The Charmed Children of Rookskill Castle (3 page)

Rooks

T
HE CIRCLING BIRDS
of Rookskill Castle could tell a tale. Back and back—time weaves a tapestry. It is 1746, and a terrible conflict lays waste to the land and people.

A girl, Leonore, contemplates her misfortune. She has not been able to fulfill her marriage vow. She holds her chatelaine, a wedding gift of mysterious origin, dangling it from her fingers. It dances in the firelight of her room, the most beautiful thing she has ever owned. Even in the utter dark it casts a faint blue light. Touching it sends a shiver, a cold spike right through her heart.

She cannot deliver a child to her lord. He plucked her from nothing for this alone, having disposed of the three unfortunate wives who came before her—he picked her for her
peach-cream skin and thick black hair and her youth. Picked her from the village, after the other lairds refused him any more of their daughters. At least she has escaped her father's fist, the bruises and the fearful hiding.

The chatelaine. Finely wrought of silver, jewelry to hang from her waist. Wrapped in velvet inside an inlaid coffer and placed upon the marriage bed, resting on the white linen beside an inky feather that drifted in with the breeze. No one, not her lord nor the servants, could tell Leonore who placed the coffer there. The only precious thing her new husband gave her was an engraved thimble, a thimble that now lies within her embroidery box.

She plays with it, the chatelaine, its thirteen charms twisting and clinking, and she wishes she could trade it for the one thing that would save her. Even a healthy girl-child would buy her time. She fears the fate of her lord's former wives. And she wishes he would view her with sincere affection.

Leonore is lonely and frightened, her only friends the birds she feeds from the sill of her high window overlooking the wild waste that stretches toward the sea, the birds that cackle and caw.

The rooks.

The Lady

T
HE CASTLE LOOMED
out of the fog at the end of the winding lane, after what seemed an age. Kat sat up straight, and Peter let out a low whistle.

It was much bigger than the picture had made it seem, a real castle with many turrets rising up through the gloom bit by bit, and it did look the sort of place that would house ghosts.

And knights. To their left stood a half-ruined square keep topped by battlements; to their right, a high wall with turrets. The keep's narrow windows slotted the wall like blank eyes, and Kat imagined someone aiming an arrow from one straight at her heart. The moat bed was a rocky trough of thorny weeds.

As they crossed the bridge Kat shut her eyes at the bony rattles made by the wood straining beneath their weight, then
opened them as they passed beneath the gate arch, its rotting gate hovering overhead. They entered a broad court.

A parapet led away from the keep to join a giant stone bulwark of a building. A portion of the roof of the parapet walk had fallen in, and the wall that circled the court to their right was a mass of fallen stones, but this part of the castle before them seemed newer and grand. The windows were like stretched-thin black eyes, and the castle was three stories tall with tight brickwork. A dead vine wound around the door frame like a thick rope and the whole was topped by a peaked slate roof poked through with narrow chimneys.

A freshly hand-painted wooden sign was mounted on posts beside the entry:
ROOKSKILL CASTLE CHILDREN'S ACADEMY
.

Gooseflesh crept up Kat's arms. She'd tumbled headlong into a fairy tale, like Alice down the rabbit hole. The wagon pulled alongside the massive stone front and crawled to a stop. The horses chuffed as the wagon creaked and groaned, and it smelled damp and cold and faintly moldy.

The giant lifted Amelie down and waited as Peter, Rob, and Kat scrambled to the ground. Kat found it hard to breathe. Even Robbie held his tongue. Peter leaned back as he looked up at the front of the castle, and Amelie tucked her hand into Kat's.

The giant said, “I'll take your trunks round. They'll be in your rooms.” And he clapped the horses with the reins and rattled off.

“He's quite nice,” said Amelie. Kat looked down. Ame was gazing after the wagon. “That giant man.”

Amelie was usually right, but Kat wondered if this time she didn't have it wrong.

“It's not what I expected,” murmured Peter.

They stood in a cluster before the door—it was more than twice Peter's height. Peter cleared his throat and was raising his hand to knock when the door opened.

Kat had steeled herself for cobwebs and dust and an aging butler with a toothless leer, so the sight of a crackling fire in the hall and electric lights and Turkish carpets and cozy furnishings behind the plump, vacant-eyed maid in uniform was a huge relief.

