The Charmed Children of Rookskill Castle (8 page)

But it was odd that the chatelaine, such an unusual piece of antique jewelry, had begun showing up over and over. It was almost as if Great-Aunt Margaret had known.

Colin begged to join Kat and Peter on their walk. He reminded Kat of a puppy, dogging their heels and panting a little, nosing off from side to side as they made their way down the allée of trees behind the castle.

Rookskill Castle was a hodgepodge of buildings, as they could see now from the outside. The moat ended halfway around the older buildings, so that the imposing and ramshackle ruin out front, the one that seemed so frightening when they arrived, was the ancient—mostly abandoned—part of the castle, and the grand house the Lord and Lady lived in and where they
were all staying was a much newer addition opening onto the formal garden behind.

As they wove through the garden now they passed the small pond where Kat had seen the girl. The pond was dry. A little tickle ran up Kat's arms as she thought of the girl's invisible fishes.

As they entered the allée, they turned back to look at the castle.

“That should be your room,” Peter said, pointing, “and I think that's where the stairwell would be. Looks so normal from the outside.”

“But it's so confusing on the inside. There's nothing that would show up as a hidden room,” Kat said. “But then, this place is not what it seems. From the outside,” she added.

“Hidden room?” Colin asked eagerly.

Peter coughed. “Just imagining there might be some in that old place,” he said, and Kat knew what he meant. Best not to alarm susceptible Colin until they understood what was happening.

“Maybe we could explore inside the old castle, too,” said Colin. “I love the idea of finding hidden rooms. Can we?”

“Maybe,” Kat murmured.

The sun was fine, although a snapping breeze came up off the ocean, and it carried a sound. They stopped at once, straining to hear.

“What is that?” said Colin.

“It sounds like singing,” Kat said. “Like it's coming from the sea.”

They walked, quickly now, all the way down the allée to the cliff edge, where the land fell into the rocks and surf, but there was nothing, just the crashing of waves, and over them barely, a sound like voices, a wordless song in harmony.

“I'll bet it's some hollow in the rocks where the wind is whistling through,” said Peter.

“Of course,” Kat said, relieved. “That's what it is. Why, in my great-aunt's attic, when the wind blows hard, it sounds like a whining voice. Amelie thinks it's her ghost friend, Mr. Pudge.”

“But what if it is ghosts?” asked Colin. “The villagers think the Lady Leonore haunts the castle.”

Kat put her hand on Colin's thin shoulder. “There are no such things as ghosts,” she said as firmly as she could. “So you needn't worry.”

The space between his eyes was occupied by a deep furrow.

“Look, Colin. There's a logical explanation for everything,” she said.

Yet, as they made their way back toward the castle, the singing followed them, mournful and filled with longing, making Kat sad.

The Third and Fourth Charms: The Boot and the Chest

I
T IS 1820.

Ah, the cruel, cruel sea. As the years pass, the villagers think the caves along the coast house mermaids. They hear sweet, sad voices that lift and swell and ebb like waves. They leave the caves alone, not wishing to disturb the sorrowful selkies
.

But the voices belong to girls charmed by Leonore.

After years of hiding in the keep, haunting Rookskill Castle and terrifying the human residents who come and go and live and die, Leonore craves again the feeling that comes with charming children. She has taken care of these first two, Rose and Tim. They have not suffered the loveless anguish of a childhood like her own.

When the fire—such a tragedy!—consumes the timbered
house on the village square, it leaves twin girls orphans. Leonore can rescue them from fear and sad memories. She can give them bliss. That she feels bliss as well . . . that's an added sweetness.

Her rooks tell her that a ramshackle hut sits again on the bones of a ruin at the edge of the village. She seeks out the magister (does he live forever?). For the girls he asks Leonore to sacrifice one hand and one leg, and she does not hesitate.

Blood and bone.

They cling to each other, Alice carrying a single boot and Brigit clutching a small locked chest. The twins wander to the cliff edge. Leonore follows them and gives them each a charm from her chatelaine, the boot and the chest.

The rooks pick the ashes for flesh and bone.

