Her Cursed Apple, page 7
Chapter 10
Bee didn’t learn a single thing in her lessons that morning, and Miss Hilton chided her repeatedly for inattention. But Bee didn’t care. She’d had a note from Lady Rowland: Winston was home. Only for a fortnight between terms, but after months without seeing him, she’d take whatever time she could get. She had too much pent up excitement to sit still, so when she was finally released from the schoolroom, she flew down to the stables. Winston might not get to the woods that early—for all she knew, he might not be able to come today at all—but if she had to wait, she could get Harry to give her another pugilism lesson. She was back to nearly full strength now, and he’d begun sparring lightly with her again.
There was no cause to worry. Harry had only just dismounted to take Diamond’s head when the thud of hooves announced her friend’s arrival. Bee slid out of the saddle and was already halfway to where Winston was dismounting before she got a good look at him.
She froze. This was not the same boy she’d said goodbye to in December. Was it? Had she missed the changes in him in her own illness-induced self-absorption? He was as tall as ever, maybe even a little taller, but he’d lost the gangly look that came from shooting up like a weed. He’d put on flesh and muscle, and his shoulders filled out his coat in a way they hadn’t before. His dark blond hair had been cropped close. She missed the curls, but it suited him. It all suited him. She blinked, suddenly shy. In the past, when he’d been gone for weeks to town, she’d have hurled herself at him and hugged him tightly, but she couldn’t possibly do that with this… man.
Winston, too, was frozen in place. His blue eyes, at least, were the same as ever, but he stared at her like a man dying of thirst beholding a glass of water, as if he could drink up the sight of her and quench his emptiness. Her mouth went dry and butterflies fluttered in her midsection.
“Hey, Bee,” Winston said softly.
His familiar voice brought a burning to the back of her eyes, and she thought she might choke on all the unexpected emotions. She held out her hands to take his, and he grasped both of hers. Had his hands always been so much larger than hers? They enveloped hers completely and sent warmth up her arms.
Bee bit her lip. What was she supposed to do now? Her best friend had morphed into a gorgeous young man, and she was nervous around him as she’d never been before. She sought for something, anything, to bring the interaction back to familiar footing.
“Want to spar?” It was the only thing she could think of to break the awkward silence.
Winston frowned and shook his head. “I can’t anymore, Bee. I should have stopped years ago. As a gentleman, I won’t hit a woman, and there’s no denying that you’re a lady.”
Bee’s irritation flared, and she clung to the feeling because at least it wasn’t new. She dropped his hands and stepped away. “Am not. I haven’t even come out yet.”
Winston sighed. “I’m sorry.”
Bee scowled and crossed her arms petulantly. She didn’t want to be a lady. She didn’t want to grow up. Everything needed to go back to the way it had been. Winston looked away. Silence stretched between them, threatening awkwardness and the ruin of their comfortable friendship.
He looked back at her after a minute, saying, “Mother wrote that you have a new spell to show me?”
It had been so long since she’d learned the glamour illusion that Bee had forgotten mentioning it to Lady Rowland during one of her visits. “I’ve only ever tried it with a mirror,” she said, “but I’ll see if it works without one.”
She closed her eyes and visualized her appearance. Malorie had taught it to her as a way to hide flaws, but Bee had played with the spell when she was bored this spring, and she had mastered changing her eye color. Hair color was harder, because there was so much more of it. Now she chose one section of hair to imagine turning from black to a deep, rosy auburn. She murmured the spell-word, holding the image in her mind until she felt the spell take hold, then opened her eyes.
Winston was frowning at her pinned-up braids. “You can change your hair color?”
She shook her head. “So much more than that. It’s a glamour illusion. I’ve managed to change my hair and eye color just for fun, but really it’s for hiding things. I’ve seen Malorie use it to hide the lines at the corners of her eyes, and I’ve used it myself to appear less tired when I haven’t slept well.” She tilted her head and gave him a sly smile. “I thought it would be useful for covering bruises.”
