The Wizard of London (7 page)

So
Grey came along when Karamjit brought them to the door of Mem’sab’s
parlor, cautioning them to wait quietly until Mem’sab called them.

“What
do you suppose can be going on?” Sarah asked curiously, while Grey turned
her head to look at Nan with her penetrating pale-yellow eyes.

Nan
shushed her, pressing her ear to the keyhole to see what she could hear.
“There’s another lady in there with Mem’sab, and she sounds
sad,” Nan said at last. Grey cocked her head to one side, then turned his
head upside down as she sometimes did when something puzzled her.
“Hurt,” she said quietly, and made a little sound like someone
crying.

Nan
had long since gotten used to the fact that Grey noticed everything that went
on around her and occasionally commented on it like a human person. If the
wolves in the
Jungle Book
could think and talk, she reasoned, why not
a parrot? She accepted Grey’s abilities as casually as Sarah, who had
raised the bird herself and had no doubt of the intelligence of her feathered
friend.

Had
either of them acquired the “wisdom” of their elders, they might
have been surprised that Mem’sab accepted those abilities, too.

Nan
jumped back as footsteps warned her that the visitor had risen and was coming
toward the door; she and Sarah pressed themselves back against the wall as the
strange woman passed them, her face hidden behind a veil. She took no notice of
the children, but turned back to Mem’sab.

“Katherine,
I believe going to this woman is a grave mistake on your part,”
Mem’sab told her quietly. “You and I have been friends since we
were in school together; you know that I would never advise you against
anything you felt so strongly about unless I thought you might be harmed by it.
This woman does you no good.”

The
woman shook her head. “How could I be harmed by it?” she replied,
her voice trembling. “What possible ill could come of this?”

“A
very great deal, I fear,” Mem’sab said, her expression some combination
of concern and other emotions that Nan couldn’t read.

Impulsively,
the woman reached out for Mem’sab’s hand. “Then come with
me!” she cried. “If this woman cannot convince you that she is
genuine, and that she provides me with what I need more than breath itself,
then I will not see her again.”

Mem’sab’s
eyes looked keenly into her friend’s, easily defeating the concealment of
the veil about her features. “You are willing to risk her unmasking as a
fraud, and the pain for you that will follow?”

“I
am certain enough of her that I know that you will be convinced, even against
your will,” the woman replied with certainty.

Mem’sab
nodded. “Very well, then. You and I—and these two girls—will
see her together.”

Only
now did the woman notice Sarah and Nan, and her brief glance dismissed them as
unimportant. “I see no reason why you wish to have children along, but if
you can guarantee they will behave, and that is what it takes you to be
convinced to see Madame Varonsky, then so be it. I will have an invitation sent
to you for the next séance.”

Mem’sab
smiled, and patted her friend’s hand. “Sometimes children see
things more clearly than we adults do,” was all she replied. “I
will be waiting for that invitation.”

The
woman squeezed Mem’sab’s hand, then turned and left, ushered out by
one of the native servants. Mem’sab gestured to the two girls to precede
her into the parlor, and shut the door behind them.

“What
did you think of the lady, Nan?” asked their teacher, as the two children
took their places side by side, on the loveseat they generally shared when they
were in the parlor together.

Nan
assessed the woman as would any street child; economics came first.
“She’s in mournin’ an’ she’s gentry,” Nan
replied automatically. “Silk gowns fer mournin’ is somethin’
only gentry kin afford. I ‘spect she’s easy’t’ gammon,
too; paid no attention’t‘us, an’ I was near
enough’t‘ get me hand into ’er purse an’ she would
never be knowin’ till she was home. An’ she didn’ ask fer a
cab’t‘ be brung, so’s I reckon she keeps ’er carriage.
That’s not jest gentry, tha’s quality.”

“Right
on all counts, my dear,” Mem’sab said, a bit grimly.
“Katherine has no more sense than one of the babies, and never had. Her
parents didn’t spoil her, but they never saw any reason to educate her in
practical matters. They counted on her finding a husband who would do all her
thinking for her, and as a consequence, she is pliant to any hand that offers
mastery. She married into money; her husband has a very high position in the
Colonial Government. Nothing but the best school would do for her boy, and a
spoiled little lad he was, too.”

