Chapter 1 #2
Emmeline nodded. Te- ley -porting, which harnessed the secret leyline magic of the Fae, was just one of the many magical tools a Parasol nanny or governess had at her disposal to discharge her professional duties.
But one had to be discreet about it. Teleporting out in the open where members of the general public might see one mysteriously disappear or materialize as if from nowhere was frowned upon and one of the worst breaches of the Academy’s rules.
As per the guidelines in Chapter 1 of the Parasol Academy Handbook , strictly guarding the Academy’s unconventional practices was of paramount importance, so cupboards and wardrobes and pantries and, on occasion, Metropolitan Police sentry boxes, were the preferred “vehicles.”
Although, as Emmeline understood it, access to police boxes for the purpose of teleportation was a relatively new practice.
The Academy had recently been granted a Royal Charter by Queen Victoria, so an “arrangement” with Scotland Yard had been established.
Needless to say, Parasol nannies and governesses still had to be judicious with exercising such a privilege.
Anyone who was careless with the Academy’s secrets risked having their training cut short or even their Parasol nanny or governess accreditation revoked.
Such an eventuality was something that Emmeline could ill afford.
Emmeline farewelled Mrs. Temple then hastened to the Academy’s dormitory on the floor above. Once she’d donned her navy-blue cloak, her coal-scuttle bonnet, and had retrieved her Academy umbrella from the stand near the door, she was ready.
Well, as ready as I’ll ever be , she thought. She checked her Academy-issued silver pocket watch, which kept perfect time, and noted she still had half an hour to make it to her interview. If she successfully teleported to Bedford Square without making a hash of it…
Tel- ley -porting was always a discombobulating experience.
And when Emmeline lost her focus, that’s when things tended to go spectacularly awry.
That’s when she ended up in places she wasn’t supposed to be.
That didn’t happen often, thank goodness, but when it did (like that one time she’d ended up in the middle of the Thames and had to be rescued by the River Police), it proved to be all kinds of mortifying and inconvenient, to say the least.
But not today. She couldn’t afford to lose her focus, today of all days.
Emmeline dug out her pewter leyport key from her pocket, then crossed the room with sure strides to the wardrobe she shared with Mina.
Even though the door wasn’t locked, she needed to use her key to open up the leyline portal.
Without it, the wardrobe would be an ordinary closet, not a conduit for teleportation.
The wardrobe’s interior was cloaked in deep shadow, but when Emmeline pushed all the clothing aside, a small but bright light glimmered at the very back like a beckoning candle flame at the end of a long dark tunnel. The key had sparked the leyline magic to life.
Emmeline inhaled a deep breath, bracing herself for the journey.
The process was simple enough in theory.
All she had to do was step inside the wardrobe and focus on the leylight while simultaneously picturing herself where she needed to be.
She’d whisper the required Fae incantation to set the magic completely aflame and then she’d be on her way.
“Keep calm and nanny on,” Emmeline murmured as she hopped into the wardrobe, her eyes fastened on the flickering leylight flame.
No sooner had she conjured up a mental image of Bedford Square and murmured, “ Vortexio ,” when there was a sudden flare of blinding light.
A familiar but also unsettling whoosh filled her head, and then a strange sensation of whirling weightlessness—like one was spinning around inside a Catherine wheel—engulfed her.
And then the movement and the rushing sound stopped, leaving Emmeline panting and slightly dizzy. Even though she’d closed her eyes at some point, she could sense that the intense white leylight had faded away.
Inhaling a bracing breath, she dared to crack open an eyelid… and when she discerned exactly where her derriere had landed, her stomach pitched and she uttered a string of curses a lot worse than blast and drat and dickens on toast .
She was not in a stone police box. She was not even in a wardrobe or cupboard.
She was on a roof. A roof!
Another wave of dizziness assailed Emmeline and she clutched at the rain-slick tiles beneath her gloved palms to stop herself accidentally plunging to a quick and untimely death.
Was she at least in Bedford Square?
There was only one way to find out. Emmeline forced herself to open her eyes and then she very carefully adjusted her seat so that she could peer down at the cherry-tree-lined square below. Belgrave Square according to the sign. Not Bedford Square.
Blooming hell with bells on. Had she said the wrong word in her head? Belgrave and Bedford both started with B . Had she conjured up the wrong mental image because Belgrave Square was close to the Parasol Academy in nearby Sloane Square? She must have.
What a monumental cock-up. What a complete henwit she’d been.
The mildly startled pigeon perched upon the row of chimney pots to Emmeline’s right stared at her as if in complete agreement with everything she’d thought.
A soft empathic coo was followed by a ruffling of its gray feathers, but then the bird took off, winging its way over the London rooftops to whatever its destination might be…
unlike Emmeline, who was well and truly stuck on a most precarious perch for a human—four stories up with no foreseeable way down.
Emmeline couldn’t help but mutter, “Lucky blighter,” as the pigeon became a mere speck against the cloud-shrouded sky. And then she fell to contemplating her options and her future, which hopefully wouldn’t be short-lived.
One: Stay stuck on this roof forevermore. While Emmeline hadn’t envisioned a future as a nanny weathervane, she reasoned that it was a slightly better fate than her next logical option…
Two: Fall and become a rather unfortunate splat on the cobblestone square far below.
Emmeline shuddered. Although that particular outcome would be far from ideal, at least it would be over with quickly.
But the drawback was that she’d never see her dear father, who rather depended on her, again.
Or her brother for that matter. Or darling Mina.
Becoming a “splat” wasn’t a good choice in the big scheme of things.
