Rose, p.14
Rose, page 14
“So you tell me how else you’re going to do it.” Isabella folded her arms, waiting.
Rose took a deep, shaky breath. “I’ll be the bait,” she said quietly. She didn’t want to be. The thought of deliberately allowing Miss Sparrow to catch her, for whatever awful scheme she’d devised, made her heart jump and thud in her chest as though it were trying to beat its way out. But she didn’t have a choice—that woman already had Maisie and Lil, and Annie, and all those others. It was the obvious plan.
“You can’t!” Isabella’s postponed tantrum was clearly going to happen now instead. “It was my idea! Mine, mine, mine!” And she slid down from the table to run at Rose, until Freddie seized her and put his hand over her mouth to stifle her screams. Gus leaped onto his shoulder, and then put his front paws gingerly on Isabella’s thrashing arm. Her nails were growing into claws, Rose noticed, shuddering.
“Stop it, you silly, ill-mannered little girl!” the cat hissed, nose to nose with her.
Isabella’s eyes widened above Freddie’s hand, and she grew scarlet with indignation.
“And don’t tell me that your father will have me stuffed. I’ve been with him since before you were even thought of. If Freddie lets you go, will you be silent for a moment and listen?”
Isabella nodded resentfully, and Freddie released her, jumping back a step. Gus sprang back to the table and Isabella stood there looking like a trapped animal, her hands still raised to show the claws.
“Little beast,” Gus said conversationally, and Isabella snarled. “Well, quite.” Gus closed his eyes momentarily in disgust. “She can look after herself, you know,” he pointed out to Rose and Freddie. “I think we should let her do it. It’s the only plan that I can see having even a chance of working. She’s too young to have any real power, so Miss Sparrow won’t spot her for what she is.”
“But didn’t you meet her, when she came to lunch?” Rose asked Isabella. “I went back to the kitchens after I’d cleaned up the mess you made, so I didn’t see. She’s not going to kidnap a child she knows, is she?”
Freddie laughed. “Mr. Fountain went to fetch Bella to introduce her to her future stepmama, but Isabella felt differently. A policeman actually called because someone across the square thought there was a murder being done.”
Isabella shook her pretty curls. “I won’t have her as a mother,” she hissed, and this time Rose was watching for the nails. They were actually growing into Isabella’s own palms, and she hadn’t noticed. “And I won’t be polite to her and drink tea. She shan’t marry him.”
“Stop it!” Rose cried, pulling at the little girl’s hands. “You’re bleeding!”
Isabella blinked and looked down at her soft, pink palms marked with bloody half-moons. She glanced up at Rose in sudden dismay and gulped tears. It was the first time she’d been at all like any other little girl Rose had known.
“She won’t, all right? I promise. Just don’t do that again.”
Isabella nodded, shaking the lace ruffles of her nightgown down over her hands, as though she didn’t want to see what she’d done. She leaned against Rose for a moment, and Rose looked down at her in surprise. The touch lasted only seconds, but she could feel that Isabella needed it very much. She hadn’t felt sorry for her before—why would she? But now she couldn’t help pitying the smaller girl. In a way, she seemed more alone than Rose herself.
***
That morning, Rose felt as though she had thick soup flowing sluggishly through her veins instead of blood. The two hours’ sleep she’d got had made her feel worse, not better. She kept dropping things, as though her fingers didn’t belong to her anymore, and when she kneeled down to lay Mr. Fountain’s fire, she woke up who knew how many minutes later to find him standing above her, resplendent in a paisley dressing gown and scarlet Turkish slippers with long pointed toes. The slippers had been next to her cheek as she lay pillowed on her apron, and she hadn’t been able to work out what they were, these strange red tasseled things…until she looked up and stumbled backward on her knees in a stammering panic.
“Are we working you too hard, child?” Mr. Fountain murmured in a soft, amused voice.
Even through her fear, Rose couldn’t help a dart of pity. How awful to be in love with someone like Miss Sparrow! He seemed so completely happy, waving away her apologies and seating himself in a large armchair by the window, with an almost equally large book spread across his knees. But he didn’t read it. He just gazed out the window at the street, humming to himself.