Grey
suddenly began coughing, most realistically, a series of terrible, racking
coughs, and Sarah turned her head to look into her eyes. Then she turned back
to Mem’sab. “He’s dead, isn’t he?” the child
said, quite matter-of-factly. “Her little boy, I mean. Grey knows. He got
sick and died. That’s who she’s in mourning for.”

“Quite
right, and as Grey showed us, he caught pneumonia.” Mem’sab looked
grim. “Poor food, icy rooms, and barbaric treatment—” She
threw up her hands, and shook her head. “There’s no reason to go
on; at least Katherine has decided to trust her two youngest to us instead of
the school her husband wanted. She’ll bring them to Nadra tomorrow, Nan,
and they’ll probably be terrified, so I’m counting on you to help
Nadra soothe them.”

Nan
could well imagine that they would be terrified; not only were they being left
with strangers, but they would know, at least dimly, that their brother had
gone away to school and died. They would be certain that the same was about to
happen to them.

“That,
however, is not why I sent for you,” Mem’sab continued.
“Katherine is seeing a medium; do either of you know what that is?”

Sarah
and Nan shook their heads, but Grey made a rude noise. Sarah looked shocked,
but Nan giggled and Mem’sab laughed.

“I
am afraid that Grey is correct in her opinions, for the most part,” the
woman told them. “A medium is a person who claims to speak with the dead,
and help the souls of the dead speak to the living.” Her mouth
compressed, and Nan sensed her carefully controlled anger. “All this is
accomplished for a very fine fee, I might add. Real mediums are very rare, and
I know all of the ones in England by name.”

“Ho!
Like them gypsy palm readers, an’ the conjure men!” Nan exclaimed
in recognition. “Aye, there’s a mort’a gammon there, and
that’s sure. You reckon this lady’s been gammoned, then?”

“Yes,
I do, and I would like you two—three—” she amended, with a
penetrating look at Grey, “—to help me prove it. Nan, if there is
trickery afoot, do you think you could catch it?”

Nan
had no doubt. “I bet I could,” she said. “Can’t be
harder’n keepin’ a hand out uv yer pocket—or grabbin’
the wrist once it’s in.”

“Good
girl—you must remember to speak properly, and only when you’re
spoken to, though,” Mem’sab warned her. “If this so-called
medium thinks you are anything but a gently-reared child, she might find an
excuse to dismiss the séance.” She turned to Sarah. “Now, if
by some incredible chance this woman is genuine, could you and Grey
tell?”

Sarah’s
head bobbed so hard her curls tumbled into her eyes. “Yes,
Mem’sab,” she said, with as much confidence as Nan.
“M’luko, the apprentice to the medicine man that gave me Grey, said
that Grey could tell when the spirits were there, and someday I might,
too.”

“Did
he, now?” Mem’sab gave her a curious look. “How interesting!
Well, if Grey can tell us if there are spirits or not, that will be quite
useful enough for our purposes. Are either of you afraid to go with me? I
expect the invitation will come quite soon.” Again, Mem’sab had
that grim look. “Katherine is too choice a fish to be allowed to swim
free for long; Madame will want to keep her under her control by
‘consulting’ with her as often as possible. And if she can, she
will get Katherine to remain in England and become dependent on her.”

Sarah
looked to Nan for guidance, and Nan thought that her friend might be a little
fearful, despite her brave words. But Nan herself only laughed. “I
ain’t afraid of nobody’s sham ghost,” she said, curling her
lip scornfully. “An’ I ain’t sure I’d be afraid uv a
real one.”

“Wisely
said, Nan; spirits can only harm us as much as we permit them to.” Nan
thought that Mem’sab looked relieved, like maybe she hadn’t wanted
to count on their help until she actually got it. “Thank you, both of
you.” She reached out and took their hands, giving them a squeeze that
said a great deal without words. “Now, both of you get back to whatever
it was that I took you from. I will let you know in plenty of time when our
excursion will be.”

It
was past the babies’ bedtime, so Sarah and Nan went together to beg Maya
for their delayed tea, and carried the tray themselves up to the now-deserted
nursery. They set out the tea things on one of the little tables, feeling a
mutual need to discuss Mem’sab’s strange proposition.

Grey
had her tea, too; a little bowl of curried rice, carrots, and beans. They set
it down on the table and Grey climbed carefully down from Sarah’s
shoulder to the tabletop, where she selected a bean and ate it neatly, holding
in on one claw while she took small bites, watching them both.

