The Case of the Spellbound Child Page 34

  Maryanne nodded, and dried her eyes on her apron. “That is a good, believable story,” she said, with a tearful smile. “The dear Lord knows the real one would not be believed. But what about that monster that kidnapped my children?”

  “He’ll never see the outside of a gaol, unless he’s transported,” Sarah said grimly. “We can’t prove he killed anyone, although I fear he probably has, and we don’t hang thieves anymore, but between the stolen goods that Mary found and the evidence of a dozen children kidnapped and chained up, he’s never seeing another free day for as long as he lives.” She paused. “And John thinks I might have blasted his magical abilities badly enough with my counter-spell that he’ll never be able to use them again. But even if I didn’t succeed in doing that, everything he accomplished relied on his having a secret lair and helpless children. If he’s transported, he might manage a secret lair again, though I doubt it, but he’ll never again have access to children. Probably, though, given what he did here, he will be left to rot in Dartmoor Prison until he dies.”

  “Then he’ll feel what they felt every wretched day of it,” Maryanne said fiercely.

  “Now—that’s something I want to warn you about,” Sarah continued. “Your children have endured a time of real horror. They are not going to recover from it quickly. You’ll have to be prepared for nightmares, tantrums, and behavior that is unlike anything they have shown before. They may withdraw from everything. They may act manic. I don’t know, and I don’t know what to advise you. But John Watson does know people, doctors, who are Earth Magicians themselves, and can help.”

  “But we could never afford—” Maryanne began to wail.

  Sarah cut her off. “You are now known as Elemental Magicians, and we take care of our own. Don’t even think about the cost. Consider instead what the consequences could be if Simon reacted to this by assuming he deserved it all, and had nothing to lose by being even worse than his captor? Mary Watson tells me he has the potential to be even stronger as a magician than his captor.”

  Maryanne turned shocked eyes on her. “But—”

  “It can happen,” Sarah said ruthlessly. “And you owe it to everyone around you to see to it that if he needs help, he gets it. Helen will, too, even though she does not have magic herself, because now she knows it exists.”

  It took over two hours of persuading, but in the end, she convinced Maryanne Byerly, and was able to ride back to Yelverton reasonably sure that the woman would act on her advice.

  But just in case, we’ll have Linwood, Gatfer Cole, and Maude Rundle keep an eye on things here.

  * * *

  That was the first loose end. There were, however, ten more.

  The chief constable of Yelverton was at a complete loss for what to do with the remaining ten children he had found chained up in that little stone cot. “They either got no kin, or their kin are Travelers’r trampin’ folk, an’ ’ow I’m t’find ’em I dunno!” he told John Watson in despair.

  And of course, there was the other aspect that the chief constable was blithely unaware of—the fact that they were all budding magicians, who had suffered the same trauma as Simon, and could have the same emotional troubles because of it. The little healer, Sam, was one that Sarah was particularly concerned about.

  But, fortunately, that had been what Linwood himself had wanted to talk about the night of the sprung trap. Because he had a plan.

  “Or aneest a plan as Es can come,” he’d said.

  So that was why everyone but Rose—who was now conscious, but still very feeble—was sitting in the sanctuary of the church at Sheepstor. The good Father had promised they could have it as long as they wanted. Standing before them were Mary, Gatfer Cole, Ganmer Dolly, Linwood, and Maude Rundle.

  All of the children were looking just about as scared as they must have been when the Gatfer and Mary broke into the cot. Sarah felt terribly sorry for the poor things. They had just endured what would have broken strong adults, and they now faced an uncertain future. Hopefully . . . they had an answer.

  “Some uns of ’ee got no kin,” she said, bluntly, as all ten pairs of eyes fixed on her. “Some uns got kin, but ’ee don’ know where they be. An’ some uns got kin as mean as yon barra thet cotched ’ee.”

  A nervous giggle at calling Anglin a gelded pig, but bobbing heads all around.

  “An all on ’ee got witchery,” she added. “’Ee gotter be taught ’ow t’ use ’t, or ’ow not t’use it. Tis tha’ choice, but still means teachin’.”

  Heads bobbed again.

  “So, here’s what we bin thinkin’. ’Ee know t’Gatfer. T’Gatfer know Marster Linwood, Maude Rundle what had Helen an’ still ’as Rose, an’ Ganmer Dolly from Yelverton,” she continued, waving at the appropriate people. “T’Gatfer trusts ’em, and they all got witchery an’ c’n teach ’ee an’ take ’ee in. But ’ee’ll have t’earn tha’ keep.”

  “’Ee with Traveler kin, Chell pass word of ’ee, an’ when tha’ kin come, ’ee c’n stay or go,” Gatfer added. “Same for passin’ workers. So, no fears, aye?”

