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Goodly and Grave in a Case of Bad Magic
Justine Windsor
The third adventure in this sharp-witted mystery series with a magical twist.Lord Grave is hosting a special ball at Grave Hall, and Lucy Goodly can’t wait to see powerful magicians from all over the world gathered in one place. But alarming events in Grave Village threaten to overshadow the glittering occasion. Who are the strange children attacking Lucy’s friends? What do they want? And why are his lordship, Vonk the butler and even little Violet, the scullery maid, behaving so oddly? Could it be to do with the same dark forces that were overthrown exactly a hundred years ago?It’s up to Lucy to solve the mysteries before magicians everywhere are put in mortal peril.The third Goodly and Grave page-turning mystery with a magical twist.
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2018
Published in this ebook edition in 2018
HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd,
HarperCollins Publishers
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London SE1 9GF
The HarperCollins Children’s Books website address is www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
Text copyright В© Justine Windsor 2018
Illustrations copyright В© Becka Moor 2018
Cover design В© HarperCollinsPublishers 2018
Justine Windsor and Becka Moor assert the moral right to be identified as the author and illustrator of the work respectively.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook onscreen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008183592
Ebook Edition В© July 2018 ISBN: 9780008183608
Version: 2018-06-07
For Chas ’n’ Pheebs
Contents
Cover (#u6a2396c0-9886-550a-8ffe-f476293f4fff)
Title Page (#ua324f8fc-c72b-5070-a622-02864bebbc35)
Copyright (#u366e95dc-97ee-5744-94d0-8da37275f378)
Dedication (#ud9968c44-471a-54d8-991f-74a9ea86071c)
Chapter One: A Ball of Magic
Chapter Two: The Boy in the Alley
Chapter Three: When Sparks Attack
Chapter Four: The Bloody Penny
Chapter Five: Lord Percy and the Custard Slice
Chapter Six: Hard Times Hall
Chapter Seven: The War of the Maids
Chapter Eight: Lord Grave’s Exploding Great-grandmother
Chapter Nine: Gormless Grave
Chapter Ten: Rogue Animation
Chapter Eleven: Lucy Tests Her Theory
Chapter Twelve: A Note From Beyond the Grave
Chapter Thirteen: Demons and Doors
Chapter Fourteen: Lord Grave No More
Chapter Fifteen: The Wall of Masks
Chapter Sixteen: Pawprints and Fingerprints
Chapter Seventeen: Valentina’s Chits
Chapter Eighteen: A Stranger in the Library
Chapter Nineteen: Lucy’s Boots
Chapter Twenty: Summoned
Chapter Twenty-One: Swallowing Magic
Chapter Twenty-Two: Caught in the Net
Chapter Twenty-Three: Chasing the Demon
Chapter Twenty-Four: Caruthers Attacks
Chapter Twenty-Five: The End of Hard Times Hall
Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)
Don’t Miss the First Two Adventures! (#litres_trial_promo)
Books by Justine Windsor (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher
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Lucy Goodly dodged sideways. A flurry of sparks whizzed past, just missing her ear. Instead they hit the chimney breast behind her and sputtered out, leaving a faint smell of burning as well as a large scorch mark on Lady Tabitha Grave’s nose. Not the real Lady Tabitha Grave, but her portrait, which hung over the fireplace.
“Excellent!” said Lord Grave. “Your turn now. Concentrate. Create your own attack sparks and return fire!” Bathsheba, Lord Grave’s black panther, blinked her yellow eyes before slinking off behind one of the sofas, as though she understood what was about to happen.
Lucy narrowed her eyes and focused her thoughts on the spell in hand. As Lord Grave had instructed her earlier, she imagined all the warmth in her body rushing towards her fingers. As she did so, her fingertips grew hotter and hotter until they felt as though they would burst into flames. When she felt she couldn’t bear the heat a second longer, she raised her hand behind her head, and then, as if she was throwing an invisible ball, flung it forward. The orange-red sparks that were clustered around her fingers flew off like tiny flies and hurtled towards Lord Grave, who ducked. But he was a smidgeon too late and the sparks grazed the crown of his top hat. Lord Grave whipped it off and beat the sparks out before they could do too much damage. Lucy folded her arms and smiled in satisfaction.
“Impressive!” Lord Grave said. “Now, as I have just demonstrated, you might not always be able to get out of the path of an attack spark. And a magician skilled in this particular art might be able to create a spark that will track you if you try to flee from it. However, there is a technique that—”
There was a knock at the drawing-room door.
“Who is it?” Lord Grave called.
“It’s Violet, sir.”
“One moment!” Lord Grave put his hat back on. Then he hurried over to the window and opened it in order to dispel the smell of burning before calling Violet in.
“Please, sir. Mrs Crawley wants to know if you can spare Lucy for a while. She needs us to fetch some ingredients for the ball,” Violet said shyly. She was a small mousey-haired girl three or four years younger than Lucy, who was twelve. Caruthers, Violet’s knitted frog which she carried everywhere with her, was tucked into her apron pocket.
“Very well. Lucy has finished her … dusting, I think, so she’s free to go.”
“Thank you, sir. Oh my, look at Lady Grave! Her nose has gone all black!”
“What? Oh yes. Don’t worry, Violet, it’s soot from the fire, I expect. Becky can deal with it later. Now, off you go,” Lord Grave said. Of course he couldn’t tell Violet the real reason for Lady Grave’s blackened nose. The little scullery maid had no idea that her employer was a magician – as were most of the other staff at Grave Hall.
“Thank you, sir.” Violet gave Lord Grave a timid curtsey and then the two girls left the drawing room and headed for the kitchen.
“He’s up to no good!” Violet said as they hurried downstairs.
“What do you mean?” Lucy replied cautiously.
“I could smell smoke. He’s been puffing on his cigars in secret, hasn’t he? Master Bertie will be very cross if he finds out!”
Master Bertie was Lord Grave’s son. Surprisingly, Bertie hadn’t inherited his father’s magical ability. In fact, Bertie didn’t even believe in magic, arguing that it could all be explained by science.
Lucy breathed a quiet sigh of relief. She’d worried for a moment that Violet might have seen traces of the attack sparks in the drawing room and become suspicious. Although most non-magical grown-ups wouldn’t have noticed magic if it bit them on the ear, non-magical children were a different matter. Their minds were still developing and much more open, so it wasn’t unknown for them to be able to see spells being cast. Because of this, all the magicians who lived at or visited Grave Hall were careful how they used their talents whenever Violet, and Becky, the under-housemaid, were around.
