The Charmed Children of Rookskill Castle (13 page)

And Kat was weary of having to chase them down.

“Well, that's turned out all right,” said Robbie, stopping and wiping his brow.

“It did this time, but you should never have made the problem in the first place.” Kat let her worry out on Rob. “Don't be going off alone again.”

Rob stared at her. “You've got no right to boss me. You treat me like I'm about five years old. I'm not a baby. Plus, we haven't found Colin, you know. There's still that.” He paused. “And there's the ghost. I was right about the ghost.”

“That doesn't matter,” Kat said. “You were wrong to lead Ame and Isabelle into that old keep.”

Rob's face darkened. “I'll do what I want, and if Ame and Isabelle want to go with me, they can. Don't tell me what to do!” And he thumped off, sword in hand.

Kat looked at Peter. “What?” she asked.

“You may be able to do sums in your head, but Rob's got a point.”

Her cheeks grew warm. “But he was the one to cause the trouble in the first place. The Lady told us not to go exploring.”

“Trouble?” Peter's brow furrowed. “It was you and me who went off exploring and got caught, remember? Not Robbie. And I saw that face, too, and I'm convinced it was a ghost.” He paused and chewed his lip. “Something is going on in Rookskill Castle. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I think those hidden doors and passages in the keep appeared and disappeared. No,” he said, shaking his head, “I'm not sure this whole place isn't haunted, like the stationmaster said.”

Kat's cheeks burned. “Thank you for that analysis, Peter Williams, but here's what I think. Someone in the castle is a spy, and there are odd things about the old keep, which also happens to be filled with strange secret passages made by some clever person hundreds of years ago.”

“Stick to that if you want,” Peter said. His face was dark
and his eyes narrow. “But the truth might not be so obvious.” He marched off in the direction of their rooms.

Fine,
Kat thought irritably.
Fine.
The problem was, what she'd seen in the keep had no logical explanation. In fact, it had scared her silly.

Despite her best logical intentions, Kat had to admit that it was possible. No, even worse. Kat had to admit that something haunted Rookskill Castle—something very like magic.

Hidden Magic

L
ADY ELEANOR PAUSES
before the fire in her room. Something feels off. Something is wrong.

With each charming, Eleanor has become more and more sensitive to magic of any kind. She knows that dark magic spreads like mold across the war-ravaged fields of France. She tingles with the ancient magic that lies buried in secret hollows of the highlands.

Since charming Jorry, she senses that a magic not of her making has appeared in Rookskill Castle.

Magic not of her making?

She's tired of the magister's warnings to go slowly. She's tired of the magister, period. She wants another soul. The power that has grown in her with time and each charming,
she will not lose it. She will not return to being a helpless girl forced to suffer bruises, and worse. And, after all, she's saving these children not only from the Blitz but from the ravages of war.

Yes, she's saving them. But she's done with pretending that this is for the children. She's impatient, and hungry for more of the dark joy that burns through her with each charming.

She pauses before her embroidery box, opens the lid, and takes out her silver thimble. She rubs her fingers over the engraving:
Leonore. You have my heart and soul.
Her first husband's gift, and his lie.

She tried to catch Amelie's soul, but was interrupted by that irritating Katherine, who reminds her of someone she hates. So she'll try again, even though she must grit her teeth to beg the magister to fulfill his part of their bargain.

Eleanor grips the sporran that hides her chatelaine and narrows her eyes at the low flames of her fire. Whatever and wherever this other magic is, she will find it, yes. She'll take it for her own.

And then she'll no longer need the magister—or any man—at all.

Punishment

A
T DINNER, EVERYONE
was even more out of sorts. The faculty were grumpy, and the students pushed their food around without enthusiasm. The Lady shot dagger looks in all directions. Storm muttered under his breath, searching his pockets and mopping his brow in a worried gesture. Icy rain beat at the windows, and the wind howled so badly that occasional puffs of smoke belched from the fireplaces, so that a sooty pall rose to the high ceiling and hung over them like a cloud. Marie went from one end of the room to the other, stoking and putting on more wood in an effort to increase the draft.

