Dark Mirror (21 page)

Tory regarded her three students. She’d thought the Irregulars were enthusiastic learners, but they weren’t a patch on the Rainfords. “We start here and now. And don’t blame me if you’re exhausted by the end of the day!”

CHAPTER 22

For the next three hours, Tory explained principles, drilled her students on basic control exercises, and answered questions. About noon, Mrs. Rainford said, “We’re all starting to flag, so my teacher’s advice is that it’s time for a break. Let’s take a walk. You can see more of the village, Tory, and we can stop at the chippy for fish and chips.”

“We can all use fresh air,” Tory agreed as she got to her feet. “And I want to see what 1940 looks like in daylight.”

As she pulled on her shawl, Mrs. Rainford said, “Tory, I think you should borrow some of Polly’s clothing. You’re about the same size. If anyone wonders who you are, we can say you’re a friend of my goddaughter here for a visit. That’s vague enough.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Tory glanced at Nick. “I don’t want anyone to think I’m wearing my nightgown outside.”

Nick grinned. “That dress still looks like a nightgown to me.”

“Come along to my room and I’ll fix you up.” Polly bounced to her feet. “It will give me a chance to be the expert.”

“That’s only fair,” Tory agreed as she followed Polly upstairs.

The girl’s bedroom was also tucked under the eaves but neat as a pin. She opened the doors of her wardrobe and studied the contents. “Here’s a skirt, blouse, and cardigan that should suit. I’ll go out so you can change.”

Tory held up the indecently short blue skirt. “Don’t your knees ever get cold?”

“It’s not that short! At least I don’t trip over a long skirt.”

Before Polly could leave, Tory asked, “What is this strip of metal bits?”

“A zip. I suppose you didn’t have them.” Polly demonstrated how moving a metal tab opened or closed the skirt.

Tory pulled the tab up and down with delight. “This is certainly better than using pins and ties!” Setting the skirt on the bed, she asked, “What about undergarments? I suppose my stays will do, but my shift is too long for this skirt.”

“Stays?”

“Short stays are padded supports for the upper body,” Tory explained. “There are long stays that go over the hips, but I’m wearing a simple style that ends at the waist and laces up the front.”

Polly made a face. “Are stays the same as a corset?”

“Yes, though there are many styles. What do females wear now?”

“I’ll show you.” Polly opened a drawer in a small chest and took out several small folded garments. “You can have this new pair of knickers I’ve never worn. This is a clean vest for your top, and a slip to wear under the skirt and blouse.”

Tory examined the undergarments, thinking the vest and slip were like a shift that had been divided into two separate pieces. “The fabric is a very fine weave, and the stitches are
tiny.
Who does the sewing?”

“Stitching is done by a machine. The needle goes up and down very fast and locks with another thread from below.” Polly demonstrated with her fingers. “Mum has a sewing machine if you’d like to see it later.” She pulled another item from the drawer. “Women wear something called a brassiere. I don’t need one yet, but my mother bought me this for my thirteenth birthday. She said I could grow into it.”

Tory studied the brassiere, which had two shaped cups and a strap that hooked in the back. “This looks like a horse’s harness. The vest looks more comfortable.”

“Corsets don’t sound very nice, either. I suppose it’s what we’re used to.” Polly’s gaze went to Tory’s feet. “Your shoes don’t look like anything worn now. I think our feet are about the same size. Mine might be larger. Here, try this pair of school shoes I outgrew over last summer before I had a chance to wear them.”

“Oh, I like these!” Tory turned the shiny black leather shoes over in her hands. The heels were about an inch and a half high, and a thin, buckled strap ran over the instep. “They’ll make me taller, too.”

“Here are the socks to go with them.” Polly offered a pair of white knit socks. “That and a hat should be everything you need.”

Tory surveyed the mound of garments. “I’ll call for help if needed.”

“Surely a mage can master underwear!” Polly said with a mischievous smile as she left the room.