Down in the kitchen, Mrs Crawley, Grave Hall’s cook-cum-housekeeper, was in a high state of anxiety. Potatoes, carrots, bags of flour and sugar, and a large bunch of stinging nettles were strewn across the huge kitchen table. Mrs Crawley was bent over the cooking range, which crouched in the chimney breast. Today her long beard was fastened in a bun on her chin. It looked like a giant, hairy spot. The reason for this unusual beard style was to stop it trailing in the numerous pots and pans that were bubbling away.
A ginger cat was lying in front of the kitchen range, warming itself. It was not the most attractive of cats with its one and a half ears, missing eye and truncated tail.
“Look at Smell. He’s so lazy!” Violet exclaimed, before going over to tickle the cat under the chin. Smell was named for his unfortunate propensity for producing whiffs that could knock a person out if they got too close. Being a magical cat, he also had the ability to speak, but of course he never did so in front of Violet and Becky, or anyone else non-magical.
The heat in the kitchen was stifling and for once Lucy wished she was wearing a frock instead of her customary breeches, shirt and jacket. Mrs Crawley always said that frocks kept the nether regions cool in a hot kitchen and that was why she preferred to wear them herself, even though she was actually a man. Lucy had been very confused by this when she first met Mrs Crawley but, as Mrs Crawley had pointed out, it wasn’t usual for girls to wear breeches, so she and Lucy had something in common in their unconventional clothing choices. Mrs Crawley’s name was also something Lucy had found puzzling at first. But now she was familiar with Lord Grave’s insistence on sticking with certain traditions, one of them being that the cook should always be known as “Mrs” regardless of marital status or gender.
Vonk, the butler, who was small man, as short as Lucy in fact, was sitting at the kitchen table. His shirtsleeves were rolled up and he was carefully polishing the best silver cutlery. At the same time, he and Mrs Crawley seemed to be having words.
“Mrs C, I really don’t think that’s wise,” Vonk was saying, pointing the tines of the fork he was cleaning at the bunch of nettles that lay on the table. “Lord Grave said no experimental dishes for the feast.”
“Vonk, nettle pudding is hardly experimental. I found the recipe in an ancient cookbook. Many magicians ate it in olden times.”
“Wouldn’t nettle pudding sting your mouth?” Lucy asked.
“A good point!” Vonk replied.
Mrs Crawley chuckled. “Of course it won’t. Cooking takes the sting out of them! I’m sure you girls will like it when you try it!”
Lucy and Violet exchanged disgusted looks. Mrs Crawley was a little too avant-garde at times with her cooking. Only that morning she had tried to tempt them both with bacon and frogspawn for breakfast.
Once they’d obtained the shopping list from Mrs Crawley, Lucy and Violet left their fellow servants to carry on bickering about menus, and set off towards Grave Village. The trees that lined the rough road leading to the village were beginning to look rather bare, their branches dark and spiky against the grey October sky. Lucy and Violet scrunched their way through the piles of red, yellow and purple leaves strewn underfoot. A fine rain began to fall, so they put the hoods of their winter cloaks up. Violet began chattering about the preparations for the ball.
“I wish I was working on the big night. I don’t know why Lord Grave is giving me and Becky the day of the ball off. I hope you’ll be all right on your own.” Violet looked anxiously at Lucy.
“I’ll be fine. Vonk and Mrs Crawley will be here.” Lucy knew that Lord Grave had decided Violet and Becky should be absent from Grave Hall on the day of the ball, in case either of them noticed any magical activity. Lucy really didn’t mind being the only maid on duty. In fact, she couldn’t wait for the ball. Magicians from all over the world were due to attend, and Lord Grave had promised to introduce her to them. According to him, magicians liked to show off and try to out-magic each other at these sorts of events, so the ball promised to be a spectacular affair.
Lord Grave had also told Lucy that the ball was being held to celebrate the one hundredth anniversary of the defeat of a very wicked magician called Hester Coin, by Lord Grave’s great-grandmother, Lady Constance Grave. Although Lady Constance had successfully vanquished Hester Coin, she had been worried that other corrupt magicians might undertake similar criminal activities in the future. So she’d created Magicians Against the Abuse of Magic, otherwise known as MAAM, to combat such threats.
Since then, the head of MAAM had always been a member of the Grave family, apart from one recent period of a few years when the current Lord Grave had been too sad and heartsick at the disappearance of his son Bertie to bother with MAAM duties. But Lucy had changed all that when she had rescued Bertie from Amethyst Shade, the wicked magician who had kidnapped him. Now Lucy herself was a proud member of MAAM. Of course Violet didn’t know any of this. As far as she knew, the ball was to celebrate Bertie’s return home.
Naturally, Lucy had been very keen to find out exactly what Hester Coin had done that was so bad. However, Lord Grave had refused to tell her.
“She committed so many crimes, it would take too long to explain them all. And, for various reasons, we don’t like her last and most heinous crime to be widely known. She was finally defeated here at Grave Hall, and only we Graves and Lord Percy’s family know the full details.”
Although she was warm and toasty inside her thick cloak, Lucy couldn’t help shivering a little as she remembered the look on Lord Grave’s face when he’d said this. He’d looked afraid. Lord Grave was a courageous man who didn’t scare easily, so Hester Coin must have done something very bad indeed.
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After about an hour, Lucy and Violet reached St Isan’s, the old church that stood at the edge of Grave Village. The church clock began to chime eleven, sending the crows perched on the spire flapping and cawing into the sky. By now the rain had stopped and the sun had come out, although the day was still chilly. The two girls pushed back the hoods of their cloaks as they took a shortcut through the graveyard to reach the high road where the shops were. Violet murmured to Caruthers in a soothing manner as they walked.
“Don’t worry. It’s daytime. All the ghosties will be asleep,” she told him.
The two girls picked their way between the gravestones. Some were very old and spotted with lichen, their inscriptions faded. Violet pointed to a particularly decrepit one, which leaned over at an angle.
“Look, Lucy. When a gravestone’s all lopsided like that it means the person buried under it’s been trying to get out,” she said in a hushed voice, her eyes wide.
“Who told you that?” Lucy asked.
“Becky.”
Lucy sighed. Becky loved to tease and scare Violet. “That’s a load of rubbish! Don’t believe anything she says.”
