The Charmed Children of Rookskill Castle (6 page)

Her lack of sleep the night before—sitting upright in a rocking train was no way to get a good sleep—caught up with Kat now that she had a full belly. Marie stormed into the kitchen and
led them back to their rooms, scolding them the entire way for leaving the dining hall and “wandering.” She reminded them not to be late for supper, which began at the hour of five, and to change into their uniforms, since she couldn't be always chasing after them what with her many duties, and she left, still scolding, her voice echoing down the hallway.

When Amelie stretched across the large four-poster, Kat only lay down to keep her company, but once her head settled into the pillow, she fell into a deep slumber.

Spikes

K
AT IS BACK
in the well. She's found a soft cushion of dried leaves, but it's not a comfort. Wind moans over the top of the well, and a rook screeches,
Off, off,
and something scrapes toward her. That hand, that curving claw hand, scrapes across the floor.

And then, more horrible, a disembodied face lifts out of the shadows above the hand, a face she knows, a sharp pale face framed by silvery hair, a ghostly face. Lips curve in a smile, and the teeth look like the spikes on a saw blade.

The teeth grind metal on metal as the face and the claw hand make straight for her.

The Second Charm: The Hunchback

I
T IS 1747.

The villagers shun him, the hunchback boy. Abandoned in the dark of night at the chapel door for his deformity, he does not know his parents. He will not be missed. Leonore will save him from a life of lonely submission, from a barren childhood of painful memories. She will do this—charm the child—as much for him as she will for herself.

For the hunchback boy the magister asks only for an ear, a small sacrifice. Something she can hide beneath her hair.

“And this ear I've made for you, no one seeing you in daylight will know it's not your own.”

No, not in daylight. And only her vacant-eyed husband sees and hears Leonore by the light of the full moon.

The boy serves the chapel at which he'd been deposited, since the priest is too old to carry the heavy cross and too arthritic to polish the silver. For his labors the boy is given refuge: he sleeps in the transept, eats in the rectory, and rarely strays far from the chapel.

The chapel is sanctuary, the magister tells her. You cannot charm him in the chapel. You will have to catch him outside.

Gathering wood, she reasons. He has to be out gathering wood for the fireplace that warms the rectory. She sends her man to offer her forest to the boy. She finds him alone in her woods, the rooks hovering overhead, their guardian wings folded tight, and she offers him the charm. She holds it before his eyes, and he marvels at the silver thing she's taken from her chatelaine. It looks so much like him.

It floats in the air, reflecting the light. “Here's a pretty silver chain for you to wear it on. Won't you put it round your neck?”

The boy looks up. The beautiful lady standing before him is so sweet. Perhaps she's a saint, come down from heaven to save the poor boy who sweeps out the nave and passes out the offering box.

But then he trembles. If she's a saint, she'll know: he is imperfect. He backs away from her. “Can't,” he says in a broken voice.

“Can't?” For an instant, she does not look sweet. But then she is again. “Of course you can. It's a gift.”

Should he tell her? It had only been once, one time, when the fair had come through town. And oh, he'd wanted to see it, see the jugglers. And it was only a few coins from the offering box. The terrible punishment he'd suffered at the fair—being taken for one of the freaks—had been enough of a lesson. Hadn't it?

The beautiful lady takes his hand and folds his fingers around the chain. A braided circle of white hair crowns her black locks like a halo.

The silver charm dangles from the chain in his hand. The more he looks at it, the more he thinks it looks like him. As if it has been made for him. In the shape of this charm, his deformity is beautiful.

Yes, take it. He'd paid for his sin at the fair, as he'd been tossed about for a freak, laughed at and muddied and bruised. This charm is but a small gift, a balm for all the hurts laid on his crooked back. A saint would want that. And if she is a saint, maybe this bright charm will even cure his ills . . .

Tim smiles up at her, and when she smiles back, he fancies that she is made of shining silver.

