Rose (10 page)

“Everyone in the kitchen says he's going to marry her. Susan said she was the most beautiful lady she'd ever seen. Why do you think she's hateful?” Rose asked, leaning on her broom and looking at him interestedly.

Freddie frowned. Eventually he admitted, “I don't know. There's just something about her that's wrong. He sent me to fetch some books and things to show her, and she was too grateful. Sort of sweet and honey-ish, but as though the honey's hiding something. Like castor oil. I don't like to look at her,” he added, ducking his head in embarrassment.

“You've got to admit she's beautiful, though,” Gustavus put in.

Rose jumped. He'd been sitting on the windowsill—watching the pigeons, she realized now—and she hadn't seen him.

Freddie shuddered. “I bet it's a glamour, or most of it is. It must be a very good one though; she never lets it slip, and there's no smell.”

Rose blinked. She had no idea what a glamour was, and she hadn't intended to ask because she didn't want Freddie to sneer at her again. But a spell with a smell was just too intriguing. She shrugged. “Go on then. I bet you already know I don't have a clue about any of that. What's a glamour, and why do they smell?”

Freddie had the grace to look apologetic. “Sorry. After seeing you fight that thing off on Monday, I just forget you don't know all the stuff I do.”

Rose stared at him. He almost sounded as though he were treating her as an equal for a moment—this boy in the velveteen suit, with the exquisitely pressed frilled shirt. For the first time she wondered if this strange gift could really be ignored. Didn't she owe it to someone—she wasn't quite sure who—to do something about it? The orphanage had always been so strict about waste. Miss Lockwood had spread her tea leaves out on a tray every night, so as to dry them out and use them again. Would she approve of Rose letting this opportunity slip by? Rose shook her head slightly and realized that Freddie had started explaining the glamour thing.

“So other people look at you and see what you want them to see, not what's really there. Of course, it's very difficult because it has to be kept going all the time. And the thing with glamours is that, because they're all to do with twisting people's senses, sometimes you get side effects. People hear a tinkling noise or there's a funny smell. All the senses, you see?”

Rose nodded. “Can you do them?” she asked, looking at Freddie's perfectly smooth blond hair and dark eyes with their strange glints of gold. He didn't look all that natural, now she thought about it.

“Of course not!” Freddie laughed. “I'd have to study for years.”

“I can, though.” Gustavus jumped lightly from the windowsill and flowed mid-jump into a slim cream-colored cat with a black tail and paws. Only the particolored eyes were the same. “You see? Now I'm a Siamese. And the beauty of it is,
which
was
I
in
the
first
place
? You don't know if I really ought to look like this all the time. That's why glamours are so clever.”

Rose shook her head firmly. “No. That's not the real one. I've seen the amount you eat.”

Gustavus changed back, looking disgruntled. “I do
not
eat that much,” he muttered, his ears laid back.

“What you eat would feed at least three orphans,” Rose told him. She smiled. “I'll tell them about you—oh, not that you can talk, don't worry. It's Wednesday, my first afternoon off. I want to go back and visit.”
And
show
off
, she admitted to herself.

“What time are you going?” Freddie asked anxiously. “Miss Sparrow's visiting again this afternoon, I thought you might like to see her. See what a lady magician's like—not that you want to be like her.”

“I'm not going till later, but I'm still never going to be a lady magician,” said Rose, though her voice was less decided now.

Freddie shrugged. “Maybe. You should try and catch a glimpse of her though. See if you think there's something odd about her. She reminds me of a spider.” Rose nodded. She didn't like spiders either; the scuttling way they moved made her heart thump most unpleasantly. But she was very good at chasing them away with a broom.

Rose wasn't supposed to be seen by guests—she was a below-stairs servant, and only allowed to wait on the children. Susan did the answering of doors and serving of meals. But Freddie slipped into the kitchen just after lunch, looking apologetic, with a story about a broken jar that needed sweeping up. After the episode with the Ming vase, Miss Bridges was so eager to get rid of that boy that she positively pushed Rose and a dustpan out of the kitchen after him.

“Were you making her do that?” Rose asked. She was starting to see Freddie's magic as more and more useful—if only as a substitute for low cunning.

“No, she just really doesn't like me.” He didn't seem worried. “Come on, we can lurk on the stairs, and I've even got a jar to break, look!”

“Do we have to?” Rose protested. “I'll be the one sweeping it up, won't I?”