  Relief from the children of the Travelers.

  “So Es got Rose. Es got house-room for twa more,” Maude said. “Sam, Es c’n teach ’ee a mort’a healin, but it all be sheep. Naow, sheep don’ complain much, so there’s that.” She raised an eyebrow at Sam, who laughed weakly. “Or t’Gatfer c’n teach ’ee people-healin’. Me, or Gatfer?”

  “Pardon, leddy, but Gatfer? Es don’ like sheep. ’Cept in mutton stew,” said Sam, causing another laugh. “Nay ’arm?”

  “Nay taken,” Maude said complacently.

  And so it went. In the end, Maude got Deborah and Jess along with Rose. Lily and Robbie went with Ganmer Dolly, who took them to her ample bosom as if they were her own grandchildren, and after Sarah learned she’d raised eight children and had nearly twenty grandchildren, she was satisfied Dolly could handle them. The Gatfer got Sam, Mark, and Colin, and after learning that they had a choice of working in the stable or the kitchen, which meant an actual paying job, Ben, Stephen, and Bill spoke up immediately for Linwood.

  “It’s not ideal,” John told Sarah, as they rode back with Linwood, Ganmer Dolly, and the inn-wagon full of children to Yelverton. “But it’s the best solution I can think of.”

  “They’ll be more or less together, too, which should help,” Mary added. She looked over at the children riding in the wagon, looking around with muted excitement. “You hear that? On your half-days and holidays you can always get together with the others. You won’t lose your friends.”

  Bobbing heads, and some relief, especially from the more timid of this lot. Ganmer Dolly reached around and patted Robbie’s head fondly. “Es got childer i’ Yelverton what’s good tradesmen. Oncet ’ee settle, an’ ’ee wants a trade, they’ll take ’prentices.”

  “What kinda ’prentices?” Robbie wanted to know, perking up immediately.

  “Blacksmith, cooper, millwright, carpenter, farrier,” she said proudly. “Good trades all. An’ Lily, Es can train ’ee m’self as maid ’r cook, an’ send ’ee out as dairymaid t’my eldest gurl, an’ ’ee like.”

  “Any dairy in Yelverton’d take a gurl trained by Dolly’r Daisy,” Linwood put in from the driver’s box. He seemed fairly content with this arrangement, and Maude’s comment about him “feeling he was too good” for the other magicians notwithstanding, he was on easy terms with all of them, and Sarah was inclined to chalk up those comments to Maude’s misandry, because it was pretty clear she didn’t have a lot of use for men in general.

  So much for the children. Sarah was as certain as she could have been that they had done the best they could for them.

  And that left—

  Ansel Anglin.

  * * *

  While Nan and the rest had been sorting out the problems presented by the children, Holmes had not been idle. Letters had been flying to and from Ply
mouth and London, and certain advertisements had been placed in papers all over the country.

  If any ladies have had valuable jewelry stolen while on holiday in or around the village of Yelverton, Devon, within the last two years, please send a description of said jewelry to Chief Constable Harris of the same village.

  There were, of course, plenty of people applying falsely. But the chief constable had managed to find a matching description and a claimant for every piece of jewelry that had been in Ansel Anglin’s possession. Since each piece was a single count of theft, that amounted to quite a hefty number of charges. That, plus eleven charges of false imprisonment and two of kidnapping and false imprisonment. . . .

  The trial was a two-day sensation, and even made the London papers. It was short, and brutal. The accused made wild accusations about the ladies who had owned the jewelry, all of which sounded to the jury like nothing more than the ravings of a madman.

  They had all either sent testimonies dictated by Holmes, or came in person to present testimonies coached by Holmes. All told similar stories to Sarah’s, of being jostled in the public room of the Drake, or the Rock, or one of the Yelverton area pubs, and discovering their jewelry missing afterward. All very credible and believable tales. Who would ever believe a man who claimed they had given him their valuables—and themselves! (sensation!)—freely! A weedy, homely, uncouth bit of moor trash?

  All he brought on himself was mockery—and all the ladies got was sympathy for the profound embarrassment of being forced to hear such tripe.

  And, of course, what could he possibly claim about the children found in chains, Helen and Rose left for dead on the moor, and three of them mutilated girls? No one believed a word he said, and his ravings grew more insane every time he opened his mouth.

  When the jury adjourned, they took only ten minutes. Guilty on all counts. Sentenced to life in prison, in conveniently nearby Dartmoor Prison, at hard labor.

  Case closed.

  * * *

  Last of all, the unnatural bondage of Jess, Deborah, and Helen to their severed fingers. . . .

  The answer to that came, strangely enough, from Anglin himself.

