The Velvet Fox Page 7
‘Diolch,’ Gwyn said.
‘Nonsense, Seren,’ Mrs Villiers sipped her posset. ‘This is very good, actually. It makes me feel so much better.’ She licked her lips and put the china cup down. ‘I must admit I had my doubts about Mrs Honeybourne initially but, the more I think about it, the more pleasant and efficient she seems.’
She sipped again. ‘Pleasant. Yes. Delicious, even. Makes one a little sleepy though.’
Seren scowled into her dish, then glanced at Gwyn. ‘Did Lady Mair get her train?’ she whispered.
‘Just.’
She frowned. Now both Lady Mair and the captain were away and Mrs Villiers would probably end up in bed. And who would be in charge then?
Mrs Honeybourne?
Not if she could help it!
She had to start the Crow’s plan. She looked round the kitchen, then asked, ‘Where’s Sam?’ because now that she thought of it she hadn’t seen the white cat for days.
Gwyn chuckled. ‘He’s gone to live with Denzil.’
‘Really?’
‘It’s a bit strange. He won’t come near the house anymore. He’s a stable cat now.’
Seren nodded, scraping her dish with a piece of bread to get the last drop of delicious flavour. Sam knew that Mrs Honeybourne was from the Tylwyth Teg – he’d known from the start.
‘Gwyn, can you do me a favour? I need a pine cone. The biggest and best you can find, and don’t tell anyone you’ve got it. It’s really important.’
Gwyn looked at her a moment. Then he said, ‘It’s Them, isn’t it?’
She nodded. ‘But it’s not safe to talk.’
Gwyn finished his cawl. He was thinking hard. He poured his ale and said, ‘The cat’s not the only one who doesn’t like coming in the house. I don’t either, these days. It feels … cold. Scary.’
They looked at each other. Behind them, Mrs Villiers gave a sigh. ‘Oh dearie me. I do feel … I’ve come over all strange.’ She stood up and abruptly sat down again.
Oh, Ma’am!’ Alys hurried to take her arm. ‘Let me get one of the maids to take you upstairs. You should be in bed.’
There was a brief argument but Mrs Villiers was too fuddled to really argue and within minutes she had been led out of the room.
Seren watched her go, then jumped up. ‘Where’s Denzil?’ she asked anxiously.
‘Cleaning the tack.’
‘Is he all right?’
‘He’s always all right.’
She hurried to the door. ‘Keep an eye on him. Get me that pine cone, please. And Gwyn…’
‘What?’ he said, sipping his small beer.
‘Just … diolch. Thank you.’
First she went to the stables and found the cat. Sam, halfway through washing, looked at her hard.
She didn’t like the idea of pulling out one of his whiskers, but then she saw she didn’t have to because one was lying on the cobbles, as if he’d put it just there waiting for her. She snatched it up and put it carefully in her pocket. ‘Thanks, Sam!’
The cat paused. It blinked its eyes. And then washed the other paw.
In the library the rain ran down the windows and the books stood silent on the shelves. It was very cold because no fire was lit and the room smelled of damp paper and mouldy bindings. Seren slid in and shut the door silently behind her.
She went straight to the small Italian inlaid table in the alcove near the fireplace. On it was a large silver cigar box.
It was made in the shape of a casket, like something from a pirate story, with bands of iron across it.
That would be perfect for the Crow’s plan.
She opened the box, and smelt the sweetness of cedar wood and the strong flavour of tobacco. Carefully she tipped the cigars out into the little drawer in the table. She turned with it to the door.
And stopped dead.
Leaning against the door, with his drum slung on his back, and his red tunic shimmering in the rain-light, stood the Drummer from the carousel.
‘Oh, naughty Seren,’ he said slyly, his head on one side. ‘What are you stealing now?’
8
A white cat’s whisker
Trapped inside a room of books
Black as ravens, dark as rooks.
Her hand went tight around the silver box.
The Soldier lifted his drumsticks and beat a soft, thoughtful rat-a-tat. She was scared it would bring the others, but no one came.
‘Leave me alone.’ She straightened, and took a step forwards. ‘I’m not scared.’
He smiled, and made one more single beat. ‘You should be, human child.’
A soft slither made her whirl round and look up. On the topmost shelf, where the bookcases met the ceiling, a book had begun to move. As she stared she saw it inch its way forward, then topple slowly, very slowly, until it overbalanced. Then it crashed to the floor, sending dust everywhere.
‘What are you doing!’ Seren ran and picked the book up. It was very old, and called TheConsolation of Philosophy. The cover had been dented and the pages were all splayed. It made her angry. ‘Books are important! You shouldn’t just…’
‘Well then, you’ll have to catch them, won’t you.’ The Drummer beat another sly little tap. ‘Oh dear, here comes another.’
It was a red one, slithering out above a table where a big china vase was. Seren gave a gasp, ran, and just managed to catch it, but it was so heavy as it slammed into her arms that she toppled against the table. The big vase wobbled. She grabbed that too.
‘No!’ she breathed.