“We have to have something, in case they see us,” Freddie said patiently. “Oh, all right, we'll break it in the dustpan, then you can pretend to have just finished.”

He produced a delicate little silver hammer and had just smashed the jar into pieces in the dustpan when the doorbell rang. He nearly spilled them all anyway, peering over the banisters.

“It's her,” he hissed, as they watched Susan trotting to the door and straightening her cap as she went. “I can see her hat through the glass, those enormous ostrich feathers.”

In the event, all Rose saw of Miss Alethea Sparrow was three tall, nodding ostrich plumes, and a smart purple coat drawn in tight to the waist. There was only a glimpse of a pale, pointed face and dark ringlets. But Rose didn't need to see more to agree with Freddie's description. She
was
like a spider. Rose wanted to draw her skirts in and hide behind a broom—preferably with someone else holding it. Poor Mr. Fountain, as he came exclaiming and fussing out of the drawing room toward her, was nothing more than a besotted fly.

It was very odd to walk through the streets alone, and to know that she looked like a well-dressed servant girl and not an object of pity. Rose was a well-dressed servant girl. She had newish boots now and a bonnet that fit.

Bill had drawn her a map of the way back to the orphanage, which she was clutching tightly in her gloved hand (her, Rose, wearing gloves!). She walked along the pavement beside the garden in the square. She hadn't had time to stop and look when she'd been running after Miss Bridges, and Bill had hustled her along too quickly to look at it properly when they'd gone shopping. The garden was empty of children today, but an elderly lady sat on a bench, watching a fussy little black dog chase and snap at butterflies. The statues were all of elderly gentlemen, now she had time to look at them, and one had a large, stone bird perched on his shoulder. Rose wondered if he was a magician too—the bird didn't look like an ordinary pet. It had a cruel, curved beak, and even though its eyes were stone, it seemed to be looking at her. Rose shuddered and walked on quickly. When she glanced back, she was sure it had turned its head to follow her. It made her wonder—once she was safely far enough away not to think the bird was chasing her—how many magicians there were around. And why had she not seen that the statues moved when she'd come out before? It hadn't when she was on the way to the fishmonger's yesterday, had it? Or maybe she'd been too busy to notice. Did it only move sometimes? Or perhaps—perhaps only for some people…Bill was so firmly not of the magical world that she was sure he wouldn't see moving statues, like he couldn't feel the stairs move under him. When Rose had been with him, had she seen only what he saw because she hadn't expected anything else? Now that she was out on her own, with time to look, what other magics might she see? An excited pulse began to beat inside her.

Bill had told her that magic was rare and expensive, and only rich people could pay for it, but there would be the odd bit about, right? Shut away in St. Bridget's, the girls had had no idea about magic and its owners. It was as far away as a fairy tale, and as romantic. But in this real world, perhaps it was more part of things than Rose had realized. Although if the Fountain house servants were anything to go by, everyday people found it frightening, and almost disgusting to see too much of it. Maybe they only wanted to see the pretty side, the grand, exciting bits like the stained-glass windows in the church. They were dramatic but safe. Mr. Fountain's bubble was too easy. He'd probably just snapped his fingers and sent it floating off downstairs without even having to think.
That
was what had frightened everyone in the kitchen. Magic, just swimming about…

Clearly magic was everywhere at court if Mr. Fountain was there every day, magicking up gold for the king. Perhaps some of these people she was walking past now were magicians or magicians' children? She was passing the railings of another park now, full of children, all closely watched by doting parents or servants. A group of small boys was gathered around a fountain, cheering on a toy yacht remarkably like the one she had invented for Maisie. The fountain looked the same too—a big marble bowl with a spouting fish in the middle. Rose shivered slightly and hurried past, not wanting to look. How on earth had she known?

She was into the shopping streets now. Rose crept along by the windows, trying not to get in anyone's way. The girls at the orphanage had admired Miss Bridges' pretty black hat, but her outfit was positively dowdy compared to some of the women Rose saw now. She was almost swept into a doorway by one young lady, swishing along in the most enormous black-and-white checked skirt. Rose, having just helped to make herself four dresses, was fairly sure that that skirt could have supplied at least six. The woman saw her staring and twitched the skirt away irritably, as though she thought Rose might put dirty little fingerprints on it.