Tory did manage, though she felt decidedly odd without the familiar support of her stays. She’d never worn a skirt this short, and the zip made the upper part fit closely around her hips. But she did like the shiny black shoes, which fit perfectly. The cardigan was a warm knit garment that buttoned over the white blouse. She liked that, too. She went back to Joe’s room and combed her hair before tying it back with the ribbon again.

“You look just like a regular girl,” Nick said when she came downstairs.

“I
am
a regular girl,” she retorted. “A regular girl who can do magic.” On mischievous impulse, she used the magic she’d learned in Allarde’s tutorial to float a navy blue beret from the coatrack to her hand. “May I borrow this hat, Polly?”

“It seems to want to be with you.” Smiling, Polly snapped her fingers at the dog. “Come along, Horace. Walkies!”

The shaggy dog, which had seemed nearly comatose under the kitchen table, surged to his feet and raced to the kitchen door, toenails scrabbling. Tory was equally eager to get outside after the long morning of work. The sunshine was pale, but spring flowers were blooming with color outside.

As the group headed down the hill, Tory said, “Still fishing boats in the harbor, I see.” The sight was comforting proof that life hadn’t changed entirely.

Nick said, “We have a boat and we go sailing whenever we can. At least, we used to.” His voice was wistful. Unspoken was the knowledge that his family might never be together like that again.

For distraction, Tory asked, “Do Mr. Rainford and Joe have magic?”

“I’m not sure,” Mrs. Rainford replied. “Tom has very good hunches. Intuition. Joe was always very good at games because he seemed to know what the other team would do before they did themselves.”

“That sounds like a very good skill for a pilot,” Tory said encouragingly.

“I surely hope so,” Mrs. Rainford said softly.

Tory tried to drink in everything. So much had changed. “What are the ugly poles with wires running between them?”

“They carry electricity and telephone lines,” Nick said.

“Telephones?”

“A telephone is … is rather like a wireless, but it carries voices over a wire instead of through the air,” Nick explained. “If you want to talk to a friend right away, you ring them up and speak even if they’re on the other side of town.”

Tory considered that. “What is the rush to talk to someone right now? Not many things are that urgent.”

Mrs. Rainford laughed. “Some things are urgent. Others are just convenient. Suppose I was ill tomorrow morning. I could call the headmistress at my school and let her know so she could find someone else to take my classes.”

That did sound useful. Tory nodded at one of the hulking road beasts, which sat at the edge of the street. Horace was sniffing at one of its wheels. “These ugly, smelly motorcars of yours. Do they also run on electricity?”

“They have petrol engines,” Nick replied. “The burned fuel causes the smell.”

“What is petrol?”

“It’s made from oil and processed into a form that will run engines.”

“Oil?” Tory said, baffled. Every question she asked begat more questions.

“A bit like the whale oil that once was used in lamps.” This time it was Polly who answered. “But the oil that is made into fuel is from the ground, not a whale.”

Tory’s gaze went to an airplane that was flying north over the channel. “Do your flying machines also burn petrol?”

“More or less,” Polly said. “I think the oil is processed a little differently for aircraft, but it’s from the same basic material.”

“That is going to be a problem when the war intensifies.” Mrs. Rainford was looking not at the airplane but toward France. “Our little island has many people. We import the majority of our food, all of our oil, most of our other supplies. The Germans have underwater boats called submarines that hunt supply ships coming to Britain. In the Great War—that was from 1914 to 1918, Tory—the Germans sank so many ships that by the end of the war, we had only a month or two of food left.”

Tory sucked in her breath. “You think that will happen again?”

“I’m afraid so. Rationing already started here in January. Only bacon and butter and sugar so far, but if the war intensifies, many other things will also be rationed.”

“As long as they don’t ration fish and chips!” Nick exclaimed.

“Fish come from the sea and potatoes grow well in Britain, so they’re less likely to be rationed than most foods,” his mother said. “But tea comes all the way from Asia. I’d better stock up on that.”

