The Butterfly in Amber (5 page)

‘But she took the charm from you, the butterfly in amber? You're sure?' Emilia asked.

Mala nodded. ‘Aye, she took it, when she was not much older than you. I hope it brought her
luck, is all I can say. I certainly haven't had any since it was gone.'

Emilia sighed and looked at Luka questioningly.

‘I guess we should try to find her, if we can,' he said. ‘We have only one day left before we need to head back to Kingston.'

‘I know where Henry Purefoyle lives,' Hallelujah said unexpectedly. ‘He lives near Gray's Inn, not so very far from here. It's just off High Holborn Street, which leads from the crossroads where you found me. All the lawyers live round there, near the Inns of Court. You could be there in less than half an hour, if you walked swiftly.'

‘I'm so tired I don't think I can walk another step,' Emilia said, almost groaning at the thought.

‘It's either walk out of this place, or spend the night sleeping on these disgusting stones,' Luka said, getting up with fresh energy. ‘I say we get out of here, and make camp in a field somewhere.
Then we can go and find this Henry in the morning. What do you say?'

Emilia's words were swallowed by an enormous yawn. When it was finally over, she said, ‘Sounds good! As long as we find a field soon. All I want to do is sleep.'

‘And sleep and sleep and sleep,' Luka said. ‘But not here! In a field under the stars. One with a stream so we can scrub away all this filth.' He looked back at Mala, rolled once more in her stinking blanket. ‘I just can't understand it,' he said in a low voice.

‘She's forgotten her roads,' Emilia answered sombrely.

G
RAY'S
I
NN
R
OAD
, L
ONDON
, E
NGLAND

30th August 1658

L
uka and Emilia lay under a weeping elm tree in a small square abutted on all four sides by a road lined with large, gracious houses that all looked exactly the same.

It was a fresh and clear morning, with the promise of heat to come. Luka felt much better after a good night's sleep in a haystack, a wash in a stream, and some bread and cheese. Emilia, however, was still drooping with misery
over the loss of her charm bracelet.

‘At least we've found the lawyer's place,' Luka said. ‘Maybe he'd come and talk to the judges for us, and then we won't need any good luck.'

‘It's not just that, Baba trusted me! And the others too. How can I tell them I lost their lucky charms?'

‘Well, it can't be helped,' Luka said impatiently. ‘Stop sniffling and help me think what to do next. Should we just go up and knock on the door?'

Emilia looked across at the house doubtfully. ‘It's very grand.'

‘Look, the door's opening!' Luka flattened himself in the grass.

Out came an elderly woman, sharp and upright as a fence post. Her dress and hood and folded hands were black, and under her stiff white face spread a stiff white collar. Her sharp grey eyes were set so close together, she had to peer down her long, bony nose to see her way. She walked as if her shoes hurt her.

Behind her, in descending size, came three girls, all dressed identically in severe black gowns with white collars and black hoods. The four of them turned one by one to the right and promenaded around the outskirts of the square, in single file, each one exactly three paces behind the other. Their skirts rustled, and their boots made little tapping noises on the pavement.

Luka and Emilia stared. They did not think much of these girls.

Then the middle girl trod on the hem of her dress and grimaced as it tore. She gathered up the trailing hem in her hand, revealing tight black button-up boots and black stockings with holes in them. Suddenly, as if feeling their gaze on her, she glanced at the square. Her eyes widened in astonishment. Sweetheart was peering out through the canopy of leaves. Although Luka jerked on the bear's chain so she lay down again, grumbling, the girl continued to stare the whole time the four of
them walked, single file, all the way around the park and back to their front door.

‘It is not so hot today, Aunt Grace,' she said then, in a clear, refined voice. ‘May we promenade about the park a little?'

‘Very well, Obedience, but only for a few minutes. You girls are sallow enough as it is, I do not wish for you to get sunburnt.'

Luka and Emilia glanced at each other, stifling giggles, for the sun was just as soft and pale as lamb's wool today. And what had she called the girl? Surely her name could not be Obedience?

