Broom with a View (24 page)

“The whole house is engulfed,” the girl told her. “The staircase is gone. We’re going to have to jump for it.”

“What?” Vera
 attempted to dash for the door, but Violet caught her by the skirt.

“Don’t open that door!” Violet said, yanking her back. “Trust me, Vera,”
Violet said, strong arming her aunt across the room. “The only way out of here is through the window.”

“But how?” Vera sounded a bit frantic. “We can’t fly. Our brooms are all up in smoke.” She snatched up the carpet bag and clutched it to her chest. “I guess it is up to me to levitate us out.”

“Vera, open the window,” Violet ordered as she grabbed a goose down pillow from the bed.

Miss Tartlette fumbled at the pane but couldn’t get it to budge. “Oh
, dear,” she said. “This one always does have a tendency to be a bit sticky.”

The smoke was getting much thicker
, and both women were coughing. “Get out of the way!” Violet shouted. A split second later, she sent the chair from her mother’s dressing table smashing through the glass.

Vera stared after the chair, mouth open. “Was that really necessary? Do you know how much that window will cost to replace?”

The bedroom door began to rattle. The fire wanted in.

“Come on!” Violet dropped the pillow out the window and then shoved her aunt towards the opening.

“If you’re going to start saving bedding, I’d think first of the brocade,” Vera commented, peering down at the pillow as it lay on the lawn beneath them.

Using one hand to link arms with her aunt, Violet reached for her wand with the other. Vera tried to protest, but Violet wasn’t listening. The bedroom door crashed open
, and the fire burst its way in, the room immediately engulfed in flames.

And so she le
apt. Dragging her aunt with her, Violet flung herself out the window. But as they were falling, Violet sliced through the air with her wand, causing the down pillow to expand to a hundred times its regular size.

The women landed safely, cushioned in goose feathers, the air barely knocked out of their lungs. “Are you al
l right?” Violet asked, looking over at her aunt.

“Violetta, your dress!” Vera exclaimed.
“It’s absolutely singed.”

Miss Popplewell had to assume that her aunt was as right as she ever would be. Scrambling to her feet
, she said, “I’m heading around back to see if everyone got out.”

But a second later
, Sonny sprinted across the lawn towards her, shouting, “Thank Goddess, you’re all right. I was just rounding the corner of the house when I saw you shove Mr. Wilberforce, and the next thing I knew, you were plunging right back into the house.”

“Vera was upstairs gathering a few things,” his sister told him in a dry voice. Then, remembering the crisis wasn’t quite over, she asked, “Did everyone get out? Is everyone al
l right?”

“All present and accounted for. You were the only two missing,” Sonny assured her.

“Did you get Professor Yog out of the office?” she asked.

“Didn’t have to,” her brother told her. “He was the first one out the door. Didn’t think the old chap had it in him."

“I don’t understand what happened,” Violet said as both siblings helped their aunt off the giant pillow. “Someone threw a flaming bottle through the parlour window, and when we ran outside, there were Vampires attacking us.”

“Same thing in the kitchen,” Sonny said. “We ran out the back, but then were set upon. No one was expecting it. I’m sure they would have got us, but Sebastian appeared out of nowhere and started chucking his brethren around like ragdolls.”

“Sebastian?” Violet said in a small voice. Her heart was beating madly, and she tried to blame it on the fire.

“You know,” Sonny said, flashing her a frown. “Mr. Du Monde.” Looking at her more closely
, he asked, “Are you sure you’re quite all right?”

“Where is he now?” she wanted to know, shaking her brother off and looking around.

“I hardly know,” was the reply. “I think he flew off to try to figure out why Vampires are marauding around the English countryside torching houses.”

“Have other houses been targeted?” Violet asked, instantly alarmed for her
neighbours.

“I don’t think so,” Sonny assured her. “As far as I know, we’re the only lucky ones.”

“But why pick on us?” his sister asked, tears starting to prick at her eyes. “We haven’t done anything to the Vampires besides have one over to tea.”