They left the graveyard behind, and headed through the church gate out into Grave Village high street. It was a bustling place. People hurried to and fro across the cobbled pavements, and horses and carts rumbled along the road. There were plenty of shops to visit. There was a draper’s, where Violet’s mother worked as a seamstress; a candle-maker; a butcher’s and a greengrocer’s. There was also a shop called Busby’s Buns that sold confectionary and cakes. Violet immediately dragged Lucy to the window of this shop where all sorts of delicious indulgences were on display. There were buns oozing cream, tarts with glossy jewel-coloured fruit fillings, as well as chocolate-covered gingerbread men – Lucy’s favourite. Her mouth watered as she imagined the spicy-sweet taste of them.
“Shall we go in and spend our threepenny bits?” Violet asked. Mrs Crawley had generously given each of them one of the silver coins to buy themselves a treat.
“Let’s wait until we’ve done the shopping,” Lucy replied. “Where is it we have to go?”
“Surprising Supplies. The owner is Mrs Crawley’s cousin twice removed, isn’t she, Caruthers?”
Lucy wondered if Mrs Crawley’s cousin twice removed was a magician, but of course she couldn’t ask Violet this. “I’m guessing that means it’s an unusual sort of shop?”
“Ooh, yes. It sells some very odd things, like powdered worms and ants soaked in brandy,” Violet said, wrinkling her nose. “We have to go down that alleyway to get to it.”
Violet pointed to a narrow alley, which ran between the butcher’s shop and The Grave’s End, the village pub. There was a tall blonde girl, aged about sixteen, standing near the entrance to the alleyway. She was holding a violin, and a large, shaggy brown-and-white dog sat at her heels, panting. Its breath steamed in the cold air. The girl tucked her violin under her chin and began to play it as Lucy and Violet approached. The tune was a very popular one about a man deceived by his sweetheart. Violet began softly singing some of the words that accompanied it. “The mask she wore, the mask she wore, to hide herself from me …”
Lucy was about to enter the alleyway when Violet suddenly stopped singing and grabbed her sleeve, pulling her back.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s Caruthers. He’s scared. It’s too dark down there.”
Lucy peered into the alleyway. It was rather narrow and gloomy. “What about all the times you’ve been here before? Caruthers wasn’t scared then, was he?”
Violet shook her head. “No, but that’s because Mrs Crawley was with us. She’s tall and strong. He felt safe with her.”
“We can hold hands if you’re scared, Violet.”
“I’m not scared,” Violet insisted. “It’s Caruthers. He doesn’t think I’m big enough to defend him from robbers.”
Lucy sighed. “What about if I look after Caruthers?”
“That’s a good idea. And we could hold hands, I suppose, to make him feel extra safe.”
Violet handed Caruthers to Lucy, who stuck the little knitted frog down the front of her cloak, so that only his button-eyed head peeped out. Then she took Violet’s hand and the two of them stepped into the alley. Although Lucy had been rather dismissive of Violet’s fears, she felt a prickle of unease as they left the autumn sunshine for the gloomy dankness of the alley. There were no cobbles to walk on and the ground was muddy underfoot. Lucy was glad she was wearing her sturdy winter boots, as there were filthy puddles to splash through.
They were halfway down the alley when they heard a noise.
“Awwww! Awwww!”
“What’s that?” Violet said, clutching Lucy’s arm.
“I don’t know.”
“We should go back!”
“Awwww! Awwww!”
“I think someone’s hurt,” Lucy said. She gathered her courage and ventured a little way further into the alley, with Violet still grasping her sleeve. A very strange sight soon met their eyes. A boy around the same age as Violet was sitting in one of the mucky pools of water, sobbing loudly. He had golden curly hair and a chubby, cherub-like face, which was streaked with dirt, as was his neck. His gaze flickered first towards Lucy, then to Violet.
“Miss, you’ve a kind face!” he said to her. “Please help me!”
“Oh, of course I will!” Violet said, her fear forgotten. She moved closer to the boy. “Whatever’s the matter? Are you hurt?”
“He stole my bun money!” the boy wailed. “I’ve been saving up for buns for my mum’s birthday tea. It’s taken me months. And he stole it! Awww! Awww!”
“Who did?” Lucy asked. She had to shout to be heard above the din. Although she felt sorry for the boy, the dreadful wailing was rather wearing on the ears.
“A big brute of a lad! And now there’ll be no buns for tea!”
“How horrid!” Violet replied. “But do stop crying. I’ve got threepence. You can have that to buy some buns.”
The boy looked up at her with a shocked expression on his face. It seemed he was unused to kindness. “Really?”
“Of course! Now, you should get up out of that puddle or your bottom will rot! Then you really will have problems!” Violet said. The serious expression on her face indicated she earnestly believed in bottom-rot.
The boy did as Violet suggested and stood up, muddy water dripping off the seat of his ragged trousers. Violet held out her silver threepenny coin to him.
“You’re so kind, miss. I wish I could give you summat in return.” He began patting the pockets of his jacket. Lucy frowned as she noticed something puzzling about him. His jacket didn’t match his raggedy trousers. It was new-looking and made of good, thick material. Perhaps he’d stolen it? But Lucy didn’t have time to dwell on this as by now the boy had found something in his pocket to give Violet. There was a flash of silver as he whipped out a knife.
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The boy leaped at Violet, wielding his blade. He knocked her to the ground, then pinned her down by kneeling on her arms.
Violet shrieked wildly.
Lucy charged towards the boy, her fingers tingling with heat the way they had earlier that morning when she’d been practising magic with Lord Grave. Barely thinking about what she was doing, she drew her hand back and sent a flurry of attack sparks whizzing towards the boy’s exposed nape, just above his collar. The sparks struck their target perfectly.
The boy screamed in pain, clapping his hand over the back of his neck. Violet managed to free one of her arms and punched the boy. The punch didn’t have much power behind it, but it did land somewhere sensitive, and the boy squealed. At the same time, Lucy let fly at him with another volley of sparks. The combined assault completely unbalanced the boy and he ended up flat on his back in the mud. Cursing, he quickly scrambled to his feet, snatching up something he’d dropped. He stepped towards Lucy, clearly considering charging at her. But then he stopped, and for a few seconds he just stared at her, then over his shoulder at Violet, then at Lucy again. His eyes widened.
“You’re her! I thought she was … That stupid frog!”