He stared at her for a moment. “That’s brilliant,” he said finally. “Not that you’ll have any more bruises to hide.”
She waved the comment away. “Of course not. But just because you won’t fight me doesn’t mean you won’t get into scraps with anyone else.”
Winston nodded. “I got to town for a weekend this spring and had a go with Gentleman Jackson. Came away with quite the shiner.”
“Your mother never said!”
“She didn’t know. I went back to Oxford before she could see it.” He smiled ruefully. “Care to teach me that spell?”
He pulled a pencil and the little book she’d made for him from his pocket and opened to a page near the end. As she told him the spell-word and how to perform it, she cast her eyes over his scribbled notes in the book. His writing was tiny, as if he were trying to squeeze as much into the pages as he could.
“Why are you writing so small?” She’d seen his penmanship before, on letters that his mother had shown her, and usually it was a large scrawl.
His ears grew red, and he muttered, “I didn’t want to run out of space too soon.”
“You goose!” Bee laughed. “I can make you another. I’ll make you half a dozen if you like.”
Winston smiled, and Bee again felt that odd fluttering in her stomach.
“How have your lessons been going?”
She shrugged. “Italian is impossible, and I still hate the pianoforte. Magic is wonderful, mathematics are dull, and Miss Hilton has all but given up on trying to teach me to draw.”
“Does Lady Eston think you’re on track to have a Season in town? I haven’t forgotten my promise.”
Bee sighed and slumped back against a tree. “Nothing I do pleases her, in the schoolroom or out. She would be happier without me around.”
“What do you mean? That can’t be true.”
“It’s obvious she prefers when it’s just her and Papa in town, and I’m nowhere nearby. Anyone can see it. Ask Harry.”
Winston turned to the groom.
“I won’t speak about my lord and lady,” Harry said. Then he caught Bee’s eye. “But others do, and I’ve heard things. Miss Snow’s not wholly wrong.”
Bianca rolled her eyes at the meager support.
“What can I do?”
Winston’s frown of concern warmed Bee like nothing had in months. “Nothing. There’s nothing anyone can do… unless you’ve changed your mind about sparring?” she added hopefully. He gave one tiny shake of his head, and she shrugged. “I just have to wait her out, I guess. Once I’m eighteen, I’ll go to London, and we’ll see what happens then.”
“You’ll go to London, and I’ll take you to every cathedral and museum and park you could wish to go to.”
“I look forward to that.”
“No more than I do.”
***
A few days later, Bee overheard the housekeeper telling Miss Hilton softly that Mrs. Cole had made an extra large batch of biscuits filled with her homemade blackberry jam, and to come down to the kitchen if she wanted one later. Bee wanted one. Mrs. Cole’s blackberry jam biscuits were her favorite of all the cook’s sweet creations. She fidgeted through her remaining lessons until she was released for the day. Sneaking into the kitchen, she immediately saw plates of biscuits laid out on a table. Bee slipped through the quiet kitchen and froze, her hand extended. Beside the biscuits lay a big, glorious apple pie. It must have just come out of the oven because steam rose thick from its flaky, golden lattice. Caramelized sugars oozed between the woven strips. The smell was so heavenly that Bee couldn’t move. All she could do was breathe.
“What in heaven’s name do you think you’re doing?”
The cook’s sharp voice came from the door to the pantry. Bee spun round, eyes wide.
“You were about to steal my pie! Admit it!”
“N-no,” Bee protested, startled into stammering. “I would never steal a pie.”
“Like hell you wouldn’t,” Mrs. Cole hissed, advancing on her. Her flushed cheeks were an angry red. “You’ve been nicking food from my kitchen for years! I’ve let it slide so far, but I won’t have this!”
Bianca recovered, straightening her spine and staring down the infuriated cook. “What would I do with a whole pie?” she demanded. “I’ve only ever stolen biscuits and scones and things—and only when I can see there’s plenty to spare. I’d never steal something that could get you into trouble.”