Chatelaine

T
HEY WOKE TO
a furious pounding on the door.

“Up! Up!” Marie ran into the room. “The Lady will not tolerate a late supper! Up at once! I can't be responsible for you at every turn. Oh, you should be in your uniforms. Now there's no time. Just come down at once.” She
tsk
ed as she ran out again.

The back of Kat's neck was slick with sweat as she tried to shake off the nightmare. Amelie rubbed her eyes fiercely, a rumpled mess in her twisted wool jumper.

“Come on, then,” Kat said. Her hands trembled.

“I don't need to eat,” Ame said, grumpy. “Want to stay here.”

“We've got no choice.”

Kat tried combing out their hair—Amelie had terrible
knots and cried out more than once, and Kat finally gave up, saying, “That will have to do.”

They rushed down the great stairs into the central hallway and turned left, and—“No! It's right. Sorry, Ame”—Marie calling them along, so Kat followed the sound of her voice until they finally reached the dining hall.

Now fires roared in both fireplaces. Light streamed in from the high windows; the sun had come out from behind the clouds while they napped. The table was spread again for a feast. Everyone stood at their places at the table, including Peter and Rob and three other children, two boys and a girl. It was clear that they'd all been waiting for Kat and Amelie, and they glared at them as they stumbled in. Rob and Peter wore their uniforms, and Kat tried brushing her messy hair back from her face, feeling the blush of embarrassment.

At the head of the high table, raised above the table where the children waited, stood the Lady Eleanor, and standing next to her was a man. Kat thought he had to be Lord Craig, though he didn't look ill in the least.

Kat dragged Amelie as fast as they could move until they stood before the Lady, and then Kat dropped into a curtsey; Amelie copied her, mumbling annoyance. “Sorry, my Lady,” Kat panted.

The Lady Eleanor lifted her chin. Her white-blonde hair was swept into a side chignon, and she was dressed to the
nines. She wore the kind of gown that wouldn't keep anyone warm unless they lived in the equatorial regions, where bare arms covered only by black above-elbow gloves would be a relief. Her dress was shimmery, full-length, body-hugging, although she wore an elaborate belt from which hung a Scottish sporran made of leather and a scarf in the Craig tartan. All the male eyes in the room were on the Lady. Kat would've liked to kick Peter in the shins. Robbie was almost drooling.

“You will dress in uniforms for every occasion,” the Lady said, her voice cold even as she gave them a thin smile. “We eat before sunset here. You will not be late again.”

“No, ma'am.” She curtseyed again, this time to the man. “Good evening, my Lord.”

At that, the man burst into mocking laughter.

Kat stiffened, first at the sound of that laugh, and then at the looks she—and the man—received from the Lady.

“‘My Lord'!” the man said, sputtering with laughter. “She called me ‘my Lord'!”

“Yes, well, she is an ignorant girl,” the Lady said, loud enough for Kat to hear.

Kat's hand tightened on Amelie's.

“You can call me Sir,” the man said with a narrow-eyed grin, “but I'm no proper lord.”

The Lady turned cold eyes on Kat. “This is not my lord husband,” she said. Her teeth gleamed in a smile that didn't
reach her eyes. “This is Mr. Storm, one of your instructors. Now that you've all arrived, and the other teachers arrive tomorrow, lessons shall begin.”

“About bloody time for something interesting to begin,” murmured the boy standing a few feet behind Kat. “Been a bloody bore here so far. That bugger had us locked in study hall all day, he did, while he was off someplace.”

That “bugger” Mr. Storm held the Lady's chair for her and swept his hand for her to sit, and the Lady gave him a look that would freeze a polar bear, though he either didn't see or didn't care. When he pulled his chair out to sit, Kat heard the scraping of the chairs behind her and she tugged Amelie to the two empty places at the table, while stealing another look at Mr. Storm.

