Magic Below Stairs by Caroline Stevermer Page B

because you don’t have family of your own. You never think to ask.”
    Stoke beamed his approval. “Good for you, lass, for keeping your tongue still. Plenty of folk clack far too freely, to folk they think they know, and worse, to strangers.”
    â€œYou may always clack to me, Bess,” Frederick said. “You know that, don’t you?”
    Bess laughed at him. “You must clack to me first.”
    â€œI do,” said Frederick, remembering how he had trusted her with news of Billy Bly’s return almost without a second thought. “I clack to you more than to anyone else.”
    â€œAnd that’s good for you, lad,” Stoke observed. “Choose a friend who knows how to keep a confidence. You won’t regret it.”
    The three of them chatted companionably until the day drew to a close. Stoke, happy to play the host, shared his porridge with them. After the dishes had been washed up, they sat on the bench again, in silence this time, just enjoying the peace of the long summer twilight.
    Frederick lifted his head to listen as the breeze brought them a scrap of new sound from the distance. It was little more than a rattle of wheels and the ring of harness, the sound of a carriage driven at a good, steady speed.
    At Frederick’s reaction, Stoke nodded. “You hear it too?”
    â€œA carriage?” Bess asked. “Is it his lordship’s?”
    â€œThat we won’t know until we see them,” Stoke replied. “Likely it is, though. It’s a carriage drawn by four horses. No cart horses, neither. Proper high-bred’uns.”
    The three of them strained eyes and ears in the dusk. Bit by bit, the sounds of a carriage approaching grew louder and more complex. There was a steady thud of hooves, a squeaking of carriage springs, a bright chime of metal on metal as harness fittings rattled and shook.
    â€œNot in a hurry, I’d say,” said Stoke as he moved out into the roadway. “But it’s a spanking trot for any team and a cracking good rate for a team at the end of a long day.”
    Frederick felt as if his breeches itched, he was so eager to warn Lord Schofield of his danger. He and Bess flanked Stoke. When the carriage finally came into view around the nearest turn, all three of them waved their arms and shouted.
    It was Lord Schofield’s carriage, right enough. The four horses went from a steady trot to a walk under the command of the driver, Lord Schofield himself. As the carriage slowed, Lord Schofield gave the reins to his coachman.
    â€œWalk them, Foster.” Lord Schofield clambered down from his perch. He spoke a few words into the open window of the carriage, then hurried over to join them. “What is it, Stoke? Trouble?”
    â€œThat’s as may be, your lordship,” Stoke replied, jerking a thumb in Frederick’s direction. “There’s a message for you.”
    Now that the moment had finally come, Frederick couldn’t think of a thing to say that didn’t begin with the dangerous words Billy Bly, so he simply stared at Lord Schofield without speaking. He knew Stoke was looking on with interest. He felt Bess right beside him, all silent encouragement. Yet he did not know what to say.
    â€œOh, it’s you, is it?” Lord Schofield took off his top hat and wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. “Taken a vow of silence?”
    Here was someone Frederick knew he dared not lie to. He only wanted to tell the truth, nothing but the truth. Yet not the whole truth. Frederick braced himself and began. “The curse has returned, my lord. You mustn’t come back. You’re in great danger if you do.”
    Lord Schofield grew quite still. For a moment, he might have been a statue, he was so motionless. Only his eyes burned into Frederick. When he spoke, his lips scarcely moved. His voice was so deep, it seemed to rumble in his chest. “Go on.”
    â€œThat’s all, my