Polly looked horrified. “We might not have tea?”

“Mum made me dig a huge garden this spring. I had blisters on my blisters,” Nick added. “We’ll be drowning in vegetables. I expect a chicken coop next.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Mrs. Rainford said thoughtfully. “I have a feeling that soon we’ll be grateful to have our own eggs and chickens.” She chuckled when her children groaned. “And maybe a rabbit hutch.”

“No,” Polly said firmly. “I’m not going to eat a bunny that I’ve raised. It would be like eating Horace!”

“Very well, no bunnies.” Her mother smiled. “I don’t think I could eat our own rabbits or chickens, either, but I do like my morning egg.”

The Rainfords were so much more relaxed with each other than Tory’s family! She couldn’t imagine teasing Lord Fairmount about anything. But the Rainfords were having this easy conversation that was fun while also discussing more serious questions. “You might also want to buy fabric to make up clothing. Just in case. And soap.”

“I hadn’t thought of fabric, much less soap,” Mrs. Rainford said slowly, “but as soon as you spoke, I knew you were right. What else do you feel?”

“I’m no foreteller.” Still, like most mages, Tory had some ability to sense what might come to pass. She opened her inner senses … and gasped.

“Did you see something dreadful?” Polly asked worriedly.

“Not a particular event.” Tory shook her head, trying to clear it. “But when I listened, I was hit with a tidal wave of fear and anxiety. Though people might not be talking about the war, they’re thinking about it all the time.”

“I can feel that, too,” Nick said. “It’s like a smothering blanket.”

“My cousin lives in London,” his mother said softly. “She wrote me about the night the blackout went into effect. She stood in her top floor window and everywhere she looked, lights were blinking out, as if the city was dying.”

Polly shivered. “When you read us her letter, I remembered what that British foreign secretary said at the beginning of the Great War. ‘The lamps are going out all over Europe. We shall not see them lit again in our lifetime.’”

Their words made it all too easy for Tory to visualize the lights going out, and to feel the grief of that. “But he was wrong,” she said firmly. “Though the world is changed by war, your lamps did come on again. They will this time, too.”

“I’m sure you’re right.” Mrs. Rainford smiled wryly. “There was just as much to fear in your time, yet Britain survived.”

Reminded, Tory asked, “What happened to Napoleon? Did the French invade England? I asked Nick, but he said he isn’t very good at history.”

“Very true,” Polly said, “but history is my best subject. Napoleon—”

Her mother held up a hand. “Don’t say more. I have a strong feeling that it’s better if Tory doesn’t know what is going to happen in her time. Too much knowledge might cause problems. Is it enough to know that despite wars and many other changes, Britain today is a powerful, independent nation?”

Tory wanted to protest, but she thought better of it. Knowing the future would inevitably change Tory’s behavior if she made it home, and that could be bad.

As they headed for the harbor, people occasionally called greetings, but the Rainfords just waved back, walking briskly so they didn’t stop to talk. Tory was grateful for that. She might be dressed for 1940, but she could easily say the wrong thing.

They reached the harbor and followed the shoreline around to the right. Nick pointed to a boat moored at the last pier. “That’s our boat.
Annie’s Dream.
”

It was a neat vessel, with a deckhouse and room to sleep the whole family, though quarters belowdecks must be tight. “Who is Annie?”

“My name is Anne. Tom likes to call me Annie,” Mrs. Rainford said fondly. “He promised me a boat when he asked me to marry him. How could I say no? He bought the boat from his fisherman great-uncle and we fixed it up together.”

“On my last birthday, Papa took my whole class sailing,” Polly said wistfully.

Tory thought that for a boat that wasn’t large,
Annie’s Dream
carried a lot of memories. “How big a crew does she need?”

“In a pinch, Polly and I can sail her,” Nick said. “But a larger crew is better.”