Authors: Andre Norton
Red Hart Magic (6 page)
The fire could not warm her now. As always when that— that knowing came to her—it left her weak and sick—and cold, as if life had been drawn from her. Now she must work to find an explanation to give Uncle Jasper, one which would fit her learning where the secret lay hid so he could never guess how she had discovered it. This time she could not say she had overheard any whispers of man or maid. There was the boy—But she did not believe that Master Bowyer would entrust a potboy with knowledge that might mean his own death. No, this time she was caught without any way of crediting her discovery to something Uncle Jasper would believe.
Nan drew the cloak up about her body. To keep silent would be no way out. She did not trust her own courage; she had none where Uncle Jasper was concerned. He had broken her will in the first days after he had taken her, so she was his servant and could keep nothing from him, except the greatest secret of all—how she was able to learn such matters.
She began to cry, hopelessly, silently, the tears running down her cheeks, she making no attempt to rub them away. Always she had feared that this would happen—some day.
Chris slipped down the hall. The King's Man had called Master Bowyer into one of the upper rooms for questioning. He could hear the rumble of men's voices from above the stairway where the searchers tramped from room to room.
Jem was in the kitchen with Sukie and Bet, one of the maids. They were under the eye of one of the guards now. But Chris had been in the yard when they were rounding them up. And he knew one of the tricks of this place, the door from the stables into the main hall, a door which could be easily overlooked. Sometimes at night Master Bowyer came and went by that door, and Chris had seen him, saying nothing. For Master Bowyer's business was his own, and no man knowing him could think he went so to do evil. But for these searchers to think the innkeeper a priest! Who had told such a wild tale?
Chris paused by the door of the small parlor. That girl, she said she knew nothing, but he did not believe her. She had been frightened half out of her wits. He was sure he
could get more out of her, given the chance. Swiftly he opened the door and whipped around it, shutting it silently behind him.
There was little light here. The inner curtains had been drawn to keep out frosty drafts as well as the daylight. He looked for her first on the bench or by the table—she was gone.
Then a faint scratching drew his attention to the far side of the fireplace. She was standing before the wall, feeling along the edge of one of the panels. Chris moved forward, and his thick shoes scraped on the sanded floor. The girl gave a little cry as she faced about.
“What do you?”
Nan gasped; then she straightened. She saw the scowling face, the fingers balled into fists as if this potboy would willingly pummel her to get his answer. All at once a new idea came to her, so strange a one that she wondered why it should visit her here and now. What if she could find the secret place for Uncle Jasper, but find it empty? If she did not see anything in it, then she could truthfully say that it was as she had located it!
“Listen"—she leaned forward—"what my uncle and his men seek—lies behind here.” She tapped the surface of the panel. “If they find it... your master will be taken, do you understand?”
“You won't tell them.” He advanced upon her.
“I must tell—about the hiding place. But if it is empty— What then?”
For a moment she thought her words had made no impression on him. Was he too thick-witted to understand? Then he turned that straight stare from her face to the wall.
“Can you open it?”
Nan gave a sigh of relief, so she had touched him that far.
“I hope that I may.” Now she dared set her back to him, call upon that power she did not understand to serve her. Up and down she ran her fingertips, trying to hold within her control her fear and impatience.
It was as if she touched some spot which was faintly warm. Then another slightly below it. She pressed on these together, and there was movement in the wall.
Straightway she drew back, refusing to look at what she had uncovered. Only so could she tell the truth, and Uncle Jasper could read it so with his skill at winning confessions from the weak.
“I must not look at it,” she said hurriedly. “If I do—then he will get that from me. He can always tell if I try to lie. Do you take what is there into safety! But—leave the panel a little open!”
Nan pushed past him, her breath coming in gasps, her head turned away. She heard his movements before she caught up her cloak and hurried out.
Chris looked within the hiding place. There was a bag lying there, and he knew it for the one which Master Bowyer carried on those night travels of his. Chris did not understand all the girl had said, but he was well aware that his master was menaced by what lay here. He pulled the bag from the hidden cupboard and pushed the panel near to.
