Just Like Magic (3 page)

Go back to Merton Manor? But it was being rented. The Camerons’ home was there, but they were staying in town. What about my godmother’s house? She had a home in Little Owlthorpe and had told me after Papa’s funeral that she would love to have me visit if I wanted. But she was a dressmaker, and poor. True, she had been my mother’s best friend when they were young and my mother was just a farmer’s daughter. But—

I didn’t want to be poor! I didn’t want to give up the dream I had of coming out in society, of parties and balls and a handsome prince. Mrs. Wilkins was my godmother, but she couldn’t give me that. In her home I would have to work; perhaps I would be little better than a servant. A servant! That would be no better than here! I picked up a cup from the table and flung it into the fireplace where it smashed loudly.

Besides, how Lucy and Gerta would look disdainful and then laugh behind my back! No, the less I had to do with Mrs. Wilkins, the better.

Then what about a wealthier friend? I could go to Anna and tell her what was happening, how horribly I was being treated—

And the Camerons would probably take me in. But they’d pity me. I would be ‘Poor Ella.’ And how could I possibly expect them to support me? I couldn’t. And who else would? I had no relatives to run to.

I started pacing about, my feelings boiling within me. How could it come to this? How could I, Ella Simone Merton, daughter of the wealthiest man in Little Owlthorpe, be faced with pity, sneers, or servitude? I wasn’t brought up for this! I had to escape somehow. But where could I go? What could I do?

Nothing.

I stared around at the cobwebby walls. It was true, there was nothing I could do, nowhere I could go. Papa was gone—gone!—and no one else could help me. To my horror, I felt tears on my cheeks. I slumped down at the table, put my head on my arms, and sobbed.

I was finally roused by a scratching outside the kitchen door. Lifting my head, I ran a hand across my face unsteadily and held my breath. The noise continued. I rose and peered out a window, but I couldn’t see much through the dirt.

The scratching was punctuated by a tentative bark. I let out my breath and sagged in relief. Just a dog. “Go away!” I called shakily through the door. The scratching continued. I looked about in the dimness and saw a key hanging on a hook on the wall. Snatching it, I grindingly unlocked the door and opened it a crack. “Go away!” I repeated more loudly.

A shaggy brown paw and a black nose inserted themselves through the door. “No, no!” I said, and tried to push them back.

“Ella! What on earth?”

I spun around. Lucy stood on the stairs, her skirts held closely around her. Behind me, the dog pushed open the door and brushed past me, his tail thwacking me in his enthusiasm.

“Get that animal out of here! And where’s my tea?”

I could feel my every pore oozing obstinacy. “I will
not
get this animal out of here! As you said, this is
my
room! And I don’t see how anyone could get tea in this filthy place even if they knew how or had any intention to, which I certainly do not!”

The dog approached Lucy, panting in a friendly manner. She drew back. “We’ll see what Mama has to say about that! Mama!”

The stairs creaked, and Stepmama’s head appeared behind Lucy’s. “What is it, darling?” she asked anxiously. “I do hope the tea is ready soon.”

“No one could make tea in this room!” I stormed.

“Mama, make her get rid of that dog!”

Mon Petit skittered down the stairs behind Stepmama, peered at the large shaggy form in front of him, and emitted several ferocious high-pitched yaps. The strange dog backed up a few steps, then came closer and started sniffing. Mon Petit sniffed back.

“Well, whose dog is this?” asked Stepmama helplessly.

“Mama! It’s just a big nasty stray, begging!”

“What’s Ella doing?” A wide-eyed Gerta joined the crowd at the foot of the stairs.

“I was minding my own business, which is more than I can say for Lucy!”

“Why, you— Get rid of that dog at once!”

“No!”

We stood glaring at each other, my chin up and her hands clenched. Stepmama fluttered between us and said, “Girls, girls, please! It is rather large, isn’t it? But what about tea?”

“How can I, Stepmama?” I gestured at the room. “I’ve never made tea in my life! And look at this place!”

“Oh, but tea is very simple, isn’t it? I know we brought some in one of those barrels—just light a fire, dear, and heat us some water—in the fireplace, maybe. Just sweep out this mess—” (she kicked a piece of the cup I had smashed) “and there should be some wood outside. I know you can manage, dear. Have you looked at the book?”

“And get that beast out of here, isn’t that so, Mama?” hissed Lucy.

“The dog? Well, he is rather large.”

“No dog, no tea!” I glared at Lucy.

“He looks awfully hungry,” said Gerta. “Are you going to feed him, too?”

“I suppose I don’t mind,” moaned Stepmama, “if you keep it in the kitchen! There will be a boy coming in the morning to get us groceries, but I will not have this creature eating us out of house and home!”

“Mama!” Lucy was turning red.

“No, no, girls, no more arguing! My head will not stand it, and I must have some tea!” Stepmama turned and tottered back up the stairs, followed by Gerta carrying Mon Petit, who struggled and barked one last time at the newcomer. Lucy flounced after them. I was left alone.

Well, not alone. The dog came up and started licking my hand. I looked down at him. A pair of big brown eyes, partially obscured by shaggy hair, gazed back up at me.

“Now what on earth did I do that for?” I asked him, pulling my hand away. “I’m not even sure I like you!”

He reached his front paws up as if to lean on me, and I backed away. “Oh, no you don’t! You may not jump up on me, you dirty thing!”

A scent caught his nose, and he started snuffling around the chimney. I tilted my head and considered him. “Still, you might be useful. Do you catch rats?”

He looked over at me and wagged his tail.

“Or scare away burglars?”

He barked enthusiastically.

I sat down again with a sigh. “Do you know where there’s any wood for a fire? Or what to do with it once you find it?”

He sat down and scratched noisily at the back of his ear.