Lucy had expected the boy to demand more money, so his words confused her. Caruthers had fallen out of her cloak during the fight and was now lying with his head in a muddy puddle. What did he have to do with anything?
“Leave us alone or I’ll hurt you some more!” Lucy yelled. Her heart was pounding so hard she could hardly hear her own voice, which sounded far more threatening than she actually felt. She pointed at the boy, her fingertips stinging with heat again. The boy stepped back, his gaze fixed on the attack sparks that were beginning to crackle around Lucy’s hand. Her heart lurched. Not only could the boy feel the sparks, he could see them too!
After a moment’s hesitation, the boy turned and ran off down the alley. His gait was somewhat lopsided as he splashed through patches of muddy water, no doubt due to Violet’s lucky punch.
When the boy was safely out of sight, Lucy hunkered down next to the little scullery maid and helped her sit up. “Violet! Are you all right?”
“He c-cut me!”
“Where?”
Violet held out her right hand. The soft flap of skin between her thumb and forefinger was bleeding.
“Anywhere else?”
Violet shook her head.
“Thank goodness.” Lucy took out her handkerchief, which fortunately was freshly washed, and wrapped the wound as best she could. Then she helped Violet to stand up.
“Where’s Caruthers?” Violet asked.
“Don’t worry, he’s here. He’s a bit mucky, though.” Lucy retrieved Caruthers from the muddy puddle and handed him to Violet, who clutched him to her chest with her uninjured hand. Then the two of them stumbled shakily out of the alley and back on to the high street.
The violin player was the first person to spot they were in trouble. She laid her instrument down in its velvet-lined case and dashed over to them, her shaggy dog trotting alongside her.
“Hell’s teeth! What happened to you two?”
“A boy. Attacked her with a knife!” Lucy said.
“He attacked her? What about you? Did he get you?” the girl asked, sounding extremely concerned.
“No, he didn’t.” Lucy shook her head. She was beginning to feel rather sick at the thought of what might have happened if they hadn’t managed to fight off the boy. By now, some of the shoppers bustling about had noticed something was amiss too. A little crowd began to form round Violet and Lucy.
“Ooh, look at the little one, her hand’s bleeding!”
Violet, who had turned very pale, said, “Could someone please fetch my mother?”
“Your mother, chicken?” replied a tall, dark-haired woman.
“She’s a seamstress. She works at the draper’s.” Violet closed her eyes and began swaying dangerously.
“I’ll take you to your mother, don’t you worry!” The woman quickly scooped Violet up before she could fall and then began heading towards one of the shops at the other end of the street. Lucy hurried after her, stumbling over the cobbles. When the three of them burst into the draper’s, the bell hanging above the door jangled madly, startling the man behind the counter. He looked up from the bolt of cloth he was folding and cried out in alarm.
“Brenda! What’s going on? Is that little Violet Worthington?” he said.
“Get her mother.” Brenda carefully deposited Violet on one of the tall stools that stood in front of the counter. The man swiftly obeyed and hastened through a pair of fringed red curtains that hung behind the counter, concealing the back room of the shop.
“You should sit down too, chicken, you look dreadful,” Brenda advised Lucy, who gratefully slumped on to a stool just as Mrs Worthington, a plump woman with kind brown eyes, ran through the curtains. She lifted up a section of the wooden counter and rushed over to Violet.
“My little girl! What’s happened to you?” Mrs Worthington took Violet’s wounded hand gently in her own and began carefully removing the handkerchief.
“Some lad attacked the two of ’em, down in the alley,” Brenda explained.
Mrs Worthington glanced at Lucy. “You must be Lucy, the new boot girl. Violet’s always talking about you. Can you tell me what happened, dear?”
As Lucy began explaining the attack once again, Violet laid her head on the shop counter. She was fast asleep by the time Lucy had finished speaking.
“That little one needs to be in bed,” Brenda said.
“I’ll take her home,” Mrs Worthington replied.
“What about you, chicken?” Brenda asked Lucy.
“I’ll be fine. I can walk to Grave Hall,” Lucy said, although she was so shaken up that she was dreading the long slog back.
“If you like, I can take you. I’ve got my pony and trap.”
Lucy gratefully agreed. She followed Brenda out of the draper’s shop to where the pony and trap were standing. Brenda produced an apple from her pocket and gave it to the grey-and-white pony to munch on while she and Lucy climbed up on to the driver’s seat.
Lucy fell silent as Brenda geed the horse out of the village and on to the road that led back to Grave Hall. Was she going to be in trouble for casting magic in a public place? And what about the boy? She was certain that he’d seen the attack sparks. What if he started telling everyone what he’d witnessed? Lord Grave would be furious!
“You mustn’t worry, Lucy,” Brenda said at that very moment, as though she guessed exactly what Lucy was thinking. “Lord Grave will understand that you had to use magic to defend yourself, I’m sure.”
Lucy turned and gaped at her. “You’re a …”
“That’s right. My talents are mostly lowly, but I’m a magician just the same.”
“But how did you know I used magic?”
“There were a few little sparks floating around you when you came out of the alley. Now, tell me, how is everyone up at the Hall? Does Mrs Crawley still concoct revolting recipes? Bernie and I were very close when I worked there. I do miss her.”
“You used to work at Grave Hall?”
“I was the gardener there.”
“Why did you leave?” Lucy asked.
Brenda kept her eyes on the road. “An agricultural difference of opinion, chicken. Lord Grave sacked me. I don’t really like to talk about it, to be honest.”
Brenda dropped Lucy at the bottom of the long drive which led to Grave Hall.
“Hope you don’t mind me leaving you here,” she said, gazing rather wistfully towards the house as Lucy clambered to the ground. “Much as I’d like to see Bernie again, I don’t want to risk bumping into his Lordship. You take care now.”
Lucy waved Brenda off, then began to toil towards the house. When she finally stumbled in to the kitchen, exhausted and relieved, Becky was there, shelling broad beans. Mrs Crawley was too busy attending to some bubbling pots on the range to notice Lucy arrive at first.
Becky gave Lucy an appraising glance. “You took your time, Goodly. You look a right state. Did you have some sort of accident?” Becky’s tone of voice suggested she keenly hoped something bad had happened to Lucy,
“Not an accident. Sorry to disappoint you, Becky,” Lucy snapped. “I was attacked. So was Violet. She got the worst of it. She got cut by a knife.”
