Justine Windsor - Goodly and Grave in A Bad Case of Kidnap

“Come on!” This time a sharp pinch on Lucy’s cheek accompanied the impatient voice.

“Get off!” Lucy said, swatting the pinching fingers away. She opened her eyes. Becky Bone was staring down at her.

“If you miss breakfast, don’t blame me,” Becky said, poking her tongue out at Lucy before leaving the bedroom.

After stumbling into the kitchen for a bowl of Mrs Crawley’s porridge (and declining the offer of another portion of toasted ants), Lucy made her way to the boot room to start her new job.

She sighed as she began scraping the mud off the boots and shoes Lord Grave had left out the previous night. It was a horrible messy task and as she scraped and scraped she got angrier and angrier.

Why should she have to clean Lord Grave’s stupid boots? She might be stuck at Grave Hall until she found a way of escaping, but that didn’t mean she had to obey him or slave away for him. She owed him nothing. He’d cheated. Even more than her. And anyway, she’d cheated so she could feed her family. He had no such excuse.

In the end, she flung the boots into a corner, sat down on the floor and folded her arms. There she stayed until Becky Bone came in to check on her.

“His Lordship will be fuming,” Becky said, eyeing the pile of still dirty footwear.

“Clean them yourself if you’re bothered,” Lucy said.

“Oh, hoity-toity toffee-nose,” said Becky, pushing the tip of her own nose up with her finger.

“That makes you look like a pig. Suits you,” Lucy said. She stormed out of the boot room and into the hallway. Mrs Crawley had shown her around part of Grave Hall the previous day. Lucy remembered her saying the drawing room was where Lord Grave spent much of his time so she strode over to the drawing-room door and barged inside without bothering to knock.

Everything went instantly dark, as though the world had suddenly ended.

Lucy panicked for a few seconds until she realised a duster had fallen on her head and was hanging over her eyes. She’d opened the door to a cupboard full of brooms and buckets and other cleaning implements.

“Are you lost?” said a voice behind her. Lucy plucked the duster off her head and turned. It was Lord Grave. Bathsheba was at his heels.

“No. But I want to talk to you.” She slammed the broom cupboard shut.

“It’s not usual for a servant to make demands of her master,” Lord Grave snapped. “But follow me.”

Lucy followed Lord Grave and Bathsheba into the drawing room. He closed the door behind them. Then he sat down in one of the leather armchairs next to the fireplace. Bathsheba’s yellow eyes blinked sleepily at Lucy, but there was a dangerous glint in them. The panther yawned widely, as though she was taking the opportunity to demonstrate the sharpness of her fangs.

“Well?” Lord Grave said.

“I’m not going to work for you. I won’t clean your dirty boots or anything else. You can’t make me.”

Lord Grave opened a silver box, which sat on the side table next to his chair. He took out a cigar and a round piece of metal with a hole in the middle. He put the end of the cigar through the hole and pressed the side of the instrument. A blade sliced the end of the cigar off.

“I could make things very difficult for you. You’ve cheated at cards many times. I wonder what your victims would say if they found out?”

Lucy clasped her hands together behind her back to stop them shaking. Did this mean he knew about her card? “I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about,” she said aloud.

“You’re not fooling me, Lucy. You’ll stay here and do as you’re told. Do you want to see your parents end up in prison, let alone yourself?”

“We haven’t done anything wrong. Why do you want me to stay here?”

Lord Grave got out of his chair and put his cigar in the black leather cigar case he carried in his pocket. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. Now get back to work.”

Lord Grave and Bathsheba strode out of the drawing room, passing Becky, who bustled in armed with brooms and cloths and bottles of polish.

“Hope he told you what’s what, Goodly. We need to get on with cleaning this room.” She thrust a cloth at Lucy. “You dust the mantelpiece while I sweep the hearth.”

Lucy swallowed down her hatred of Lord Grave, snatched the cloth from Becky and began dusting. Outside, the sky darkened and rain rattled against the windows, as though the weather had decided to match Lucy’s bad mood.

A large painting hung above the mantelpiece. It showed a young woman. Her elaborately curled dark hair had an unusual white streak in the front. Her long dress was pale blue. The baby she held on her lap was chewing on a silver teething ring, which had a charm dangling from it. Lucy peered closely at the portrait and saw that the charm was a swan.

“Who are they?” Lucy asked.

Becky scowled and continued sweeping. “Lady Grave and little Lord Grave.”

“His Lordship’s wife and son?”

“Of course. Nitwit.”

Lucy gritted her teeth. “But where are they now?”

“Too many questions, Goodly.”

“Are they—?”

“Dead?” said another voice. Vonk stood in the doorway. “Yes. Lady Grave died from a fever not long after the portrait was painted. The young Lord Grave departed five years ago when he was only seven. A great tragedy for his Lordship. He’s never really recovered from it.” Vonk strode across the red carpet, stopping in front of the portrait.

Becky, who had instantly leaped back to her dustpan and brush when Vonk appeared, smirked. “I told her to stop asking questions.”

“Sorry, Vonk,” said Lucy. Perhaps the two tragedies partly explained why Lord Grave was so horrible, although that still didn’t excuse him.

Vonk raised his eyebrows. “Not a crime to be curious. Sign of intelligence.”

Becky dropped her brush with a clatter on to the marble hearth and muttered under her breath.

“It’s a beautiful painting, don’t you think?” Vonk said.

“Yes,” Lucy agreed. Then she noticed that something unusual was happening to the portrait. Orange-red flames were flickering in Lady Grave’s eyes. This startled Lucy for a moment, until she realised Becky had lit the lamps that hung on the opposite wall. The reflection of the flames reminded Lucy of the night she’d stolen the card. She shivered and crossed her arms over her chest as she remembered. It had happened over two years ago, just before her tenth birthday …

She was standing sleepily at the back of a rundown gambling den, waiting for her parents to lose yet another card game. The doors of the gambling den creaked open and a blast of cold air whipped in from outside. Lucy stared as the woman who had entered the den made her way to the poker tables. She wore a fine, warm-looking scarlet coat with black velvet frogging down the front and a red hat with a red veil. Her hair was red too and fell loosely around her shoulders. The woman smiled at Lucy as she passed.

Lucy’s sleepiness vanished. It’s her again. She’d seen the woman, whom she’d nicknamed Lady Red, several times over the past few weeks in various gambling dens.

“Good evening, everyone,” said Lady Red. She sailed past the table Lucy’s parents were sitting at and settled herself at a table further down the room where a game had just finished. The other poker players gaped at the well-dressed new arrival. Most of them were as rundown as the gambling den.

A new round of poker began. As the cards were dealt, Lucy quietly made her way across the room until she stood just behind Lady Red’s chair.

Lady Red lost the first game. But then something strange happened. The same something strange Lucy saw last time she watched this mysterious woman play poker. The cards in Lady Red’s hand went blank. A few seconds later, they became new cards. Cards that won the poker game instantly. Last time Lucy had witnessed this amazing trick, she had noticed something else. The edge of a playing card poking out from Lady Red’s sleeve.