Aunt Grace unlatched the gate and settled herself on the bench. The three girls walked demurely about the perimeter of the garden until they were out of sight, behind the weeping tree. Then the middle girl seized both of her sisters by the arm and dragged them forward. Three sets of dark brown eyes peered through the leaves at Luka and Emilia, Zizi, Rollo and Sweetheart.

‘Gypsy children!' Obedience whispered. ‘Look! With a bear and a monkey! And what a lovely big dog!'

Rollo beat his tail on the ground, and she bent to pat his head. ‘I wish we had a dog,' she said enviously. ‘And imagine having a pet monkey!'

‘I do not think gypsies are permitted in the park,' the elder one said. ‘We must inform Aunt Grace at once.'

The third girl said nothing, just stared and stared with her thumb in her mouth.

‘Don't be such a spoilsport, Humility! When are we ever going to get a chance to see a monkey again?'

‘I could see a monkey any day of the week, if I wished to go to St Bartholomew's Fair and hobnob with riffraff,' Humility said. ‘But I have no desire to do any such thing, and neither should you, Obedience.'

‘We're not riffraff,' Luka said indignantly. ‘We're your cousins.'

‘Cousins? How dare you?' Humility said. ‘We do not have any cousins, and if we did, they would not be grubby little guttersnipes!'

‘Who do you think we are?' Obedience asked in lively curiosity.

‘The children of the lawyer Henry Purefoyle, and the gypsy Fancy Graylings,' Luka replied promptly.

The girls looked puzzled. ‘Henry Purefoyle is our father –' Obedience began.

‘But you should call him
Mister
Purefoyle,' Humility struck in.

‘But we've never heard of a gypsy called Fancy,' Obedience finished. ‘Our mother is named Faith.'

‘What peculiar names you all have,' Luka said. ‘Are you really called Obedience?'

‘They are not peculiar names, they are excellent, God-fearing Puritan names,' Humility said, her nose even further in the air.

‘They could have been worse,' Obedience said. ‘We have friends called Meek, and Lamentation, and one called Tribulation.' She giggled. ‘Imagine being called Tribulation!'

‘You are a tribulation,' her elder sister said sternly.

Obedience laughed again. ‘What are your names?'

‘Emilia and Luka,' they answered.

‘How heathenish,' Humility said condescendingly. ‘Far more peculiar than ours.'

Luka scowled. He liked their names. At least they were apt. As far as he could see, Humility was not at all humble, Obedience was not at all obedient, and Aunt Grace was far from graceful.

‘What's the little one called?' Emilia said, smiling at the thumb-sucker.

Obedience grinned. ‘Justice.'

Poor little thing,
Emilia thought. But she smiled and said, ‘I have a brother just your size, called Noah. And Luka has a little sister called Mimi. Are you always called Justice? Or do they have a love name for you?'

Justice did not reply, just sucked her thumb harder.

‘We call her Cherub,' Obedience said. ‘And I'm usually called Beedee. We don't shorten Humility's name, though, she doesn't like it.'

‘Humility! Obedience! Justice!' Their aunt's voice rang through the square. ‘What are you doing?'

‘Coming, Aunt Grace,' Obedience sang. As her sisters hurried away, she bent and hissed at Luka and Emilia, ‘Come to the back gate in half an hour and I'll let you in. I want to hear more about this so-called kinship of ours. I always
knew
there was a mystery about my mother!'

Half an hour later, Luka and Emilia waited nervously outside the back gate. Obedience let them in with her finger at her lips. Like her sisters, she was a plain child, skinny and sallow, but her eyes were sparkling with such mischief Luka and Emilia felt a stir of kindred spirit.

‘I thought you could hide the bear in the shed,' she whispered. ‘Will she make a fuss?'

‘Got any honey?' Luka whispered back.

Obedience made a face and shook her head.

‘Anything sweet? Fruitcake?'

‘Not allowed anything sweet,' Obedience whispered back. ‘Devil's food.'