Rose finished the fire, taking at least six matches to light it—a dreadful waste—and scurried out of the room.
Having Isabella as a co-conspirator did make things slightly easier. She came back from her morning walk with Miss Anstruther and angelically requested that Susan send Rose to the schoolroom, as she needed help cleaning and relabeling her beetle collection. (Miss Anstruther, apparently, did not do beetles, and was going to lie down.)
Whatever Miss Isabella wanted tended to get done, so Rose gladly took off her apron and left Bill to polish the shoes by himself. He grumpily volunteered to introduce Isabella to some black beetles in the scullery copper, but Rose thought they might be too common for collecting.
“At last!” Isabella grabbed her as she opened the door, hauling her inside. “I’ve been waiting ages.”
Freddie and Gus were sitting on the window seat. Freddie was yawning and Gus was asleep on his lap.
“Help me get the beetles down,” Isabella demanded, standing on a chair in front of an enormous cupboard crammed full of toys and games.
“But why do we need them?” Rose took the slim wooden case that Isabella was handing down to her and shuddered. “Urrgh!” They weren’t as bad as spiders, but she wasn’t fond of beetles either.
“Someone’s bound to come in,” Isabella complained, hopping off the chair in a flurry of frilly petticoats.
“They’re always checking up on me. So you’re helping me clean the beetles, and Freddie has brought a beetle book, because I can’t identify that one.” She pointed to a large, shiny, black-and-red spotted creature with fearsome horns.
“Can’t you…” Rose murmured, unconsciously wiping her hands on her skirt as she backed away from the tray.
Isabella sighed impatiently. “Well, of course I can, silly! It’s a handsome fungus beetle. Mycetina perpulchra. From the Americas. But Miss Anstruther doesn’t know that, does she? Not if I take the label off. And the maids all squeal like you almost did. So have a duster, and Freddie, come here and open that book, and try to look puzzled just like you usually do, and if anyone comes in, we’ll be fine.” She flounced down in her chair and folded her hands in a businesslike fashion. “Gus! Don’t eat the beetles. So! Where are we going to set the trap?”
Rose gaped at her. She supposed that it was partly due to natural talent and partly upbringing, and partly having had considerably more sleep, but Isabella seemed so keen. And organized. She had scrambled up again for a pencil and paper, and was busily writing a list of possible places.
“The park? Do you think? Or is it too obvious?”
Rose woke up slightly. “I think one of the other children was taken when he was supposed to be walking home through the park. The newspaper said. So she might go there again…”
“Good!” Isabella nodded happily. “I shall pretend to be lost, and then she can take me back to her house. Then I’ll escape and free everyone else, and I shall be a heroine.”
“Wonderful,” Freddie muttered. “So glad you’ve got it all planned. I’m going back to bed.”
“I might need a little help,” Isabella conceded.
“Freddie and I can follow you, then when we know where she’s hidden everyone, we can rescue you.” Rose was not allowing herself to admit that it was possible Miss Sparrow hadn’t hidden the children. That she hadn’t needed to. As the tally of stolen children grew, it seemed increasingly likely that the awful cold blackness in the mirror meant death. She shook her head. “Isabella—miss, I mean—would your governess let you go out alone with Freddie? Without her?”
“If she were suitably persuaded…” Isabella agreed, her little face wolfish with anticipation.
“But what about you?” Freddie frowned. “I can see them letting me and Isabella go out, but not a maid, Rose.”
“Not even if Miss Isabella asks? Can’t you go on a beetle-hunting expedition? I could bring a net, or something…” Rose looked at them hopefully.
“A picnic! She can carry the basket, Freddie!” Isabella bounced in her chair. “Oooh, yes, do let’s! I love picnics!” She subsided slightly as they glared at her, but only very slightly. “Why not? I ought to keep my strength up if I’m going to be kidnapped. I bet Miss Sparrow only feeds her prisoners bread and water, or something horrid, like semolina. She would.”
“You will have to put me in the basket,” Gus said in a long-suffering tone. “You can explain Rose away, but not me. Make sure there are fish-paste sandwiches, Rose.”