“Violet got cut?” Becky said, accidently knocking the bowl of beans off the table and on to the floor.
Mrs Crawley turned from the range. Her face was bright red and sweaty from the heat of the pans. She hurried over to Lucy and put an arm round her shoulders, her forehead dripping gently on to Lucy’s cloak. She steered her in to one of the kitchen chairs. Lucy was grateful as she was beginning to feel rather odd.
“Vonk! Get in here!” Mrs Crawley cried. “Lucy, are you all right? Where’s Violet now?”
“She’s with her mother,” Lucy told her.
Vonk came shooting out of his butler’s pantry, a copy of the latest Penny Dreadful clutched in his hand. He’d clearly been having a sneaky break while everyone else was working.
“Whatever’s wrong, Mrs C?”
“The girls were attacked! Violet’s been hurt, but don’t worry – she’s safely at home now.”
“What?” Vonk dropped the Penny. He took one look at Lucy and said, “Mrs Crawley, a pot of hot, strong tea is in order, I think.”
“Right you are! Becky, get that kettle boiling.”
“You’ll have to do it! I need to pick all this up!” Becky said. She was down on her hands and knees, scrabbling about for her spilled beans.
While Mrs Crawley clattered around making tea, Vonk sat down opposite Lucy. “What happened?” he asked.
Lucy shakily explained everything, or almost everything. Becky was in earshot, under the table picking up stray beans, so she didn’t mention that she’d used magic to defend Violet.
“And you’re not hurt?” Vonk asked when she’d finished.
“No.”
“Here you are – this has plenty of sugar in it.” Mrs Crawley put a cup of tea in front of Lucy.
“Thanks.” Lucy blew on the tea and then took a sip. It was hot, sweet and very comforting, and she began to recover a little.
By now Becky had finished picking up the beans and sat back down at the table. She took another pod and resumed her shelling in silence. Lucy noticed Becky’s hands were trembling. Becky always made a point of being horrible to Violet, but the attack on the poor little scullery maid seemed to have genuinely upset her.
“I think I’d better go and see Lord Grave and tell him what happened. He’ll want to know,” Lucy said when she’d finished her tea and felt a little more like her usual self.
“Don’t worry, I’ll explain it all to him,” Vonk said.
Lucy glanced at Becky, who luckily seemed distracted by her beans, then shook her head gently at Vonk. He immediately understood that there was something more Lucy needed to tell Lord Grave, and it couldn’t be said in front of Becky.
“On second thoughts, perhaps it might be best if you hurry along and speak to his Lordship yourself. I’ve got a lot to do.”
As she left the kitchen, Lucy glanced over her shoulder and caught Becky staring at her. Their eyes met for a second before Becky swiftly diverted her gaze back to her bowl of beans. In that second, Lucy realised that the normally abrasive under-housemaid was not simply upset by what had happened to Violet; she was frightened.
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“I
m really sorry. I know I shouldn’t have used the attack sparks. I did it without thinking,” Lucy said, when she’d finished explaining the morning’s events to Lord Grave. She was sitting in one of the green wing-backed armchairs next to the fire in the drawing room.
“There’s nothing to be sorry for. You probably saved Violet’s life,” Lord Grave replied. He was sitting in the chair opposite Lucy’s. Bathsheba lay near him, snoozing in front of the fire. Her mouth was partly open, the gleaming points of her fangs on display, and she was dribbling rather gracelessly on to the green woollen hearthrug.
“But what if I’m right and the boy saw the sparks as well as felt them?”
“I suppose he might say something to any accomplices he might have, but he’s not likely to go to the authorities to report anything suspicious, is he?”
“Could he have been a magician?”
“Hmm. I know all the magicians in the area, young and old. I don’t recognise him from your description. It’s possible, though, that he might have come from somewhere else.”
“I wonder what he wanted? Why would he bother attacking a servant girl like Violet? He must have realised she wouldn’t have jewellery or anything like that. And she’d already given him threepence, all the money she had on her,” Bertie said, picking absentmindedly at the frayed material that covered the footstool he was perched on. Bathsheba had a bad habit of using it to sharpen her claws on.
“That’s a good point, my boy.” Lord Grave took a puff of his cigar, which was unlit as he was trying to give them up. Or at least he was when Bertie was around. “Lucy, is there anything more you remember that might give us a clue?”
Lucy thought carefully. “There is something that I don’t understand. Just before the boy ran off, he said something about Caruthers. Something like �that stupid frog’ … Why would he say that?”
“Where was Caruthers at the time?” Bertie asked.
“He was on the ground. I dropped him.”
“You dropped him? When the boy attacked you and Violet, who was holding Caruthers?”
“Me.”
Bertie leaned forward, his dark bushy eyebrows drawn together in a thoughtful frown. “Did the boy say anything else?”
“Yes. Something like … �you’re her’. He seemed quite confused.” Lucy replied, remembering how the boy had looked from her to Violet and back again. “Maybe … maybe he thought I was Violet because I was holding Caruthers?”
“And maybe he thought Violet was you!” Bertie said excitedly. “Which means he meant to attack you first.”
“It’s a good theory, my boy,” Lord Grave said. “But it still leaves us with the same question. Why would anyone want to attack Lucy? We need to speak to little Violet in case she saw anything that might provide a clue as to the boy’s motive. Lucy, you go and rest for an hour, then we’ll visit Violet. In the meantime I’ll ask Vonk to ready the carriage.”
Half an hour later, Lucy was lying on her brass bed in the little attic room she shared with Becky. She felt too keyed up to nap. Bored of staring at the ceiling, she got off the bed and went over to the window. One of the few good points about her bedroom, which was so small the door opened outwards instead of inwards to save space, was the view of Lord Grave’s wildlife park. Lord Grave’s wife had been an animal lover. When she was alive, she had made a habit of rescuing animals: anything from birds to elephants.
Lord Grave had recently employed extra help to care for the animals. That extra help could be seen lumbering about now, carrying meat for the lions. Lucy smiled as she watched the golem going about its duties. It had been her idea to make the golem a wildlife park keeper. Of course, the creation of golems was a strictly forbidden type of magic. A rogue magician called Jerome Wormwood had brought this particular one to life just a few weeks ago. Thanks to Lucy, Wormwood was now safely locked up and wouldn’t be creating any more monsters for a very long time. However, that had left MAAM with the problem of what to do with the golem, who was now harmless, thanks to some vigorous retraining, but still somewhat alarming.
