The Velvet Fox Page 3
Faintly down the corridor came the sound of clapping, as if Tomos had just blown out the candles on his cake.
Mrs Honeybourne held out an arm. ‘Come along. Or you’ll miss your slice.’
Slowly, Seren stood up and walked over to the door. Mrs Honeybourne’s arm went round her shoulders; it felt warm and soft. ‘There we are. That’s better. I know it must be hard for you, being second best.’
Seren stared. ‘I’m not second best…’
‘And with Tomos being the apple of his mother’s eye. With all his toys and clothes.’
‘I don’t mind.’
Mrs Honeybourne squeezed her tight. ‘Of course you do, sweetie. But you’re so brave. So clever.’
Seren pulled away. The governess smelled of some sugary perfume, though behind it there was an odd, rank scent. But she said nothing, and Mrs Honeybourne ushered her down into the drawing room, where the cake was being cut by Tomos, very awkwardly, with a huge silver knife.
Lady Mair came over with a slice on a plate. ‘Oh, there you are Seren. Thank you for finding him.’
‘Oh, Denzil did that.’ Mrs Honeybourne took the plate and began to eat the cake, very delicately with a small silver fork. She still wore her red gloves, but her fingers were quick. Her tongue licked crumbs from her lips. ‘As a matter of fact, I found Seren in the library, Lady Mair. She was playing with Tomos’s present. I’m afraid I had to pull her away from it or she might have broken it, she was treating it so roughly.’
‘Oh, Seren!’ Lady Mair stared in surprise.
Seren was too astonished to even speak for a moment. Then she gasped. ‘I did no such thing!’
There was a small silence. Mrs Honeybourne shook her curly hair. ‘Don’t be too hard on her, your ladyship. A little jealousy must be expected. It’s all very normal.’
‘I’m not jealous!’
‘Seren…’
‘No!’ Her voice was too loud. Suddenly a lot of people were looking at her. Tomos was staring, too, but she wouldn’t have this.
‘I didn’t touch the present. I would never damage Tomos’s toys.’
Lady Mair was silent. Then she said, ‘I know that. But perhaps it should be taken up to the nursery, just in case. See to it, Lily, will you?’
Astonished, Seren watched the maid hurry out. She glared at Mrs Honeybourne, but the governess just finished the last of the cake on her plate, eating every last morsel and then turning back for more. She gave Seren a very small smile with her red lips.
Seren stalked over to the deep window and sat on the window seat, swinging up her legs and staring out at the leaves gusting on the lawn. She was furious and bewildered. Why had Mrs Honeybourne said that? It hadn’t even been true!
The leaves swirled in high joyful confusion, all over the grass.
Behind her, everyone started singing ‘Happy Birthday’.
She didn’t join in.
And she didn’t turn around.
3
She learns new things
All the countries of the world
Cannot hold the dreams of girls.
‘Sorry I’m a bit late.’
Seren hurried into the schoolroom, clutching her notebook, pen and ink bottle. She had had to run upstairs to fetch them, and then her shoelace had broken and it had taken ages to tie it together.
Mrs Honeybourne was propping a small chalkboard on an easel. ‘No need to be in such a puff, dear. Take a few breaths.’ She glanced over. ‘Do you have a nice sharp pencil?’
‘A pencil. Oh … no…’
‘You can borrow one of mine,’ Tomos said shortly. He pushed his wooden box at her. He looked a bit cross. ‘You’re always late, Seren!’
‘Not always.’
‘Well, you are today, so sit down and we can start.’
He was impatient to learn, she thought. But then, so was she. She slid on to the bench behind the desk, arranged her notebook and pen so they were neatly in front of her, and looked round.
The schoolroom was a large, elegant chamber with long windows that looked over the kitchen gardens. It was usually just an empty bedroom, but Lady Mair had had a word with Mrs Villiers and the bed had been moved out and two desks brought in. Now the room had a large rug on its polished boards, fresh flowers in a vase on the sill and an immense globe of the world that had been carried up by Denzil from Captain Jones’s study. Seren saw how the sun caught all the countries of the Empire, glittering on their dark maroon paint.
There were books on a table. A small fire crackled in the chimney. Outside, the wind drove clouds across a blue sky.
‘Now, my pupils.’ Mrs Honeybourne was wearing an apron over her glossy dress and held a long pointer in her gloved fingers. Her small hat was perched on her frizzy hair. ‘As we have the globe conveniently to hand, we’ll begin with Geography. So tell me. What is this country called, Seren?’
The tip of the pointer touched a patch of green.
‘France,’ Seren said at once.
Tomos giggled. ‘No, it’s not. It’s Italy.’
‘That’s correct, Tomos, dear.’
Seren’s eyes went wide. But when she looked again the pointer was certainly pointing at Italy. How had that happened?
‘And the capital of Italy, Tomos?’
‘Rome.’
‘And the language of the Romans?’
‘Latin.’
Mrs Honeybourne beamed. ‘What an excellent student you are!’
Seren sat silent. She felt annoyed, but wasn’t sure what to be annoyed about. She had known all those answers, and certainly the pointer had been touching France.
