The Butterfly in Amber (8 page)

‘I knew it. They can't have got far. Go in and rouse up that house, make sure they're not hiding in the grounds.'

‘Oh, but sir . . .'

‘What?' Coldham snapped.

‘I'm not sure we should do that, sir. That's Ham House. It belongs to the Countess of Dysart, sir.'

Emilia and Luka's eyes met in sudden joyous astonishment.

The soldier gabbled on. ‘The countess is a regular firebrand, sir. We tried several times to requisition the house, but she gave us the rough side of her tongue and had us driven off, then had the gall to complain to Old Ironsides himself. The Lord Protector was much taken with her and told us not to bother her again, even though her father was one of the late king's oldest friends.'

‘I've heard of the Countess of Dysart,' Coldham said slowly.

‘The Lord Protector used to be here all the time before he got sick, sir. They say she's a great favourite of his.'

There was a short silence, and then Coldham said, ‘Very well. We shall not disturb the countess unless we have to. Search the woods, and take special care to examine the ground. That bear will have left a trail. I doubt whether our gypsies will dare go near the house, anyway. They know they'll be turned over to the law if they are discovered.'

‘Aye, sir.'

‘Don't let them slip through your fingers, or I'll have your guts for garters,' Coldham said menacingly. ‘Do you hear me? I want those brats, and I want them now!'

A
t last they heard Coldham's heavy tread moving away.

‘Now you've got to admit that's weird,' Emilia whispered, ‘us landing right outside Ham House.'

Luka pressed his finger against his lips. He jerked his head and quietly they began to move around the perimeter of the forecourt, keeping close to the wall. Zizi was frightened, and clung to Luka's ear, her tail wrapped tightly round his throat. Luka soothed her with a gentle pat.

‘So we go and find the butterfly charm?' Emilia pleaded. ‘Since we're here?'

‘Sounds like the house is the safest place to be at the moment,' Luka muttered back.

Emilia kept close to her cousin, almost treading on his heels. She was frightened at the strange chance that had brought them here to Ham House. It seemed too uncanny to be mere coincidence. Luka put out one hand and took hers, gripping it comfortingly.

Soon they were close enough to the great house to see it clearly. An elegant building, three storeys tall, it was built of mellow red brick edged with stone. Smoke rose from its tall chimneys.

They crept to the right, not daring to climb the steps up to the grand front door. A narrow passageway led them to a yard, surrounded by dark buildings. A dim light shone from one or two narrow windows at ground level, so that the
two children were able to see well enough not to stumble over a rake left leaning up against a wall.

Peering through one of the glowing windows, they found themselves looking down into a cavernous, fire-lit kitchen, where a fat old cook was busy kneading bread at a long table. She looked soft and kind and comfortable. A boy sat at the other end, scouring pans with sand. At first Luka thought his face was hidden by shadows, but then the boy laughed, showing a flash of white teeth, and Luka realised with a start that the boy's skin was black as a chimneysweep's.

Holding Sweetheart's chain tightly so it did not rattle, Luka crept further along the wall until he reached the other lit window. Emilia crouched beside him and together they gazed down into a stillroom, the place where the ladies of the house prepared the jams, pickles, soap and medicines for the household.

A thin woman was bending over a bench,
writing on a parchment with a quill. She was well past forty, with gingery hair pulled back tightly, and a long, supercilious nose. Around her neck she wore a very large cross on a chain.

‘The countess?' Luka mouthed to Emilia, who shrugged.

‘I thought she was meant to be beautiful,' she whispered back.

‘No accounting for taste,' Luka said.

They watched as the woman took the parchment she had just written on and held it up to the light. To the children's surprise, it was quite blank. She then held the parchment over the flame of the candle that stood at her elbow, and slowly, brown squiggly lines appeared. The woman frowned and pursed up her mouth in dissatisfaction. She pushed away the inkwell, which looked as if it was filled with water, and pulled another towards her. Very carefully she mixed a spoonful of gritty grey powder with a few
drops of liquid out of another jar, wrinkling up her nose with distaste as she did so. Then she trimmed her quill and dipped it in the resulting liquid, and wrote on another piece of parchment. Again no marks appeared on the page.

‘She's making invisible ink,' Luka whispered to Emilia. ‘I wonder why? What would a countess want with invisible ink?'

Just then they heard a sound behind them, and jumped to their feet, pressing their backs defensively to the wall.

It was the black-faced boy, a lantern in one hand. His eyes round with indignation, he opened his mouth to yell.

