Rose (18 page)

Rose blinked at her. Miss Sparrow was strong. Determined.
Just
like
me
, Rose couldn't help thinking. The temptation was very great. Never having to sweep up someone else's mess again…

“Why are you wearing that dowdy cotton dress, Rose darling? You should be dressed in velvet, lace, fur…”

Rose's clouded eyes suddenly cleared. It was only another kind of glamour. Possibly it was the truth too, but that didn't make it
right
. She'd made this dress. There was a spot of blood on the hemline where she'd jabbed the sewing needle into her finger. She'd had to hide it from Miss Bridges.

Blood
. She'd forgotten. How could she have considered, even for a minute, throwing in her lot with someone who'd stolen children's blood and drunk it? Rose shuddered.

Miss Sparrow saw. “Stupid child!” she snarled. “So arrogant, so
goo
d
! See how far it gets you now!” Her voice rose to a scream, and she dropped the knife and flung herself at Rose, her fingernails lengthening to horny claws as she made to tear out Rose's throat.

“Rose, is this just a glamour, because she looks like she's going to kill you and I don't know what to do!” Freddie yelled.

“No!” Rose yelled. “It's real, help me get her—oh!” She gulped with relief as Freddie hit Miss Sparrow with an umbrella stand. The witch reeled away, gasping and spitting blood again.

“Thanks!” Rose gasped.

“Don't mention it,” Freddie muttered grimly, watching Miss Sparrow wiping the blood away from her eyes. “I nipped out into the hallway while she was trying to con you onto her side. You were both too wrapped up in each other to notice.” He flicked Rose a rather bitter little smile. “That pays for you saving me and Gus from the spirit, anyway.”

Rose was hardly listening. Miss Sparrow still looked shaken, and she hadn't bothered to hide the blood dripping from her face or put her hair back into its ordered curls. But she had picked up her silver knife again, and she was holding it in front of her, her hands writhing and twisting in shapes that looked awful and meaningful and dangerous.

“Do you think we could make it if we just ran?” Freddie said hopefully.

Rose looked at Miss Sparrow, and then back at Freddie. “No.”

“Then the only thing I can think of to do is call that elemental spirit up again.”

“What, the mist monster?” Rose whispered.

Freddie scowled at her. “It's not a—yes, all right, the
mist
monster
.”

Gus glared at him over Rose's shoulder. “Do you not remember the last time? How exactly are we going to get it to do what we want?”

Freddie shrugged, still staring at Miss Sparrow, who seemed to be recovering worryingly quickly. “Elemental spirits are attracted to life force, power—you know, all that sort of thing. I had to listen to a great long lecture about it last week. She's much more powerful than we are, you can't deny that. Anyway, it's got to go for us or her, which means we have half a chance. Which is better than none at all, isn't it? Can you remember the spell?”

“Of course I can…” Gus started to chant in a low voice, and Freddie joined him, while Rose stared at Miss Sparrow. Her hair seemed to be growing back into its elaborate curls and coils, which Rose thought probably meant she was regaining her strength. “Hurry up,” she urged.

Freddie scowled, but waved his left hand in a beckoning sort of gesture, and all at once that strange, malevolent buzzing filled the room.

A coil of grayish smoke was rising through the cracks in the parquet, making them ripple. More and more of it came, and it had eyes, and teeth too this time. It quested toward Rose, then drew back cautiously as she hissed at it. Then its attention switched to Freddie and Gus, and it knew them. The buzzing deepened to a horribly satisfied purr, and it advanced again.

“Look for the knife,” Gus mewed, stepping back. “See the blood! That way!” And the creature swirled and saw Miss Sparrow for the first time. She was holding out her knife, but her eyes were frightened, and Rose suddenly realized that glamours didn't work on mist, and Miss Sparrow knew that too. But so much of her power was poured into the spells which encased her that she didn't have anything left to fight with. The creature seemed to swell as it eased toward her, intrigued. Hungry.

Miss Sparrow muttered spells and charms and incantations in a desperate litany, but the mist thickened and darkened.

How
did
I
get
rid
of
something
so
strong? Without knowing what I was doing?
The questions flickered at the back of Rose's mind. Pure luck, she supposed.