If
I
really
do
have
magic
, Rose thought to herself,
one
day
perhaps
I
could
earn
enough
money
to
buy
a
dress
like
that. Or bigger even. But even then I wouldn't. She just looks stupid
. It made her feel a lot better. She stuck her tongue out at the woman's back, and someone giggled.

It was a little boy, wearing a very stiff collar and a rather hot-looking suit. He was with his sister and a nursemaid, standing by the window of the pastry cook's shop. Rose looked at him warily, wondering if he would get her into trouble somehow, but he turned away to tug at his nurse's hand. “Can we go to the park now?”

“In a minute, Edward. No cake today, Miss Louisa!” The nurse sounded harassed.

“Come on, Lulu,” the boy moaned. “The park!”

“I want a cake! Mama always lets us have cake! I want a cake now!” The girl, who was at least as old as Rose, she was sure, screamed and stamped, her face turning scarlet under an ostrich-feathered hat, rather like Miss Sparrow's. “I want that one!”

Rose couldn't help looking, to see what she was making such a fuss about. She was even worse than Isabella, this girl. Even the littlest ones at the orphanage wouldn't have dared behave like this.

But she could almost understand it when she turned to see. The shop window was full of cakes so beautiful that they didn't look real. Cake at the orphanage only happened on incredibly special occasions, and even then it was fruitcake, heavy and dark and long lasting. The girls had thought it was wonderful, but it was nothing like this. The centerpiece of the window was an enormous three-tiered cake, all crusted in sparkling white icing. Rose guessed it was a wedding cake, although she'd never seen one. The matrons at the orphanage had been much given to reading the newspaper reports of grand society weddings, and they had always had cakes. This one was decorated with sugar flowers, whole pink roses with their petals fashioned from icing, and real primroses covered in sugar. Rose stared at it—it was so pretty and so natural. The flowers looked as though they had grown there, the petals waving gently in the breeze. But there wouldn't be a wind in the shop, would there? Rose frowned at the cake. She knew magic was too expensive for everyday things, but perhaps for a very grand wedding?

The other cakes weren't magical, as far as she could see, but most of them were oozing with cream or decorated with curls of chocolate. A row of sugar mice near the front of the window sparkled pink, with curly string tails. Rose's mouth watered. She could see why Louisa was making such a fuss, almost. It was somehow more surprising that the little boy didn't seem to care.

Louisa was now hammering on the window with her fists and screaming, while the nurse tried to tug her away, and her brother slunk closer to Rose. Rose had a feeling he was trying to look as though he belonged with her instead. He stared through the glass at the gingerbread men, as though their chocolate-drop buttons were the most interesting thing he'd ever seen. Rose giggled, imagining them slowly levering themselves off their tray, and prowling amongst the other cakes. They were probably just the right size to ride the sugar mice.

“Did you know,” the little boy asked her, in a tight sort of voice, as he pretended to ignore his sister, “that Princess Jane and Princess Charlotte have gingerbread men that move for tea?”

“Really?” Rose looked at him in surprise. Had he read her thoughts? Or was it just that it was impossible to look at the rich gingeriness of those gingerbread men, with their glossy icing swirls, and not imagine them running away?

“My nurse says so. And a magic doll's house, full of fairies. But I think she made that bit up.” He flinched as Louisa screamed like a banshee. “Oh, I do wish she'd stop,” he muttered.

The pastry cook's window was made of thick, beautifully polished glass, full of darting reflections of the street and the shop staff as they trotted about inside. Rose stared at it thoughtfully. Perhaps she could…It would only be like the pictures, and it would serve Louisa right. It would be such fun. Rose knew inside that she shouldn't, but her fingertips were prickling excitedly, and she just couldn't resist.

“Oink, oink,” she whispered under her breath. Would this still work? Louisa's screaming reflection altered slightly as Rose stared, the red face squashing just a little more, the nose growing…

“Louisa! You're a pig, look!” Edward pointed delightedly and started to crow with laughter.

Louisa clapped her hands across her face, whimpering. She looked like she was about to be sick, but at least she'd stopped screaming. The nurse hustled her off at once, and Edward ran after them, waving at Rose and beaming. It looked like she'd made his day.

Rose grinned to herself and set off in the same direction. She had better hurry on to St. Bridget's now, or she wouldn't have time to see Maisie. Miss Lockwood was sure to want to talk to her first, to check that she was doing the orphanage credit.