Instructors come in all shapes and sizes, but Mr. Storm didn't fit Kat's idea of an instructor. To be honest, he hadn't fit her idea of a lord, either. He was built square, and wore an ill-fitting tweedy jacket that seemed too small for him, and he had a flat haircut that left his blond sprigs shooting skyward. He still shook with laughter like a heaving barrel, and Kat thought that, really, her comment wasn't all that funny. It was as if he was privy to some secret joke.

The Lady, bristling, motioned for them to eat.

Although it had been but a few hours since lunch, a feast was laid before them yet again. Mutton, potatoes, beets. Kat
rubbed her forehead, still groggy from her nap and unnerved by her nightmare, trying to balance the coldness of the Lady with the comforts of the food and the castle.

The others at the table made introductions. The rude boy was Jorry Phillips, who was from Belgravia, the swankiest of London's neighborhoods. Jorry was as thin as a rail, with a long nose and a sour expression and a red smear of birthmark that emerged from the collar of his shirt.

“Don't much care for all this meat,” Jorry said. “Mother's raised me as a vegetarian, and to be fit and healthy. But without a balanced meal I have to eat this. It's probably going to make me sick. Plus we're not allowed to be outside without permission, so there's nothing to do here but sit about, no calisthenics or other vigorous exercise. I've been doing push-ups in my room, but it's hardly enough, you know. We'll all be fat as hogs soon, eating like this. That Mr. Storm isn't much of an instructor, if you ask me. Claims his field is history.”

Kat was glad to be a couple of places removed from Jorry.

She was seated on one side next to the younger of the two boys, Colin Drake. Colin was sweet and eager, chattering away about anything that crossed his mind. Kat thought he and Robbie, close in age, would make a fine pair of bookends, and indeed, they seemed to be striking up a friendship, talking about the armor and fencing and castle living.

She turned to the girl on her other side. “Isabelle LaRoche,”
the girl said, with the faintest accent. “You've come up from London, yes? My mother's English and Papa's French, and we were in Paris until last spring. Papa got us all out ahead of it.” Kat knew Isabelle meant the German incursion into France. “
Heureusement,
I was able to bring my clothes from Paris. This uniform is so dull.” Isabelle smoothed the collar of her white shirt—it looked as if she'd starched it—and raised one eyebrow as she surveyed Kat's outfit.

Kat plucked at her wrinkled jersey.

Amelie, on Isabelle's other side, said, “I think the uniform looks well on you.”

Isabelle preened a bit. “
Merci.
You may be about my size, since I am small for my age. When we're not in uniform we can play dress-up. We'll try things from my closet. Yes?”

Kat brushed at her jersey again and picked at her food.

Isabelle leaned over to Kat, whispering. “The Lady, she is glamorous and has beautiful clothes.”

Beautiful, but odd. Kat glanced at the Lady, whose chignon swept artfully over one ear. “She does.”

“But I must tell you, something's peculiar in this academy.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I saw something, when we first arrived. It was very strange.” Isabelle dropped her voice further.

“What was it?”

“A boy. I watch from the window when no one is around.”
Isabelle shrugged. “He is good-looking, you know? Anyway, he is feeding
les
chats
. But I watch the boy, and I realize that his eyes, they do not really see. He is like a ghost. And as I watch, well, I glance away for just a moment and then . . . poof!” Isabelle snapped her fingers.

“Poof?” Kat echoed. A chill crept over her despite the fires raging in the fireplaces. “You mean he disappeared?”

“
Mais oui.
I only look away for an instant, and I could not see him after.”

Like the girl
by the pond.
“His eyes—was he blind?”

But Isabelle shook her head. “
Non, non,
nothing like that. Something else.” She leaned closer to Kat and dropped her voice. “He is standing, frozen, before he vanishes. His eyes are all wide and . . . nothing.” Isabelle pointed to her own blue eyes, now round and staring. “Like this.” She waved her fingers. “Marie says he is ill, but that is not how it looked to me. Unless he is ill in the head.”