“I didn’t think so. But you can help me look for it. Come on, dog. Oh heavens, I can’t call you ‘dog’ all the time.”

He cocked his head. Long-haired, long-nosed—he reminded me of the old gardener at Merton Manor who picked me roses when I was little.

“Come on, Archibald,” I said. “Let’s go look out back.”

The garden outside the kitchen door was sprouting with new green shoots so robust they could only be weeds. I squinted in the sunlight. There was a dilapidated shed off to the right. Archibald and I picked our way to its door, which came half off its hinges when I yanked. Inside were rough wood shelves with baskets sitting on them and a few rusty tools hanging from pegs on another wall. I peered into one of the baskets; it was full of moldy, sprouted potatoes and I backed away, wrinkling my nose. Archibald snuffled along the ground. “No wood here,” I said, batting away several cobwebs. “Unless we burn up the shelves or the whole shed, which would be an improvement.”

We emerged into the sun again. I shaded my eyes and looked about. There was a brick wall enclosing the garden, and a wooden gate leading, I supposed, to an alley. One of the boards of the gate was swinging loose; that must have been how Archibald had gotten in.

A sudden movement at the gate caught my eye. A brown head raised itself to peer over the top, then quickly disappeared when its eyes met mine.

“You! What do you think you’re doing?” I picked my way through the weeds toward the gate and Archibald bounded toward it, barking.

The head reappeared as a medium-sized boy backed away hastily. “I didn’t mean anything, miss, honest!” he said. “Just having a look! Mr. Simms told me I was to come around tomorrow, but I thought I’d just stop by now and see if you was here!”

“You’re the boy?” I stopped and considered him. He looked about ten, brown-haired and sharp-eyed. On impulse I opened the gate. “Come here. Do you know if there’s any wood?”

“Wood, miss? How would I know, miss?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m sure you’ve been in here before. I expect you were going to come in right now and peer in the windows.”

“Me, miss?” His brown eyes opened wide.

“Yes, you.”

He stood and rubbed his chin with the back of his hand. “I heard tell there’s a wood pile behind the shed,” he said cautiously.

“Well, then, you can get some of it for me.”

The boy tilted his head. “Mr. Simms said as I wasn’t to start till tomorrow.”

I was tired and thirsty and hungry, and though the house was a disaster, I did not care what one small boy thought of it.

“If you help, I’ll give you some tea.”

He brightened. “All right!” And he disappeared behind the shed, reemerging with an armful of sticks. “Where do you want them, miss?”

I opened the door and we tramped into the kitchen. “Now you can light the fire,” I told him.

“Fire, miss! You never said nothing about laying a fire!”

“If there isn’t any fire, how can I make the tea?”

He looked around and made a face. “This place is in a rare clutter anyway. Needs a bit of cleaning. My mum would have a fit if she had to cook in here, miss.”

“Yes, I’ve been considering having a fit myself. Are you going to light the fire or not?”

He shrugged. “Needs a sweep first. Got a broom?”

“No, I do not have a broom! Do I look like I have a broom?”

“There’s maybe one in the closet? I’ll have a look, miss.”

Somehow I found myself peering over his shoulder into a closet in the corner. “There’s a broom, but it’s covered with cobwebs.”

He reached in and hauled it out. “You know, miss, by rights you should be letting the housemaid do all this.”

I blinked back sudden tears and turned to face the boy. But what could I tell him? “You’re right! Whatever am I doing? I’ll get the housemaid right away.” And then I would—what? Wave a magic wand? He would find out the truth soon enough anyway.

“There is no housemaid,” I snapped.

“No housemaid? Then who’ll do the work?”

“We’re all helping for now. This is only temporary, you understand. We—we haven’t found a good maid yet. Or a cook. And if you tell anyone, I’ll feed you rats instead of tea.” My face was red.

The boy looked at me with interest. “You don’t say, miss! You will need help, then!”

“Yes. So will you please light that fire?”

“Yes, miss.” He started sweeping out the fireplace, whistling tunelessly. “My name’s Henry Perkins, miss,” he added as he swept. “Mr. Simms, he’s the agent, he said as how I was to come three days a week and run errands and such. I don’t do cleaning as a general rule. And you’ll need to watch the fire-building, miss, if you’re to be doing the fires. Though I wouldn’t in that dress, I wouldn’t,” he added.

I watched grudgingly as he piled twigs and sticks and logs and, in an amazingly short time, had a cheerful fire snapping on the hearth. “Now where’s the kettle, miss?”

I had him pry open a barrel and together we rummaged through it. “Here’s jam, miss,” he said hopefully. “And here’s the tea.”

“Here’s a kettle.” I hauled out an elegant copper one.

“A bit fancy, miss, but it’ll do. Now we get some water from the pump.”

“Pump?”

“In the garden. Here, miss, look.”

We went back out the door, and he pointed out an old iron pump. “Just work the handle like this, miss.” Up and down he pumped it, and out came dirty water, gushing in spurts. “It’s just rusty, miss. It’ll clear up,” he explained.

After a few more moments of pumping, the water looked drinkable, and I held the kettle under the spout. When it was filled, Henry carried it inside and hung it on the hook over the fire. “There!” he said. “Now you put the tea in the strainer, miss. And you’ll need the cups.”

More rummaging in the barrel. My dress was streaked with dirt, and I wanted nothing more than to soak in a hot bath while someone else made a nice big pot of tea and then helped me into a clean warm bed. But I found some cups, and somehow, a few minutes later, I was pouring a steaming amber liquid into them. Tea! Of course it did have a few leaves floating in it.

“Now that’s good, miss!” said Henry, sipping enthusiastically.

I found some sugar and stirred it into mine. It tasted a little peculiar, but I didn’t care. I sat at the table and stared into space.