The Witch's Daughter (Lamb & Castle Book 1) Read online

  But before he could shut the door in Harold’s face, a tall elegant woman intervened. “Now, what’s all this?” she said, in a voice that rang as loud and clear as a bell. “Flowers? Jonathan, who is this boy?” Mrs. Lamb demanded of her husband.

  “I don’t know, dearest,” said Professor Lamb. “Who are you, boy?”

  “It’s Tom Butcher’s eldest,” said Mrs. Lamb, before Harold could speak for himself. “Harold. I remember him now, of course. Pink. Shiny. Has that nervous look about him. Now, what do you want, boy? Speak up.”

  “I, um…” Harold had been rehearsing what he meant to say all morning, but the right words had all gone. “I brung these for your daughter Amelia,” he said, holding out the flowers at arm’s length. “And these,” he said, remembering his sausages.

  Mrs. Lamb recoiled, greatly surprised. “Amelia? Gifts for Amelia? All this sudden interest in that girl – what is the world coming to?”

  “May I see Amelia, please?”

  “No, you may not,” said Mrs. Lamb. “And I don’t have the slightest idea why you’d want to. You do know she’s actually quite plain, don’t you? Jonathan’s first wife, bless her heart, had a lot of unique qualities and was certainly a very spirited young lady, but when it came to her presentation she worked with a very plain canvas. And of course, poor Amelia does take after her mother so.” She put her thin, elegant hand to her forehead. “Oh dear me. All these years, and we’ve never had trouble like this before… Have we, Jonathan?”

  “Certainly not, dearest,” said the Professor.

  “Then… can you see that she gets these?” said Harold.

  Mrs. Lamb took the flowers and the package, examining them suspiciously. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt, just this once,” she sniffed. She knew of Tom’s pork and leek sausages, and their justifiably steep price. “But don’t do it again!” and she slammed the door.

  This rude dismissal only left Harold all the more determined to rescue the mysterious (and doubtless lovely) Amelia. He looked up at the forbidding grey front of the tower, and high above he caught the briefest glimpse of a face looking down from the battlements. His heart lurched: Amelia. A pale girl dressed in black, with long, long hair the colour of honey. She’d darted shyly away the moment she caught him looking, but he’d had his first glimpse of her.

  ~

  From the top of the tower, Amelia watched her suitor leaving. Her stepmother had shooed her away before she could reach the front door, so instead she’d run all the way up to the roof to get a sneaky look. From her high vantage point, she’d only been able to make out that the young man had brown hair and broad shoulders, but what her stepmother had said to him was nothing but the unpalatable truth: no suitors had ever come calling for Amelia before.

  She turned to find Meg had followed and was scrutinising her again. “What was all that about, then? Who was that boy?”

  Amelia shook her head. “I don’t know.” But he’d brought her flowers, and wanted to see her. How romantic: a young man who’d never even seen her before, rowing out to bring her flowers. Like something out of a fairy tale. She wished she’d had a chance to get a better look at him.

  Meg leaned over the battlements, watching the rowboat steadily retreat to the shore. “Sincerity knew him, though, so he’s probably not one of them…” Sincerity. Meg meant Amelia’s stepmother, although the second Mrs. Lamb permitted very few people to call her by her first name.

  “One of… them?”

  “In days gone by it would have been enough for you to hide here in your tower, but now there are those in the world who’d like you out of the way a bit more permanently.” She hesitated, not meeting Amelia’s eye. “And I’m afraid they might have followed me here.”

  “Then why did you come?” Amelia cried.

  “Because they might have found you anyway, and you’re better off taking your chances with me, than with your father and his twit of a wife. I know he only wants the best for you, but do you really want to live out your days in hiding?”

  Amelia hesitated. The idea of getting away from the tower and seeing something of the world had always held a faint glimmer of temptation.

  “Because I can tell you now,” Meg continued, “that if you do, then they’re likely to be a very short number of days. What’s more, I can’t stay here long. Somebody’s bound to have seen me arrive.”