Realising that humans, especially anyone non-magical, might be rather disturbed by the golem, Lord Grave had put a special shielding spell on it. This meant that its true form could be seen only by MAAM associates and the magical residents of Grave Hall. Anyone else would see a rather portly, unkempt, slightly smelly man who went by the name of Mr Gomel. This all worked well enough, although care had to be taken to make sure no one tried to engage Mr Gomel in meaningful conversation, as that might give the game away.
As she gazed out at the wildlife park, watching some pelicans flying around the lake, Lucy went over the attack again in her mind. She frowned as she remembered that when the boy had tumbled off Violet and on to his back he’d dropped something and then quickly snatched it up again. Lucy closed her eyes and gripped the edge of the windowsill. She concentrated as hard as she could, trying to visualise again what she’d seen. The boy’s hand reaching out to grab the object. What was it? But it was no good – she couldn’t bring it to mind. Perhaps Violet would be able to remember something more. Eager to find out, Lucy hurriedly left her little attic room and set off downstairs to meet Lord Grave.
The Worthingtons’ cottage lay a little way outside Grave Village, up a narrow lane. The cottage was small but well cared for. Lord Grave rapped the shiny brass knocker. A moment later, Mrs Worthington opened it.
“Your Lordship!” she said, looking most surprised and also not very pleased.
“I’m very sorry to intrude, but I wondered if we could have a quick word with Violet.”
Mrs Worthington frowned. “Oh dear. Can’t it wait? The poor little thing’s worn out. She can hardly keep her eyes open.”
“Just a few minutes?”
Mrs Worthington sighed. “If you insist.”
“Most kind.” Lord Grave took off his top hat and stepped through the doorway. Lucy followed him inside.
The cottage had just one large room downstairs. The floorboards were bare, but swept clean. Not a speck of dust clung to the rough wooden beams that crossed the ceiling. Mrs Worthington led the way up the rickety staircase, which creaked rather alarmingly.
The stairs opened out directly on to a bedroom that was as small as Lucy’s own but seemed bigger as there was only the one bed, which Violet was lying in. She and Caruthers were snugly tucked up under a pink-and-white patchwork quilt.
Mrs Worthington bent over her daughter and spoke gently to her. “Violet. Lord Grave’s here. He wants to speak to you. Is that all right?”
“Yes, Mother,” Violet said. Her voice was slow and sleepy.
Mrs Worthington gestured for Lord Grave and Lucy to go over to Violet’s bed.
“Hello, Lucy. Thank you for saving me,” Violet said. She looked up at her two visitors. Her eyes were dull and her face looked pinched and grey.
“Violet, I’d just like you to tell me what you remember of the attack. The boy cut you with his knife, is that right?” Lord Grave said kindly.
Violet nodded.
“And then what happened?”
Violet’s eyes began to close. “A penny. Then a peashooter,” she whispered.
“I think she’s delirious,” Lord Grave muttered.
Violet’s eyes opened a little. “The boy. He cut me. He had a penny. Smeared it with my blood. Put it in his handkerchief. Then Lucy hit him on the back of the neck with her peashooter. Can I go to sleep now?”
Lord Grave opened his mouth to ask another question, but Mrs Worthington stepped between him and the bed. “I think that’s enough for today, sir,” she said firmly, and began ushering Lucy and Lord Grave towards the stairs. Lucy glanced over her shoulder and saw that Violet was already fast asleep.
When Lord Grave and Lucy had been politely but speedily shown out of the Worthingtons’ cottage, Lord Grave lingered on the doorstep for a few moments.
“I wish I could have gleaned a little more information from young Violet. I’m beginning to think your attacker really might have been magical.”
Lucy frowned. “If he was, why didn’t he use magic to fight back when I hit him with the attack sparks?”
Lord Grave nodded. “That’s a good point. But perhaps he’d already got what he wanted? Which in this case was blood. Perhaps he’d hoped for your blood, but decided to make do with Violet’s.”
“But why would he do such a thing?” Lucy asked, feeling slightly queasy.
Lord Grave put his top hat back on and gazed grimly at Lucy. “There are many magical uses for blood, Lucy, and all of them are very nasty indeed.”
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Back at Grave Hall, Lucy expected that she and Lord Grave would spend some time together discussing what Violet had revealed. But Lord Grave had other ideas.
“It’s a stroke of luck that I invited MAAM to come a couple of days before the actual ball so that we could have a catch-up before the other guests arrive. Lord Percy sent me a chit this morning to let me know they’d all be here at five.”
Lucy, who had become more and more acquainted with the magical world over the last few weeks, knew that chits were a special invention of Lord Percy’s; flying notes that MAAM used to send messages between themselves, and to communicate with other magicians.
“So,” Lord Grave continued, consulting his pocket watch, “there’s about half an hour before they arrive. We’ll be able to confer with them about all this later. In the meantime, would you mind helping Mrs Crawley? I believe she may be feeling somewhat overwhelmed with the preparations for the ball.”
Lucy agreed, but she couldn’t help feeling a little put out. Sometimes she resented the fact that Lord Grave wanted her to be part of MAAM, but also expected her to be a servant. Nevertheless, she set off to the kitchen.
Mrs Crawley was sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded by a stack of potatoes. She was sipping at a large tankard of her favourite home-brew. The ale was flavoured with Extra Violent Mustard Mix and Mrs Crawley used it as a pick-me-up when she was feeling particularly fatigued.
“Oh, thank goodness!” she said when she saw Lucy. “I really do need a hand! All these potatoes need peeling, could you make a start on them? Becky keeps sneaking off somewhere. She’s acting very oddly. Lord Percy and the rest of MAAM are arriving soon. Oh, and Diamond O’Brien and the rest of the circus folk are coming tomorrow. It’s all going to be a bit frantic now until the big day!”
“Have you ever seen the circus?” Lucy asked, picking up a potato and starting to peel it. Lord Grave had invited O’Brien’s Midnight Circus to provide some entertainment at the ball. Lucy had seen some of the acts before, and had been extremely impressed.
“No, his Lordship hasn’t always approved of that sort of thing,” Mrs Crawley said, taking a gulp of her ale.
This was true. Relations between MAAM and O’Brien’s Midnight Circus had been somewhat glacial due to the fact that the circus folk operated on what Lord Grave called “the fringes of ethical magic”. However, following the death of two magicians at the hands of Jerome Wormwood, Lord Grave and Diamond O’Brien had decided that the magical community needed to come together.