Where could he set it for safety—? The oven! The oven still hot enough to roast the joint which Sukie had put in when she took forth the bread! Grasping the bag tight, Chris slipped from the room. The girl was going upstairs toward the murmur of voices. He did not know if she were on her way to betray him or not. But he was still free. Down the hall he darted, slipping through to the stable. There was the coach with a man on guard at the door of the courtyard, but his head was luckily turned away. Chris scuttled past the scullery to open the door of the oven. The odor of roasting meat, the heat struck him in the face. He tossed the bag, to hear it clink against the back wall, behind the joint. Maybe not good enough, but the best he could do—
“What are you doing there!” Chris stiffened.
A hand closed tight on his shoulder. He summoned all the courage he had as he looked up into the face of the guard.
“Seeing to the meat. They keep Sukie in the kitchen, and she can't get to it. This be baking day, see—and the week's joint, Sukie puts it in when the loaves come out.”
“More like you're thinking of stealing yourself a cut.” The guard laughed. “At your age no boy has ever a full belly. Be glad you didn't get caught by your master.”
He clanged the oven door shut with one hand, kept his grip on Chris with the other.
“March"—he pushed him toward the door to the kitchen— “get you in with the rest, and don't let me catch you sneaking out again.”
He thrust Chris inside with a word to the other guard about not taking his eyes off the brat. The man grunted
sourly and sent Chris across the kitchen with an open-handed slap that made his head ring.
The boy crouched on the floor by the hearth. What if the guard mentioned the oven and that officer with the ever-moving eyes was suspicious? They were not safe yet—they could not be. The girl—what if she talked? In spite of the fire Chris shivered.
Nan stood in the doorway of the room where Uncle Jasper sat on a chair, watching his men sound out paneling, toss covers from a bed so they could prod beneath it. He seemed to sense her coming and turned at once.
“There is a queer thing.” She brought out the words shrilly, those words she had tried to fit together in her mind on her way upstairs.
“Yes, my child?” Uncle Jasper's voice with the deceptive softness spurred her to a greater effort.
“In the parlor—there is a piece of the wall sticking out. I pulled at it—”
“Yes!” Uncle Jasper was on his feet at once. “Bring that gallows rogue.” He motioned toward Master Bowyer. “Now"—he set a hand around Nan's upper arm in a grip which hurt, but the pain this time cleared her wits—"now, show me this strange wall, girl!”
Back in the parlor, she pointed. The boy had obeyed her order; it could plainly be seen that here was a small door. Uncle Jasper loosed his hold on her and took an eager stride to pull it fully open. There was only an empty space behind. With a cat's swiftness he turned to look at Master Bowyer. But the innkeeper showed only a measure of surprise.
“It seems that this house has its secrets about which even I know nothing,” he said in that calm voice of his.
For a moment Uncle Jasper's hate and suspicion made a frightening mask of his face. Then he shrugged. “Let the search continue,” he said.
But Nan knew he was sure that this was the right place, that somehow Master Bowyer had beaten him. Deep in her for the first time there was a tiny spring of hope. Uncle Jasper
could
be bested. And not by a man like Master Bowyer.
She
had done it—she and that boy!
If a thing might be done once, perhaps it could be done again. The spirit he had subdued and thought fully broken was coming to life again within her thin body. In time she might even find her own way of escape; she must sharpen her wits and use every advantage. No one was going to make her free except herself.
Chris watched them drive out of the courtyard at sunset. They had ripped and hunted, and left the inn in vast disorder behind them. But they had not found what they sought. Though Sukie was now a part of it, too. She must have seen the bag, or what remained uncharred of it in the oven, when she at last had gone under escort to clear out the roast. However, no one under this roof would betray the master.
The girl—Chris wondered a little about her. He had seen her again only fleetingly as her uncle had bundled her back into the coach. But there had been something different about her—It did not matter. She was gone; they were all gone.
He held his head high as he went back to the disordered
kitchen. Master Bowyer had taken him in from despair and maybe even death in the fields. Now he had had a chance to repay, and he had done so. He was no longer what he had been in his own eyes, but something better.