“And some that aren’t fish paste, so there’s something left when we get to the park,” Isabella snapped.
***
“It’s beneath my dignity to be sitting in a bush,” Gus complained. “And this bush is damp.”
“Shhhhh…” Freddie and Rose hissed together.
“Oh, do hush yourselves,” Isabella whispered over her shoulder. “Do you want everyone to hear you?”
“Are you lost, dear?” A tiny, elderly lady had paused in front of the bench where they had set their trap. Isabella was sitting alone and disconsolate, and altogether most realistic. She had assured them that she could cry on demand.
They had not considered that, of course, other people might quite innocently inquire after Isabella. They all stared suspiciously through the leaves at the old lady, but she didn’t seem to be a kidnapper under a glamour.
“Oh, I am quite all right, thank you,” Isabella said firmly.
“But it’s getting dark, dear. Surely you aren’t here alone? You must have your mama with you, or your governess…” The old lady looked around, as if hoping that Isabella’s mother would pop out of the bushes.
Isabella looked over her shoulder at Rose and Freddie, peering through the twigs, and shrugged helplessly. “What do I do?” she whispered, as the old lady tried to signal a passing policeman with her parasol.
“For goodness’ sake,” Gus muttered, and Rose felt his solid little body grow suddenly larger, and the soft white fur that she had been stroking for comfort became coarser. Then a large—very large—black wolfhound strolled out of the bushes and took up a position in front of Isabella.
Her elderly protector turned back and gasped in fright, finding a remarkably huge set of bright white teeth just on a level with her nose.
“I’m just exercising my dog,” Isabella explained. “I think he had gone to look for rabbits in those bushes. He is a great hunter, you see, but sadly disobedient sometimes.” Gus let at least eight inches of pink foamy tongue dangle out between his jaws and sniffed at the parasol. “He simply will not be called off once he gives chase!” Isabella sighed, shaking her head.
The old lady backed away slowly and then picked up her skirts and ran, not even looking back.
Isabella giggled delightedly. “Oh, Gus, you clever old cat! That was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen. Particularly as she is that interfering old tabby from across the square who told Papa he ought to send me to a ladies’ seminary.”
Rose felt a frightened clutch at her shoulder, and Freddie cursed in a whisper. “Gus, hide, it’s her, it’s her!” He was right. Sweeping along the path, a black, lace-edged skirt trailing the ground, was a tall young woman. Her black clothes did not fully explain the sensation of darkness that fell over Rose as she watched Miss Sparrow approach. Maisie’s locket seemed to be glowing in her hand, and she clutched it tightly, panicked in case it should somehow scream her hiding place to the kidnapper.
Gus became a very small black cat in seconds and streaked back into the bushes. Isabella’s shoulders shuddered with fear—Rose could see through the metalwork of the bench—but she dug out a lace-edged handkerchief from her reticule and buried her face in it dolefully.
“Dear child…” Miss Sparrow had halted opposite Isabella’s bench, and now bent closer to inspect her. “May I be of assistance? Are you perhaps lost?”
Her voice was honey sweet, and it sent sticky ripples down Rose’s spine. She could hear the glamours in it, clanging like badly tuned bells.
“I—I don’t know…” Isabella sobbed. “My nursemaid stopped to talk with one of the guardsmen outside the barracks, and I ran on because she took so long, and she’d promised we should go to the park. But I don’t think it was this park, and I know I live close by, but I cannot think where!”
It was word-for-word the story they had agreed, and Rose and Freddie exchanged relieved glances. Isabella hadn’t decided to embroider the lies, as they’d feared she would.
“You poor little dear,” Miss Sparrow cooed. “Don’t worry. I’m sure we shall find her. Why don’t you come with me, and we’ll go and look? Or do you know your address? My carriage is waiting only on the other side of the park—I can take you home directly.”
Isabella sobbed and spluttered incoherently, and Miss Sparrow seemed to tire of trying to placate her. She put a hand gently on the back of Isabella’s neck and twitched away her handkerchief. “Why, your handkerchief is wet right through, dear child. You must borrow mine. I have a nice clean one, just here.” And she drew a handkerchief swiftly from her sleeve and held it against Isabella’s face.
