13 Curses (6 page)

Tanya was saved from thinking of something to say by the General giving an ear-shattering screech. At this, Oberon, who had just plucked up the courage to raise his nose to the cage for a better look at the strange creature inside, fled and hid under the table.

Nell chuckled. The General chuckled too.

“How rude,” he said, in a perfect imitation of Nell’s voice. “How
rude
. Young whippersnapper.”

“My clever boy,” trilled Nell.

The General blew a raspberry and puffed his feathers out so he appeared twice his normal size.

“Look,” said Nell. “He’s got his suit of armor on.”

“Pop goes the weasel! HOW RUDE!” the parrot screeched, puffing himself out even more. “Skullduggery, that’s what it is!”

A small movement caught Tanya’s eye. On the counter, the lid to the tea caddy had lifted, and the shriveled little face of the old brownie that lived there peered out. He blinked grumpily and brandished his walking stick at the General, before slamming the
lid back down and burrowing under the teabags again. Tanya caught her grandmother’s eye. Like her, Florence had the second sight, but no one else in the kitchen had seen—or was able to. The only other fairy that lived in the kitchen was a shy little hearthfay whom Tanya had seen dart behind the coal bin a few minutes before.

“I bet I could teach him some new words,” said Fabian.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Nell answered. “If he starts to swear I’ll know exactly who to blame and I’ll wash your mouth out for you with a bar of soap.”

“As if I’d do
that
!” said Fabian, pretending to be shocked.

“I’m sure Fabian will respect your wishes,” said Florence, giving Fabian a hard look. “Won’t you, Fabian?”

Fabian’s only response was a vague “Hmm.”

“Bleedin’ pest! Bleedin’ nuisance!” said the General.

From the look on Nell’s face it was clear she agreed.

Later that evening, after Tanya had packed away her things and let Oberon out for a run in the back garden, everyone except Warwick had eaten dinner and was now gathered in the kitchen in front of a roaring fire. The General had, thankfully, had a dark cloth draped over his cage and been wheeled away for the night.
Oberon was stretched out with his paws on the hearth, snoring softly. Florence was knitting for a charity rummage sale—her needles clicking and clacking away—and occasionally answering Nell’s questions about the house.

Tanya stared into the flames of the fire, half listening to them and half thinking about Red and the news bulletin she’d heard on the radio. She wanted to talk to Fabian about it and had hinted several times for them to leave the room. Fabian, however, was sprawled out on the rug next to Oberon, finishing homework that he insisted he wanted out of the way so it didn’t ruin his half-term. Every so often he complained about Oberon’s breath and wriggled away in disgust.

“Where does that staircase lead to?” Nell asked, her eyelids heavy with the heat of the room.

Tanya looked at the old staircase next to the fireplace. It curved up and around, disappearing behind another wall partition.

“It used to lead up to the first and second floors,” said Florence. “It was used by the servants years ago. It’s blocked off now, though.”

Tanya and Fabian shared a secret glance. It was true that the kitchen’s entrance to the staircase was blocked off, but what Florence had declined to say was that access could still be gained to the old staircase from a hidden door on the second floor. Unbeknownst to Florence and Warwick, Tanya and Fabian had found the door and explored the servants’ staircase during the summer.

Just then, Warwick came into the kitchen through the back door, followed by a gust of cold air and a few stray leaves. He had been out all afternoon, and now looked cold, tired, and hungry.

He hung his coat on the back of the door and moved to the oven, where he knew his dinner would be waiting for him, but Florence rose from her chair.

“Let me,” she said. “I’ll make a nice cup of tea and get your dinner while you check on Amos.”

Warwick’s tired face brightened. He licked his lips and disappeared to check on his old father upstairs. Minutes later he returned and took a seat at the table.

“It’s stew,” said Florence, cutting two slices from a crusty loaf.

“With dumplings?” Warwick asked happily.

“With dumplings,” Florence replied, opening the oven. “Oh!”

“What’s the matter?”

“It’s not here,” said Florence, in obvious confusion. “I left it in the oven to keep it warm, and it’s gone!”

Nell sat up, suddenly looking nervous. She heaved herself out of the chair and lumbered toward Florence.

“Well… you see, er…” she began. “I thought… well, I mean, I assumed that… oh,
dear
…”

“Yes?” Florence inquired, her eyes beginning to narrow.

“I thought it was for the old man,” said Nell. “Amos—I thought it was meant for him… that he hadn’t wanted it… and well, I was doing the washing up anyway, so—”

“Where is it?” snapped Florence.

All eyes were on the housekeeper as she very slowly turned toward Oberon.

Over the crackling of the fire, a loud gurgling could be heard from the dog’s stomach.

“Oh!” said Florence.

“It was drying out!” Nell squeaked.

“You gave my dinner to the dog?” Warwick said thunderously.

“I didn’t bleedin’ well know it was yours, did I?”

“But I told you, Nell!” said Florence. “I thought I’d made it quite clear what the eating arrangements are—Amos has his meal very early on in the afternoon. Warwick takes care of that!”