‘Sssh!' Luka hissed. ‘Don't shout. There's soldiers about.'

Obligingly the boy shut his mouth, though he looked at them with great suspicion.

‘There's nothing to fear from us,' Luka said. ‘We're . . . we're . . .'

‘We're here to see the countess,' Emilia said quickly. ‘We . . . we've got news for her.'

Luka grimaced at her, but the words acted like magic on the boy. He nodded his head, looked about him covertly, then beckoned them into the house. With Sweetheart plodding along behind them, her claws clacking on the floor, and Rollo pressed close to Emilia's legs, the five of them followed the black-skinned boy into Ham House.

‘What did you say that for?' Luka hissed into Emilia's ear. ‘Now we're in the suds!'

‘Any better ideas?' she hissed back. ‘At least he didn't yell the place down.'

The boy looked back at them inquiringly. They said no more, following him down a steep flight of steps and into the kitchen.

‘Mercy me!' the cook cried. ‘What's all this, Isaac?'

‘Found 'em in the yard,' the boy replied. ‘Said they've a message for her ladyship.'

In the light of the tallow candles set here and there about the kitchen, Luka was able to see the boy properly for the first time and realised, with a start of surprise, that the blackness of Isaac's skin was his natural colour, not just a covering of soot or dirt. Luka had often been mocked for the darkness of his skin, but this boy made him look merely caramel coloured. Isaac's eyes were as round and black as sloes, his skin was the colour of elderberries, and his hair was as thick and curly as an unshorn sheep. Luka could not help staring.

Isaac scowled at him, then made a dreadful face, screwing up his eyes, waggling his hands behind his ears and sticking out his tongue, which was quite startlingly pink. Luka grinned, and after a moment Isaac grinned back.

‘A message for the countess!' the cook cried. ‘Heavens above! At this time of night? What is my lady up to now?' She shook her head and laid down her rolling pin. She caught sight of Zizi,
riding on Luka's shoulder, and gave a little scream.

‘No, please, you must be quiet,' Luka said. ‘There are soldiers hunting for us! If they hear you, all will be lost.'

He came into the kitchen, one hand on Zizi to keep her close, and Rollo pushed past him, eager to investigate the delicious smells of this warm, dark room. Emilia came in too, and then Sweetheart followed ponderously after her, lifting her snout to sniff the air.

The cook's eyes opened round as shiny new coins, but she clapped one fat, floury hand over her mouth and said nothing.

Luka shut the door behind them, and quickly drew the curtains across the windows. ‘We must see the countess at once,' he said, enjoying the air of intrigue he was creating.

The cook looked distressed. ‘But it's so late . . . she'll be in bed . . .'

‘It's a matter of life and death,' Luka said. Emilia frowned at him, and he shot her a quick, laughing glance.

‘But . . . the bear! I can't take a bear in to see my lady!'

‘Sweetheart's quite tame,' Emilia said reassuringly. ‘If you give her something to eat, she'll just lie down and have a snooze by the fire.'

‘But . . . a bear! A bear in my kitchen!'

‘Do you have any bread and honey?' Emilia said encouragingly.

‘Well, yes, but . . .'

‘That'll do just fine.'

The cook hobbled across to the dresser and took down a ceramic pot, cut some bread and spread it with honey. Emilia gave it to Sweetheart, and she gave a little moan of pleasure and gobbled it down, then licked the honey off her claws, looking around for more.

‘Goodness, how much will she eat?' the cook quavered.

‘She is hungry,' Emilia said. ‘So are we, I must say.'

The cook looked at her suspiciously, but cut several more slices, spread them with honey, and gave them to Luka and Emilia. They gobbled them as fast as Sweetheart had, though Luka fed Zizi the last of his. She ate it daintily, holding it in both paws. The bear got up, complaining, and Emilia quickly passed her the honey pot. Sweetheart grinned, sat down by the fire, and dipped her paw into the pot.

‘She'll be happy for hours now,' Emilia said.

The cook put her hands on her hips and glared at her, but Emilia gave her most sweet and winning smile. Against her will, the cook's lips twitched. ‘Horrid child!' she said. ‘Remind me of my son, you do. He was always wheedling bits of food out of me too. I suppose you want something for the dog as well?'

‘Rollo would love it if you had any scraps to spare,' Emilia said. The dog wagged his tail at the sound of his name, and looked up at the cook with beseeching eyes. She laughed, and got him a big bone out of the pantry.

‘Well, I guess you can leave the dog and the bear here,' the cook said, as the two animals settled down happily to eat. ‘But I warn you, if that bear so much as twitches a claw, I'll be screaming so loudly every soldier in the county will hear me.'