“Do
you think there might be real ghosts?” Sarah asked immediately, shivering
a little. “I mean, what if this lady can bring real ghosts up?”

Grey
and Nan made the same rude noise at the same time; it was easy to tell where
Grey had learned it. “Gam!” Nan said scornfully. “Reckon that
Mem’sab only asked if you could tell as an outside bet. But the
livin’ people might be the ones as is dangerous.” She ate a bite of
bread and butter thoughtfully. “I dunno as Mem’sab’s thought
that far, but that Missus Katherine’s a right easy mark, an’ a fat
’un, too. People as is willin’’t‘ gammon the gentry
might not be real happy about bein’ found out.”

Sarah
nodded. “Should we tell Karamjit?” she asked, showing a great deal
more common sense than she would have before Nan came into her life.
“Mem’sab’s thinking hard about her friend, but she might not
think a bit about herself.”

“Aye,
an’ Selim an’ Agansing an’ mebbe Sahib, too.” Nan was a
little dubious about that, having only seen the lordly Sahib from a distance.

“I’ll
ask Selim to tell Sahib, if you’ll talk to Karamjit and Agansing,”
Sarah said, knowing the surest route to the master from her knowledge of the
school and its inhabitants. “But tell me what to look for! Three sets of
eyes are better than two.”

“First
thing, whatever they want you’t‘ look at is gonna be what makes a
fuss—noises or voices or whatever,” Nan said after a moment of
thought. “I dunno how this medium stuff is gonna work, but that’s
what happens when a purse gets nicked. You gotta get the mark’s
attention, so he won’t be thinkin’ of his pocket. So whatever they
want us to look at, we look away from. That’s the main thing. Mebbe
Mem’sab can tell us what these things is’s’pposed to be
like—if I know what’s’t‘ happen, I kin guess what
tricks they’re like’t’ pull.” She finished her bread
and butter, and began her own curry; she’d quickly acquired a taste for
the spicy Indian dishes that the other children loved. “If there
ain’t ghosts, I bet they got somebody dressed up’t‘ look like
one.” She grinned slyly at Grey. “An’ I betcha a good pinch
or a bite would make ‘im yell proper!”

“And
you couldn’t hurt a real ghost with a pinch.” Sarah nodded. “I
suppose we’re just going to have to watch and wait, and see what we can
do.”

Nan,
as always, ate as a street child would, although her manners had improved
considerably since coming to the School; she inhaled her food rapidly, so that
no one would have a chance to take it from her. She was already finished,
although Sarah hadn’t eaten more than half of her tea. She put her plates
aside on the tray, and propped her head up on her hands with her elbows on the
table. “We got to talk to Karamjit, Agansing, an’ Selim,
that’s the main thing,” she said, thinking out loud. “They
might know what we should do.”

“Selim
will come home with Sahib,” Sarah answered, “But Karamjit is
probably leaving the basket at the back gate right now, and if you run, you can
catch him alone, and he can tell Agansing.”

Taking
that as her hint, for Sarah had a way of knowing where most people were at any
given time, Nan jumped to her feet and ran out of the nursery and down the back
stairs, flying through the kitchen, much to the amusement of the cook, Vashti.
She burst through the kitchen door, and ran down the path to the back gate, so
quickly she hardly felt the cold at all, though she had run outside without a
coat. Mustafa swept the garden paths free of snow every day, but so soon after
Boxing Day there were mounds of the stuff on either side of the path, snow with
a faint tinge of gray from the soot that plagued London in almost every
weather. Somehow, though, the sooty air never got inside the school. The air
indoors, in all the buildings, was as clear as a spring day with a sea wind in
the streets.

Nan
saw the Sikh, Karamjit, soon enough to avoid bouncing off his legs. The tall,
dark, immensely dignified man was bundled up to the eyes in a heavy quilted
coat and two mufflers, his head wrapped in a dark brown turban. Nan no longer
feared him, though she respected him as only a street child who has seen a
superior fighter in action could.

“Karamjit!”
she called, as she slowed her headlong pace. “I need’t‘ talk
wi’ ye!”

There
was an amused glint in the Sikh’s dark eyes, though only much association
with him allowed Nan to see it. “And what does Missy Nan wish to speak of
that she comes racing out into the cold like the wind from the
mountains?”