The maid was young and pretty. Kat glanced at Robbie, who was of an age to develop instant crushes, and his cheeks already glowed like the bed of a hot fire. The maid seemed to take no notice; she said, “I'm Marie. Her Ladyship asked me to show you in. I'll take your coats.”

The mist had been so thick that their coats were soaking. Marie bustled off with the dripping load in her arms.

Robbie went straight to the fire, rubbing his hands. “Just as I thought. Scary on the outside, but that's only to put off the enemy. All castles are like that,” he said. “Hello, what's this?” He moved to a tea table set beside the fire. “Look! A pot of chocolate!” Rob set to pouring himself a cup at once. The rich fragrance filled the hall.

“I'm not sure . . . ” Kat murmured.

“It's quite all right,” came a soothing voice with a boarding-school British accent. “I made it for you myself.”

They turned. A woman moved from the shadows of a doorway on the far side of the hall. As she stepped into the yellow light of the lamps the children grew still. Kat became aware of the slow
tock, tock
of the great clock on the mantle and the snap of the fire in the grate.

Kat dropped into a curtsey—the woman had that kind of presence. Shiny, that was how she seemed, like silver polished until it gleamed. Her smooth, porcelain skin stretched over her bones, all angles and points, her eyes were sharp as a badger's, and her hair was swept up and silky and so fair it was almost white.

As impressed as Kat was, she thought Peter would do well to close his mouth, and she had to ignore Robbie entirely.

The woman walked toward them, her arms open in greeting. She shook hands with each of them in turn. “I'm Eleanor, Lady Craig. You may address me as Lady Eleanor. Welcome to the Academy at Rookskill Castle. You must be the Bateson children and the Williams boy. Peter, yes? My, you are tall.” Peter straightened to full height. “And Katherine, and Robert—young man, it's hard to believe you are only eleven. And you, dear little thing, you must be Amelie.” Amelie's hand sought Kat's again the instant the Lady let go. “We're so happy to
have you in our humble refuge. Katherine, Robert, and Amelie, you're practically family, too, at least to my dear Gregor. Is London dreadful? I understand there are frequent bombings?”

Robbie launched right in about the bombs and fires and rubble and broken windows, and how he was heroic and not at all scared, and the Lady listened, nodding and making sympathetic noises. Kat tried to distance herself from Rob's all-too-detailed descriptions by focusing on the Lady. She was beautiful. And yet, there was something
off
about her that Kat couldn't put her finger on.

When Kat had taken the Lady's hand, it was so cold. Almost icy, and hard. If Kat hadn't been looking she might have thought she was shaking hands with one of Father's calipers. The Lady had stared intently at Kat as she gripped Kat's hand.

Robbie nattered on and on, and the Lady wasn't really listening to him. She murmured as if she was, but she glanced at Amelie, and then at Peter—she took a good long look at Peter. She didn't look at Kat again.

The Lady was fashionably dressed in a tailored tweed Norfolk jacket with a slim skirt, a tartan scarf crossing diagonally over one shoulder and tied at her waist. As she folded her arms, the jacket lifted just a little, and Kat saw. Dangling from the Lady's skirt waistband was what looked like a chatelaine.

Goodness,
Kat thought.
Another chatelaine?

Kat's great-aunt's chatelaine held practical items—the pen,
the scissors, the thimble. But on the Lady's chatelaine were charms, though Kat couldn't see much except a shell and a silvery heart.

“Oh! You have—” Kat began, and then as the Lady turned her eyes Kat's way, Kat stopped. The Lady dropped her arms to her sides and her chatelaine disappeared again beneath the hem of her jacket. The Lady's sharp glance was like a spider crawling over Kat. Kat's little inner voice said,
Don't mention the chatelaine
. She scrambled to find words. “You have a lovely home.”

The fire popped and hissed, and Kat's mouth went dry.

“Thank you, my dear,” the Lady said at last.

Kat, still scrambling, pointed past the Lady's head. “And that's quite a nice portrait of you.”

The Lady turned. “You are mistaken,” the Lady said. “That is Leonore, mistress of this castle in the mid-eighteenth century and married to an earlier Lord Craig.” The huge portrait that dominated the front hall was of a woman who could have been the Lady's twin but for the difference in the color of their hair and the antique fashion of her clothing. The black-haired beauty in the portrait wore the same plaid as the Lady Eleanor, and her piercing blue eyes were watchful. “The villagers maintain she haunts the castle yet. Of course, ghosts of highlanders are often about the moors, and sometimes invade the keep.”