  “But Father said –”

  “Your father thinks you’re a helpless child. Don’t you want to prove him wrong?”

  Amelia blushed fiercely. That seemed a low blow, and almost enough to make her stubborn. “I’m not a child.”

  “You certainly shouldn’t be, at your age.” Meg sighed. “I’d like to give you more time to make up your mind, but me and Sir Percival are going to be on our way just after lunchtime. That should give you plenty of time to pack your things, if you’re coming with us. You’d need a stout pair of walking boots, mind. And no more than one small suitcase – we’ve no room for excess weight.”

  ~

  Over lunch, conversation was light and it gave Amelia a little time to think. She picked at her plate, her stomach churning. Meg spoke little with a table full of good food in front of her, but Amelia noticed that Sir Percival, who hadn’t taken off any article of his armour all morning, ate nothing at all. She wondered why, but worried about looking rude or foolish, and so didn’t ask. Her stepmother often chided her for asking too many silly questions. She tried not to, but her father’s extensive and eclectic library had been open to her for years, blurring the boundaries between the real and the fantastical. Maybe if I went out and saw things for myself… Yes, but how much sightseeing will I be doing if people out there want to hurt me or imprison me, or worse? She’d argued herself round in circles about it all morning, afraid that staying really might be as perilous as leaving. She wished she’d seen Meg’s letter. “I’ve packed my bag,” she blurted out while she was clearing the dishes after their meal. She’d found the small, smart suitcase her stepmother had given her as a child, and packed it before she’d even decided whether or not she could bring herself to leave. She looked at Meg, not wanting to see her father’s expression.

  Her stepmother broke the uncomfortable silence. “You’re leaving after all? I’m glad. Not glad to see you go, of course, but it will do you a world of good. Oh, all those fascinating people to meet, all those intriguing and spectacular things to see,” she said, wistfully. “If only we could come with you, darling.”

  Meg looked at Amelia’s feet, nodding in approval at the plain and rather heavy brown boots. “They’ll need breaking in, by the looks of it,” she said. “But there’s time for that yet.”

  ~

  Amelia had at least one intriguing and spectacular thing to see before she even left Springhaven. With Meg and Percival, her parents came ashore with her and walked her out to the edge of town. There in a green field they found two enormous snails grazing, noisily munching two paths through the grass and leaving wide glistening trails behind them. The vivid greenish yellow of their shells shone in the sunshine, each banded with spirals of a brown so dark it was almost black.

  Amelia couldn’t help but give a little shriek of disgust. “What on earth are those?”

  “Giant snails,” said Meg, as she approached one of the monstrous things and stroked the great glossy curve of its shell affectionately, careful to mind the spikes. “What else would you think they were?” The sun glinted off the dozen or more rings she wore, and her arms jangled with the discordant music of many bangles. “Give me a hand with the harness, will you Perce?”

  The knight clanked swiftly to her assistance, and together they hitched up the two giant snails to the mobile miniature castle.

  “Take care, Amelia,” said her father, as she hugged him goodbye. “There’s a great deal of danger out there in the world, but you can trust Meg. She’ll bring you home safe again.”

  “Yes,” said her stepmother. “If nothing else, Miss Spinner is a robust and practical w
oman, who has travelled a great deal.” Then she kissed her stepdaughter on both cheeks, hugged her and dabbed her eyes theatrically with a lacy handkerchief. “Be brave, darling. There’s so much out there, so much beauty in the world.” She beamed, starry-eyed with unshed tears. “Bring me back ever so many souvenirs.”

  No sooner had Amelia stepped inside the mobile castle, than the whole thing lurched into motion, and they were on their way. Amelia grabbed for the handhold by the door, and looked anxiously around the cabin. It was every bit as cramped on the inside as she had guessed from the outside, although surprisingly pleasant. Halfway up the front wall an open hatch lead out onto the driver’s seat, where Sir Percival had taken up the reins of the two giant snails, but other than that it looked like a pleasant enough parlour. A floral glass lampshade swayed gently from the ceiling, a colourful rug covered the floorboards, and the walls were decorated with a selection of botanical watercolours. A small table stood bolted to the floor, with a padded bench curved around the inside wall of the cabin. The cabin even had something that looked like a small kitchen area with a boiler, sink and cupboards. None of these home comforts distracted Amelia from the fact that there was barely standing room for three people. She hoped their journey wouldn’t be too long…

  “And what do you call one of these?” she asked, still clutching her suitcase.