“Then explain what you’re doing here, Miss Snow.” Mrs. Cole’s fists plopped onto her hips.
“I came to nick some biscuits,” Bee admitted, scowling at the cook. “Blackberry jam ones are my favorite. I paused because the pie smelled so good, but I wouldn’t take it.”
“That had better be true,” grumbled the cook. “Get you off. And if I catch you in here again, you’d better believe her ladyship will hear about it.”
Bee shot Mrs. Cole a look that said just how low that threat was and slipped out the back door. Harry was watching for her. He raised his eyebrows at her expression, but said nothing. Bee chose to take the long way to their spot in the woods, trotting around the fields in the hopes that it would help her mood, but instead she stewed the whole way.
“She accused me of trying to steal a pie!” She burst when they finally arrived beneath the trees where Winston was waiting, dismounting while she ranted. “I’ve never once taken something that big, never once taken something that would get her into trouble. And what do I get? Told off for something I wasn’t going to do, and threatened with being turned over to Malorie!”
Winston held out a hand.
“Slow down, Bee. What happened?”
She clenched her teeth and her fists. “I went to the kitchen for blackberry jam biscuits, but the apple pie smelled so good I just had to stop a minute. Mrs. Cole saw me and accused me of plotting to steal it!”
For a moment, Bee thought Winston was going to be responsible and logical and point out that she had been about to steal something, so Mrs. Cole wasn’t entirely without justification. When he was younger, he would have said it, but now he kept any Goody Two-Shoes thoughts to himself.
She couldn’t help saying more in her defense. “There’s a difference between pie and biscuits.”
“Several, I’d say.”
“You know what I mean.” Bee scowled. “I’ve only ever nicked small stuff from the kitchen, and only when I know there’s plenty. A pie is different. Especially when I heard Malorie specifically ask for apple pie today for pudding.”
Winston tried to change the subject a couple of times, asking first about how her lessons went that morning and later if she wanted to see the newest spell he’d learned, but she wouldn’t be distracted for long. The unfairness of the accusation stung. She’d always thought she was on pretty good terms with the cook, though she did sneak a snack now and then. But to threaten to tell Malorie! Bee wouldn’t see a pastry for a month if her stepmother got wind of this.
Chapter 11
Winston slowed Grayling to a walk as he neared the woods. He usually took the fields at a trot in case there were any rodent holes that could lame the gelding, but today he’d risked a canter. Bee was going to love his surprise.
He hadn’t seen her in such a sullen mood in years. The cook’s threat to rat her out to Lady Eston had certainly touched a nerve. He wondered if Bee’s stepmother was really so terrible or if getting caught and threatened with punishment was the greater hurt.
It should have been simple for her to ask Mrs. Cole for the treats. He could have requested some from the kitchen at home, though their cook at Pinehurst wasn’t nearly as good a baker as Mrs. Cole. But for Bee, asking took the fun out of it—sneaking them was a kind of game, one she’d begun after the time she’d tried asking and Mrs. Cole had sat her down at the table and fed her healthful foods instead of the tea cakes she’d been spoiling for.
But the spell Winston had found would solve all that.
Bianca was already sitting in the cave of fallen trees when he rode up. She barely acknowledged him when he dismounted and came over.
“Afternoon, Bee.”
“Hey,” she said listlessly.
“I found a new spell for you.”
Bee shrugged.
“Come on, Honeybee, you’ll like this one.”
The slight furrowing of her brow was the only sign she’d heard him.
Winston frowned. He’d been hoping for some reaction.
He sat beside her and said, carefully indifferent, “Shame. It would have helped you sneak anywhere.”
Bee stiffened a little beside him, and he could sense her eyes on him, though he kept his gaze on his hands.
“How do you mean?” she said.
