Chapter 14
Concerning Pudding and Sweets and Bad Dreams and Butterflies …
“Miss Davenport …”
Mina paused in the hall outside her bedchamber and peered into the soft shadows.
Even though the gaslights were turned low, she could still discern Tom Fleet sheltering in a curtained window alcove with his knees tucked up to his chest. “Yes, Tom?” she asked.
Concern touched her voice as she continued. “Is everything all right?”
The boy slipped from his seat and approached with the silence of a cat.
He was dressed in trousers, shirt, coat, and shoes—not in his nightshirt and nightcap—the attire he’d been in when Mina had bid him goodnight in his room three hours ago.
“I’m fit as a flea, miss. It’s young Christopher ’oo’s not.
’E’s been cryin’ in ’is sleep. I fink ’e might’ve been ’avin’ a nightmare or somefink.
I went in an’ gave ’im a pat on the shoulder, but ’e didn’t wake up.
’E’s quieted down now, but I just fought you should know. Considerin’ ’e’s your cousin an’ all.”
Concern tugged at Mina. “Thank you for looking out for him, Tom. That’s very kind of you.”
The boy shrugged and pushed his hands into his pockets. “That’s all right, miss. I figure Christopher ain’t like you an’ me an’ ’is lordship.”
“How so?”
“Well, Christopher seems like a milk puddin’.
’E’s soft and needs protectin’. Whereas Lord Kinsale an’ me, we’re ’ard as a rock.
Like humbug sweets. Comes from livin’ on the streets.
Whereas you, miss, you’re more like …” He narrowed his gaze.
“You’re more like a bonbon with a hard outside, but I reckon you’ve got a gooey middle.
You won’t put up wiv rubbish from no one, but you’ve got a good ’eart. ”
Mina smiled and inclined her head. “I’ll take that as a compliment, Tom. By the way, I think you and Lord Kinsale have good hearts too, underneath your tough veneers.”
The boy hunched his shoulders and kicked at the delicate gilt leg of a nearby side table. “I dunno about that.”
Mina gestured at his attire. “Are you going somewhere?”
“Maybe …” He crossed his arms and eyed her suspiciously. “Are you goin’ to stop me?”
“No,” said Mina. “But I would remind you that the streets at night are cold and dangerous and you have a safe and warm place right here. I’d prefer it if you’d stay, but I cannot make you.”
Tom’s expression hardened with defiance as he hoisted up his small chin. “I can take care o’ meself.”
“I have no doubts at all that you can,” replied Mina. “But you don’t have to when you’re here. It’s quite all right to rest awhile. To take a break from life on the streets.”
“I s’pose I’m just used to it,” he mumbled. “It’s in me blood.” He gestured at the fine hallway with its plush runner and velvet drapes and flocked wallpaper and gleaming wood and gilt. “I don’t feel like I belong ’ere.”
“I understand,” said Mina. “But it’s raining at the moment. At least wait until the shower stops. There’s no sense in getting wet if you don’t have to.”
“I’ll fink about it,” said the boy. “’Ow you gettin’ on wiv ’is lordship then? ’Is stammer is bleedin’ awful. I ’ope you can ’elp ’im.”
“I do too, Tom,” said Mina. After the session in the drawing room, she was quietly confident the guidebook that had manifested in her pocket might actually assist. The marquess could certainly be fluent while singing.
The trick would be working out a way to maintain that degree of fluency during different sorts of “speaking” exercises.
She was just about to bid Tom goodnight when there was a muffled cry from Christopher’s room. Oh no.
“Sounds like your young cousin is ’avin’ anovver bad dream,” said Tom.
“Yes,” said Mina, hastening over to Christopher’s door. His life had been so topsy-turvy of late, she shouldn’t be surprised that he’d begun to have nightmares. She waved goodnight to Tom, then let herself into her charge’s room.
She’d left a gas lamp burning after she’d tucked Christopher in, so could clearly see his small frame beneath the bedcovers.
The sheets and pale green counterpane were twisted, and Mr. Hopwell had fallen onto the floor.
As Mina approached the bed, Christopher released a whimper and she could see that his cheeks were flushed and damp with tears.
Oh heavens. Mina’s heart contracted with pain. The poor boy. She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Christopher,” she murmured. “It’s me, Miss Davenport. You’re safe—”
At that moment, the boy lurched upright and his blue eyes popped wide open. “Make her go away! Make her go away!” he cried.
“Who?” asked Mina. Even though she knew no one else was in the bedchamber with them, she couldn’t stop herself from glancing about the room. Of course, there was no one there.
“The horrible white lady … with-with black eyes,” sobbed Christopher. His terrified gaze met Mina’s. “There was snow in her silver hair and she had a sword made of ice. She says she’ll find me, one way or another. That she’ll have me taken away.”
A white lady with black eyes? Mina sat on the edge of the bed and offered a hug to the trembling, weeping child.
As she held him and murmured soothing words of comfort, a shiver of foreboding slid down her spine, chilling her to the bone.
Lady Grenfell had told Mina that in her prophetic dream, she’d seen her godson in a frozen Arctic wasteland.
But she’d never mentioned a dark-eyed, silver-haired woman brandishing an icy sword.