The magister stands before the great hinged box. The box glows with a pale blue light. It holds the parts of Leonore; it waits. He waits. He has waited for many years. Magic bides its own time.

His fingers are skilled at making. He can make mechanicals, unearthly creatures that are beautiful but dreadful. He adds the still-beating heart of a once-living thing to a clockwork creation that blinks and moves. He invents a creature made from tiny gears and pulleys and gives it a fleshy foot.

He ponders the capture of souls.

When he gave the new bride Leonore the chatelaine those years ago, he knew he had found an unwitting partner to aid him in practicing the blackest of magical arts. He is patient and waits for the right time. He knows the time will come when he can make something of dreadful beauty.

He will make life where none existed before.

With the charming of the twins, Leonore expands with happiness. She also bends with the added weight in her chatelaine, and about this she returns to the magister to ask.

“Souls,” he answers. “That weight is the weight of their souls.”

Leonore is staggered, sinking to the wooden stool.

The magister drones on, his back to her. Within her thirteenth charm she can hold twelve souls altogether. But oh so slowly, cautions the magister. Too many at once will weaken the magic. She must be patient, remain at the castle, and more children will come in time. And in time, when she carries all twelve souls, she will own a magic greater than love itself.

Leonore stares silently at the flames dancing on the magister's hearth. She carries the souls of four children in her thirteenth charm. She has watched as they cry out in pain and afterward go vacant. Was her lord right—has she become a witch?

But then she feels that bliss. She has lived long. She owns powerful magic. And she's saved them, those lonely children. She is heroic, for childhood is a terrible burden. Their souls lie within her thirteenth charm? So be it. She does, after all, sacrifice pieces of herself.

The magister does not tell Leonore what he does with her body parts.

The twin girls, together with Rose and Tim, for the next century and more, haunt the castle and the grounds and sing wordless songs. Leonore swells with the power she sucks from the souls of the four children. She later adds the fifth, the lonely cat-boy John, telling herself that this is good, this is right, this taking of children's souls.

Leonore is no longer fully human, but has become a witch and a monster (will she live forever?) made from the magister's superbly crafted mechanical parts.

Wish Upon a Star

T
HAT AFTERNOON THEY
met their other instructors. The two new teachers took up residence in the castle on the second story with Mr. Storm and the Lord and Lady.

Miss Gumble taught grammar and literature. Mr. MacLarren was a red-cheeked Scot who taught maths. As they were introduced before lessons, Kat raised her hand.

“How do you know our father?” she asked them. “He said something about recommending you to Lady Eleanor.”

Gumble and MacLarren exchanged a brief glance. “Your father gave a very interesting lecture on clocks at the university several years ago,” Gumble said.

“We were quite impressed,” said MacLarren. “So we invited him out to the pub for a bit of conversation.”

“He's an interesting man,” said Gumble, polishing her glasses.

“Quite,” said MacLarren. “Now let's get on with your education, eh?”

Gumble was up-country English and reedy-thin, and spoke with such a monotone whine that it was hard to keep awake during her lessons. They were all provided with a book of grammar, a sentence diagramming primer, and a fat compendium of world and English literature, which, as Miss Gumble said, “I expect you to read each and every night, beginning at the beginning. I will assign pages. Take careful notes, as I will be examining you on the contents without warning.” The younger children were given a shorter reading; even so, Kat saw that Colin's eyes were as round as melons at the amount of work.

MacLarren began with an exam, and then split them all into groups according to skills. Kat was alone in the top group, above even Peter and Jorry. She was pleased to see Jorry gape.

“You are quite skilled at numbers, eh, lassie? Well, don't be looking after my job.” Mr. MacLarren grinned.

Kat wasn't sure what to make of him, but at least she knew exactly what to do with numbers.

During time off after homework she tinkered with the clock in her room, using hairpins and butter knives for tools, and got it running nicely. Many of the other clocks were stopped; she made it her personal mission to fix them all. She was sure Father would approve.

Kat wrote home to Mum:

We're all fine. The uniforms are warm and the maid lays a fire every evening in our rooms while we are at supper. We've begun lessons, and I feel it's a relief, although Rob complains like crazy.