“Marie knew about him?”

“Of course,” Isabelle said, pouting a little. “When I see him wandering about, looking
enchanté
 . . . how do you say? Enchanted. I watch for him. And I see him again, once more. He feeds his cats, but he is again looking
enchanté
.”

Kat shifted. “Did Marie say anything more? Does he live in the castle?”

Isabelle shrugged and ate a delicate bite of food.
“Somewhere with his cats. I haven't seen him since the second time.” Then she leaned toward Kat, one long curl of her hair sweeping forward over her shoulder. “He wears a long necklace. I see it as he bends to his cats. I have very good eyes.”

“A necklace.”

“Yes, an odd thing. A necklace with a charm at the end. The charm is shaped like a cat.” Isabelle hesitated. “It reminds me, a little, of the charms on the Lady's belt.”

Kat sat straighter. “The ones she wears on her chatelaine?”

“Ah, you know some French? You know of
la châtelaine
?” Isabelle seemed excited. “
Oui, les charmes sur
sa châtelaine.
The Lady hides this chatelaine she wears. Once when she does not realize I can see it, I catch a glimpse of one charm.” Isabelle leaned even closer so that only Kat could hear. The boys were devouring their dinner, all four now chattering loudly about football. “That charm was”—Isabelle dropped her voice to the lowest of whispers—“the sign of evil.”

The room darkened with sunset just as Isabelle said the word
evil
. The only light in the hall came from the fireplaces, a dull red glow. A chill like tiny feet crawled up Kat's spine now, bringing up goose bumps all over.

“Sign of evil?” she whispered back.

“Like this.” Under the table Isabelle made the familiar hand sign for the warding off of evil things, the horns—
les cornes
—of the devil.

Kat shuddered. “Are you sure?”

Isabelle nodded, solemn.
“Mais oui.”
She picked at her food. “I am thinking the Lady wears this charm to ward off bad things. But the handsome boy, he found bad things even so, of that I'm sure.”

Isabelle's eyes dropped away. Her dark hair formed perfect ringlets. She didn't seem the practical sort; no one would call her stodgy. Maybe she even liked to tell scary stories. Maybe she shared Amelie's imaginative streak.

So the boy with the cats wore a necklace charm in the shape of a cat and seemed enchanted. Two other ghostly children wandered about the castle as if lost. And the Lady wore on her chatelaine the sign to ward off evil. Why would the Lady wear such a thing?

Unless there
was
something evil in this castle, and she wore it for her own protection. Perhaps the ghost of the Lady Leonore did wander the castle, with an evil purpose.

Kat shook herself. What was wrong with her? There must be a logical explanation for everything. Of course. It was just a matter of picking things apart, like opening the back of a clock and taking out the mechanism bit by bit to discover how all the pieces fit together.

“My Lady?” Kat said, standing up and lifting her voice to be heard above the chatter.

Everyone froze. The Lady, sitting straight up in her chair at
the head table, appeared to have eaten nothing, her hands flat on the table before her. She stared down at Kat, one eyebrow lifted. “Yes?”

“Where are the others?” The blood rushed into Kat's cheeks, and she thrust her trembling hands behind her back.

“The other . . . ?”

“The other children. We saw them, earlier today. A girl wearing a gauzy frock out in the cold garden, and a crippled boy. And . . .” Isabelle nudged Kat hard in the thigh, so she stopped herself from saying something about the cat-boy. “Why aren't they at supper?”

The fire popped and snapped in the silence. Mr. Storm stopped chewing and stared. “Other children?” he mumbled.

The Lady braced her hands on the table and then stood. “I'm afraid I must leave you. It's time for me to tend to my husband. Please, finish your supper under the watchful eye of Mr. Storm.” She gave Mr. Storm a swift glance, then glared at Kat. “In the future, you will refrain from addressing the upper table.”