Broom with a View (11 page)

The room where they stood, which Lady Wilberforce referred to as “the small salon” when ordering the serving of tea from the butler, was larger than
 most of the houses on Gallows Road. Violet tried not to gawk at the cathedral ceilings and marble columns, but it took some effort not to keep looking up.

“We really can’t thank you enough for your kindness,” Vera said for the fifth time since their arrival. She’d also said it three times in the carriage, but that was before Violet had started counting.

“Please, don’t mention it,” Lady Wilberforce said wearing a tight smile stretched across her lips. There reaches a point when a person no longer wishes to be thanked. Lady Wilberforce had reached that point.

“You see, we are just two simple country Witches, practically helpless amongst all this chaos
.” Vera gestured towards the front hall, as if the riot was just outside the door.

“Oh, I don’t know. Your niece’s protection spell was done well enough,” Lady Wilberforce said, giving Violet an appraising eye.

“Yes, it was quite splendid,” Cyril added from his position at his mother’s elbow.

“Oh, Violet and her little spells
.” Vera waved a dismissive hand. “She gets them wrong more than she gets them right. Always been that way, ever since she was a little girl. The family teases her about it all the time.”

“It’s true,” Violet said, her head bent as if
 she was inspecting the pattern of the Turkish carpet. “I’m hopeless with magic.”

“Even so
.” Lady Wilberforce stepped forwards and gently took Violet by the arm. “Why don’t you whip up one of your little spells for the villa? I know the violence is supposed to have ended, but I would feel so much more comfortable if I knew we were protected.”

“Well... I could try,” the girl said hesitatingly as she reached for her wand.

* * * * * * * * * *

A guard slouched outside the front gate of the Villa Rosetta smoking a cigarette. Lady Wilberforce had employed a few men to protect her home once she’d heard of the brewing troubles in X. She’d hired only humans, of course, and ones that weren’t overly motivated through generous compensation to guard the castle with much vigor. Sebastian knew from where he perched in a neighbo
uring tree that one guard was drunk off of pilfered wine on the villa’s back patio and two more were having a peaceful snooze in a small shed towards the rear of the property. He could have easily swooped in to dine on the cigarette-smoking guard at his leisure if that were his predilection.

But food was not what Sebastian Du Monde had on his mind. He only observed the guard to see when the man would turn his head so that the Vampire could enter the Villa Rosetta undetected. Anxiety for Violet’s safety had compelled the youth to follow her and her aunt on their foolhardy journey back to X. He knew his impulsive
behaviour was what had spurred the aunt to leave the ruined castle. Fear of distressing the lady further caused Sebastian to keep the fact that he was escorting them back to X a secret. The Undead Master knew how Aunt Vera would react if she were aware that the being she feared more than a city under siege was actually their protector.

Sebastian’s presence had been vital. More than once
, an attempt to beset the carriage was made by rowdy individuals who were obviously up to no good. Dispatching a few of the more determined ruffians was what had caused the Vampire not to be present when Violet conjured the gazebo and stopped the pumpkin carriage from being overturned.

In Sebastian’s opinion, the Wilberforces were to be viewed with suspicion. Especially Mr. Wilberforce. The Vampire did not like the cut of the young man’s coat. It was too crisp, too tailored to make him a man of action. And the way Cyril kept clearing his throat and adjusting his ridiculous glasses every time he looked in Miss Popplewell’s direction was most annoying.

The hooting of an owl finally caused the guard to turn his head for a prolonged moment, and Sebastian seized the opportunity, leaping from the tree branch over the iron fence encircling the villa in one graceful hop. He landed as quietly as a cat on the paving stones, the guard noticing nothing more than a slight shift in the breeze.

As soon as the Vampire’s black boots touched the ground, flowering vines sprang up to entangle his feet. Ripping them from his ankles, Sebastian levitated in the air, scanning the windows for the most likely access point to the Villa Rosetta. New vines surged after him, large purple flowers bursting from the green as the plants pursued him. Sebastian withdrew from the villa, hovering near the second floor
, and the vines receded slightly, waiting for him to make his next move. The Vampire edged closer to the building, and the vines tensed in anticipation. If he flew a few yards to one side or the other, the vines followed him like a cobra that has been serenaded from its basket. Sebastian withdrew several more feet, and the plants, too, retreated.

With a burst of speed, the Vampire made a break for the open second
-floor window. The vines pursued him with surprising vigor. He was just about to breach the opening when the long arm of a plant caught him by the heel. The Vampire thrashed violently to regain his liberty, but struggling only seemed to make the vine grip harder. Quickly, other tendrils reached him, wrapping around his limbs and dragging him from the villa. Purple flowers bloomed in rapid succession, bursting in his face like bubbles popping in champagne.

The large purple flowers gave off a heady scent that began to have a tranquilizing effect on the young Vampire. His mind grew fuzzy
, and he began to lose interest in grappling with the vines. Soon Sebastian's eyes began to close, and he drifted into a twilight sleep, unaware as the vines transported him back over the iron fence and placed him gently on the ground outside the villa. The guard, who had by then finished his cigarette, eventually became aware of the unconscious body that had been placed quite near to where he was standing. Grabbing his pike, which he had leaned against the gate earlier in the evening to better enjoy his cigarette, he charged over to confront the potential intruder.

“You there,” the man said in a gruff voice, giving Sebastian a stern poke with the blunt end of his pike. “Get to your feet. You’ve got no business napping around here.” When the sleeping figure did not respond, the guard took it upon himself to roll Sebastian over with a thrust from his boot.

Sprawling on the ground, the Vampire’s lips parted revealing his glistening set of fangs made opalescent in the moonlight. The guard let out a small, “Oof,” as if he’d been socked in the stomach. Grabbing his pike, he hurried away to ensure the safety of another region of the villa.