‘So I'm guessing no ale?'

Obedience snorted. ‘Of course not. We drink asses' milk, or water.'

‘Even your father?' Emilia was amazed.

‘Especially my father.'

‘Got any food at all? Fish?'

‘I'll see what I can find. Wait here.' Obedience pushed them inside a small, dark shed that smelt unpleasantly of the compost heap outside. She was back some time later with a string of fish, their scales gleaming softly in the dimness.

‘They'll keep her happy for a while,' Luka said. ‘And maybe she'll sleep. We had a disturbed night.'

‘What's it like having a pet bear?' Obedience asked as they settled Sweetheart down on some sacks, attaching her chain to a hook on the wall.

‘Lovely,' Emilia said.

Luka said gravely, ‘She saved our lives yesterday. If it wasn't for Sweetheart, we would have drowned.'

‘Really?' Obedience was fascinated. ‘And you have a monkey too. Isn't she sweet? She looks just like a little baby . . .'

‘Only much hairier,' Emilia said.

Obedience giggled. ‘What fun,' she said. ‘Will she stay out here too, with the bear?'

‘No, she'd shriek and gibber until I came back,' Luka said. ‘She always stays with me.'

Obedience looked dubious. ‘She won't get into any mischief, will she? I mean, not that I mind, it'd be great fun to see her. It's just that I'd be whipped if it's discovered I've brought a monkey into the house. Though, mind you, I'll be whipped if they discover you too.'

Luka assured Obedience that Zizi would stay close to him. ‘She does everything I tell her to,'
he boasted, which made Emilia roll her eyes.

The lawyer's house was tall, dark and narrow, and smelt of soap. Obedience did not need to lay her finger on her lips to keep them quiet. Luka and Emilia were quite overawed by the heavy silence of the house. They tiptoed down the hall, Rollo's claws clicking so loudly on the wooden floorboards that Obedience turned an agonised face towards them. She eased open a door and they ducked into a large, book-lined room, dominated by a huge desk covered in neat piles of paper. Framed documents were hung all over the walls, and there was a large glass case hanging near the fire in which dead butterflies of all colours and sizes were pinned.

A small fire flickered on the hearth. It brought warmth and comfort to the room, and Luka at once went to stand in front of it. Rollo flopped down at his feet, and sighed in contentment.

‘Father's library,' Obedience said in a low voice. ‘They'll never look for me here, because they'd
never believe I'd dare to come in. Father's library is strictly out of bounds.'

‘So do you come in here often?' Luka said with a grin.

Obedience grinned back. ‘All the time. I like to read Father's books, and look at his maps. He's hardly ever here, he's always at Gray's Inn, or at the palace.'

‘At the palace? How come?'

‘He's a lawyer, you know,' Obedience said. ‘He was one of those that prosecuted the tyrant Charles Stuart. His Highness is most grateful to him for his knowledge of legal matters, and relies on him greatly.'

‘So he's one of Old Ironsides's . . . I mean, the Lord Protector's men?' Luka had not realised this before, and it filled him with dismay.
There goes any chance of him helping us
, he thought.

‘Indeed, one of his right-hand men,' Obedience said proudly. ‘Father is at the palace now, praying
with the other councillors, for the Lord Protector has taken a turn for the worse. We are all very worried at this news, for if His Highness should die, will not the dreaded tyrant Charles Stuart seek to impose his oppressive rule on us again?'

Emilia and Luka did not know what to say. Obedience said, with an impish look on her face, ‘Do you not discuss politics? My mother says it is most impolite for a lady to talk about politics. Yet it is what all the men discuss, and so I cannot help think it must be interesting, since men get to do all the most interesting things in the world. Like going to university, and standing up in a court of law to argue. I'd like to be paid for arguing, instead of being scolded all the time. But enough of me. Tell me why you have conceived this strange notion that my mother is a gypsy? Indeed she is the most boring, godly woman you could ever imagine. She does nothing but sew, and reads nothing but the Bible, and even then only
at random, to see what advice it gives her.'