The lady who ran their new school talked about ghosts as
if they were ordinary. Real. A shiver ran up Kat's spine and she gripped Ame's hand. Silence fell over the hall, broken only by the snapping of the fire and the slow
tock
of the clock, until the Lady spoke again.

“We have all the modern conveniences in Rookskill Castle. And we are far from the bombs and strife of war, thank goodness. Our small farm and garden provides fresh goods, despite the shortages. Even eggs enough for every day, and with the academy I've been able to secure some extras, like sugar and cocoa. You're fortunate to be here. Your formal lessons will begin as soon as the remaining instructors arrive.”

The clock on the mantle gonged nine times, low and loud, nine o'clock in the morning.

“I do apologize,” the Lady continued, “if things seem out of sorts from time to time. My dear husband has been gravely ill. But we all do our best. We shall carry on.” She looked directly at Kat as she said this and gave her a slim smile, and Kat was forced to smile back.

Carry on.

“You'll find school uniforms in your rooms,” the Lady said, “which you shall wear at all times except weekends. We did our best in getting the sizes right. Marie will advise you of the other rules. Marie?”

Marie appeared from the end of the hallway.

“Show the children to their rooms,” the Lady said.

Marie started up the wide staircase, and the children followed. The Lady remained below. Kat could feel the Lady's eyes on her back.

As they reached the landing Robbie said, “Darn! I forgot to drink the chocolate.”

The Fishing Girl

A
MELIE AND KAT
shared one room on the third story, and the boys shared another. From the outside the castle was blocky and regular, but inside the stairs curved in a spiral, and the hallways were narrow with unexpected bends and dead ends. Columns rose up like great trees. Dim light filtered down through the stairwell.

Kat was lost almost at once.

“The Lady insists we lock you in at night,” Marie informed them, wielding a ring of keys. “She says I must see to it that there are no night wanderers. My room is just down there.” She pointed.

Lock us in?
thought Kat, with a shiver.
What's that about?

“Where are the others?” Rob asked. “The other students?”

“About,” Marie answered, with a vague wave of her hand.

“When do we start lessons?” Robbie pressed. “I hope we practice other stuff, too, you know, what we'll need to fend off the Jerries. Like swords. We'll have fencing, won't we? And archery? This is a castle, after all.”

Marie looked befuddled. “Don't know about any of that. Proper lessons begin tomorrow, that's what her Ladyship said. Because you missed breakfast, you're to have lunch early. You'll meet the others at supper. The Lady insists on early supper, before sunset.” She turned, paused, and then said, as if reciting, “If you hear any odd noises, it's nothing. Castles as old as this are filled with odd noises.” Marie disappeared around a turn, keys clanking as they hung from her hand.

Odd noises, odd rules, and an even odder building. Kat rubbed her arms, then looked down at Amelie. Her sister's eyes were round as saucers.

“I miss home,” Ame said.

“Me too,” said Kat.

Robbie cleared his throat. “Right, then. Want to go exploring?”

Kat wanted to find the other students. She wanted to know why Marie mentioned odd noises, like the stationmaster. She wanted to know why they had to be locked in at night. She wanted to know why they had to eat supper before the sun set. But she said only, “I think we should unpack our trunks.” And
added, “And I don't think the Lady will take kindly to exploring.”

“She didn't forbid it now, did she?” Robbie challenged. “Besides, it'll take me all of five minutes to empty my trunk.”

Boys.

“I'll go with you,” said Peter. “At least we can wander up and down this floor.”

Amelie and Kat unpacked in their spacious room. They had their own bath and a large fireplace, and they shared a monstrous bed plumped with a fat quilt. Their uniforms were folded in two neat piles on the bed and consisted of a heavy wool plaid skirt in the same tartan the Lady wore, white shirts, a couple of sweaters, a dark gray boiled wool jacket, and heavy wool stockings, all very warm, which was some comfort. Kat stowed her things in the giant dresser that hugged the wall between two tall windows.

Amelie picked at the comforter. “What do you think of the Lady?”

“She seems nice enough,” Kat said.

Ame nodded. “I don't like her, either.”

