in among them. Finally, Clarrie Babcock stood in front of the onlookers, one hand gripping her spinning wheel and the rosiness drained from her cheeks. Her father had his hand on her shoulder, although it was less a supportive gesture and more an actual need to steady himself—he swallowed hard, as though he was biting back bile. Her mother looked very, very cross.
“Are we ready?” Lord Piminder said, and it was obvious that smugness ran in the family.
“Lead the way,” I replied, unlocking the door and handing the key back to Lord Piminder.
He entered the tower, and I took a step to follow, but Terence pushed in front of me and muscled his way in. I rolled my eyes and walked in.
I could tell Lord Piminder’s attention was immediately drawn to the crates, as it should have been—I’d stacked them all against the wall on the left-hand side. You practically ran into them as you came through the door. I pretended to ignore them.
“The straw can go over there,” I pointed, “and she can set up the spinning wheel in the center.”
“What are these?” Piminder asked.
“Crates,” I said. “The city’s, I assume. I stacked them against the wall.”
“Hmm,” he said and moved toward the second-floor stairs.
This time, I motioned for Terence to precede me, so I wouldn’t take another shoulder to the chin. He strode past me, and I followed leisurely.
“Is she planning on sleeping?” Lord Piminder scoffed as he saw the blankets. “I should think she’d use all her time to spin.”
“Have you ever manned a spinning wheel for twenty-four hours straight?” I asked.
“No.”
“Neither have I. I thought she might need rest.”
He bent down, picked up the pillow and shook it. Then he tossed it to the floor and picked up each of the blankets, shaking them and throwing them to the floor in a heap. Satisfied, apparently, that I hadn’t hidden any gold in them, he returned downstairs.
“That was petty,” I said and began to remake the little pallet.
“Call the men,” I heard Lord Piminder tell Terence. “Tell them to search the crates.”
This was it. I dropped the bedding and hurried down the stairs.
“Absolutely not,” I said, moving to block the doorway so Terence and his servants couldn’t enter. Lord Piminder grabbed my arm, as though he would drag me away from the door. I swatted his hand away, and suddenly, I didn’t have to pretend to be angry. “Under no circumstances—”
“As I believe I have made clear, Evelyn, I don’t trust you. All we are going to do is make sure you haven’t hidden anything in the crates.” He motioned to Terence to enter with the men.
I stuck my arm out, rather hoping to clothesline Terence. “Why on earth would I do something so obvious? The crates are in plain sight!”
“Nevertheless, in the name of fairness—”
“Fairness? And just how is it fair to Clarrie to let your men trample all over the place? They’ll tear up the crates and make a huge mess, and then she’ll be stuck with it all day. Besides, do you expect me to trust you? I might cheat, but you, you’re beyond all suspicion? There’s no telling what you and your men have planned!”
Actually, I was pretty sure they had nothing. I couldn’t think of a single way for Lord Piminder to cheat at this stage. The thing about arguing with men like Lord Piminder or Husband #1, however, was that they didn’t expect you to make sense.
“If you want to waste your time unpacking crates, fine,” I continued. “But not in the tower. You and your son can carry them outside yourselves. Then I don’t care what you do with them.”
Lord Piminder met my eyes with his supercilious glare, as if he were trying to determine whether I was bluffing. As much as I wanted to stare him down, I swallowed down the rising gall and looked away. Let him think I was lying.
“Very well. Terence, if you would. We shall deliver these crates to the men outside.”
His servants backed off, and I removed my arm from the doorway to allow Terence entry. As both Piminder and his son exited the tower bearing crates, I pulled Henry’s old pocket watch from my pocket.
“I’m not allowing this to eat up any of Clarrie’s time, either! I shall time exactly how long this farce takes you, and it will be added to her deadline tomorrow!” I shouted as I stepped out onto the grass.
As the parade of crates began, I moved toward our audience.
“What’s going on?” Lilla Babcock demanded.
“Lord Piminder wishes to examine the packing crates left in the tower,” I said, loud enough so the crowd could hear. “Apparently, he believes we have cheated, although how I’m not sure. None of us has that much gold, which is precisely how this all started. Besides, I have full faith that Clarrie’s fairy godmother will come to her aid, and I plan on simply letting her do her job.”
Maribelle gave a little gasp and started to applaud, but then stopped when she realized no one was joining her. I was about to turn and supervise the crates when Lilla came up to me.
“This had better work,” she said, her red face as close to mine as she could reach. “If you’re putting my daughter through all this, all I can say is it had better work.”
I repressed a shudder. “Don’t worry, Lady Babcock. Clarrie will be just fine. I’m sure this will work.”
I hurried away from Lady Babcock and watched the spectacle. Lord Piminder’s men were trying to pry up enough boards that they could remove the muslin and newsprint I’d stuffed in the crates.
“My Lord,” I heard one of them say, “we could really use a crowbar. Should one of us run back and grab one?”
“We don’t have time for that,” Lord Piminder snapped. “Just keep working.”
Before long, sweat stained the shirts of everyone but Lord Piminder, who hadn’t deigned to open crates himself. The ground was littered with strips of paper and cloth but of course no gold.
“It has been nearly an hour,” I shouted, checking my watch with a theatrical flourish. “Are you finished with your wild-goose chase?”
“Almost,” Piminder said through clenched teeth. “We are being thoro
ugh!”
A few minutes later, he left the demolished crates and marched over to me.
“Well?”
“I believe we are ready to begin.”
I looked at the watch again, just to be obnoxious. “Then let’s load in the straw.”
This time I did allow his valets to help. They carried the straw bales into the tower, then cut the cords holding the bales together, leaving Clarrie a pile of straw nearly as high as her waist. When they were finished, Clarrie and I carried her spinning wheel into the tower.
“You can do this,” I whispered. “It’ll be a long day. You can take breaks. Sleep if you need to. Your fairy godmother will come.”
“What are you telling her?” Lord Piminder asked.
“I am merely assuring Miss Babcock that her fairy godmother will come help her. Thank you, Lord Babcock,” I said as Patrick handed me a little stool for Clarrie.
Clarrie came to the doorway and kissed her father on the cheek, and he stepped back from the door. Then Lilla came forward and held out a hamper for her daughter.
“What is in that?” Lord Piminder demanded, reaching out a hand to lift the lid.
Lilla snatched it back. “Food, for my daughter. Or were you expecting her to starve all day?”
“Really, Lord Piminder,” I said, coming up behind Clarrie. “I’ll put that inside.” I took the hamper and flipped up the lid to show him a glimpse of the bread, cheese, and cold cuts within. The Babcocks had also filled several waterskins for Clarrie, which I took from Patrick as Clarrie hugged her mother.
“Are we quite ready?” Piminder asked.
The Babcocks stepped away from the door and I exited the tower.
“I believe we are,” I said, nodding at Clarrie.
“Then we will see Miss Babcock and her gold tomorrow at dawn,” Lord Piminder said, raising his voice so the crowd could hear.
I gestured toward the wreckage of crates. “One hour and seven minutes after dawn.”