  “That’s better,” said Meg. “Not such a silly question, that one. I call it a snailcastletank. Percival says it’s an inelegant name, but it’s the only one in the world, and it’s mine, so I call it what I like. Now sit down, and don’t look so frightened – I don’t bite.”

  Not reassured, Amelia perched lightly at one end of the curved bench, as Meg cleared the clutter from the table. She clattered dirty teacups into the sink on the back wall, shut away books and trinkets in a glass fronted cabinet, and tipped a vase of dead dandelions out of the tiny porthole as the snailcastletank rolled down the winding road, leaving Springhaven behind at a slow but certain pace. Then she whipped the prettily embroidered tablecloth off of the table and stood with her hands on her hips. “Now,” she said, “what do you make of that?”

  Amelia hesitated, not wanting to look foolish again. What did Meg expect her to make of that? On the second look, she took more notice of the pattern of dark and light on its top, inlaid with skill enough, but looking the worse for age and wear. It was a six-sided games table, its legs nicely turned, but for one which had obviously been replaced, and it had a deep split in one edge of the playing surface.

  “Don’t tell me,” said Meg, sighing wearily. “You don’t play?”

  Amelia shook her head. “I can play checkers, if you like,” she offered. If Meg wanted to pass the time with games, Amelia was willing to meet her halfway.

  “Never mind,” said Meg, forcing bright optimism into her voice, despite her very obvious doubts. “Jonathan tells me you’re a clever girl, so I’m sure you’ll pick it up soon enough.” She pulled out a drawer from underneath the table, revealing two sets of pieces laid out in green baize grooves, like some strange miniature burial ground. The bottom of each had a long metal pin stuck into it, which slotted into small holes in the board – Amelia guessed so that the game could be employed to pass the time during travelling, without the pieces being lost or disturbed. Meg picked out the white pieces, ivory stained yellow with age, and named each as she stuck them into their starting positions on the board. “Pay attention, Amelia: this is the queen… and the paladin… the mage, the warship, and the commander. These plain ones are the soldiers.” As she pinned the remaining white soldiers and the ebony army in place, Amelia took the time to study the white pieces, trying to make sense of the simplistic carvings. None of them looked very much like what Meg had called them. “Now, the white side takes the first turn. I’m sure Percival would tell you more about the significance of that than I can, but suffice to say there are pros and cons to playing either side.”

  They played for what must have been hours, with Amelia struggling to memorise the rules and the moves. Meg made no effort at easing her companion gently into the game, and one swift defeat after another wore on Amelia’s nerves after a while. She tried to glance discreetly at the time, but if there was a clock in the cabin, she couldn’t easily find it amidst the array of dials and meters on the walls. As the day wore on, with the last of the light dimming, Amelia’s attempts to discern the time became less covert and more pointed. Without rising from her seat – without even looking up from the games board – Meg lit the ornate floral lamp overhead with a casual flick of her fingers. Magic, Amelia thought, sudden interest rousing her from her stupor.

  “My stepmother always said you were a witch. I thought she was just being rude.”

  “There’s no shame in being a witch,” said Meg, sharply. “I meant to ask before: have you had any lessons in simple magic, at least?”

  Amelia shook her head. She was a voracious reader, a poet, a speedy knitter, and a conscientious seamstress, but she doubted any of that would impress Meg. “Should I have done?” she asked.

  Meg looked cross again. “Well, perhaps it’s for the best,” she said. “I’m sure Sincerity meant well.”