‘Let’s try another one for you, Seren.’ Mrs Honeybourne stretched out with a creak of stays. ‘What is this country?’
It was a yellow blob on the edge of Africa and Seren had no idea.
‘Abyssinia,’ Tomos said, after a while.
Seren sighed.
‘Never mind, Seren. I’m sure you’ll get one right very soon,’ Mrs Honeybourne said sweetly.
But she didn’t. The questions went on, and Seren didn’t know any of the answers, and her countries always seemed to be difficult ones. But Tomos shone – everything he said was right, and he even knew that the capital of Indonesia was Jakarta because Captain Jones had been there once.
Seren frowned.
It was the same all morning, through Arithmetic and Spelling and History.
Her questions were hard. Tomos’s were easy.
At first she didn’t mind too much but then she started to get annoyed. It wasn’t fair. Mrs Honeybourne was making it only too clear that Tomos was her favourite. She praised his handwriting, applauded his written work on the Emperor Augustus, and positively purred over his drawings.
Well, he was good at drawing.
But Seren’s piece on the emperor had been just as good, and longer. She felt a bit sad about that.
Finally, Mrs Honeybourne looked at the clock and clapped her hands. ‘Lunchtime. How splendid. I’m so hungry. Now after lunch we will put our books away and do something a little more entertaining.’ She smiled with her small teeth. ‘Archery practice first, and then I’ve engaged a fencing master to show you a few simple passes with a sword.’
Tomos grinned, and Seren whooped with delight. ‘Fantastic.’
‘No, dear. Not you,’ Mrs Honeybourne said softly. ‘Just Tomos.’
‘But…’
‘Girls don’t do that sort of thing.’
‘But why not?’
Mrs Honeybourne tittered a laugh, ‘Oh, you are such a caution, Seren.’
‘But it’s a real question. And if I’m not doing that, what am I doing?’
Mrs Honeybourne rustled her dress and came closer. She leaned down. ‘Such a fun thing.’
‘What?’
‘You’ll love it, Seren.’
‘Tell me then.’
Mrs Honeybourne’s smile was pure sugar.
‘Embroidery,’ she said.
Seren’s eyes went wide.
Seren took a deep breath. She had to stay polite, though she wanted to explode. ‘It’s very kind of you, Mrs Honeybourne,’ she said carefully, ‘but I’m hopeless at sewing, and, honestly, I’d love to do the archery and the sword fighting. I’d be careful to keep clean and I wouldn’t hit anything with an arrow or break any windows or anything, and…’
Tomos gave the faintest giggle.
She glared at him. ‘Tomos needs someone to practise with after all.’
‘Oh, he can practise with the fencing master.’
It was no use. Mrs Honeybourne had already turned away and was cleaning the blackboard.
‘Now, just enough time to wash your hands before luncheon.’
Seren sat still. A sudden thought had chilled her. ‘What about Latin? And Greek?’
‘Not for you, I’m afraid.’ Mrs Honeybourne rubbed the board clean so that chalk fell like dust. ‘Private lessons. Boys only.’
But…’
‘You heard.’
‘Couldn’t I just sit at the back? You wouldn’t know I was there.’
‘Seren, dear…’
‘I wouldn’t make a sound. I’d even sew. And listen.’ She was desperate now. ‘Tomos would want me to come.’ Seren stared at him hard and meaningfully. ‘Wouldn’t you, Tomos! Tell her!’
It was then that the most surprising thing of all happened.
He just shrugged. Quietly he said, ‘Sorry, Seren. But she’s right you know. You won’t need all that Latin stuff so it’s no use wasting your time learning it. You’re lucky if you ask me.’
Lucky!
‘What about the archery?’ she snapped.
‘Oh, that’s the same. It’s not fair for my father to pay for both of us.’
Far below, the gong rang for lunch. But Seren was so stunned she just sat there.
Tomos packed his pencils into his box. ‘You can keep that one, if you like,’ he said. Then he and Mrs Honeybourne walked out together, the governess ruffling his hair fondly with her red-gloved fingers.
What was going on!
Seren was so agitated she drew spiral after spiral on the paper until the pencil point snapped and she threw it down. What had happened to Tomos! They did everything together, and now he’d betrayed her over the lessons and left her to do sewing.
SEWING!
She hated sewing. And he knew it.
After a while she trailed downstairs and was late at table, though Lady Mair said nothing, and all through the meal she ate silently, listening. Once Mrs Honeybourne said, ‘Our little orphan is rather sulky today?’ with the brightest of smiles, but Seren only smiled brightly back.
‘Not an orphan, Mrs Honeybourne,’ Lady Mair said. ‘Not anymore.’
‘Yes, my lady. Of course. I’m so sorry.’
But it had been said. And Seren was learning that Mrs Honeybourne’s smiles were as sweet as poison.
Seren spent the afternoon in Mrs Villiers’ room with Mrs Roberts trying to sew. She knew the basics – they had done loads of sewing at St Mary’s, but after she had stabbed her thumb for the sixth time she had had enough and threw down the tiny handkerchief with its spots of blood and crumpled corner with half an S on it.
