Unnatural Issue (25 page)

“Now, then, let’s see what tha’ can do,” Cook continued. “I know what Polly can, so let’s see if tha’ can better her.”

Susanne swiftly finished the rest of the scrubbing-up, with Caro’s help. Then she went into the butter room and cast a spell of her own over the waiting pats. It was a very good spell, sound, economical, and with no holes in it. She was rather proud of it, actually. This butter would stay sweet and would remain edible and wholesome indefinitely. Polly’s could only hold it sweet for about a fortnight.

Cook nodded at that as well. “’Tis clear there be no one here that can teach thee,” Cook said thoughtfully. “Eh! That’s not so bad. And now I’ve drug thee into the light, thee can use tha’ magic whenever tha’ chooses. I’ll be makin’ sure the rest all know what tha’ can do and that tha’ can be trusted to do it without interference or overlookin’.”

She nodded with relief. Cook was right. One less thing to be worried about.

“Is it all right if I leave out a saucer of cream and a bit o’ bread at night?” she asked, tentatively. “Not that I’d leave a mess for a brownie t’ be cleanin’ out of on purpose! That’d drive ’em away, sure as sure, bein’ lazy! But just to know if I miss something, they’ll be findin’ it, and catchin’ it afore it makes a deal of trouble, would be a great ease of my mind.”

Cook laughed. “Lor’ love tha’, what dost tha’ think I do, last thing? ’Tis a great ease of the mind, goin’ up to bed knowin’ that it’ll all be perfect in the morn even if we’re nearly done to death by one of the big to-dos. ’Tis clear thee knows what’ll happen if brownie thinks tha’rt shirkin’.”

Susanne made a face. “Oh, aye. Not just drive ’em away. They might let in somethin’ that’d make mischief, faun or the like. An’’twould serve me right.”

“Well, then, we’re all of a mind. Aye, Caro?” Cook asked.

Caro nodded, her eyes big and round. “Wish’t I had th’ magic,” she whispered wistfully.

“Eh, ’tis as much work as usin’ hands, honey,” Cook told her. “Harder, belike. Nothin’ comes without strivin’, just because tha’ don’t see hands workin’, doesn’t mean hard work ain’t bein’ done.”

Susanne nodded. “Eh!” she told the girl. “Think on’t. Ain’t it hard, when tha’rt puzzlin’ out a problem! Don’t it make tha’ weary?”

Caro’s brows furrowed, and finally she nodded.

“Tis the same,” Susanne told her firmly. “Bigger the magic, wearier it makes tha’.”

“True, that. Now, I tell thee, tha’rt not due for a half-day afore harvest, but tha’rt a good child,” Cook continued, “and Polly’s another, and she’ll come back fagged near to death by that sistern of hers, an’ it won’t be no holiday for her. So. When Polly comes back, here’s what. I’ll give thee both a half-holiday together. I’ll get leave for it from Missus easy enough. There’s butter and cheese enough put by, Missus Elizabeth is fair fond of givin’ milk t’poor mothers, an’ we can do that for the day if tha’ cannot find a way to keep it back. I hear there might be strawberries in yon woods,” she finished, with a twinkle in her eye. “And a bit of cream might be saved back to go with ’em.”

Susanne smiled with her whole face. This was altogether unexpected, but completely welcome. This would give her a chance to become more familiar with the Branwell lands and all the creatures in them—and she wouldn’t have to hide that from Polly, either!

But more than that . . . with a half day off, she just might be able to get more than a glimpse of Charles Kerridge.

“A
HALF-DAY!” Polly exclaimed again, with delight, as she and Susanne pulled on their uniforms. “Eh, who could’ve thought it! Missus Elizabeth, she be an angel! An’ Cook’s another!”

Susanne laughed at that, but she actually felt somewhat in agreement. “Well,
I
think we ought to be working twice as hard this morning as ever was.”

“Oh, aye,” Polly agreed, her eyes sparkling. “Now that thee be usin’ tha’ magic open-like.” She sighed a little wistfully. “Tha’rt so much better nor me.”