“Now, Ame, we don't know her yet,” said Kat. “Father said she seemed all right.”

“She's not like the giant,” Ame said. “He's special.” She shifted off the bed and went to the window, pulling aside the curtain and looking out.

Kat shook her head. That was Amelie. Their great-aunt didn't have to tell Ame to be imaginative.

“I miss Mum,” Ame murmured. “And London. And Aunt Margaret.”

“I know,” Kat said. “Me too. At least Father said he'd visit from time to time.”

“And I miss Mr. Pudge,” Ame added, “although you don't believe in him.”

Kat tried not to smile.

As Kat moved about now, folding and sorting, she paused before the clock on the mantle, a beehive clock with a thin band of inlay around the face. She wound it and set the pendulum going, but it wouldn't stay running for more than a few beats. She turned it around and opened the back, examining the works.

In Father's shop there were anywhere from one to a half dozen clocks at any time, all waiting for repair. When he was home, he went there straight after breakfast, laying out his tools, lining them up in order before beginning work. For years, Kat had watched him, her chin on her hands, her eyes on the gears, pins, and cogs that he removed one by one and laid out to repair or replace. He'd name parts for her as he worked: the arbor or axle, the barrel with its mainspring, the tiny jack man that struck the bell. It wasn't until last summer that he'd turned one clock—a small beehive much like the one before her now—its back open, toward her.

Her hands had trembled a little as she started, but after she'd disassembled the first layer of the works she grew bolder, and her father watched her, interjecting only a little. She'd cleaned and oiled the parts, and reassembled them, tightened the screws and adjusted the balance, and then set the clock to running. It gave a satisfying
tick-
tick
.

Father had placed his hand on her shoulder. “Well done. You've got a knack for this, Kitty. Like with puzzles, eh? You've a mind for patterns and a careful, patient hand.”

Kat's heart swelled with pride.

After that, for the next few weeks, he'd allowed her to assist him, until one day when she grew restless and began to chatter. In a moment of inattention she swept her arm across the workbench, knocking tools and clock parts and Father's wristwatch, which he'd taken off and placed on the bench, onto the floor with a clatter.

Her eyes stung as Father picked things up one by one. She stood, her back to the wall and her hands behind her. He said, so quietly she hardly heard him, “Cut to the chase, Katherine, or all is waste.” And with his index finger he tapped the face of the wristwatch, its glass cracked, as he placed it on the bench before her. “I like to think you're more grown-up than that.”

Later, crying herself to sleep, she'd thought,
I'm not like Ame,
all flighty and full of stories. Nothing like Robbie, either,
with his wild ideas. Nothing like.

Father had left days later, and she hadn't helped him again.

Now, the clock on the mantle in front of her was clogged with sticky oil, and some of the screws had come loose, so she decided she'd work on it when she could. She turned it back to face the room, its hands frozen at 12:05, and went to finish emptying her valise.

As she stowed the last few things in the dresser, she fingered her great-aunt's chatelaine. If it hadn't been for that magic business and the other odd things her great-aunt had said, Kat would have found the chatelaine at least useful. Not like the useless charms she'd seen on the Lady's chatelaine. If Kat had to do some mending, for instance . . .

And there it was again, playing on her fingers. A winking blue glow that seemed to come from the chatelaine itself. She shook her head. Not possible. Some trick of the light.

And yet.

Magic, that's what Great-Aunt Margaret had said.

“So,” Aunt Margaret had begun. “Three items of particular significance. First we have”—and she extended one long, gnarled finger—“the pen. You understand?”

Kat had heard this one before. She nodded.

“And?” her great-aunt prompted.

Kat knew an aphorism was demanded. “The pen is mightier than the sword.”

“Brilliant. Your excellent memory is a gift.” She smiled. “Of course, this pen has been replaced. The original was not
dreadfully useful, requiring ink pots and the like and always clogging. But this pen”—Aunt Margaret removed the pen by unscrewing it from the holder from which it dangled—“this pen was made to fit and given to me most recently upon my birthday. By your very own father, the dear boy.”

Kat looked quickly between her aunt and Mum. Aunt Margaret's eyes sparkled. Mum lowered her eyes as if to say,
Patience
.

Aunt Margaret continued. “This pen has a special ink that writes even under the direst circumstances. Something new, invented by . . . well, I have no idea. But it will write of its own accord, no need for an inkwell, no blots or clogs. It's quite the thing, a pen that writes of its own accord.”