A few minutes later
, Sebastian came to his senses, the wet from the ground already seeping into his clothes. The vines were gone, and the guard was nowhere to be found. The Vampire again ascended the tree to sit on a branch and think.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Will you marry me, Miss Popplewell?” Cyril asked in a hurried voice, catching his glasses as they tumbled off the tip of his nose and quickly replacing them. In his mind, when he had rehearsed the most important question he would ever ask in his life, he came off as much more debonaire. And he was wearing a smarter suit. But the words had already left his lips; it was too late to retract them and wait to execute a more romantic approach. He would just have to sail forth into uncharted waters.

Violet looked up from a gothic novel through which she had been idly paging. She wondered if she’d heard the young man correctly. It seemed very unlikely, but there was the chance that Mr. Wilberforce had just proposed. Still, she thought she’d better check. It was best not to make assumptions about these types of things. “I’m sorry,
” she said, closing the book in order to pay closer attention, “but I’m afraid I didn’t catch that last thing you just said.”

Cyril cleared his throat, happy to have another chance to do the business right. He was determined that this time his spectacles would stay on their perch. “I was wondering, Miss Popplewell, if you would do
 me the great honor of becoming my wife.”

“Oh,” was all Violet could immediately think to reply. She had not misheard him after
all. While Violet had begun to suspect that Mr. Wilberforce held her in some regard, it never occurred to the girl that his feelings ran to the point of offering matrimony.

Growing up, some young Witches fantasize
d about running away with a Mortal, especially young girls who happened to live near a particularly handsome farmer or baker’s son. Violet was never prone to these kinds of daydreams. In fact, the idea of marrying a nonmagical being had never entered her head. Not that Mr. Wilberforce wasn’t attentive, well-mannered, and, to all appearances, quite wealthy. She did also feel some gratitude that he would think enough of her to want to wed her. It was, after all, her first proposal.

Violet and Cyril were not alone in the
 sitting room. Lady Wilberforce and Vera occupied the other end of it, the former writing letters and the later resting her eyes and gently fanning herself. Even so, the room was so vast, the young couple was not in danger of being overheard if they kept their voices low.

Violet and her aunt had been guests at the Villa Rosetta for a little more than a week. There were still small bursts of violence reported in X. Nothing that gave much alarm, but every time Vera began to fear they were outstaying their welcome, prompting her to suggest that they leave the shelter of the villa, Lady Wilberforce insisted that they should stay on just a few more days until things were more settled. The knowledge of the Wilberforces’ generosity did not alleviate any of Violet’s feelings of obligation on being made an offer.
 

Violet knew she couldn’t sit there all day staring at the closed novel by Mrs. Radcliffe that she clutched in her hands. At some point
, she’d be compelled to speak. “Cyril, that is so very nice of you,” she found herself saying. “But it really won’t do, as I’m sure your mother would agree if she were to hear of it.”

“Quite the contrary
.” The young man fiddled with a button on his vest. “I'm sure she’d be positively pleased to have you join our family.”

Just then, Vera folded her fan and got to her feet.
 “Violet,” she said, quickly crossing the room. “I’m feeling a bit tired and want to lie down. Would you mind coming to my room and helping me with my boots? The eyelettes always give me such trouble.”

It was a peculiar request. Vera’s boots were very well broken in and
could possibly be described as a little worn at the heels. She’d never previously mentioned any difficulty with the eyelettes.

“I can ring for a maid to help you,” Lady Wilberforce called, breaking away from her correspondence.

“No, no. Please don’t trouble yourself,” Vera said, tugging at her niece’s wrist. “Violet can do it.”

Being left with little choice, Violet followed her aunt out of the room, tossing
 Mr. Wilberforce as apologetic of a look as was possible while being bustled off. The young man was by no means discouraged by her rejection. In fact, quite the opposite. Miss Popplewell had, after all, called him Cyril.

“Have you taken leave of your senses, listening to that young human’s offers of marriage?” Vera hissed, once they were in her chambers with the door closed and the curtains drawn. It wasn’t a surprise to Violet that Miss Tartlette knew about the proposal. She did have extremely good hearing when she chose to listen.

“So, you think I should have accepted him?” Violet wondered. It was so hard to know what to do in such situations.

“No,” Vera snapped. “I don’t think you should have listened to him at all.” Seeing the confused look on her niece's face, Vera shook her head. “I sometimes forget how young you really are.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Violet said, feeling a sudden flash of vexation. She was tired of people always using her age against her. After all, there was nothing she could do about it.

“You don’t understand the magic of Mortals,” Vera told her in a low voice, as if the walls themselves might be listening.

A small laugh escaped Violet’s rosebud lips. “I thought that was the truth of Mortals; they have no magic.” She sat heavily down on the chair in front of Vera’s dressing table and began fiddling with her combs
, which were studded with small facets of jet. It was so like Vera to always be prepared for a funeral.

“They have some,” Vera mutter
, moving closer so she wouldn’t have to raise her voice. “Even if most of them don’t realize it. There’s always the magic of threes.”

Violet picked up a bottle of Vera’s jasmine perfume and then put it down again. She had no desire to smell like her aunt. Truth be told, she found the fragrance a bit cloying. Reluctantly, she felt compelled to ask, “What is the magic of threes?”

“If that Mortal boy asks you to marry him three times, and he is sincere in his request, then you cannot refuse.”

This time Violet’s laugh was much louder. “Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Vera.”

“It’s true,” her aunt insisted. “Where do you think they got the expression ‘third time’s a charm’?”

“No mere Mortal can compel me to marry him, no matter how many times he asks me,” Miss Popplewell said rather stiffly. “And besides,” she added after giving it some thought, “I’m sure Cyril is much too well bred to take truck with such nonsense.”