Susanne just shrugged as she buttoned up the rear of Polly’s apron for her, then turned so Polly could do hers. “An’ I’ll never make as good a cheese as thee,” she pointed out. “Nor be able to tell how ripe ’tis without tasting. But we can leave naught for Caro to do but pour the pans for rising cream.”

“Even th’ tweenie canna ruin that,” Polly agreed. “There! All done!”

They dashed out of their room, scampered to the kitchen for breakfast, ate quickly, and headed for the dairy. And they had the satisfaction of leaving it at lunchtime with every container that was not actively holding something scrubbed and scalded, the milk-pans for the afternoon laid out, and a little spell on the pans with rising cream to hold them until morning. It would mean more work—but not that much more. Certainly about the same as weaning time when the calves were no longer allowed to suckle.

When they arrived at the kitchen, they found another wonderful surprise waiting for them. A luncheon basket packed for the both of them, with the rare treat of two bottles of lemonade, and two empty baskets.

“Think I don’t know what two girls will be doin’ in woods of a June afternoon?” Cook said, her eyes twinkling. “Just be bringin’ back lunch basket more full than empty. I’m partial to a wild berry, but eh! My days of scramblin’ about on hands and knees are gone.”

Susanne shared the burden of the laden lunch basket with Polly and felt absurdly as if she were just a happy child again as they strolled out of the warm sun and into the park and then the untamed woodlands. “Have you got a thought of where to go?” she asked. The air was rich with forest scents, and the birds seemed to be everywhere. More than birds, too, unless she was very much mistaken.

“I know one patch. Never had a whole half-day t’ pick afore,” Polly replied. “Might be we’ll pick that patch clean.”

“Then let’s go there, pick enough to have with nuncheon, an’ be huntin’ after,” Susanne suggested. She thought a moment. This would be the first time since she had arrived at Branwell Hall that she would be outside, in wild lands, with food . . . and that combination usually conjured a bit of an infestation of fauns. “Ah . . . we might get . . . creatures. Wantin’ to share.”

“What? Birds?” Polly glanced at her oddly. “Eh-h-h. Tha’ means sommat else.” Her eyes got round. “I been wantin’ t’ see th’ like for ever so long! Oh, will we? Tha’ think? I bain’t ever seen such with me own eyes, but I know they be about. Can feel ’em, sometimes.”

“We’ll see,” Susanne temporized. But—she could feel them too, watching her from the woods, knowing what she was. Eyeing that heavy basket and feeling sure that she should, properly, be sharing. Wondering if they could hoodwink her and thieve some of it away, then eyeing her again and thinking it might be too risky even for one of them.

She felt other eyes too, not fauns, something greater, regarding her thoughtfully. It wasn’t something she recognized. But it wasn’t dark like a boggart or inimical like a redcap. Elementals of another element entirely? Was that even possible? Would they take notice of her?

And just as they came to Polly’s berry patch, she thought she sensed another presence, familiar as her old shoe, and welcome. Would he come out with a stranger there?

Oh, how she hoped so! She longed to see him so much!

There was no telling. Robin would do what Robin would do, but it made her blissfully happy to know her oldest friend had found her at last.

Knowing the ways of fauns, she kept the luncheon basket right by her side while she and Polly gathered the tiny, honey-sweet berries from under their leaves. They were no larger than the tip of her littlest finger, but as she popped a few into her mouth, they burst on her tongue with such intense flavor that there was no comparison with garden berries.

They found a sunny bit of meadow nearby, spread out the old blanket that had been folded on top of the luncheon basket, and laid out the feast. And a feast it was! There had been chicken on the gentry’s table last night, and here it was, cold, reappearing for their lunch. And there were cress-and-butter sandwiches, simple jam sandwiches, and some of their own cheese, and lovely tart pickles that made your eyes water. There was a bottle each of fizzy lemonade, something neither of them ever saw outside of a Fair Day, though Master Charles was partial to it and there were stocks of it sent from the grocer regularly in summer. Susanne knew about this partiality, as she had obsessively learned everything she could about Charles Kerridge, and the notion she might be drinking one of
his
lemonades made her simultaneously giddy and guilty. She didn’t want to deprive him of his treat—but he had as much as ever he could want. Surely he couldn’t possibly miss one. Surely Cook would not have given them the bottles if Master would be deprived in the least.