“Well,” Sonny said, looking at his feet. “It might have something to do with my position during the war.”

“The war?” Vera exclaimed, finally finding her voice. “Do you seriously think Vampires are running around taking revenge on former supply clerks?”

“There you are, my darling,” Cyril said, hurrying towards them across the lawn. His skin was still glowing, but he wasn’t as bright as when Violet first cast the spell. He pulled up short once he got closer. “Look at the state of you. Violet, your hair is a wreck. You’re not fit to be seen by man or beast.”

Violet’s hands flew to her head. It was true, her normally stylish upsweep was a bit bedraggled; a few curls had tumbled down out of the protection of the soap bubble and been singed off. Taking her wand, she began stirring it in her hair to put it right, but instead of appearing tidy and elegant as it normally did when she cast the spell, her hair turned the color of pink candy floss.

Bursting into peals of laughter, Sonny shook his head. “You are absolutely hopeless with magic.”

Chapter 23: Keeping Good Help

“My dear, I think you’re misremembering,” Mr. Wilberforce said, pulling down his vest and smoothing it over.

“No, I remember it all quite clearly,” Violet said. She was determined to break her engagement to Cyril but wanted to explain her reasoning first. And at the very top of her growing list of reasons as to why they should not marry was cowardice. “The only person who behaved more poorly would be my Aunt Vera.”

Cyril gave a very patronizing little laugh. “Am I really to be compared to your maiden aunt?” he said with some surprise. “Do you really consider my behaviour on the same scale as that of a silly old woman?”

What Violet wanted to say was, “No, Vera at least tried to help,” but instead she just sighed.

After the flames were finally quenched at the house on Gallows Road and the vandalism was reported to the authorities, the Popplewell family had to set about making plans to rebuild. The finest elf constuctioneers were hired, and their labor came with the promise that everything would be rebuilt exactly the way it was before the fire, down to the dishes in the sink. Vera had risked her life for naught, but Mrs. Popplewell soothed her aunt by saying, “I know the elves will do an excellent job, but I’m so glad to have the originals of my most cherished things. Especially with the dagguerros.” And that made the lady feel better.

For once it was the Popplewells who were to be guests at Vera’s house. But there was so little room for the extra company, that it was finally decided that Violet was to go with her fiancé and stay with his mother in town while Sonny and Mrs. Popplewell would snug into Vera’s little abode. It caused the girl no end of consternation when she realized she would much rather have stayed with her aunt.

Lady Wilberforce welcomed them with open arms and then immediately asked Violet to spruce up a few of her rose bushes that were not thriving the way she had hoped. “I guess I could try,” Violet told her future mother-in-law, reaching for a watering can.

“Aren’t you a silly thing,” the lady said with a laugh. “I meant to work your magic.”

“Mother,” Cyril interjected. “Can’t the roses wait? We’ve only just arrived and might do with a rest and a spot of tea before you start asking my fiancée for favours.”

Lady Wilberforce gave her son a look that could have frozen water. “Do you really mean to tell me,” she began, “that you and your future wife can’t take two minutes out of your day to help me with my poor roses? And with the garden show less than a month away.”

Cyril shrank a little within his suit “Of course not, Mother,” he said meekly. Turning to Violet, he asked, “Would you please be so kind, my dear?”

Violet drew her wand. It wasn’t really the creed of a Crafter to rely on magic to smooth every tiny bump in the road. Some things were best left to the Mother Goddess. She opened her mouth to tell Cyril exactly this but found that she could say nothing with both the Wilberforces looking at her so expectantly.

Somehow, Violet found herself conjuring a pot of red paint. She dipped her wand repeatedly in the pot and splashed a vibrant crimson across each rosebud. The blossoms soaked up the pigment, turning their petal faces towards Miss Popplewell thirsty for more. When the paint was all gone and she was done feeding the flowers, Violet felt a little ill and had to lie down in her room for the rest of the day. She asked that a tray be sent up instead of dressing for dinner that evening. Whether Mr. Wilberforce was concerned for her wellbeing, she was not to know because no one beyond the maid sent to attend her stuck so much as a nose inside her door. Violet didn’t know if Mr. Wilberforce’s absence was caused by his own lack of compassion or an order from his mother.