Because now the faery creature was beating a soft, regular rhythm. He marched mockingly on the spot, lifting his skinny knees high.
And the books began to fall. There was nothing she could do – there were too many of them. They came crashing down like a vicious rain of paper and bindings, smashing into clouds of pages and bookmarks. Seren made a wild grab at one, and then another, but then a volume of Shakespeare hit her on the shoulder and knocked her over with its weight. And any minute someone would open the door and blame her!
‘Stop!’ she hissed. ‘Stop! Listen! WAIT!’ But he didn’t, he kept on, and his smile was as sweet as acid.
Then, from somewhere out of sight, she heard a different sound, a sharper, agitated tapping, and she looked quickly at the window.
The Clockwork Crow was outside.
The Soldier saw it too. It stopped in mid-beat and stared. Then it ran towards her, but it was too late. Seren was already at the window. She forced the catch and the casement banged open in a gust of rain and leaves, and the Crow bounded in.
‘So!’ it snapped. ‘Time for my revenge on the Tylwyth Teg! No one blasts me with fire!’
The Soldier looked uneasy. He began to beat the drum harder.
‘Lock the door!’ The Crow snapped. Seren raced over and hauled the key round with both hands, then she turned, her back against the wooden door.
She saw an amazing thing.
All the books that had fallen on the floor were rising like birds. Their splayed covers were wings, marbled endpapers their underbellies, and they flew round under the ceiling, swooping so that she had to duck, with dust and bookmarks and letters and bills and receipts fluttering from their pages.
The Crow was enjoying itself. It let out a sharp kek kek like a creaky laugh. Then it said, ‘The white cat’s whisker, Seren!’
She already had it in her fingers. She darted forward and, not knowing what else to do, touched the Soldier’s face with it.
The effect was startling.
The Soldier stopped dead and stared at her in terror. The drumsticks shrivelled in its hands. The drum fell off and rolled into a corner.
The Crow folded its wings. ‘Ah! Not so bold now, are we?’
The Soldier looked up. Bird-book shadows zoomed over its thin face. Its red coat was fading; dust was falling like powder from one of its pockets. Its eyes were shinier, its hair more silvery.
It whispered, ‘It’s not fair…’
‘Don’t give me that.’ The Crow took off and zoomed round the library with the flock of books. ‘You’ve had your fun. Time to go back in the box, toy-man.’
‘No…’
‘Yes.’ The Crow nose-dived. It shot down and landed on the table, skidded across and screeched to a halt right in front of the Soldier. Then it closed its diamond eyes and said a single word.
Seren blinked.
She felt giddy.
The room seemed to turn a complete circle all around her.
Because the word was more than letters.
It was a sound like water hissing in a waterfall.
Or the clatter of a stone falling through rocks.
Or the wind in a far-off forest when it’s getting dark in winter.
She shivered.
The Soldier did more than that. He ran for the door, but with every step he took he became smaller and smaller; he shrank and dissolved and shrivelled and, in seconds, all that was left was a trail of dust and a small brown object rolling on the carpet.
The Crow gave a whoop of triumph. ‘Got the silver box?’
‘Yes. But…’
‘Well, just put it in, girl, put it in!’
Seren crouched. She picked up the brown thing and examined it curiously. ‘But it’s just a hazelnut!’
‘And isn’t that typical of Them! Put it in, quickly. You never know with these People. They can sometimes come back, and that’s really annoying.’
Seren dropped the nut into the box, where it rolled to a corner and was still. Then she shut the lid and locked it tight.
The Crow looked smug. ‘One down. Two to go.’
‘Three,’ Seren muttered.
All around, the books were settling. Like starlings at evening they swooped down on to their perches, landed on shelves, settled their wings, slid snugly together.
They preened dust from their pages and fluttered and were still.
And suddenly they were just books on the shelves, and the only thing left to show that anything had happened was a trail of dust on the floor and a small toy drum in a corner.
Seren sat back on her heels. ‘That was absolutely fantastic!’
The Crow waved a wing. ‘Nothing to it.’
‘No. It was! You were so…’
‘SEREN, DEAR! Are you in there?’ The door handle rattled furiously. ‘Let me in. I know you’re being naughty again!’
‘It’s Mrs Honeybourne!’ Seren jumped up, looked round. ‘You need to hide. Quick! In here!’
There was a brass coal scuttle by the hearth. The Crow looked at it with a murderous glare. ‘You don’t really think… I mean, not again.’
‘Hurry! We can’t let her find you!’
The Crow blew itself up with defiance and opened its beak to squawk. But she grabbed it quickly and thrust it in, then ran over and turned the key, ran back, snatched down a book and was reading it when the door opened.
‘Now.’ As the door opened Mrs Honeybourne’s voice was loud and sad. ‘I hate to tell tales, but as you’ll see, Denzil, she’s been throwing the books around. I can’t tell you what a terrible crashing noise it made. I was so shocked. And dear good Tomos trying so hard to study…’
Denzil came in and looked around.
He looked at Seren and Seren looked up at him. She smiled sweetly.