The creature covered Miss Sparrow, her spells crackling and fizzing gently as it licked them up.

“Let's go.” Rose snatched up Gus and backed toward the door. “If it finishes her off, it might come after us for seconds.”

They dashed down the hallway and slammed the big front door behind them, shutting Miss Sparrow and the mist monster in together.

The street was dark, and a London fog was wreathing around the gas lamps, making Rose search for hungry little eyes as they ran home, scurrying through street after street.

“Will it chase us?” she muttered in Gus's ear as they hurried through a particularly dense patch.

“No. It'll go back to sleep it off. Probably. Can we go any faster?” Gus peered ahead through the fog. “Ah, we're coming to our square!”

The mist was thick in the square too, but as they approached the Fountain house, they could see golden light shining from the drawing-room windows and pouring down the steps from the open front door.

On the steps was a tall figure, shrugging on a coat and impatiently waving away the mufflers and umbrellas and galoshes that were being pressed upon him by his staff.

“Do as Isabella says, Miss Bridges. Feed them all whatever you can find. I shall be back soon, I dearly hope. No, not the carriage, I haven't time, I shall find a cab.” He set off down the steps, and Gus leaped from Rose's arms and streaked across the road to meet him.

“Sir! Sir! We're back!”

Freddie hastened after him, and Rose followed, a little hesitantly.

“Frederick! You're safe.” Mr. Fountain seized his hands and scanned his face anxiously. “Not harmed, dear boy? That despicable woman! The enchantments lifted a few moments ago. Where is she?”

“They lifted when the elemental spirit got her,” Gus said smugly.

“Elemental spirit?” Mr. Fountain raised his eyebrows. “Tell me!”

Freddie and Gus spilled out the story eagerly, standing on the steps, and Mr. Fountain stared at them, occasionally shaking his head in amazement.

“Incredible. Quite incredible. Go on into the house. I want you to tell me all of it properly when I return. You too, Rose. I particularly want to talk to you.”

“Are you going to Miss Sparrow's house?” Freddie whispered anxiously.

Mr. Fountain stared out across the square, toward the way they'd come. “I want to see what's left of her.” His voice was grim. “Go on, inside, all of you. Go and rest. Isabella has the children in the drawing room. I will be back very soon.”

He ushered them in with great flaps of his coat, up the steps and through the great front door—even Rose. She stood shivering in the hallway with Miss Bridges eyeing her sternly. Gus ran in to claim a place in front of the drawing-room fire, and Freddie went gratefully after him, rubbing his hands in the warmth. Rose watched them, a little sadly, then bobbed a curtsy to Miss Bridges. She couldn't go in there. She wasn't even allowed to clean in there. “Sorry I'm late back, miss,” she murmured.

“Oh, go on with them, silly child,” Miss Bridges sighed. “There's half an orphanage in there as it is, and the police to be called. I shouldn't think any of us will be in bed until midnight.” She shooed Rose toward the drawing room and sped down the hallway, calling for Susan and beef tea.

Rose grinned as she peered through the door. The elegant drawing room was covered in pillows and eiderdowns, and the children were gathered in a ring in front of the fire, with Amy swathed in blankets on the sofa right in the middle. Isabella was in her element, dispensing hot chocolate while her governess flapped pitifully at the sight of grubby urchins all over the best furniture.

“Rose!”

Rose spun around, wide-eyed, her fingernails digging into her palms—in the last few hours, that sort of hissing whisper had generally meant that something very scary was about to happen.

“It's me, don't look so worried.” It was Bill, lurking by the green baize door and looking furtive. “Can't be long. Miss Bridges'll cut my ears off if she finds me hanging about right now.”

“Did you see him? Your friend Jack? Was it him?” Rose asked hopefully. “I didn't get much chance to ask him, but I reckon it must be.”

Bill nodded approvingly. “Snatched in the street, his household can't blame him for that. Not if Miss Bridges tells them it's the truth. He'll get his place back, let's hope.” He smiled at Rose, but then leaned closer and frowned at her. “Next time you're going off to do something stupid with Mr. Freddie, let alone Miss Bella, you take me along with you! What were you thinking?”

