Magic Below Stairs Read Online Free PDF Page B

scrubbing the floor.
    â€œHow could I have done it in my sleep?” Frederick showed Bess his hands, chapped but clean, front and back. “Wouldn’t my hands show the boot blacking?”
    â€œMust have been a brownie did it then,” said Bess. “Mind you don’t thank him, or he will run away and never come back.”
    â€œNo brownies or hobgoblins here,” said Fan. “Even if his lordship wasn’t more than a match for such things, his mother would never have stood for such doings in her household. I’ve known folk who had the brownie in their house plug the chimney with a feather pillow it hauled into its nest. Worse than badgers, they can be. Worse than bats, even.”
    â€œBadgers and bats, my Sunday hat,” said Bess. “Those boots were polished, weren’t they? Someone did it. It wasn’t a ghost.”
    â€œSomeone did it,” agreed Fan, “and all in good time we’ll find out who it was.”
    The next night, Frederick lay wondering in the dark. For the first time in a long time, he thought about the dream he’d had in the orphanage kitchen, the deep soft voice counting out the peas and beans. Had there been a voice the night before, a deep drowsy voice? Had that voice said something about corn and rye? Frederick fell asleep still wondering. Somewhere in the night, it came back to him, no dream at all, but the clear memory of a deep voice. “Peas and beans, corn and rye. Who can work like Billy Bly?”

4
    IN WHICH FREDERICK MEETS HIS FIRST WIZARD
    Next morning, the summons came. Mr. Kimball came looking for Frederick and when he found him, seized him by the ear. “You are wanted in the drawing room. Lord Schofield wishes to ask you some questions. You will tell him what he desires to know. You will tell him at once, do you understand?”
    Frederick had to balance on the very tips of his toes to ease the pain in his ear. “Yes, sir! Right away, sir!” As Mr. Kimball hauled him along, Frederick examined his conscience and his fingernails, but he couldn’t think of anything he’d done wrong. Nothing, that is, except fall asleep with his work half done. Could that be a bone-grinding offense?
    Lord Schofield dismissed Mr. Kimball with a gesture and Frederick found himself alone in the drawing room with his employer.
    â€œYou’re Frederick Lincoln? From the orphanage?” The wizard stood before the window. The light behind him made it hard to see his expression.
    â€œYes, my lord. Mr. Kimball engaged me, my lord,” Frederick replied, mouth so dry with fear his lips tried to stick together when he said the m’ s.
    Lord Schofield paced to the far end of the room and returned. When he paused to study Frederick, Frederick had his first good look at his employer’s face. Lord Schofield did not seem any more like a lord than he did like a wizard. He had dark eyes and dark hair, but that was not unusual. So did Frederick. He still looked exactly like anybody else, well dressed, but no dandy. The only unusual things about him were his waistcoat, which was vivid blue silk embroidered with a pattern of peacock feathers, and the sharpness of his eyes.
    â€œHave you brought anything with you from the orphanage?” Lord Schofield asked at last. “Any luggage?”
    Frederick made himself speak plainly despite his nerves. “Didn’t have nothing—” He caught himself. “I mean, I had nothing to bring, my lord.”
    â€œNothing whatever?” Lord Schofield looked keenly interested. “Not even a hat? A pair of gloves? A family keepsake of some kind, perhaps?”
    â€œDon’t have family keepsakes when you’re an orphan.” Frederick felt pinned by Lord Schofield’s gaze and found it took all his resolve to look steadily back.
    The wizard’s sharp eyes didn’t waver. “Silly of me. Of course you don’t. What do you have?”
    â€œMr.