Outside the door the governess’s loud voice honeyed on. ‘And it has to be jealousy, really, because dear Tomos…’
‘Nothing’s been thrown,’ Denzil snapped.
‘What? But I heard…’
‘See for yourself.’
He stepped back. There was a moment’s silence. Seren waited, enjoying putting on her most innocent look.
Then Mrs Honeybourne’s large frizzy head came round the door. Her sharp eyes surveyed the room, the neat books on the shelves, Seren’s calm reading. They opened a little in astonishment.
‘Hello, dear Mrs Honeybourne,’ Seren said.
The governess frowned. ‘But…’
‘As you can see, there’s no mess here.’ Denzil said. ‘You must have heard some other noise.’
‘But…’
‘Now I’ll be off – and that reminds me, Seren bach. I have to take the dogcart into the village for a few things and Gwyn is busy. Come and give me a hand, girl?’
‘Oh, yes please, Denzil!’ She dropped the book and jumped up, forgetting everything. He flashed her a warning glance under his thatch of dark hair. ‘It’s work, mind. Punishment for your behaviour last night.’
Mrs Honeybourne started to object. ‘I really don’t think…’ she began. But Seren had already pushed past her and was running after Denzil down the creaky corridors. Looking back, she saw the governess turn and march away towards the schoolroom.
Seren grinned to herself. No more drumming all night!
One down and three to go!
During the ride to the village the words hummed a cheerful rhythm in her head; she was so happy, she sang and chatted and barely noticed Denzil’s silence.
The rain had cleared away. Now the sky was blue and all the trees were russet and gold and lichen-green, a patchwork of autumn across the mountainside. And it smelled so rich and fresh!
The deep lane was rutted with puddles. The dogcart lurched into one and back up, and Denzil muttered, ‘Whup nawr, Mari!’ as a pheasant wandered across in front of the horse from hedge to hedge.
In the village Denzil fetched parcels from the post office in Mrs Williams’ front room. Seren helped him load a few sacks of flour from the miller’s. Some women in red shawls passed, and said ‘Bore da!’
Seren said ‘Bore da’ back, proud that she knew some Welsh now. Tomos had been teaching her words.
Tomos!
At once her good mood left her. If only she could get him away from that creature, or find some way to break the enchantment of the carousel. She hated seeing him under Mrs Honeybourne’s spell like this! On the way back, it was Seren who was silent, until Denzil looked at her and said, over the clopping of the hooves, ‘You think that woman is one of the Fair Family. Is that it?’
‘She’s not very fair!’
‘They can take many shapes. Beautiful, ugly, wizened…’
‘Then yes, I do, Denzil! I really do! She’s got control of Tomos – he won’t listen to me. He’s obsessed with that carousel. I wish you could get him away from her, but…’
‘I’ll take him fishing. Down at the weir.’
‘He won’t go.’
‘Of course he will!’ Denzil looked at her, surprised. ‘He loves to come fishing with me!’
She shook her head. ‘I’ll bet you he won’t go. And if he says no, will you believe me then?’
The small man looked out at the hills and up at the wheeling birds. ‘If that happens, then yes, I would think you are right. And if the Family are within the Plas we are in trouble, girl, trouble indeed, because They will have some plot, some mischief, you can be sure.’
In the cobbled yard outside the kitchen door Seren helped unload the cart. It was nearly teatime, and she was hungry. There might be muffins with hot butter, and then…
Her heart gave a great leap.
The Crow!
She’d left the Crow trapped in the coal scuttle!
‘Oh my goodness!’ She dropped a sack on the kitchen table and hurtled out, spinning Lily in the doorway. She ran through the house. Somewhere the carousel was playing its mocking music and that scared her even more, so that she burst through the library door and ran to the coal scuttle. ‘I’m so sorry I forgot about you! It was just that…’
She was talking to a pile of coal.
The Crow was gone.
Seren stared in bewilderment. How had he got out? Was it magic? Had They captured him?
The creaky notes of the music teased her from upstairs. She ran out, checking the silver box was still in her pocket, up the great curve of the stairs under the portraits of forgotten Joneses who all seemed to have anxious faces and to murmur, ‘Hurry! Hurry!’
The door was open. She skidded to a halt just inside and gasped in dismay.
Everything in the room had been flung upside down!
The window was wide open and her clothes were trampled on the floor.
Her treasure box was tipped out.
Every drawer and cupboard hung open.
And on her bed was a great mass of wet, clotted leaves.
9
The pearl-and-silver comb
See the dancers waltz and shiver
In a hundred crystal mirrors.
Seren put both hands to her face.
For a second she was shocked. Then she was furious.
‘Crow! Where are you?’ she hissed. ‘Are you in here?’
No answer.
She stormed in and began picking up her clothes, packing away her treasures. She found the bracelet Tomos had made in a dusty corner under her bed, and quickly slipped it on, because They weren’t having that! Then she gathered all the leaves in horrible soggy armfuls and dumped them through the window, watching them splat down on to the gravel.
Denzil would be so cross.
When she was finished the front of her dress had a soaked patch and she was hungrier than ever, and she still hadn’t found the Crow.