But then, the dowager countess had been quite ill and drowsy; her physician had given her laudanum to ease her pain.
Mina suddenly wished she could confide in Mrs. Temple.
Despite the fact the Parasol Academy had a Fae Charter and graduates practiced Fae magic to protect the children in their care, she knew little about the Royal Fae sisters, Good Queen Maeve and Evil Queen Mab, other than Mab’s influence in the Earthly Realm had dramatically waned since the Parasol Academy had been established ninety years ago by Verity Truelove, Mrs. Temple’s great-grandmother.
But what did that mean, really? Mina was starting to think that perhaps someone from the Fae Realm wanted Christopher. She says she’ll find me, one way or another. That she’ll have me taken away.
Could this terrifying woman the boy had just seen in his nightmare be Evil Queen Mab herself? Because surely Queen Maeve, who wanted to protect human children from being kidnapped by her sister, wouldn’t manifest in such a fashion. She wouldn’t torment a poor child through dreams.
Mina couldn’t be sure. But as soon as she returned to her room next door, she would consult the Parasol Academy Handbook and look up the chapter on invoking a protection spell.
A ward that would put in place a temporary magical barrier around Christopher’s bedroom during the dark, nighttime hours when Queen Mab’s elvish minions might attempt to visit a child’s room to steal him or her away and leave a changeling behind.
It was powerful magic and not commonly employed.
From what Mina could recall, one had to ask the Fae for permission to use the spell, and if it was deemed to be necessary, the nanny or governess requesting it would be provided with the means to cast it.
Rather like the Decalamitifying spell that Mina knew her friend Emmeline had employed when she was working as a nanny for the Duke of St Lawrence.
When Christopher’s tears stopped and he seemed calmer, Mina tucked him into bed again with Mr. Hopwell.
He asked for a bedtime story and a lullaby and Mina readily complied; it was the least she could do to make the boy feel safe.
Although, as soon as he’d drifted to sleep, she repaired to her room and dug out her Parasol Academy Handbook from her trunk and her ley-spectacles from her pocket.
The blue leather cover of the handbook shimmered as Mina placed the tome on the small satinwood escritoire by the fire.
It didn’t take her long to locate the protection spell in Chapter 21.
Armed with her refreshed knowledge and renewed resolve, Mina returned to Christopher’s room.
He was curled on his side, still sleeping soundly with his toy velvet rabbit tucked beneath his chin.
His cheeks were slightly flushed and his breathing was deep and even.
More than ever, Mina was determined to protect this child from whatever supernatural harm might be lying in wait for him.
If Lady Grenfell had been correct about her portentous dream—if Mina’s assumption that Evil Queen Mab was the white lady haunting Christopher in his sleep—then surely the Fae would grant her the use of a warding spell to keep the boy safe at night.
She could but try. Drawing a deep breath, Mina slid her hand into her governess’s pocket, closed her eyes and entreated the Fae and Good Queen Maeve to gift her the use of the Guardia Nimbus spell on behalf of Christopher, Lord Fitzwilliam.
That she had reason to believe the young boy was in imminent danger of being taken away from her care.
For a full minute, nothing happened at all and Mina’s heart plummeted like a sinking lump of lead.
She must be wrong, about everything. She’d believed Lady Grenfell.
She’d convinced herself that Sir Bedivere was being controlled by a Fae-ensorcelled ring.
She’d been so certain the woman in Christopher’s nightmare had been Queen Mab.
Tears of frustration and despair pricked at the back of Mina’s eyes and she was about to pull her hand from her pocket when she felt a faint flickering sensation against her palm.
A soft caress like a sighed breath brushing over her fingertips.
And inside her head she heard a barely there, melodic voice that whispered, “Believe.”
Hope beat tiny wings in Mina’s chest, and when she withdrew her hand and unfurled her fingers, she gasped in delight. There, upon her palm sat a tiny, lilac-winged butterfly. It sat perfectly still, its wings trembling, as though it was waiting for something.
The incantation, Mina Davenport, you ninny. Say the magic words.
So she did. “Guardia Nimbus,” Mina whispered.
All at once, the butterfly fluttered its wings, sending a tiny puff of faint purple dust into the air.
The dust somehow coalesced and became another tiny lilac butterfly and then another butterfly appeared.
And then another. Christopher’s room was suddenly filled with a hundred or more fluttering butterflies and as they flitted about, they seemed to weave and spin a faint gossamer web that quickly enveloped the entire room in a shimmering silken veil of pale purple light.
And then all the butterflies disappeared except for one, which lit upon the pillow beside Christopher’s blond head. Its delicate wings flapped gently, almost lazily, and Mina instinctively knew that while it remained, the ward would stay in place.
Christopher might still have bad dreams, but no supernatural beings—no elves or Fae in service to Queen Mab—could enter the room. For now, the boy was safe.
As for Sir Bedivere … Mina yawned as she began to get ready for bed.
He was a problem for another day. She trusted that she and Christopher were safe here at Kinsale House, at least for the moment.
Mrs. Temple would never divulge the whereabouts of one of her employees.
And Lord Kinsale was not out and about in high society circles all that much.
The baronet and the governess of the marquess’s new “ward” were not likely to cross paths, if at all.
Mina prayed with all her heart that might truly be the case.