As Kat listened to the howling wind, she was grateful that at least their uniforms were wool and their jackets were thick.
The faculty had donned robes, probably as much for warmth as out of tradition. But the Lady wore a ridiculous gown again—diaphanous and pale icy blue—which Kat was sure would not be warm enough except in this fire-stoked room, and was made odder by the sporran that hung from her belt.

And what in the world was wrong with Mr. Storm? He cast looks in Kat's direction as if he suspected she was up to something. And he not only acted different, he looked different.

Had his hair always been so dark? It had grown, that was certain. But his shoulders—they seemed less broad. Maybe it was just that his jacket, underneath his robes, fit better; it did look like a new jacket, much more suited to dinner. He didn't slurp so much, or show his teeth as he ate. Did his face seem more angular? His cheekbones were prominent in a way she hadn't remembered. He reminded her somewhat of that face they'd seen in the keep . . . Kat shuddered. Perhaps it was shadows.

The only good thing was that Colin reappeared before they sat down at the table. He'd been missing because he was closeted all afternoon with Miss Gumble, who was kind enough to spend time helping him with his homework, which might have accounted for her cranky mood, and his miserable one.

“I don't read fast,” Colin lamented. “I can't understand these long words. And my writing is terrible. I don't understand why the subject and verb have to match. If Miss Gumble hadn't been willing to help, I don't know what I'd do. But by the end she
was mad at me. She rapped my fingers with her pencil.” He plopped his chin on his fist.

“I can give you a hand,” Kat said. “I'm not the best writer in the world, but I can help with the reading.”

“Oh, could you?” He sounded plaintive. “That would be so kind.”

When the Lady stood and left, even before the sun was down, she wore a strained expression, and Kat thought perhaps there was indeed some illness about, and the Lady didn't want them to know. Maybe Jorry did have a terrible disease, like a pox or measles or polio, and they'd all been exposed, and the Lady didn't want their parents to take them away because she didn't want to lose the income.

Kat pushed the food around on her plate; her stomach was in knots. She was relieved when dinner was over.

Nobody spoke all the way up the stairs. It wasn't until they reached the hallway to their rooms that Robbie said, “I don't believe her. About Jorry. I think there's something else going on.” He glanced darkly at Jorry's door.

For Robbie this was something. He'd had an obvious crush on the Lady from the start.

They stood in a circle in the hallway.

“I agree. It's odd,” said Peter.

“And the ghosts, and the noises,” said Isabelle, and sniffed. “Very peculiar.”

“It's magic,” whispered Amelie.

Magic. The shiver went right up Kat's spine.

Kat woke the next morning even more exhausted than usual. It was Saturday, so no lessons, and as she pulled the curtains aside she saw a fresh, thin blanket of snow covering the landscape. Dread filled her, though she couldn't say why.

After breakfast, Peter disappeared, Amelie and Isabelle tucked into Isabelle's room, and Rob and Colin made off with swords to swing. Kat, back in her room, stared out the window at the new snow. Tracks patterned the garden—maybe a fox, she thought, or one of the cats—and that gave her an idea.

Maybe the new snow would tell other tales. Maybe she'd find child-sized footprints, or something more sinister. But something she could follow, so she could learn what was really going on at Rookskill Castle.

She pulled on her warmest sweater and headed down the stairs. She'd no sooner reached the great hall than a knocking rattled the front door, sending a drum-hollow echo throughout the castle.

Kat froze as Marie appeared, hastening down the corridor. She saw Kat and said, “Whatever are you doing here? You're lucky the Lady doesn't catch you. Go on, be off, back to your room.”

Kat retreated. But she stopped on the landing above and ducked around the corner as she heard Marie open the door.

“Telegram,” came a familiar man's voice. “And since I were up this way, brought someone along who wanted to pay a visit to her Ladyship.”

“Her Ladyship is not receiving visitors,” said Marie, her voice crisp. “She's running an academy.”

“Yeah,” said the man, sounding hard and determined. “But this is the mother of one of her Ladyship's students.”

Kat crept back down the stairs to catch a glimpse, her heart pounding. Could it be her own mum, come to take them home? She peered around the corner.