4
Dream orâ?
Nan opened her eyes. Her whole body was stiff and aching. It had been a dream, of course! But she had never in her life known a dream so real, a dream in which you could smell things, taste things, be hot, coldâand very much afraid. Yes, there were dreams which made one afraid. Only that was a different kind of fear, somehow. Remembering that other Nan and Uncle Jasper, she shivered.
There came the low buzz of the small alarm clock Grandma had given her last Christmas. Time to get up. She looked thankfully around the room. At least she was notâthere! All she could remember was being put back into that dreadful coach.
Nan glanced down at her hands. Somehow she had expected to see those soiled linen cuffs about her thin wrists, but only her pajama sleeves showed.
Scrambling out of bed, she grabbed for her dressing
gown. Better make it to the bathroom before Chris got in there. He was so slow!
ChrisâChris had been a part of her dream, a very important part. He had been at the inn, had taken whatever lay in the hiding placeâShe stumbled down the hall, still bemused by the vivid memory. Why had Chris been a part of her dream? In the dream he had been a little taller, and his hair had been a lot longer. He had not worn glasses either. The boy had been Chris, however, without question.
And the innâthe Red Hartâthey had been
in
the inn! Only how could they have? The model was so small you could hold it with one hand. No one could have been
in
that.
Chris flopped over in bed to reach mechanically for his glasses. He always did that in the morning, even before he got out of bed. Sitting up, he looked at the night table. There was the Red Hart, just as he had seen it before he fell asleep.
What a dream!
He touched fingertips to the roof of the miniature building. How could he have known all those rooms inside? He wished now that he had paid more attention when the hinged bottom was open. Only then all he had cared about was the inn sign. That hung safely in place just where he had put it last night.
“Chris!"âAunt Elizabeth at his doorâ"Chris, you must get upâ”
“I'm up!” He made that statement true by sliding from between the covers. The inn firmly grasped in one hand, Chris
looked for a proper hiding place. He finally decided on the bottom drawer of the desk, placing over the model some sheets of paper. He did not think Clara would come looking in there. Nor that girl Nanâsnooping againâ
Chris paused. That girlâshe had been a part of it. He breathed a little more quickly, recalling how she had opened the hiding place and then gone, leaving him to save Master Bowyer. Even though she had looked different in the dream, she was really the same. But why was she in
his
dream, a part of the story of
his
inn? He slammed down his comb, made a face at the glass.
“Chris"âAunt Elizabeth warning him again.
“I'm hurrying.” He gave his usual answer. And he had better hurry; there was no use putting off facing up to the usualâbreakfast with Aunt Elizabeth timing about every mouthful, going off to the Academy. Too bad that the dream was not real. He would like to live at the Red Hart just as he had last night. Sure it was cold, and the work was hard. Butâ He sighed and, with his usual deliberation, got ready for a day which seemed to him far more difficult to face.
“Miss Crabbit?” Aunt Elizabeth was saying as Chris came to the breakfast table. “Why, I remember her. She had a younger sister, Margaret, who was in my graduation class at Miss Pierce's. Yes, I am sureâMargaret Crabbitâshe teaches French at college now. Martha isn't in your class then.”
Nan had not looked at Chris since he sat down. She was afraid if she did she might blurt out the question at the tip of
her tongueâwhat had
he
dreamed last night? Chris was, however, his usual sullenly silent self, which first relieved and then annoyed her.
“Martha's class was full.” Nan did not see any reason to explain that to be with Miss Crabbit represented a kind of outer darkness as far as Martha was concerned. Martha had completely ignored her at lunchtime. Nan had had to eatâ though she had not eaten muchâat a table with complete strangers who talked over and around her as if she did not exist at all. Two were girls from Miss Crabbit's room who spent most of the time groaning over homework, saying that they were going to get their mothers to protest about all the Crab expected them to do.
“Well,” Aunt Elizabeth said comfortably, “there are other girls to be friendly with.”
Nan made no answering comment. As far as she was concerned everybody in the school was an enemy who eyed her with the same wary dislike Martha had shown. She was already secretly counting the days to spring vacation, and that seemed far too long away.