‘Don't do that,' Emilia said hastily. ‘Just say, “Down, Sweetheart!” and she'll sit down, I promise you. She's very tame, and quite harmless.'

‘Mmmf,' the cook said. ‘Harmless is as harmless does. Well, Isaac, I guess you'd better go get Mrs Henderson. She's in the stillroom.'

Luka stiffened. ‘Who's Mrs Henderson?'

‘She's my lady's second cousin, and her
companion, and believe me, you don't get in to see the countess at this time of night without running Mrs Henderson's gauntlet first,' the cook said.

It was not long before the door opened, and Mrs Henderson came in quietly, followed by Isaac. It was the ginger-haired woman with the heavy cross about her neck.

‘Gypsies, I see,' she said, looking Emilia and Luka over with shrewd grey eyes. ‘Eating our good honey.'

‘Aye, ma'am, I'm sorry, ma'am, they were hungry, you see, and I just . . .' The cook rushed into speech but fell silent when Mrs Henderson raised her hand.

‘I cannot see that her ladyship would have any objection to you dispensing alms to the poor and needy,' she said curtly. ‘Her ladyship is most charitable. Perhaps, however, it would be better if beggars are kept outside next time.'

Blood rushed to Luka's face. He would have
spoken angrily if Emilia had not gestured to him silently.

The cook bowed her head. ‘Aye, ma'am.'

Mrs Henderson regarded Luka. ‘I believe you have a message for her ladyship? Give it to me.' She held out an imperious hand.

‘I'm sorry, ma'am, but . . . it's for the countess only.'

She stared at him coldly.

‘The countess will want to see us,' Emilia said. ‘Really she will.'

‘It is almost midnight.' Mrs Henderson folded her arms, looking very stern.

‘The countess is not asleep,' Emilia replied, thinking of the candlelight glowing in the upstairs window.

A flicker of expression crossed the companion's face. ‘Very well. I will go and ask her pleasure. Mrs Skipton, please arrange to have these children thoroughly washed and brushed in the interim.
I cannot bring them into the countess's presence in such a state.'

‘Aye, ma'am.'

As soon as Mrs Henderson had gone, the cook bade Isaac pump some water into the sink, and seized a great hunk of brown soap and a scrubbing brush. The two children shrank back in dismay, but she had no mercy. She washed and brushed and scrubbed them until their hands and feet and faces were red and clean as boiled lobsters. She even managed to comb out Emilia's hair, though she had a handful of knots the size of a kitten by the time she had finished.

‘Your clothes!' Mrs Skipton threw up her hands. ‘They're nothing better than rags! How can I send you in to see the countess dressed like that?'

‘It's all we have,' said Luka, offended, but Emilia laid her hand on his arm and said, ‘I have my other skirt in the bag, remember? And surely Mrs Skipton can find you a better shirt than that?'

The cook went off to find Luka some clothes, and Emilia said to Isaac, ‘I'll get changed in the other room, all right?' He nodded, and she took the lantern and their bag into the stillroom at the end of the corridor. She was very curious indeed to have a closer look.

It was more like a laboratory than a stillroom. Emilia had spent time in the stillroom at Whitehorse Manor in Surrey, so she was familiar with much of the usual apparatus, such as bowls and mortars, scales and measuring spoons. This room had many other apparatus as well, large glass bowls connected with glass tubes, seething with liquids, as well as rows of jars filled with odd-coloured powders and fluids, instead of the usual dried herbs and flowers and berries.

On the bench below the window were piles of parchment, scraped back till they were almost transparent with age, and numerous quills and penknives, as well as a row of inkwells filled with
foul-smelling liquids. There was also a letter. When Emilia examined it in the light of the lantern, she saw it had been written on twice, once in the usual way, with dark ink and a steady flowing hand, and once again, crossways, in small tiny cryptic symbols that looked nothing like any other writing Emilia had ever seen.

She put the letter back, feeling frightened. Hurriedly she changed out of her rags into her good skirt, made with layers of pink flowered fabrics. The very lowest layer was of shabby red velvet, and had been added only a few weeks earlier by her sister Beatrice, who had sighed and exclaimed over how fast Emilia was growing. Remembering Beatrice sitting on the caravan step, her dark head bent over her sewing, brought a quick sting of tears to Emilia's eyes, but she gulped them back, tied her grandmother's gauzy scarf over her curls, and dug out her grandmother's heavy crystal ball.