“Oh, you’ll love it! There’s magical knife-throwing, a woman who can fold herself up and trapeze artists. Without trapezes!”
“That sounds very exciting, to be sure!” Mrs Crawley wiped beery foam from her moustache. The refreshment had rallied her and she recovered her usual good spirits. “Now then. Lord Grave wants to give MAAM a nice dinner tonight. I’d like you and Becky to wait at table, Lucy. Don’t pull that face. If the wind changes you’ll be stuck like that. You and Becky need to work together sometimes.”
Lucy sighed inwardly, but decided not to argue. She carried on peeling potatoes. “How are MAAM getting here?” she asked after a while.
“They’re all coming in Lady Sibyl’s coach.” Mrs Crawley glanced at the kitchen clock. “They should be here any minute.”
“Can I go and watch them land?”
Mrs Crawley smiled. “Of course. Off you go, but don’t be too long.”
“Thank you!” Lucy jumped out of her seat, raced out of the back door and through the kitchen garden. Watching Lady Sibyl’s flying coach arrive was always a thrill. Lucy had ridden in it herself once and dearly hoped she’d do so again one day.
When she reached the front of the house, she stood on the gravel driveway and gazed upwards. She soon spotted an unusual black smudge in the sky. There was a rumbling noise like faint thunder as the smudge grew bigger and bigger, and after a few seconds Lucy could clearly see Lady Sibyl’s shiny black carriage, which was pulled by two horses whose gossamer-thin wings shimmered with rainbow colours where the autumn sunlight touched them.
Lucy skittered out of the coach’s flight path and watched from a safe distance as it began to lose height, landing with a gentle crunch on the Grave drive. The coach driver, a slender woman dressed from head to toe in black velvet, deftly pulled the horses to a halt.
Behind Lucy, the grand front door of Grave Hall opened, and Lord Grave and Bathsheba came down the steps. Bertie and Vonk followed. Lucy eagerly ran up to the coach, preparing to greet her fellow MAAM members.
The stout footman travelling alongside the driver jumped down and hurried over to pull out the carriage steps so the passengers could disembark. Then he unfastened the door and held it open as Lady Sibyl started climbing out.
“Hello!” Lucy called excitedly. But her greeting wasn’t returned.
Lady Sibyl was frowning distractedly. Usually, she was very elegant and sure-footed, but not today, as she stumbled on the last of the coach steps and had to be steadied by her footman. The cause of her upset soon became clear when Beguildy Beguildy and his sister Prudence followed her, helping Lord Percy out of the coach. Lucy gasped and put her hand over her mouth. Poor Lord Percy, who was a sorrowful-looking man at the best of times, was in a terrible state and looked more miserable than ever. His right arm was in a sling, his left eye was swollen and turning black and he had a very nasty cut on his cheek, which was clotted with dried blood.
“What on earth happened to you, old chap?” Lord Grave boomed, striding over to Lord Percy, who was now wearily leaning against Beguildy’s shoulder.
“We stopped off in Grave Village on the way here. I had a fancy for one of Busby’s custard slices. You know how fond I am of them. I was attacked by two blasted urchins. A girl and a boy. Unbelievable,” Lord Percy replied.
“Did they steal anything?” Lord Grave asked.
“No. Managed to fight the little guttersnipes off. Left me with a few cuts and bruises, that’s all,”
“A few cuts and bruises! Dear Percy was very lucky, George. The boy had a knife.” Lady Sibyl’s words gave Lucy a little jolt, and she exchanged glances with Lord Grave, who was surely thinking the same thing as her – was this the same boy who’d attacked her and Violet?
“The vicious little beast wielded it without hesitation, and he would have used it on me if Percy hadn’t bravely shielded me from harm,” Lady Sibyl continued, dabbing at her eyes with a very fancy lace handkerchief. “But you know the most disturbing thing of all, George? Those beastly children weren’t just ordinary nasty little reprobates. They were magical.”
(#ulink_8eabc092-6669-5ac8-8fa8-b2a58e183883)
Lord Grave raised his bushy eyebrows. “Extraordinary. Come on, Percy, let’s get you inside and comfortable, then you can tell all. Vonk, would you organise tea in the MAAM meeting room please? Lucy, perhaps you could help Vonk and then join us.”
Lord Grave and Beguildy each grabbed one of Lord Percy’s elbows and began to guide him up the steps to the front door and into the hallway of the house. Once everyone was inside, Lord Percy, Lady Sibyl and the Beguildys removed their coats and hats. After warming themselves in front of the hallway fire, they headed off to the MAAM meeting room with Lord Grave, leaving Lucy and Vonk to lug all the outdoor garments to the coat cupboard.
“Children attacking you and Violet, and now Lord Percy!” Vonk shook his head as he hung up Lady Sibyl’s cloak, which was trimmed with black and scarlet feathers.
“I’d bet my life one of them is the boy from the alley,” Lucy replied, reaching up to hang Beguildy Beguildy’s navy-blue coat, which had a very fancy brass neck-fastening featuring a ship in full sail.
“We’ll soon find out. No doubt MAAM will get to the bottom of it. Come along, we’d best go and fetch the tea things.”
When Lucy and Vonk reached the kitchen, Vonk looked cautiously around before asking where Becky was.
Mrs Crawley gave a little snort of amusement. “Cleaning out the lavatories and the chamber pots. I know I shouldn’t laugh. She’s absolutely furious, but with Violet laid up … Whatever’s the matter, Vonk?”
“There’s been another incident, Mrs C.” Vonk pulled out a chair and sat at the table. Lucy and Mrs Crawley did likewise. Then Vonk explained what had happened to Lord Percy and Lady Sibyl in Grave Village.
“But that’s terrible,” Mrs Crawley said when Vonk had finished speaking. “Poor Lord Percy. Could there be some connection to the attack on Violet and Lucy? What does his Lordship think?”
“I haven’t had a chance to ask him, but I think there is,” Lucy told her. “He’s having a MAAM meeting now. He asked for some tea to be sent up. We’d better put plenty of sugar in Lord Percy’s.”
“Oh, but of course!” Mrs Crawley immediately began buzzing around the kitchen, putting the kettle to boil on the range and setting out the china on a tray, as well as a couple of plates of biscuits. While Mrs Crawley was attending to the teapot, Lucy and Vonk swiftly examined the biscuits. They were relieved to find that they were normal almond ones without any experimental flourishes such as cockroach legs.
