Goodly and Grave in a Case of Bad Magic

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?”