  “I don’t think she knows any magic,” Amelia said, without thinking. A moment later, it occurred to her that it wouldn’t be all that surprising if the second Mrs. Lamb knew magic, but simply hadn’t taught any to her stepdaughter out of jealousy and spite.

  “Oh, she knows plenty,” said Meg, darkly, confirming Amelia’s suspicions.

  “She does?”

  “Now, how about another cup of tea, and a slice of cake?” said Meg, rising from her seat. “I don’t bake – never could quite get the knack of it – but I bought a very nice ginger cake on my way to Springhaven.”

  Naïve as she might be, Amelia recognised an attempt to change the subject when she saw it.

  “Pass a piece up to Perce, if he’s still awake,” said Meg, cutting three generous slices of the moist, spicy cake.

  “What do you mean, ‘if he’s still awake’?” Amelia asked, alarmed. “Isn’t he driving?”

  Meg shrugged and passed Amelia a plateful of ginger cake. “Well… he is, and he isn’t. Mimi and Tallulah know where they’re going.”

  “Mimi and Tallulah?” She couldn’t mean…

  “My snails,” said Meg, refilling Amelia’s cup. Amelia, no longer preoccupied with remembering the correct manoeuvres for a warship, considered the peculiar shape of Meg’s tea cups. Tall and thin, with a wide sturdy base. Difficult to get used to drinking from, but like the games board and the chess pieces on pins, the cups had been designed with the rolling, swaying motion of the snailcastletank in mind. Underneath the delicately painted motif of pansies, somebody had meant these cups for use on a long journey.

  Meg yawned. “Now that I think about it, it’s getting late, and we should probably stop for the night.”

  Amelia looked out of the window, at a landscape not so very different from the hills and woods around Springhaven. They had travelled less than half a day, but already the journey had taken her further from home than she’d ever been in her life. The road ahead stretched on, a wide chalky streak fading into the darkness beyond the reach of the snailcastletank’s lamps. Moths danced in the twilight and the call of a distant owl highlighted the emptiness of the landscape. Faced with a rising sense of fear and isolation, Amelia could only remind herself that if nothing else, Father trusted Meg. Their route so far had taken them past farms and lonely cottages, but no sign of an inn as far as Amelia had had time to notice. She’d never stayed at an inn before, and didn’t entirely like the idea.

  “Um, Miss Spinner… where will we stay?” she asked.

  “Don’t call me that, dear.” Meg bustled over to the hatch, suddenly avoiding Amelia’s gaze. Amelia had almost managed to forget that this strange woman was her mother, and found she still didn’t want to think about it. “You can call me Meg. Anyway, this should do nicely. Pull over here, Perce! Just by those trees.
” She put away the chess pieces and covered up the games table with the embroidered cloth again. “Now:” she pulled down a hatch in the cabin ceiling, and in a commotion of clanking, a short flight of stairs unfolded, leading up out of sight. “Amelia, you can take my bed; I’ll have Perce’s; and he can sleep down here. Go on up now, and I’ll give you some time to get changed into your nightdress.” She handed Amelia a lamp. “I’ll be up when I’ve seen to the snails for the night.”

  With the lamp in one hand, and her suitcase in the other, Amelia climbed up and through the small hatch in the cabin ceiling. Above the cabin, in the tower of the snailcastletank, she found a whole second room with a large window at the front and two small beds tucked neatly one above the other against the back wall. The bottom one must be Meg’s: with the frilly cushions and the rose-embroidered bedspread. Amelia gazed out of the window at the moon and the stars glinting in the indigo sky. Down below, she could hear Meg murmuring in a low, soothing voice to the two giant snails. Amelia drew the curtains, changed into her night dress, and curled up in the nook of the bottom bunk, unable to make up her mind if she would call it cosy or cramped.

  Meg had asked if she’d had any lessons in magic – did that mean she still had the opportunity to learn? Where did one go to learn magic? Even worn out from the day’s events, Amelia dozed uneasily for a long time, pulled from near sleep several times during the night by the thud of hooves and the rumble of carriages passing by. Eventually, she slept.