It was odd to walk up to the outside of the building alone, not in a line of one hundred other girls. Rose hesitated at the door, feeling strangely ashamed of herself as she stood before the place again. She knew they would be delighted to see her—one of the orphanage's success stories—but now she was here, she couldn't hide from herself that she had come to gloat. To see her friends, but also to enjoy telling them about her room and her dresses and perhaps, to Maisie only, the strange new skills she was beginning to learn.

She almost turned away—though what would she say to Bill?—but there was an excited scuffling noise behind the door, and it swung open. Ruth and Florence grabbed her delightedly. They were wearing cleaning overalls, so Rose guessed they had been polishing the stained glass in the door and had spotted her. They were two of the oldest girls, and the older ones always fought for the best jobs.

“You're back!” Ruth squeaked. “Didn't they like you? Was it awful? Did you run away?”

“Don't be silly, she's only visiting,” Florence said contemptuously. “Aren't you?”

Rose nodded.

“Girls! Did I hear the door open? What's going on out here?” Miss Lockwood came sailing out of her office, her keys jangling from her hand as though she thought someone might be trying to escape.

Ruth bobbed a curtsy. “It's Rose, miss!” she said excitedly. “Come back to visit!”

Miss Lockwood smiled. “Ah, Rose!” she said graciously. Then her face changed. “You've not been sent back?” she asked sharply. “Did you not give satisfaction?”

“Oh, no, miss, I mean, yes, miss…” Rose stammered, not helped by Florence imitating her behind Miss Lockwood's back. “I've a note!” she gasped out, pressing it into Miss Lockwood's hand.

The Governess tore it open anxiously, and read it, muttering. “Hard-working…polite…frugal habits…This is most excellent, Rose…”

Florence was now trying to use her duster as a halo and simpering.

Miss Lockwood wheeled around and swatted at Florence with the note. “Windows, Florence! Rose, follow me to my office. We will have a cup of tea!”

Rose trotted after her, waving at Ruth and Florence. Tea! It was unheard of for an orphan to have tea with Miss Lockwood. But then, she wasn't officially an orphan now. It was difficult to remember.

She had hardly ever been in Miss Lockwood's office. Certain favored older girls went in to dust, but otherwise only girls who had relics to view ever saw it. She'd peeped through the door on a few occasions, and Maisie had told her about the glass-topped tray of sad little mementoes. Rose could see it on the table by the window. She reminded herself to watch out for Miss Lockwood's glass eye.

Miss Lockwood busied herself with a kettle and a tiny spirit lamp. She chose cups from a little cabinet in the corner—dithering over which ones to use, Rose noticed. Not the gold-rimmed. Rose merited only the flower pattern. All the time she kept up a delighted monologue, saying how pleased she was that Rose was finding her place comfortable and that the housekeeper had been most complimentary about the orphanage's training. And Rose sat politely on the edge of her chair, hoping for a good moment.

At last, she simply interrupted when Miss Lockwood broke off for a minute to pour the tea. “Might I be allowed to speak to Maisie for a minute, miss?”

“Maisie?” Miss Lockwood's face was blank. “Oh,
Maisi
e
! No, no, I'm sorry, Rose. Maisie has gone.”

Rose simply stared at her. Maisie had gone? Where?

“She—she's not dead, miss?” Rose had known several girls at the orphanage who had died—there had been an epidemic of scarlet fever the previous year, and though St. Bridget's was scrupulously clean, illness spread very quickly with so many children packed together.

“No!” Miss Lockwood shook her head slightly. “Those terrible flies!” she muttered. “Buzzing and buzzing.”

Rose couldn't see any flies, but she nodded politely, desperate for Miss Lockwood to go on.

“No, of course she's not dead—no, Rose, Maisie had the most wonderful news. Her mother came for her.” Miss Lockwood's eyes were bright with tears, and she pulled a small lace handkerchief from the hanging pocket at her waist and blew her nose daintily. “It was most affecting—the joy as they were reunited after all this time. Maisie's mother, Mrs. James, was quite overcome.”

“Her mother?” Rose repeated stupidly. “Really?”

“I know—it happens so rarely. And a most privileged family, Rose! Quite wealthy! Mrs. James came in her own carriage and just swept little Maisie away!”

Miss Lockwood smiled. Obviously the rediscovery of Maisie had satisfied her romantic imagination perfectly. “And Maisie remembered her boat!” she added, dabbing another tear.