He smothered the grin that wanted to erupt at the interest in her voice. “It makes you inconspicuous, like you blend into the surroundings so well that nobody pays attention to you.” He shrugged, as if it were no big deal. “I’ve only managed to hold the spell for a minute or two, but I’d think that’d be enough to dash into a kitchen for some tea cakes.”
“Don’t you gammon me, Winston Elliot Graham. Do you really have a spell like that?”
“Of course I do. Have I ever lied to you?”
“I wouldn’t know, would I?”
“You would—you’ve said yourself how bad a liar I am. You see right through me. So tell me: do I have such a spell?”
“Show me.” Bee sat forward on her knees and turned to face Winston.
His grin slipped out, and he said the spell-word. Nothing much seemed to happen, but Bee frowned, looking from him to the cave around him and back.
“I can still see you,” she said.
“I never said I’d be invisible.”
“You said you’d blend in. But at most, your blue coat looks a little more brown. And your eyes are… faded.”
“Have you learned about chameleons, Bee?”
“Natural science?” She made a face that expressed how she felt about the subject.
“Chameleons are a kind of reptile that changes color depending on what they’re surrounded by. So if one were lying on a rock, it would turn gray, but if it were hiding in a bush, it would turn green to blend in with the leaves.”
Bee frowned. “So your spell makes you like a chameleon?”
Winston nodded. “In a way. It doesn’t change how I actually look, but it changes other people’s perceptions of me. To anyone looking, I would fade into the background and not be worth noticing.”
Bee stared at him for a moment, then a smile grew on her face, the first genuine grin he’d seen since her incident with the cook. “Brilliant.”
Later, Winston watched Bee ride off with Harry, still muttering the spell-word to herself. She turned and waved just before they were out of sight, and Winston felt that familiar little swell of pride for making her happy again.
***
Bee practiced the chameleon spell as often as she could throughout the day, particularly when she was about to enter the breakfast room or dining room. It was easier to test the results then: if the footman noticed her and pulled out a chair, she needed to work harder. She tried doing the spell when she went out to the stables in the afternoon. Even though Harry was watching for her, he still didn’t notice her presence until the spell had worn off after about thirty seconds.
By the end of the third day, the only person who was aware of where she was, even after she’d made herself inconspicuous, was Winston.
“Why are you the only one who can still see me?”
Winston shrugged. “I know what to look for.” He looked away as if he were hiding more of the answer.
Bee knew her friend too well to miss this tell. “No lies by omission. What else?”
“Nothing, Bee.”
“Winston…” she growled. “Is there some counter spell that you know? Some trick that will get me in trouble if I use the spell around the wrong people?”
“What people do you think you’ll be near?” He tilted his head, half laughing. “Wicked magicians are all very well in stories, but you can hardly expect to meet one here.”
“You won’t distract me,” she said firmly. “Why can you see me?”
“Because I want to,” Winston huffed.
“That doesn’t explain anything.”
“For most other people, seeing you or not seeing you, it doesn’t make much difference to them. For me… it does. I hope and expect to see you when I come out here, and I know what to look for, so I see you.” He raised one shoulder. “If you showed up unexpectedly in a lecture hall at Oxford some morning, the spell might hide you even from me, because I wouldn’t be looking for you then.”
“Oh.” Bee supposed it made sense, especially the part about him expecting to see her. Harry would hardly ride into the woods to meet Winston on his own, so she would naturally be somewhere nearby. She wondered briefly if the spell could be expanded to cover another person with her. But she had too many other questions to ask first. “I’ve been thinking—speaking the spell-word is a dead giveaway that I’m about to do magic, and it could draw attention from whomever I’m trying to avoid. I’ve tried whispering it, and it seems to work. But is there a way to cast spells silently?”
Winston nodded. “Top level magicians do. That’s one of the things we’ve been practicing at Oxford. It requires firmer focus so that you can hold your concentration and think the spell-word at the same time.”
“I’m going to learn that,” Bee declared.
“Most magicians can’t do it,” Winston cautioned.