There were scones too, and a pot of their own cream, ready for the berries, and thick slices of plain cake. And as she had expected, the moment the food came out, there was a circle of eyes on them.

The first to appear, though, were the birds; they were bold enough to come right to the edge of the blanket and stare, waiting for crumbs. Since there was more than enough for four girls to have feasted on, the birds got their crumbs without needing to beg for long.

But soon after the birds were pecking at their own feast, Susanne heard the rustlings in the grass that meant
something
was creeping up on them, and she raised her head from her chicken wing, to announce to the air “Tha’ might as well stop skulking. We know tha’rt there.”

A little horned head popped up from behind a bush. Big round eyes stared at her. Beside her, Polly gasped, but she didn’t move. When Susanne looked at her out of the corner of her eye—because with a sticky-fingered lot of fauns around, you didn’t take your eyes off them—her expression was a mix of delight and disbelief.

“Soil share,” she told the faun. “But tha’ must be patient an’ good, an’ if tha’ steals, there’ll be no sharin’.” She knew what it wanted above all things—the buttered bread, cake, and scones. The Elementals that actually
ate
rarely got to taste baked things; as a consequence they craved the taste.

Well, by her reckoning they had a full loaf of buttered bread in that basket and they were never going to eat it. She held out one of the sandwiches. The faun edged nearer, until his little goat-legs and hooves and tail were clearly visible. Polly looked as if she were about to burst, but she managed to stay quiet.

The faun edged closer still, nostrils quivering, then stopped, eyes going even wider, if that was possible. “Eh!” it squeaked. “Tha’st scent of Old Thing abaht tha!” It spoke an even broader Yorkshire than the people at the Hall.

“’Twould be curiouser had she
not,”
said Robin from behind Susanne’s right shoulder. “Take thy victuals, and tell the others there’ll be sharing when thy Master has had her fill.”

With an alarmed squeak, the faun snatched the sandwich and vanished, leaving nothing behind but waving meadow grass.

“Robin!” Susanne exclaimed happily, turning to greet him. He was clothed in the seeming he wore most often around Whitestone, that of the young gamekeeper.

“Well met, damozel,” Robin replied with a mock bow. “And pleased I am tha’s found a safer bower, though it took me fair long to track tha’ to it.” He had a broad Yorkshire accent himself today. Perhaps to throw Polly off a bit.

“I’m sorry for that,” she replied, shamefaced. “But I left in rather a hurry.”

Polly’s eyes were going from Susanne to Robin and back again, as if she were watching a game of tennis. Finally she could sit silent no more. “Is tha’ th’ new gamekeeper?” she blurted.

Robin laughed. “Oh, gamekeeper of a sort, Polly Dobbins, but not of Branwell,” he replied, silencing her by knowing her name in full. “Nay, I be a friend of Susanne, come to see if she be settled well. And she be, so I’ll be off again.” He turned back to Susanne. “I’ve much to do, now tha’s gone, and tha’ th’ only Earth mage about.” His eyes warned her not to ask more. “But tha’s better gone than stayed. I warned thee that there was badness in those parts. Best tha’rt gone. But there be worse to come, not just for our parts, but for all England and beyond. Bad times are comin’, and I think we will not see each other for many seasons. Now I know tha’s safe, I can do what I can. Merry met, powers be thanked, and merry part.”

“And merry meet again,” Susanne said faintly, as she understood that Robin was saying goodbye, perhaps for years.

“Powers willing.” He gave her a little nod and turned and somehow vanished as completely as the faun had.

Polly stared at Susanne as if she wanted to ask a thousand questions but understood she would be given no answers. Finally, she took a bite of the chicken leg left neglected in her hand and, instead, began chattering about her sister, the new baby, and what her visit had been like.

Susanne recovered quickly. Robin had warned her from the very beginning that once he considered her trained enough, he could disappear for days, months, or even years. That if she desperately needed him, he would come if he could—but that there was no telling if he would be wrapped up in some greater trouble.