Kat did not mention the fencing, as she thought her mum would worry—and rightly so.

And she did not mention the wireless, nor ghosts, nor peculiar Storm, nor evil nightmares.

She drank no more chocolate, and noticed that Peter didn't, either.

It wasn't until Saturday that Kat and Peter had the chance to revisit the hidden room. They found a place under the stairwell on the first floor where they could tuck in and listen, and if someone made their way up the stairs, they could spy.

“Spying on the spy,” Kat said.

They were there most of Saturday morning, and took a break for lunch with nothing to show. They returned with several hours left until supper, so they made themselves as comfy as possible and waited.

And waited.

It was the first time they'd been alone for a stretch of time. Peter was very kind to the younger children and he didn't seem
to mind that she was good at maths, as some of the boys she'd met did.

“My father's abroad,” Kat said out of the blue. She had to confide in someone. Peter, well, she trusted him.

“Is he fighting, then?”

“Not exactly. He works for MI6.”

“So he's a spy.” Peter whistled softly. “Do you worry?”

“Terribly,” she said, and wrapped her hand around her watch.

“I miss home. New York,” Peter said, sensibly changing the subject. He described his neighborhood and school, and Kat found herself wishing she could see the bright lights of New York City for herself.

After a moment's silence, Peter said, “I wonder if we'd be heroes if we caught a spy. I wonder if that spy would be executed. I don't know whether I'd want that on my conscience. Unless it saved lives, of course, catching a spy.”

Kat thought about how she would feel if her father was caught, and her stomach was all at once tied up in knots. She hoped that two children on the other side weren't about to give Father away as he struggled to uncover secrets for his country, two children who would love to catch a spy. She squeezed the watch.

“You probably haven't seen that movie
Pinocchio
.” Peter shifted his legs so they stretched before him. “I saw it last winter, before we left the States. ‘Always let your conscience be your guide.'”

“What's that about?” Kat asked, peering at him sideways.

“It's one of the things the character Jiminy Cricket says in the movie. Let your conscience be your guide and you can't go wrong, is what he says. That, and he says, ‘When you wish upon a star, your dreams come true.'”

Kat focused on the knot of her shoelaces, her fingers plucking it like strings of a harp. “I've made a wish. Upon a star.” She shrugged. “It's silly. An old superstition. Dreams don't come true just for wishing.”

“What did you wish for?”

“You know I can't tell you. Or that's what they say.”

“Then I'm guessing it hasn't come true yet.”

“No.” Her wish hadn't come true. And she was so afraid it wouldn't ever come true. It was silly, wishing, and she chewed her lip, mad at herself.

“I understand,” Peter said. “I have a wish like that.” He knitted his hands together. “I didn't want to leave.”

“Leave?”

“Leave the States,” he said softly.

“Oh.” His eyes were fixed on his fingers. Kat said, “But your dad, he came here to work?”

“Yes. But it was my mom, mostly. She wanted to be here for her parents and family. Dad's family are gone, so he took a job in London for her. And then the war really started, and here we are.”

“That's thoughtful of him, though awfully bad timing.”

He glanced up and then away. “Yeah. Thoughtful except
for me. I had to leave my friends, my school, even my dog . . .” Then his eyes lifted again. “But this is fun. This crazy, maybe haunted, maybe spy-filled castle in Scotland. An adventure. Right?” He gave her a quick smile.

She smiled back.

They fell silent and sat in the shadows for what felt like forever. No one had come up or down the stairs since they'd been there; the entire castle seemed drained and silent.

Kat thought back to a warm spring evening when she was out with her family and the air was filled with the sound of crickets. Mum walked ahead with Amelie and Rob, while she'd walked at Father's side.

“Look, Kitty,” Father had said. He pointed to a star, the first to appear.

So she'd wished.
Star light, star bright, first
star I see tonight . . .

He'd smiled. “What did you wish?”

“You know I can't tell you,” she said, and nudged him.

And then only a week later her first success, fixing a clock, and only a week after
that
, her failure, when she broke his watch by acting silly.