Bee didn’t learn a single thing in her lessons that morning, and Miss Hilton chided her repeatedly for inattention. But Bee didn’t care. She’d had a note from Lady Rowland: Winston was home. Only for a fortnight between terms, but after months without seeing him, she’d take whatever time she could get. She had too much pent up excitement to sit still, so when she was finally released from the schoolroom, she flew down to the stables. Winston might not get to the woods that early—for all she knew, he might not be able to come today at all—but if she had to wait, she could get Harry to give her another pugilism lesson. She was back to nearly full strength now, and he’d begun sparring lightly with her again.
There was no cause to worry. Harry had only just dismounted to take Diamond’s head when the thud of hooves announced her friend’s arrival. Bee slid out of the saddle and was already halfway to where Winston was dismounting before she got a good look at him.
She froze. This was not the same boy she’d said goodbye to in December. Was it? Had she missed the changes in him in her own illness-induced self-absorption? He was as tall as ever, maybe even a little taller, but he’d lost the gangly look that came from shooting up like a weed. He’d put on flesh and muscle, and his shoulders filled out his coat in a way they hadn’t before. His dark blond hair had been cropped close. She missed the curls, but it suited him. It all suited him. She blinked, suddenly shy. In the past, when he’d been gone for weeks to town, she’d have hurled herself at him and hugged him tightly, but she couldn’t possibly do that with this… man.
Winston, too, was frozen in place. His blue eyes, at least, were the same as ever, but he stared at her like a man dying of thirst beholding a glass of water, as if he could drink up the sight of her and quench his emptiness. Her mouth went dry and butterflies fluttered in her midsection.
“Hey, Bee,” Winston said softly.
His familiar voice brought a burning to the back of her eyes, and she thought she might choke on all the unexpected emotions. She held out her hands to take his, and he grasped both of hers. Had his hands always been so much larger than hers? They enveloped hers completely and sent warmth up her arms.
Bee bit her lip. What was she supposed to do now? Her best friend had morphed into a gorgeous young man, and she was nervous around him as she’d never been before. She sought for something, anything, to bring the interaction back to familiar footing.
“Want to spar?” It was the only thing she could think of to break the awkward silence.
Winston frowned and shook his head. “I can’t anymore, Bee. I should have stopped years ago. As a gentleman, I won’t hit a woman, and there’s no denying that you’re a lady.”
Bee’s irritation flared, and she clung to the feeling because at least it wasn’t new. She dropped his hands and stepped away. “Am not. I haven’t even come out yet.”
Winston sighed. “I’m sorry.”
Bee scowled and crossed her arms petulantly. She didn’t want to be a lady. She didn’t want to grow up. Everything needed to go back to the way it had been. Winston looked away. Silence stretched between them, threatening awkwardness and the ruin of their comfortable friendship.
He looked back at her after a minute, saying, “Mother wrote that you have a new spell to show me?”
It had been so long since she’d learned the glamour illusion that Bee had forgotten mentioning it to Lady Rowland during one of her visits. “I’ve only ever tried it with a mirror,” she said, “but I’ll see if it works without one.”
She closed her eyes and visualized her appearance. Malorie had taught it to her as a way to hide flaws, but Bee had played with the spell when she was bored this spring, and she had mastered changing her eye color. Hair color was harder, because there was so much more of it. Now she chose one section of hair to imagine turning from black to a deep, rosy auburn. She murmured the spell-word, holding the image in her mind until she felt the spell take hold, then opened her eyes.
Winston was frowning at her pinned-up braids. “You can change your hair color?”
She shook her head. “So much more than that. It’s a glamour illusion. I’ve managed to change my hair and eye color just for fun, but really it’s for hiding things. I’ve seen Malorie use it to hide the lines at the corners of her eyes, and I’ve used it myself to appear less tired when I haven’t slept well.” She tilted her head and gave him a sly smile. “I thought it would be useful for covering bruises.”