Nell looked as though she was about to cry.

Warwick stared disbelievingly at the two pieces of bread before him.

“It’s my favorite too,” he said, glaring at the housekeeper.

“Well, it’s done now,” said Florence. “And, Nell, please don’t do that again—it’s a terrible waste. Plus, that stew was full of onion and will probably upset Oberon’s tummy.”

“And he’s fat enough already,” Fabian pointed out, yelping as Tanya elbowed him in the ribs.

Nell gave a miserable little nod. “I’ll just go to bed now then, shall I?” she said in a small voice.

“Good night,” said Florence abruptly.

Nell’s footsteps faded as she sloped off down the hallway. Warwick stalked over to the toaster and
pushed the two pieces of bread into it before opening a tin of beans.

“She’s a strange one and no mistake,” he said. “Whatever were you thinking of, hiring her?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Florence answered, irritably. “I just met her at the market one day, and we got talking. She said she’d had trouble finding another job after being laid off and I felt sorry for her. She needed work and a roof over her head, and we needed a housekeeper. It seemed ideal.”

“She’ll be more trouble than she’s worth,” said Warwick darkly. “You mark my words.”

The place Rowan and James were taken to was gray and cold, a Victorian building that smelled of disinfectant and beds that had been wet. It had once been a school. Now, it was a children’s home.

Rowan was numb by the time they arrived. James clung to her, his head heavy on her shoulder. Rowan’s good arm ached from carrying him. Over the past twenty-four hours he had cried for his mother and screamed when anyone tried to take him from Rowan. And so he had remained with her the entire time—during the questions and examinations at the hospital following the crash and the introduction to their social worker, a young woman named Ellie.

Ellie put her hand gently on Rowan’s free shoulder.

“Want me to take him?”

Rowan shook her head. Her red hair hung in greasy tendrils and her swollen eyes were sticky with tears.

“He’ll wake up.”

Ellie led the way toward the back of the building, and finally they stopped outside a door on the right. Its paintwork was chipped, and from underneath it, light could be seen in the dim hallway. Ellie put down the suitcase containing Rowan and James’s belongings and knocked. The door opened almost immediately and a gray-haired man beckoned them inside and offered them seats in front of his desk. Rowan sat, glad to rest herself from James’s weight. She readjusted him in her arms, the movement wafting the smell of a full nappy to her nostrils. The gray-haired man sitting opposite regarded her kindly, and though she thought she saw his nose twitch too, he did not mention it. Ellie sat down beside Rowan.

“I know this is a terrible time for you both,” the man began. “And it’s late, so I’ll keep this brief.”

Rowan glanced up at the clock on the wall behind the man. It was nearly ten o’clock in the evening.

“My name is John Temple, and it’s my job to see that everything runs smoothly, and that everyone here is happy.”

His words entered Rowan’s brain but had no real meaning. He meant well, she knew, but his talk of happiness was pointless because she would never be happy there. She didn’t think she’d ever be happy again.

“You’ll be introduced to the rest of the staff over the next few days. In the meantime, Ellie will continue to see you, and we will of course be looking into finding somewhere more permanent for you and James.”

“You mean a foster home,” said Rowan.

John Temple nodded.

“Yes. Foster care looks likely, though we’re still checking every possible avenue for any extended family members.”

“Have you managed to contact my aunt Rose?”

“Ah. No, we haven’t yet made contact with Miss Weaver, your aunt, but rest assured, we’ll keep trying.”

“It’s like a zoo, her house,” said Rowan. “It smells funny. Six cats, three dogs, and even two geese. She’ll end up being evicted, my dad says…
said.”
The word stuck in her throat like sawdust, and she rushed on quickly, tears stinging her eyelids. “And that’s without the ducks and the g-goat in the garden….”

She was crying now.

“All right, love,” said Ellie.

“We want to go to bed now,” Rowan whispered, pulling James closer. “Please.”

“Yes, of course,” said John, rising from his chair and ushering them to the door. “Let’s take you upstairs.”

Upstairs was little better than downstairs. It was clean but shabby, the carpets worn and the walls in need of a lick of paint. As John led them through the darkened hallways, Ellie pulled Rowan and James’s suitcase behind them. It rumbled softly over the carpet until John paused outside a door that had been left ajar.

“A bed has been made up for you,” said John in a low voice. “There’s a crib for James for tonight, but tomorrow he’ll be moved to the nursery with the other babies and toddlers. The bathroom is two doors down on the left. You’ll be woken up at seven thirty for breakfast at eight.” He gave
a sympathetic smile. “Try to get some rest. This is a good place. One of the best.”

With that, John said good night and left, leaving Rowan, Ellie, and James outside the bedroom door. Rowan pushed the door open. A chink of light from the hallway spilled in, highlighting a single bed and a crib. A slim wardrobe stood to the side, and a desk with a chair and a few drawers was beside it. Everything was empty and bare.