Writes of its own accord? Right. That would be
a neat trick.
Father would have winked.

Aunt Margaret recapped the pen. “Now,” she said, “here we have a pair of scissors. These are original to the chatelaine.” She lifted the second item, a tiny silver triangle into which fit a pair of scissors. There was an elegant small clasp over the top so that the scissors would stay put; Kat unhooked the clasp, and Aunt Margaret slid the scissors out of their case.

“These, my dear, are indeed magical scissors.” She leaned toward Kat as she spoke and lowered her voice.

As Kat watched her great-aunt's bright eyes, she knew better than to laugh. If she said they were magic, then, by golly,
Kat had better pretend they were. She had to suck on the inside of her cheek to keep the smile down.

“They will cut anything,” Great-Aunt Margaret said. “That's the important thing, Katherine. These scissors will cut . . .
anything
.” Her face went still and grave. “‘We are the two halves of a pair of scissors, when apart, Pecksniff; but together we are something.' Mr. Dickens, my dear, as you well know,” she added, eyebrows raised. “Although you may find something more suitable to say when the need arises,” she added cryptically. “Something of your own to say. You understand?”

Kat nodded. But by then she was thoroughly befuddled.

Great-Aunt Margaret replaced the scissors and lifted the third item, also hooked to its slender chain. “Ah.” She sighed. “The thimble. You know what that means.”

Finally, Kat allowed herself a smile. “A kiss,” she answered. Aunt Margaret had read
Peter Pan
to them so often that the cover was coming apart from the binding; Robbie played at being one of the Lost Boys, especially since taking up fencing. Kat teased him about losing his marbles.

“Well, yes,” Great-Aunt Margaret said, seeming disconcerted. “That, of course. Thimbles also have often been given as wedding gifts and love tokens. But this thimble has a magical aspect. This thimble can catch souls.”

Kat had to bite her cheek hard.
Honestly.
“Aunt Margaret,” she began. “How can anything catch a soul?”

Her aunt reared back, her eyebrows arching. “Katherine, you really must become less pragmatic. In times like these we require other equally important qualities. Like imagination. And faith. And hope. Remember, dear, hope springs eternal in the human breast.”

Magic. Imagination. Hope. Great-Aunt Margaret was quite out of her mind.

Now, the only thing Kat hoped was for this war to end so they could all go home. She dropped the chatelaine among her sweaters and shut the drawer.

“Look,” Amelie said. “Come and look.”

Ame stood at the window, staring out into the garden. Kat moved to her side.

The view was toward the back of the castle. The fog had lifted into a gray autumn sky. The garden was barren and cold, the annuals gone and the shrubbery bare twigs. Some patches of early snow showed in the hollows, but the ground was otherwise bare and brown. An allée of trees stretched in a narrow band toward a woodland; beyond the farthest edge of woods Kat thought she saw a thin sliver of silvery water. That way was southeast, toward the North Sea and the continent.

Toward the war.

Toward Father, who was there, somewhere across the water, in danger but doing what he must.

The woods, the rough coast, the moors beyond were
treacherous and would be an easy place in which to be lost, especially in fog. There was no need of a castle moat, no need for shuttered gates. They were all here until the bitter end, and Kat swallowed the lump in her throat. She touched the cold glass with her fingers before she turned away.

But Amelie tugged at her sleeve. “No. Look.” Ame pointed down into the near garden. Kat leaned against the glass to see.

Straight below them a small girl with blonde hair sat on the stone edging of an empty round fishpond. How Kat hadn't seen her right off was a mystery. A hound dog circled the girl and nosed the grass at her feet. As Kat watched, the girl reached into the rocks and lifted something out, and for an instant there was a flash of silver in the child's hand. Kat blinked and rubbed her eyes.

The girl held nothing.

“She's wearing a summer frock,” Kat murmured.

“She's catching fishes,” said Amelie.

“Ame, that pond is dry, silly.” But the girl dipped her hand into the dry rocks again and again, and each time, something fishlike shimmered in her hand and then winked away. Kat shuddered.

“I feel so sad for her,” said Amelie, leaning against the window, fingers splayed on the glass. “She's lost something. Can you see it, Kat? She's looking for something in the pond.”