He stared at her for a moment. “That’s brilliant,” he said finally. “Not that you’ll have any more bruises to hide.”
She waved the comment away. “Of course not. But just because you won’t fight me doesn’t mean you won’t get into scraps with anyone else.”
Winston nodded. “I got to town for a weekend this spring and had a go with Gentleman Jackson. Came away with quite the shiner.”
“Your mother never said!”
“She didn’t know. I went back to Oxford before she could see it.” He smiled ruefully. “Care to teach me that spell?”
He pulled a pencil and the little book she’d made for him from his pocket and opened to a page near the end. As she told him the spell-word and how to perform it, she cast her eyes over his scribbled notes in the book. His writing was tiny, as if he were trying to squeeze as much into the pages as he could.
“Why are you writing so small?” She’d seen his penmanship before, on letters that his mother had shown her, and usually it was a large scrawl.
His ears grew red, and he muttered, “I didn’t want to run out of space too soon.”
“You goose!” Bee laughed. “I can make you another. I’ll make you half a dozen if you like.”
Winston smiled, and Bee again felt that odd fluttering in her stomach.
“How have your lessons been going?”
She shrugged. “Italian is impossible, and I still hate the pianoforte. Magic is wonderful, mathematics are dull, and Miss Hilton has all but given up on trying to teach me to draw.”
“Does Lady Eston think you’re on track to have a Season in town? I haven’t forgotten my promise.”
Bee sighed and slumped back against a tree. “Nothing I do pleases her, in the schoolroom or out. She would be happier without me around.”
“What do you mean? That can’t be true.”
“It’s obvious she prefers when it’s just her and Papa in town, and I’m nowhere nearby. Anyone can see it. Ask Harry.”
Winston turned to the groom.
“I won’t speak about my lord and lady,” Harry said. Then he caught Bee’s eye. “But others do, and I’ve heard things. Miss Snow’s not wholly wrong.”
Bianca rolled her eyes at the meager support.
“What can I do?”
Winston’s frown of concern warmed Bee like nothing had in months. “Nothing. There’s nothing anyone can do… unless you’ve changed your mind about sparring?” she added hopefully. He gave one tiny shake of his head, and she shrugged. “I just have to wait her out, I guess. Once I’m eighteen, I’ll go to London, and we’ll see what happens then.”
“You’ll go to London, and I’ll take you to every cathedral and museum and park you could wish to go to.”
“I look forward to that.”
“No more than I do.”
***
A few days later, Bee overheard the housekeeper telling Miss Hilton softly that Mrs. Cole had made an extra large batch of biscuits filled with her homemade blackberry jam, and to come down to the kitchen if she wanted one later. Bee wanted one. Mrs. Cole’s blackberry jam biscuits were her favorite of all the cook’s sweet creations. She fidgeted through her remaining lessons until she was released for the day. Sneaking into the kitchen, she immediately saw plates of biscuits laid out on a table. Bee slipped through the quiet kitchen and froze, her hand extended. Beside the biscuits lay a big, glorious apple pie. It must have just come out of the oven because steam rose thick from its flaky, golden lattice. Caramelized sugars oozed between the woven strips. The smell was so heavenly that Bee couldn’t move. All she could do was breathe.
“What in heaven’s name do you think you’re doing?”
The cook’s sharp voice came from the door to the pantry. Bee spun round, eyes wide.
“You were about to steal my pie! Admit it!”
“N-no,” Bee protested, startled into stammering. “I would never steal a pie.”
“Like hell you wouldn’t,” Mrs. Cole hissed, advancing on her. Her flushed cheeks were an angry red. “You’ve been nicking food from my kitchen for years! I’ve let it slide so far, but I won’t have this!”
Bianca recovered, straightening her spine and staring down the infuriated cook. “What would I do with a whole pie?” she demanded. “I’ve only ever stolen biscuits and scones and things—and only when I can see there’s plenty to spare. I’d never steal something that could get you into trouble.”