The next day was no better than the first. Lady Wilberforce had a diamond bro
och which had lost its pin back. “I would send it out for repair,” she said while showing her future daughter-in-law the costly bauble, “but seeing that you’re right here.”

“Metalwork is a specialty,” Violet said in a meager protest. “I really wouldn’t want to take the chance of damaging something so valuable.”

“I understand, and I appreciate your concern,” Lady Wilberforce assured her. “But give it a go anyway, why don’t you. And if some of the diamonds happen to end up a carat or two bigger, I for one will not raise a fuss.”

Violet was reluctant to comply. She wished her own mother was there to tell her what was the correct thing to do. She didn’t think that her future mother-in-law had the right to use her powers for something
that she would customarily employ a Mortal for. Turning to her fiancé, Miss Popplewell said, “Please, Cyril, don’t you think a good lapidary would be the best way to fix this brooch? Magic shouldn’t be used carelessly like small coins that you throw in a fountain or toss in a beggar’s cup.”

“I believe she’s right, Mother,” Mr. Wilberforce said after clearing his throat. “My future wife isn’t your scullery maid, after all. What’s next? Will you have her clearing out your closets and polishing your boots?”

Lady Wilberforce scowled at her son. “Your father gave me this brooch as a wedding present,” she said, her voice hinting at a deeper emotion. “I just want it repaired as quickly as possible so I don’t have it sitting in some goldsmith's drawer for the next three months. It’s just a little thing that would take no more than an instant. Is that really too much to ask?”

Cyril turned back to Violet. “She’s right, you know. Any goldsmith in town worth his salt has a million repair projects that will be in line in front of this one. Couldn’t you please just give it a little tap with your wand? It really isn’t that big of a deal, now is it?” He gave her a small hopeful smile
, and Violet knew she couldn’t refuse. In fact, she found she was physically incapable of refusing. And, much to her chagrin, after she’d fixed the pin, the diamonds in the brooch did appear to be noticeably bigger.

“Oh, thank you, my dear,” Lady Wilberforce said, snatching up the bauble and tucking it away in a velvet box. “You really are a wonder.”

The mention of Cyril’s father began to trouble Violet. Later that day, when they were walking in the garden with the rosebuds staring hungrily after them, Violet asked, “Why aren’t you called Sir Wilberforce instead of Mr. Wilberforce?”

“I won’t take the title until after my father relinquishes it,” Cyril explained.

“Yes, I understand how that works,” Violet told him. “It’s just… Do you mean to tell me that your father is still alive?”

“Still quite alive, I presume,” was his reply. “At least
, I haven’t heard anything to the contrary.”

“Well, why haven’t we been introduced?” the girl wanted to know. “Don’t Mortals usually want their fathers to know their future wives?”

“I would if I knew where to find him,” Cyril said. “He’s somewhere in the South Seas, I believe. Or maybe the south of France. I honestly don’t know. I leave it to mother to keep tabs on him.”

“So, you have no idea where he is. You don’t write him or see him for Winter Solstice or anything like that?”

Mr. Wilberforce gave his fiancée a perplexed look. “Why would I?”

It was later that very evening that Violet made her first attempt to end her engagement to Cyril. Its impetus really had nothing to do with her fiancé’s estrangement
from his father. It had everything to do with her Mr. Wilberforce’s bizarre attachment to his mother—and his cowardice, of course. They had been in the sitting room sitting after dinner. Lady Wilberforce was resting her eyes; Cyril was at his mother’s writing desk, composing a few letters; and Violet was paging through a book that she had no real interest in reading. Suddenly, for no apparent reason, Cyril let out a small shriek and leaped out of his chair.