Magic Below Stairs by Caroline Stevermer

Author:Caroline Stevermer [Stevermer, Caroline]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Juvenile Fiction, Fantasy & Magic, Family, Orphans & Foster Homes, Fiction, General
ISBN: 9781101529072
Google: 8tKRiEahPUgC
Amazon: B005EP27FM
Publisher: Penguin
Published: 2011-06-08T18:30:00+00:00

10

IN WHICH FREDERICK SEES MORE THAN HE SHOULD

In the morning, Frederick was relieved to discover Lord Schofield was back in his right mind. The whole time Piers shaved him, he seemed to be thinking deeply. When he was finally dressed, Lord Schofield dismissed Piers and fixed Frederick with a glance. “It is just the two of us here now, so you may speak freely. Don’t be embarrassed that you cried wolf. Everyone makes the occasional mistake. What gave you the idea the curse has returned?”

“It has, my lord.” Frederick felt as if Lord Schofield could see clear through him like a pane of glass.

“I knew the rumors would fly the moment Skeynes was lived in again. I didn’t think you’d be the one to spread them.” Lord Schofield turned away from Frederick and adjusted his cravat in the looking glass.

Frederick knew he should make some excuse to leave his employer’s presence, but he couldn’t stop himself from speaking. “Can’t you believe me?”

Lord Schofield moved so he was watching Frederick in the mirror. “Tell me why I should. Who told you the curse was back?”

Frederick wished to answer honestly, yet he could not bring himself to betray the presence of Billy Bly. Even if he told Lord Schofield straight out, there was the chance the wizard would refuse to believe him. The silence stretched until Lord Schofield broke it.

“You won’t give me your gossip’s name. I admire your determination to keep them from my wrath. I won’t have Lady Schofield troubled by these rumors, understand?”

Frederick nodded.

“Very well.” Lord Schofield looked thoughtful. “Time for the cleansing spell, I think. Bring me a broom, a pint of ale, a pint of water you’ve drawn from the well yourself, a pound of salt, a lot of rosemary, and a handful of feathers, any sort, so long as they are clean.”

It took the best part of an hour for Frederick to fetch everything. Then, despite the fine weather, Lord Schofield ordered Frederick to kindle a fire in the dressing room hearth. The flue drew properly, smoke rising just as it should, without drifting back into the dressing room.

“That’s interesting,” Lord Schofield said, peering into the depths of the fireplace to watch the smoke going up.

While Frederick had been carrying out all his instructions, Lord Schofield had assembled his magical implements. There was now an embroidered cloth on the shaving stand where the set of razors was normally kept. On the cloth lay an array of objects, some as familiar as a battered-looking kitchen knife, some too strange for Frederick to put names to.

Lord Schofield tossed a pinch of salt on the flames. “Hand me the broom. Now, stand in the doorway and don’t let anyone else in, no matter what.”

“Not even Lady Schofield?” Frederick took up the position Lord Schofield indicated.

“At this hour? She will still be sleeping. But no, just this once, not even Kate. Now be quiet.”

Slowly, far more slowly and far less thoroughly than Frederick would have done it, Lord Schofield swept the entire dressing room.

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