“Then explain what you’re doing here, Miss Snow.” Mrs. Cole’s fists plopped onto her hips.
“I came to nick some biscuits,” Bee admitted, scowling at the cook. “Blackberry jam ones are my favorite. I paused because the pie smelled so good, but I wouldn’t take it.”
“That had better be true,” grumbled the cook. “Get you off. And if I catch you in here again, you’d better believe her ladyship will hear about it.”
Bee shot Mrs. Cole a look that said just how low that threat was and slipped out the back door. Harry was watching for her. He raised his eyebrows at her expression, but said nothing. Bee chose to take the long way to their spot in the woods, trotting around the fields in the hopes that it would help her mood, but instead she stewed the whole way.
“She accused me of trying to steal a pie!” She burst when they finally arrived beneath the trees where Winston was waiting, dismounting while she ranted. “I’ve never once taken something that big, never once taken something that would get her into trouble. And what do I get? Told off for something I wasn’t going to do, and threatened with being turned over to Malorie!”
Winston held out a hand.
“Slow down, Bee. What happened?”
She clenched her teeth and her fists. “I went to the kitchen for blackberry jam biscuits, but the apple pie smelled so good I just had to stop a minute. Mrs. Cole saw me and accused me of plotting to steal it!”
For a moment, Bee thought Winston was going to be responsible and logical and point out that she had been about to steal something, so Mrs. Cole wasn’t entirely without justification. When he was younger, he would have said it, but now he kept any Goody Two-Shoes thoughts to himself.
She couldn’t help saying more in her defense. “There’s a difference between pie and biscuits.”
“Several, I’d say.”
“You know what I mean.” Bee scowled. “I’ve only ever nicked small stuff from the kitchen, and only when I know there’s plenty. A pie is different. Especially when I heard Malorie specifically ask for apple pie today for pudding.”
Winston tried to change the subject a couple of times, asking first about how her lessons went that morning and later if she wanted to see the newest spell he’d learned, but she wouldn’t be distracted for long. The unfairness of the accusation stung. She’d always thought she was on pretty good terms with the cook, though she did sneak a snack now and then. But to threaten to tell Malorie! Bee wouldn’t see a pastry for a month if her stepmother got wind of this.
Chapter 11
Winston slowed Grayling to a walk as he neared the woods. He usually took the fields at a trot in case there were any rodent holes that could lame the gelding, but today he’d risked a canter. Bee was going to love his surprise.
He hadn’t seen her in such a sullen mood in years. The cook’s threat to rat her out to Lady Eston had certainly touched a nerve. He wondered if Bee’s stepmother was really so terrible or if getting caught and threatened with punishment was the greater hurt.
It should have been simple for her to ask Mrs. Cole for the treats. He could have requested some from the kitchen at home, though their cook at Pinehurst wasn’t nearly as good a baker as Mrs. Cole. But for Bee, asking took the fun out of it—sneaking them was a kind of game, one she’d begun after the time she’d tried asking and Mrs. Cole had sat her down at the table and fed her healthful foods instead of the tea cakes she’d been spoiling for.
But the spell Winston had found would solve all that.
Bianca was already sitting in the cave of fallen trees when he rode up. She barely acknowledged him when he dismounted and came over.
“Afternoon, Bee.”
“Hey,” she said listlessly.
“I found a new spell for you.”
Bee shrugged.
“Come on, Honeybee, you’ll like this one.”
The slight furrowing of her brow was the only sign she’d heard him.
Winston frowned. He’d been hoping for some reaction.
He sat beside her and said, carefully indifferent, “Shame. It would have helped you sneak anywhere.”
Bee stiffened a little beside him, and he could sense her eyes on him, though he kept his gaze on his hands.
“How do you mean?” she said.