“That you hate magic! You wouldn't even look at me properly after the treacle and the horse! You kept looking like I was something disgusting you'd got on your boots!” Rose protested.

Bill shrugged, rather shamefaced. “Not your fault, I suppose. You're afflicted. You can't help it. And you got Jack out of that place. He said he was shut in the cellar. And someone had cut him about.” Bill patted her awkwardly on the arm. “That was brave,” he said quietly.

“So is Freddie brave too?” Rose inquired sweetly.

“Him! Too stupid to know what he was doing, I should think,” Bill retorted irritably. “Get on into the drawing room, you, that white demon's looking for you.”

Gus was standing in the drawing-room doorway, staring meaningfully at Rose. She nodded to him, and he whisked back into the room. “I'll be down to the kitchen in a minute, I should think,” she told Bill.

Bill gulped and stepped backward, and Rose turned to see Mr. Fountain coming in, having opened his own front door, which was unheard of. Bill oiled himself out of the way so quickly it almost seemed like magic, and Rose was left looking silly by the drawing-room door.

“Shall I take your coat, sir?” she squeaked, dropping a clumsy curtsy.

Mr. Fountain looked at her consideringly. “No. I think not.” He sounded quite out of breath, as though he'd run all the way from Miss Sparrow's house. But Rose couldn't imagine him ever running. He laid his coat over an occasional table instead, and Rose's eyes widened in dismay. Miss Bridges would be horrified.

“Come on.” He swept her into the drawing room before him and sat down in a large armchair, slowly removing his gloves. “There was nothing left. Nothing. Except for a large amount of equipment that I really don't want to think about.” He glanced at the children clustered around Isabella, his gaze resting for a while on Amy and her bandaged wrists, and sighed.

“Sir, we need you to listen, it's very important.” Freddie stood in front of Mr. Fountain's chair, and Gus leaped on the arm, and they both talked, mostly at the same time, and mostly about Rose, while she listened, squirming.

“So you see, sir, you have to take her on as an apprentice,” Freddie wound up earnestly.

“Really very strong magic.” Gus nodded. “Quite talented.”

Mr. Fountain looked over at Rose, waiting some way behind his chair. “And what do you say about it?”

“Thank you, sir, but I don't want to be an apprentice. It wouldn't be fitting.” Rose curtsied again.

“Oh, don't start that again,” Freddie groaned. “For heaven's sake, sir, she can talk to trees!”

“Which is precisely why I don't want to make Rose do anything she doesn't want to do.” Mr. Fountain held out his hand, and Rose came slowly across the room. She hadn't quite meant to, and she had a feeling that he was quite as good at glamours as Miss Sparrow. “So what do you want to do?”

“The same as now?” Rose suggested hopefully.

“It does seem rather a waste.” Mr. Fountain sounded apologetic. “Your power is so strong. Perhaps lessons in between polishing?” He waved a hand thoughtfully, clearly unsure quite what his servants did all day. “I could persuade Miss Bridges, I'm sure.”

Rose nodded and curtsied again. “If it doesn't get in the way of my duties, sir,” she murmured.

“I can see that you might be very useful,” Mr. Fountain mused, stroking his mustache. “So, Rose, I've had Frederick's account and Gustavus's. What do you think happened to that deluded harpy? Is she dead?”

Rose had been respectfully staring at the carpet, but now she looked up at him sharply. “That thing ate her! You said she'd gone. She must be dead. She has to be!” Rose exclaimed, staring at him, torn between hope and fear. “But you don't think she is, do you?” she added quietly.

Mr. Fountain stared up at the ceiling, at the pretty plaster moldings. He twirled the ends of his mustache with a finger. “I suspect not…” he said slowly. Then he glanced back at Rose and Freddie. “I'm sorry. You were very clever—particularly using the elemental spirit, Frederick, that was positively inspired, as you had very little else to call on. Not many magicians have dealt with the things, either. Miss Sparrow might never have seen one before, although I had told her about my research.” He tugged his mustache angrily and flinched. “And about who knows what else. The woman's glamours were extraordinary. Let us hope she is dead or at least somewhere beyond help. But we can't count on it, I'm afraid. She was so strong. I do wonder…” He sighed.