“Chris will walk with you as far as the Academy.” Aunt Elizabeth made that unpleasant suggestion as if it were something decided upon. For the first time Nan glanced in the boy's direction.
His eyes were on his plate, and he said nothing at all. But Nan could feel a wave of dislike spreading across the table. She might have accepted that, found some way to escapeâ yesterday. Now she lifted her chin a fraction.
So Chris did not want to walk with her. Well and good! What did she care? They might start out together, so Aunt Elizabeth would not make matters worse by absolutely ordering them to do so; then they could separate. Nan guessed that even if this city was a lot larger than Elmsport she could find her way.
“Oh"âAunt Elizabeth had gone to the windowâ"snowing again. I'll just call down to Haines. He'll get a taxi. There is no use of you both getting colds by tramping through this.”
For the first time Chris raised his head and looked around. “I'm walking,” he said calmly. “I've got boots.”
He got up and left the room before Aunt Elizabeth could answer. She gave a little laugh which did not sound as if she were really amused. “Well, I suppose it
is
different for a boy. I really don't know how toâ But you shall take a taxi, dear!”
Nan was willing enough to agree. She felt that Chris's solution was the best for both of them, but she wished he had not made it first.
Chris pulled on his short coat. His book bag was on the hall chair. Now he drew his cap down over his ears, settled his glasses with a firm push of the nosepiece. Taxi! All it would need to set off Canfield was for him to reach school riding in a taxi with a girl.
He called back a very short good-bye and made it out of the apartment door, half-expecting a hail from Aunt Elizabeth. Luckily the elevator came quickly. In the lobby he passed Haines who was listening at the phone, probably to Aunt Elizabeth ordering the taxi.
The snow was falling thickly, curtains of it driven here and there by the wind. Chris snuggled his chin deeper into his turned-up collar. Big storm for so late in the year. Chris trudged on. His dream memory nibbled at his mind, but now he tried to shut it out. He did not want to think about the Red Hart Inn somehow.
Since the taxi was late, Aunt Elizabeth had to write an excuse. Then Nan had to take it to the office at school. By the time she reached her desk in Miss Crabbit's room, the impatience of those she had dealt with left her feeling as if she had deliberately set out to annoy them in turn.
The day, begun badly, continued worse. As Martha had forewarned, Miss Crabbit certainly upheld the nickname which had been given her. Though Nan realized that she was not being singled out for any sharpness of tongue, which met her own faltering attempts to keep up with the class. Miss Crabbit could “keep discipline.” She had an exterior and tone of voice which reduced even the boys in the back to some semblance of order, but she was impatient with those who did not work their best.
Nan, still at sea in a class where many things appeared so different from all she had known, was near giving up in despair of ever getting anything right again. At lunch she made the round of the cafeteria without paying much attention to the food she selected. She had a hamburger and a glass of milk, as well as knife, fork, and spoon which she did not need, clattering together on her tray when she turned to face what was even worse than the Crab's classâa room filled
with tables, the smell of food, a roar of voices, and no one to welcome her.
She hesitated by a table, then set her tray down where there were two vacant seats. The three girls at the other end talked shrilly, as if to top the roar about them. Nan, in one quick and guarded glance, recognized them as classmates, though it was difficult, even though their faces were familiar, to put names to them.
The blonde one with the very long hair and the blue pants suit with the red-white-and-blue-striped T-shirtâthat was Marve. Even Miss Crabbit called her Marve. With her, wearing jeans and a floppy shirt with Cat Woman printed on it, was a girl with her hair trimmed as short as a boy's used to be. She had a sharp noseâ
Nan remembered a nose like that. A ghost of last night's dream troubled her mind. Uncle Jasperâhe had had just such a noseâthough a much larger one, of course, and his lips were thin in the same way, too.
The third girl was the Karen Long who sat just in front of Nan in class. She always looked oddlyâor had the two days Nan had seen herâlike a blurred copy of Marve. Her stringy hair was darker, a straight brown, hanging in untidy ragged locks, instead of being sleek the way Marve's was. She also wore a pair of blue pants and a red-white-and-blue shirt, but she was too plump for them to fit as well as Marve's.
