Goodly and Grave in a Case of Bad Magic. Justine Windsor
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