The man was the dwarf—the stationmaster—wearing a different cap today, showing his service as a telegraph officer. Behind him Kat could make out the form of a woman, and her spirits fell. It wasn't Mum, but a thin woman dressed in a tweed coat, a warm cloche, and practical Wellies.

The woman pressed forward, elbowing past the small man. “I'm looking for my son Jorry,” she said. “He promised to write, and I've heard not a word for over two weeks. I've come up from London expressly—”

“Thank you, Marie.” The Lady emerged from one of the side parlors as if lifted out of the shadow itself. “I'll take it from here.”

Kat stepped back behind the wall so she could just see
below. Marie, as she turned away, handed the Lady the telegram. The Lady glanced down at it before slipping it into her pocket.

The Lady walked across the hallway slowly. But her bearing was rigid and regal, her hair shining like the snow, and she wore a slim white dress with a white jacket that fell below her hips. The dwarf's jaw dropped. Jorry's mother froze in place.

“Jorry is most remarkable,” the Lady intoned. “He is an intelligent boy, one of my favorites of all the children.” Her smile was so bright, it seemed to glow.

“Oh,” murmured Jorry's mum. “Oh. Well, he would be,” she finished more certainly.

“He's doing extremely well with his studies and has made many friends here at the academy.”

Kat barely held back a snort.

“Yes,” said his mum, less sure. “I can see he would.” She nodded, head bobbing.

The dwarf gaped like a fish, his mouth opening and closing. He mumbled, “Yer Ladyship . . .” and “Humbly sorry to disturb . . .”

The Lady walked forward, and the dwarf, still in the doorway, stepped back into the snowy world outside as Jorry's mum almost imperceptibly leaned away.

“Thank you for coming,” the Lady said, her voice a silk ribbon. “I don't want to distress the students who have adapted
so well, especially your talented son. I'm sure you understand.”

“Well, yes, of course,” Jorry's mum said. “But you see, I've come up from London—”

“And I hope you have a pleasant journey back.”

In her astonishment, Kat had moved out from her hiding place to stand on the landing with her fists clenched as the Lady shut the door on the two blank faces. Not a single mention of Jorry's illness! Not even letting his mother see him?

And then the Lady turned, and she saw Kat, and her ruby lips curled away from her shining teeth.

“Katherine. I thought I told you not to prowl the castle. You must be punished.” The Lady lifted her voice. “Marie?”

Marie appeared.

“Take Katherine to her room. Lock her in for the remainder of the day. She is to have no supper.”

Kat backed up the stairs, retreating. “You can't—” she began.

“Indeed I can,” the Lady said.

Marie caught Kat's elbow. “You best come along now,” she said, low, “or it will be the worse for you.”

Kat had no choice.

They'd reached the next landing when the Lady called up. “Why, Katherine, this telegram brings news for your ears. It's from your mother.” Kat stepped back where she could
see the Lady, so pale in her white dress and her shining hair that she seemed to glow in the dark hallway. “Your father, I'm afraid. They fear he's been captured by the Germans.”

Kat's knees grew weak.

“The Germans are ruthless,” the Lady continued, looking up from the telegram and shaking her head. She sighed. “I imagine he'll be executed. And he was so helpful to me.” She turned away, letting the telegram flutter to the floor.

Kat waited until the Lady disappeared into the parlor again and shut the door before she sprinted down the stairs, ignoring the hiss from Marie, and snatched the telegram, running back up the stairs with it clutched in her fist. The eyes in the huge portrait of Leonore burned into Kat's back.

Marie took Kat by the wrist and pulled her along the corridor and into her room, then left, locking the door behind.

Kat let the hot tears run down her cheeks as she read the telegram over and over and over. Mum hadn't even bothered with a code; Kat could feel the worry in those few words of the telegram:

TAKEN BY GERMANS M

Father. Alone in some dark and terrible corner, a prisoner, with evil all around. She'd been right, what she felt before he left, and he should never have gone, and for the first time her fear for him spilled over into anger at him.

If he hadn't gone, they wouldn't be here, in this castle haunted by ghosts and worse. Evil was not only on the battlefield.

Anger burned through Kat, anger at Father, anger at useless wishes, and anger at the cruel Lady who held all the children completely in her power.