“I can't fix it, Kitty,” he'd said, short, putting the watch aside. “Not enough time.” He'd left it on his workbench.

And then he was gone.

Now she felt stupid, making wishes. She was only surprised that her father had encouraged her. He should have said, “If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride.”

Kat's legs burned with cramps when she finally stood up to shake them out. Peter had closed his eyes and seemed to be asleep. She shook Peter's shoulder and his eyes fluttered open. “I think we'd better get going,” Kat said.

“Right,” he said, and scrambled to his feet.

They were halfway up the stairs when they heard it. A door on the next floor opened and closed, and soft footsteps came down the hallway in their direction.

There was no place to hide, no time to escape. They came face-to-face with the Lady.

She started and her eyes narrowed. “What are you children doing here?”

“We've come in from a walk,” Kat said. “Lovely weather.”

In fact, the day had gone from clear to miserable, and Kat now heard the beating of rain on the windows. “Well, it was lovely until a bit ago. So we were just . . .”

“Talking,” said Peter, his voice firm.

The Lady's eyebrows lifted. “Since I am in the position of parental guardian, I will only tell you once that when you are not in the classroom or at meals you must remain on your corridor. I'm establishing a new rule: no wandering about the castle or grounds, even in pairs.”

Kat chafed at the scolding and this irritating rule. Especially when Peter said, “Yes, ma'am.”

Kat grew bold. “I've been wanting to talk to you, my Lady,” she said. “I have questions.”

The Lady's steely eyes locked on Kat.

Peter shuffled his feet and Kat was sure he thought she would give away what they knew about the wireless. But that was not on her mind.

She squared her shoulders. “What I asked about before. When we arrived here we saw a girl out in the garden wearing only a thin summer dress. It's far too cold for her to be dressed that way. I think she needs a coat.”

The Lady raised her perfect eyebrows. “Really?”

“And we've seen a crippled boy who should be taken to see a doctor, because his deformity might be fixed. And speaking of doctors, I hear that there's another boy here, one who looks after the cats, and it sounds like he's taken ill.” Kat's cheeks burned by this point and she could almost feel Peter's astonishment. “I wonder whether they are children of people who work here? Or are they from the village? Surely they aren't students. Are they? For they would be joining us in studies and meals and so on, wouldn't they?”

The Lady was silent; rain beat at the windows. Her eyes ran Kat and Peter up and down from head to toe. “You were outside? You don't appear to be wet.”

They said nothing.

“Your parents have given me full charge of you. I don't suppose you should like to be locked in your rooms for a few days as punishment for wandering without supervision?”

Kat pursed her lips and Peter said, “No, ma'am.”

She glared at Kat. “Your father said to be especially strict with you, Katherine Bateson. That you are immature and too sure of yourself and need a firm hand. I have no trouble depriving you both of a meal or two, if that will make you understand that I'm in charge.”

Kat tightened her fists, and her mouth went dry.

“If I find you out like this again, I shall be forced to keep you under lock and key and let you go hungry. Is that clear?”

Peter nodded. Kat was furious. Father would never have said—

“Go,” the Lady said, and pointed up.

Kat's face was on fire but she didn't move; Peter tugged her sleeve.

“Now,” the Lady said, her voice a hiss.

They went.

Kat and Peter faced each other in the hallway.

“Why'd you have to make her angry?” he said in a harsh whisper.

“Peter, she was awful. Don't you see?”

“What I see,” he said, his face red, “is that she's in charge and we'd better not cross her. Or we'll go hungry, or worse. Why do you have to be so demanding? She's just trying to
keep us safe. Plus, I was afraid you were going to say something about the wireless. People have been killed for less, you know. Even children. There is a war on.”

“What does it matter if I said something about the wireless? I thought you didn't believe she was a spy.” She clenched her fists. “What are you really afraid of?”

He marched into his room and shut the door in her face.

Kat stood in the hallway, her blood pounding in her ears.

All she wanted was to keep her brother and sister safe from harm, and bring her family back together, and have the war done and Father home, and be away from this creepy castle.