When everything was ready, they set off upstairs. Vonk carried the tea tray and Lucy carried the biscuit plates.
“You can do the honours, Lucy,” Vonk said when the two of them reached the door to the MAAM meeting room.
“Havana!” Lucy exclaimed. She always enjoyed being the one to utter the password that made the meeting-room door swing open of its own accord. And, although she was now quite familiar with what lay beyond the door, she still felt a buzz of excitement at stepping over the threshold and into such a fascinating room. A large glass display cabinet took up the whole of one wall, and it was filled with strange-looking instruments made of silver, gold and brass. They were all inventions created by Lord Percy and had various uses, including detecting the misuse of magic. At the moment, all of them were silent and still.
“You should settle yourself down with the others and I’ll serve the tea,” Vonk whispered to Lucy.
As Vonk busied himself with pouring tea and handing round the biscuits (Lucy smiled to herself as she saw that each member of MAAM examined them suspiciously before eating them), Lucy parked herself next to Bertie and Smell.
“I call this meeting to order!” Lord Grave announced. “In light of what happened to Lord Percy today, we need to consider who the children behind the attack might be. Sibyl, Percy, what made you conclude your attackers were magical? Did they cast any spells?”
“Briefly,” Lady Sibyl said. “The boy tried. He very clumsily aimed some attack sparks at me when I went to Percy’s aid.”
At that very moment, the glass cabinet began to rattle. One of the instruments, a golden star attached to a coiled golden spring, was bouncing up and down.
“Why is it doing that?” Lucy asked.
“Because somewhere a child is using magic, or rather using magic when they shouldn’t,” Lord Grave explained. “You see, although child magicians can of course use magic, it’s generally not allowed unless they are in their own home or another magician’s home and are being supervised by an adult. There’s simply too much that could go wrong. This little contraption gives the alert if a child is breaking the rules. Of course they could be clever enough to make their magic undetectable, but they would have to be exceptionally talented.”
The golden star began jiggling even more wildly.
“Can it tell you who’s doing the magic? Or where?” Lucy asked.
Lord Grave shook his head. “It covers a radius of some two hundred miles, but it can’t pin down an exact location or identify the culprit. But I would wager that it has something to do with today’s events. The last time that machine went off on a regular basis was a couple of months ago, when you were being a little wayward with magic, Lucy. That’s what set me off looking for you.”
Lucy felt her face grow warm. When she’d first met Lord Grave, she’d been using a magical playing card to win poker games, although at the time she had thought it was simply some sort of trick card. Lord Grave had brought her to Grave Hall so that she could learn to use magic properly.
Her embarrassment increased when Beguildy Beguildy made an exaggerated tutting noise and wagged his forefinger in an admonishing manner. Lucy and Beguildy weren’t exactly the best of friends. However, he had rescued her from a stressful situation during the Jerome Wormwood investigation, so now she was trying to be a little more tolerant of him and vice versa. Admittedly, this could be a challenge at times on both sides.
“Let’s get back to business,” Lord Grave continued. “Percy, Sibyl, can you describe the children who attacked you?”
“I didn’t get a good look at them,” Lady Sibyl said. “Percy?”
Lord Percy grunted and opened his eyes. He’d been nodding off, his head drooping towards the table. “Sorry, what?”
“The children. Can you describe them?” Lord Grave said.
“Oh, well. Let me think. The girl wore a cloak. Hood up. Couldn’t see her face. The boy … Tattoo on his neck, under his ear. Looked like a bluebird.” Lord Percy’s head began to droop again.
“A tattoo?” Lord Grave said. He puffed excitedly on his unlit cigar. “We could have a lead here. Do you all remember the Hard Times Hall fiasco?”
“Hard Times Hall! Yes, you could be on to something, George,” Lady Sibyl said, nodding her head vigorously. The peacock feathers she wore in her hair bobbed up and down as if in agreement.
“What’s Hard Times Hall?” Lucy asked.
“An orphanage for magical children. Wait a moment.” Lord Grave left the table and went over to a large wooden chest. He lifted the lid to reveal a mass of papers inside. Although they looked rather haphazard, they must have been in some sort of order as Lord Grave soon managed to locate what he needed. He pulled out some newspaper pages. They were slightly yellowed and when Lucy looked closely she saw they were from an edition of the Penny Dreadful and dated the year before. Lord Grave always called the Penny a “frightful old rag” but nevertheless he seemed to be one of its most loyal readers and had an extensive collection of back copies. Lord Grave spread the pages in front of Lucy and Bertie.
“You own an orphanage, Father?” Bertie asked in astonishment.
Lord Grave waved his hand dismissively. “As far as the Penny and the rest of the non-magical world is concerned, I do. But in truth it belongs to the whole of the magical community. It’s where we look after magical children who have no one else to care for them. But all that’s by the by. The point here is those children who escaped. About a dozen of ’em, have never been found. Or perhaps not found until now.”
Lord Grave pointed at the drawings of the Hard Times Hall escapees. “Percy, this boy with curly hair, he has a bluebird tattoo on his neck, do you see? Is it the same boy?”
Lord Percy had to be prodded awake by Beguildy Beguildy. He stared intently at the drawings that accompanied the article, as though he was finding it difficult to focus. “Yes. He looked a little older than he is here, but yes, that’s him.”
“Sibyl? Do you recognise the boy too? Or these other children?”
“As I said, I didn’t manage more than a glimpse of any of them. I was too concerned about dear Percy.”
Lady Sibyl wasn’t the only one to be concerned about dear Lord Percy. The rest of MAAM looked at him in alarm as he began swaying gently in his seat, as though being blown by an invisible wind, his eyes were closing again.
“Oh dear. I must admit I’m not feeling very well,” he muttered.
“I think we’d better get you into a nice warm bed,” Lord Grave said. “Vonk, is Lord Percy’s room ready?”
Vonk stepped forward from the corner where he had been quietly standing. He often stayed on hand when there was a MAAM meeting going on, in case anything was needed. “Yes, I believe so.”
“I would like a brief lie-down, I must admit,” Lord Percy said. He tried to stand up, but it was clear that he wasn’t going to be able to make it out of the room and up the stairs to bed under his own steam. Vonk hurried off to fetch Mrs Crawley, who soon bore Lord Percy away upstairs to bed in her strong and beefy arms.
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