He smothered the grin that wanted to erupt at the interest in her voice. “It makes you inconspicuous, like you blend into the surroundings so well that nobody pays attention to you.” He shrugged, as if it were no big deal. “I’ve only managed to hold the spell for a minute or two, but I’d think that’d be enough to dash into a kitchen for some tea cakes.”
“Don’t you gammon me, Winston Elliot Graham. Do you really have a spell like that?”
“Of course I do. Have I ever lied to you?”
“I wouldn’t know, would I?”
“You would—you’ve said yourself how bad a liar I am. You see right through me. So tell me: do I have such a spell?”
“Show me.” Bee sat forward on her knees and turned to face Winston.
His grin slipped out, and he said the spell-word. Nothing much seemed to happen, but Bee frowned, looking from him to the cave around him and back.
“I can still see you,” she said.
“I never said I’d be invisible.”
“You said you’d blend in. But at most, your blue coat looks a little more brown. And your eyes are… faded.”
“Have you learned about chameleons, Bee?”
“Natural science?” She made a face that expressed how she felt about the subject.
“Chameleons are a kind of reptile that changes color depending on what they’re surrounded by. So if one were lying on a rock, it would turn gray, but if it were hiding in a bush, it would turn green to blend in with the leaves.”
Bee frowned. “So your spell makes you like a chameleon?”
Winston nodded. “In a way. It doesn’t change how I actually look, but it changes other people’s perceptions of me. To anyone looking, I would fade into the background and not be worth noticing.”
Bee stared at him for a moment, then a smile grew on her face, the first genuine grin he’d seen since her incident with the cook. “Brilliant.”
Later, Winston watched Bee ride off with Harry, still muttering the spell-word to herself. She turned and waved just before they were out of sight, and Winston felt that familiar little swell of pride for making her happy again.
***
Bee practiced the chameleon spell as often as she could throughout the day, particularly when she was about to enter the breakfast room or dining room. It was easier to test the results then: if the footman noticed her and pulled out a chair, she needed to work harder. She tried doing the spell when she went out to the stables in the afternoon. Even though Harry was watching for her, he still didn’t notice her presence until the spell had worn off after about thirty seconds.
By the end of the third day, the only person who was aware of where she was, even after she’d made herself inconspicuous, was Winston.
“Why are you the only one who can still see me?”
Winston shrugged. “I know what to look for.” He looked away as if he were hiding more of the answer.
Bee knew her friend too well to miss this tell. “No lies by omission. What else?”
“Nothing, Bee.”
“Winston…” she growled. “Is there some counter spell that you know? Some trick that will get me in trouble if I use the spell around the wrong people?”
“What people do you think you’ll be near?” He tilted his head, half laughing. “Wicked magicians are all very well in stories, but you can hardly expect to meet one here.”
“You won’t distract me,” she said firmly. “Why can you see me?”
“Because I want to,” Winston huffed.
“That doesn’t explain anything.”
“For most other people, seeing you or not seeing you, it doesn’t make much difference to them. For me… it does. I hope and expect to see you when I come out here, and I know what to look for, so I see you.” He raised one shoulder. “If you showed up unexpectedly in a lecture hall at Oxford some morning, the spell might hide you even from me, because I wouldn’t be looking for you then.”
“Oh.” Bee supposed it made sense, especially the part about him expecting to see her. Harry would hardly ride into the woods to meet Winston on his own, so she would naturally be somewhere nearby. She wondered briefly if the spell could be expanded to cover another person with her. But she had too many other questions to ask first. “I’ve been thinking—speaking the spell-word is a dead giveaway that I’m about to do magic, and it could draw attention from whomever I’m trying to avoid. I’ve tried whispering it, and it seems to work. But is there a way to cast spells silently?”
Winston nodded. “Top level magicians do. That’s one of the things we’ve been practicing at Oxford. It requires firmer focus so that you can hold your concentration and think the spell-word at the same time.”
“I’m going to learn that,” Bee declared.
“Most magicians can’t do it,” Winston cautioned.