‘I hate this,’ she hissed. ‘This is so unfair!’ She imagined Tomos out on the lawn right now, firing arrows into a target with a satisfying thwack!
Mrs Roberts threw a nervous look towards the door to the stillroom, ‘Hush now, Seren. You’ll learn it soon.’
She didn’t want to learn it. Instead she jumped up and went and stared in at the stillroom. It was a small pantry full of shelves, with a table and a sink, and Mrs Villiers was very busy in there, her sleeves rolled up. All around her was a glorious-smelling harvest of jams, jellies, marmalades, pickles and chutneys, in jars with tidy labels and neat caps of cloth. Great piles of apples, pears, blackberries, plums and damsons cascaded from the table. It was like the whole of autumn was crammed into that tiny space.
Seren’s mouth watered.
‘Now don’t interrupt me, Seren.’ Mrs Villiers was straining apricot jelly through muslin into a dish. ‘I’m sticky enough as it is.’
‘It all smells wonderful.’ Seren wished she could dip a finger in. Then she said, ‘Mrs Villiers. What do you think of the new governess?’
Mrs Villiers concentrated a moment before she answered. ‘Well,’ she said absently, ‘she seems to know her work. Her dress is a little above her station if you ask me, but…’
‘Is she…’ Seren paused. ‘You don’t think she’s a bit – strange?’
Mrs Villiers flicked her a glance. ‘Strange? Of course I don’t. She’s very nice. Now don’t even think of licking that spoon.’
That night, as she lay in bed, Seren thought that maybe strange had been the wrong word to use.
False might have been better. Or sly.
There was something wrong in the house. She was quite sure of it now, and it had started when the governess came. All day there had been a stirring of dust in the corridors, a blurring of light in the rooms. Lily the maid had to keep sweeping the hall. ‘All these leaves!’ she’d muttered. ‘You get them up and more seem to blow in, even though all the doors are shut. They’re all over the house.’
Plas-y-Fran seemed irritated and uneasy. Curtains rippled, the floors creaked, furniture was in the wrong places.
And tonight Captain Jones had set off in the carriage for Cardiff, and would be gone till next week.
Lying curled up in the warm bed with the curtains drawn around her, Seren frowned. Usually she felt cosy and safe in here. But Tomos’s words were a bit worrying.
Did he really resent his father paying for things for her?
Suddenly she sat upright.
From far off in the house she had heard the faintest thin trickle of music, soft and squeaky.
Tomos’s carousel!
Someone had wound it up!
She looked at her clock. It was ten minutes past midnight. Who could be up in the nursery at this time of night?
She slipped out of bed, grabbed her dressing gown and tied it tight around her. Then, without a candle, she opened the door of her room and peeped out.
The corridor was black with shadow.
Everyone was asleep.
She closed the door without a sound, walked along very quietly in her bare feet to the small white stair that led to the attic, and looked up. Moonlight must have been coming in at the top because there was a misty glimmer and something white moved in it.
Seren stared, eyes wide.
Tomos was coming down the stairs.
He wasn’t wearing slippers or dressing gown, just his pale, striped pyjamas.
‘What are you doing?’ she whispered. ‘Where have you been?’
Tomos completely ignored her. He didn’t even look at her, though his eyes were open and unblinking. He walked past her as if she wasn’t even there, and went into his bedroom.
Amazed, Seren hurried after him.
‘Tomos!’ she hissed. But he was already climbing into bed. He turned over, pulled the blankets over him, closed his eyes and went to sleep.
Seren stood there a moment, thinking hard.
Tomos must have been sleepwalking. She had heard of that, but she had never seen anyone do it before, though there had been a girl at St Mary’s who used to talk in her sleep, until someone shook her awake.
It was so strange. And where had he been?
She backed out, taking care to close the door silently, then tiptoed back to the stair and looked up.
It was all quiet.
Very quickly, she began to climb.
The darkness of the attic corridor was slashed by slants of moonlight at regular intervals. As Seren walked silently down it she moved from light to dark and back to li
ght again.
In front of her, the nursery door was ajar.
Quietly she went in.
Everything looked normal. But then, as she looked around at the rocking horse and the toy fort and Tomos’s collection of snow globes, she realised that he hadn’t been playing with any of them lately. He couldn’t have, because they all looked neglected and dusty.
The only thing in the room that looked shiny and new was the carousel. It stood proud on the mantelpiece.
It was turning. The platform was going round and round, and playing its creaky, eerie tune, but she drew in a silent breath of dismay, because even from here she could see the galloping horses were empty.
The Soldier, the Dancer, the Juggler and the Fox.
They were all gone!
And far away she thought she caught faint sounds in the house. Echoing along the corridors and drifting in the dark rooms.
Drumming.
A patter of feet.
Silvery laughter, soft as velvet.
4
A Letter to nowhere
Empty horses ride all night.
Now the broken feather writes.
‘It’s true! I swear! You were walking in your sleep. And then…’
Tomos shook his head, annoyed. ‘I’ve never walked in my sleep.’