To Nan's complete surprise Marve got up, slid her tray with a clatter down the table, coming to perch on the chair next to Nan, her two friends moving down in turn. Marve was smiling.
“You live at the Ramsley, don't you?”
Nan still could not believe the friendliness in Marve's voice was meant for her. There was none of that put-you-in-your-place staring with which Martha had favored her.
“Just for a while.” Somehow she found her voice around a bite of hamburger she did not even taste. “I'm staying with Miss Hawes.” Not
Aunt
Elizabethâbecause she was notâ not a real aunt.
“I know. M' mother belongs to the bridge club. She heard all about you.”
Nan tensed. Would Marve, for all her appearance of friendliness, now ask questions as Martha had?
“M' mother takes
Travel Magazine.”
Marve planted both elbows just beyond the edge of her tray. “I saw that piece about Taiwan your mother wrote. It must be something to travel around that way. You go with herâwhen there's vacation?”
Nan shook her head. “I lived with Grandmaâuntil I came here.” She wondered if Marve would lose interest in her now.
“I bet she brings you things.” Marve was watching her oddly. “I bet you've got some wonderful presents from all those places.”
Nan chewed at her hamburger. She need not tell any real lie now. Mother had brought or sent some things. There was a doll from Japan, and a turquoise bracelet, and a dress from London. Only the dress had been too small when it came, and Nan had never worn it. Not that she cared because she had not liked it at all.
“Some,” she admitted warily.
“You got them with you?” Marve sounded almost impatient.
“No. When Grandma had to move, we put a lot of things in storage.”
For a moment Marve was silent; then she nodded. “I guess you would at that. Too bad. The Crab gives extra credit if you can bring in something from abroad to show.”
Nan half expected Marve to shove off again, but she stayed. Karen and the other girl simply watched and said nothing, though the girl with the pointed nose smiled. Not quite a nice smile, Nan decided. She felt uneasy as if waiting for something, she did not know quite what, to happen. She was very sure that Marve had not joined her out of a pure wish to be friendly.
“You know Karen"âMarve pointedâ"and this is Pat, Pat Wilcox.”
They both bobbed their heads but did not speak.
“We're Three's a Crowd"âshe laughed as if inviting Nan to share a jokeâ “That's what the rest call us. You see,” she added as if surprised Nan did not immediately show understanding, “when we all got slammed in the Crab's room this year, we sort of joined forces.” Marve tossed her head and smoothed back her hair.
“I live on Richmond Street, and Pat two doors down. Karen is around the corner at the Bellamy. So we're near you. Your brother doesn't come here, does he?”
“My brother? Oh, you mean Chris. No, he goes to the Academy.”
“That's right,” Marve nodded, “he's your stepbrother, isn't he? He'd be kind of cute if he didn't wear those goggles and look like he always had a stomachache.”
Karen tittered, and Pat's smile widened a fraction.
“You're lucky,” Marve continued. “The Academy gives a keen dance right after Easter. Most of us haven't a chance of getting an invitation to that.”
“I probably haven't either.” Nan made certain she was not going to be accepted by Three's a Crowd on false pretenses. “I don't think Chris dances. Anyway we don't know each other very well.”
“That's exciting.” Marve leaned a little closer. “Must be smooth to just wake up some morning and find you have a big brother and all! Weren't you excited when you heard?”
“Some,” Nan admitted dryly.
“I'll bet you were.” For the first time Pat spoke. But her tone suggested that any surprise Nan might have felt was for the worse instead of the better.
Nan, however, could not help but warm a little to Marve in spite of her wariness. She already knew that this girl held leadership of the room and to be singled out by her might mean complete acceptance. She felt grateful, even if she did not care too much for either Pat or Karen.
So when Marve insisted that she join them on the walk home from school, she found herself pounding along in the now thick snow. Luckily Aunt Elizabeth had not thought to send the taxi which Nan had half expected.