Three: Call out and hope someone would be moved to rescue her. There did appear to be a Metropolitan Police box at the other end of the square, but Emmeline doubted her voice would carry that far. And the bobby might be anywhere.
What she needed was an impossibly long ladder.
Even a long rope would do at a pinch. While Emmeline’s training had equipped her with the ability to scale a tree or a wall should she need to rescue a trapped charge, or even a charge’s far-too-curious cat, she’d still need a rope and possibly a grappling hook to lower herself to safety.
In certain circumstances, Emmeline could simply reach into her uniform’s magical “nanny pocket” to procure whatever she needed to manage a difficult situation.
But as per Chapter 4, Section 2 of the Parasol Academy Handbook , she could only produce “necessary items” from said pocket, “while in service to a child in her care, or in certain situations, a child in need.” Getting oneself stuck on a rooftop because you were distracted and failed to discreetly teleport from one location to another did not signify.
Emmeline blew out a heavy sigh and frowned at the toes of her kid half boots.
Her fourth consideration was probably the most important of all.
If she did survive this massive teleportation blunder, she hoped to God that Mrs. Temple didn’t hear about it.
She’d already been in enough trouble for one day.
“Remember, you’re a Parasol Academy nanny, Emmeline Chase.
You’re prim, proper, and prepared for anything.
Exactly like Mrs. Temple,” she sternly reminded herself as she somehow shoved down her nerves, much like one would shove down a mouthful of castor oil.
Her nerves had gotten her into this mess to begin with, so she had no time for them at the moment.
“You will work out how to get down from here without breaking your neck. You will not sully your reputation or the Academy’s by drawing undue attention to yourself.
And you will secure that nannying job. Failure is not an option. ”
Emmeline examined the impressive townhouse she was presently seated upon.
It was entirely on its own at one corner of the square.
Craning her neck to look behind her, she spied two whitewashed wings that jutted off the main edifice.
Each wing had numerous casement windows.
Perhaps she could attract the attention of one of the townhouse’s occupants. Well, if they looked outside.
Taking a deep breath and tightening her grip on the slate tiles, Emmeline carefully swung one of her legs over to the other side of the steeply sloped roof, then proceeded to inch herself along the ridgeline toward the row of chimney pots and the nearest wing.
She supposed she could always lob her umbrella at one of the windows.
She was a good shot, and surely that would arouse someone’s notice.
There! A movement—a dark sort of fluttering—in one of the windows on the second floor caught Emmeline’s attention. Someone was watching her, she was sure of it.
Emmeline made herself let go with one hand then waved madly. “Hulloooo,” she called. “I say, hullooo!”
What the deuce? What on earth are you doing up there?
sounded a voice in her head. An avian voice with a distinct rasp that reminded Emmeline of a distinguished gentleman who was fond of pipe-smoking.
The sort of man who’d don a velvet banyan and prop his leather-slipper-clad feet upon a footstool with a brandy at his elbow and the latest copy of the Times spread out before him.
Emmeline dared to lean forward a little more as she squinted at the windowpane in question.
It’s all rather complicated , she replied to her all-but-invisible conversational partner.
She suspected that he was a bird of some kind.
Aside from dogs and horses, birds were the easiest animals for Parasol Academy graduates to communicate with by thought alone.
Cats, on the other hand, were altogether too aloof and not likely to respond at all.
As you can see, I’m in a bit of a pickle , Emmeline continued in what she hoped was a friendly manner, not a panicky, Oh-Lord-I’m-going-to-die fashion. Is there anyone inside the house that might be able to help me? If someone could summon a chimney sweep, I could climb down his ladder…
I see… I suppose I could do that… As long as you’re not up to anything nefarious…
Suddenly the casement window swung open, and a rather magnificent raven appeared on the window ledge.
Cocking his head, his dark inquisitive gaze met Emmeline’s.
I hope you’ll excuse my impertinence, but what is your name?
It’s not often that I come across someone like you.
An animalis sussurator or animal whisperer, so to speak. You are a rarity, indeed.
Animal whisperer… Emmeline liked the sound of that.
Not all Parasol Academy graduates could telepathically communicate with animals.
The ability seemed to be a side effect of using Fae magic and you either developed it as a skill—like learning to play the pianoforte or speak another language—or you didn’t.
And like any other skill, once you had attained it, you possessed the ability for life.
At least that’s what Emmeline had learned during her Parasol Academy training.
Casting a smile at the raven—it wouldn’t do to appear rude—she responded to his question.
My name is Mrs. Emmeline Chase and I’m… She drew a fortifying breath.
I’m a nanny with certain singular talents.
She didn’t think it would be wise to elaborate further on that score—disclosing she had magical abilities would certainly ruffle feathers in more ways than one—so instead she asked, And to whom am I speaking?
The raven puffed out his chest and his glossy black feathers gleamed like polished ebony. Horatio Ravenscar, Esquire. At your service, madam. I shall summon my master. I shan’t be long. And then, with an elegant flap of his enormous wings, he disappeared.
Emmeline released a shaky sigh of relief.
Things were looking up after all. Well, as long as Horatio Ravenscar’s master wasn’t an arrogant, snobbish pain-in-the-derriere who refused to help her.
She didn’t like playing the role of damsel-in-distress.
And she really should curb her unruly tongue, even in her head.
She was in Belgravia. Not Cheapside, where her father’s store had been.
Or Shoreditch, where Freddy’s struggling music hall, the Oberon, was located.
But then, Horatio’s master wasn’t going to employ her. Mr. Culpepper of Barclays Bank would. All going well. If only she could get down from this infernal roof.