Rose had one glimpse of Isabella’s blue eyes glancing back toward their hiding place in sudden panic, then her eyelids drooped, and she slumped back against the sorceress’s supporting arm.
“There, dear,” Miss Sparrow hissed. “We’ll take you home.” And then she turned, following Isabella’s last betraying stare and looked right into their hiding place. “And your little friends too.”
Sixteen
The cellar was dark—a thick, black darkness that they could almost touch. Nothing like the darkness outdoors, where even in smog-ridden London, there were occasional glimpses of stars.
It smelled too. Fifteen children using one bucket starts to smell very quickly. Rose had gagged as Miss Sparrow thrust them into the stinking darkness.
“Why didn’t you rescue me?” Isabella complained. “You didn’t keep to the plan.”
“Bella, the plan didn’t include her spotting us and dragging us out of the bushes!” Freddie said crossly. “At least she didn’t catch Gus. Hopefully he’ll make it back to the house.”
Rose wasn’t really listening to them bickering. She was peering through the darkness, trying to work out where the other children were and how many of them were imprisoned here. She could hear them breathing, very quietly, nervously.
“Who’s there?” she whispered. “Maisie, is that you? Lily?”
The silence was broken by a tiny gasp, and someone shuffled closer. “Rose?” Maisie’s voice was quavery, and she sounded disbelieving and horrified. “Oh, Rose, she got you too! I thought you’d be safe in that grand house.”
“It’s Rose! Sarah-Jane, Rose is here! Ellen, did you hear?” Lily’s voice sounded as though she were bouncing up and down. “Annie, my friend Rose!”
“We came to rescue you,” Rose admitted in a small voice. She felt rather silly. She had been imagining a dramatic rescue scene, with spells shooting all over the place and Miss Sparrow vanquished. Instead, they had been captured themselves, and now they were dependent on the whim of a clever but unreliable cat. And if Gus did decide to help, instead of throwing in his lot with Miss Sparrow, whose magic was far more to his liking than Mr. Fountain’s at the moment, what could he do?
“I went back to visit everyone, you see,” Rose explained sadly. “And you weren’t there. Miss Lockwood told me an amazing story about you really being Alberta, but you’d left your locket behind. It just didn’t fit, somehow…”
“I believed her, Rose,” Maisie said, her words barely above a whisper. “She said she was my mother. She was so pleased to see me. And then when I told her about the boat and the fountain—she knew it all, Rose!”
“It was a trick. I left you open for her, Maisie, making that stupid story up. I’m so sorry. And now we haven’t even managed to get you out!”
“Don’t worry, Rose,” Ellen said sadly. “You hadn’t told us stories, and it didn’t make any difference. We believed anyway.”
Rose reached for Maisie’s hand in the darkness. It was thinner and bonier than ever. “Does she feed you?” she asked in a small voice. Us, she should have said, she supposed.
“She has to,” another voice broke in. A gruff little voice, a boy. “She needs us strong.”
“What for?” Rose squeaked nervously.
There was a pause, as though no one really wanted to tell her. Then a faint whisper came out of the dark, from over in the corner. Rose’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness a little now, and she could almost make out that the speaker was slumped on a pile of rags. Her skin glowed pale in the darkness, as though she were milk white.
“Blood,” she breathed, and the word seemed to echo around the cellar. “She takes our blood.”
Isabella made a doubtful, disgusted noise. “What on earth for?”
“Amy’s right. It’s some horrible spell,” Maisie whispered. Rose could feel her shudder through their clasped hands. “I saw it when she brought me here. Once she’d got me inside the door—oh, she changed, Rose, so quickly. It was like she was a different person! She even looked different, can you believe that?”
Rose felt the movement in the darkness as she and Freddie and Isabella exchanged glances. “Oh yes,” she muttered ruefully.
“Before, when she was pretending to be my mother, she was fatter, I’m sure she was. And she talked different, softer somehow. She held me, Rose, and that’s when I really believed her. I didn’t think anyone could hold me like that and say what she said, and it not be true!” Maisie’s hand was burning on Rose’s now, in the feverish telling of her story.