  Or rather, from a handwritten grimoire that Mary Watson found when looking for Jess and Deborah’s fingers. It had been concealed in a hidden nook above the right-hand oven, along with the finger-ends; a kind of pocket hidden behind a removable stone.

  The spell to bind someone or something to their own severed anatomy, and keep them bound to the place where you hid or buried that piece of anatomy, was under the heading of A Nice and Accurate Spelle To Keepe Chikens And Diverse Kattle From Strayying. The spell was Earth Magic, and obviously intended only for animals, and it said a great deal about Ansel Anglin that he also used it on people.

  And beneath it, How To Breake Thee Firste Spelle So As To Sell Thee Kattle Again At Market. Whoever had written this grimoire was a very practical person, in Nan’s estimation. But with that in hand, Maude was able to free all three girls.

  Not to say that “it was no trouble at all,” because it was quite a bit of trouble indeed and took the better part of a day, and involved a number of unpleasant bodily fluids—but it definitely worked, and meant the girls no longer had to keep their mummified and horrific bits of anatomy with them at all times.

  But they never did find out what happened to the girl who belonged to the spare finger-end Helen had had with her. The severed finger-ends had never been introduced at the trial, since that would only open things up to questions there was no way of answering easily. In the end, it was concluded that Anglin marked the girls in this way as his servants—and that only Helen had had the courage to run. Deborah and Jess had agreed to this version; at this point the children had only wanted to know what they were to say that ordinary people would believe, so as to lock Anglin up forever. All that Maude could say about the spare finger was—“Reck she was took out t’moor, left like Rose, none found ’er, an she laid a bier. Or mebbe t’barstard droppet ’er down mine. Gi’ it a Christian burial.”

  So in the end, that was what they did. In his younger days, Gatfer Cole had been a sexton, which she reckoned gave him the authority to conduct a burial. And as for “consecrated ground,” well, it wasn’t hard to bless water, ground, or anything else when you were Spirit Master. They found a pretty place with wildflowers, blessed the ground, and buried the finger with full honors and a cairn and simple cross to mark it.

  If the poor thing had left a ghost behind, no amount of searching by Nan and Sarah found her. In the end, they gave up, enjoyed another few days as a pure holiday, actually did do some sightseeing on the moor, and came home. And Sarah pocketed the grimoire to add to Alderscroft’s library.

  * * *

  “. . . and that’s the end of what Watson puckishly refers to as the Case of the Spellbound Child,” Nan said, as they all lounged in Alderscroft’s bungalow. “I suspect Anglin will be used as a bogeyman to frighten the children of the area for generations to come.”

  “Very likely,” said Alderscroft. “Suki, allow me to commend you in especial in this case for your mature behavior and your ability to follow a plan and orders.”

  “Thenkee, sir,” she said pertly, sticking a finger under her chin, and bobbing in her seat, as if she was curtseying.

  “I’m concerned about the Byerlys,” Nan continued. “They’re desperately poor, unlikely to accept charity, and yet, with only one hand and no skills outside of working in a factory, Roger is unlikely to find work.”

  “I have been thinking about that,” Alderscroft said. “I’m not sure Linwood is the best man to teach Simon, especially as far from Yelverton as their cottage is. I’m going to propose to Memsa’b that she offer places at the school to both children. I can certainly find someone in the Lodge to teach him magic, and I think he’d be better off away from his mother, at least until he has come to terms with everything that has happened to him.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that, sir,” Nan replied. “I’m inclined to agree.” She frowned a little, wondering if she should voice her opinion that none of this would have happened if Simon hadn’t been as spoiled as it was possible for a child in such poverty to be spoiled.

  Better not. That’s just my opinion, and I’ve never had a child. Besides, if this hadn’t happened, we’d never have found out about Anglin, those children would still be prisoners, and unsuspecting women would still be being raped and robbed.

  “As for Maryanne Byerly—would you say that the opinion of the village of Sheepstor has softened toward her?” Alderscroft continued.

  “Oh very much so!” Sarah exclaimed. “There is a great deal of sympathy toward her, especially as the fact of why the children were out on the moor is only known to us. It’s just assumed that they went out foraging for food on their own and got lost, and Anglin came across them and scooped them up.”

  “Good,” said Alderscroft with satisfaction. “I know someone who has decided to endow day schools in small villages the size of Sheepstor. I’ll have a word with him, describe the circumstances, and point out that here is a perfectly good teacher being absolutely wasted out in the wilderness. There will be enough money to hire the girl who is already working as a teacher. I’ll put him in touch with Father Shaw. The village can use the church as a schoolhouse until a proper building can be erected. We’ll have things running in time for Fall Term.”

  “Given that we know for a fact these people can erect a finished stone building in a day, the church may not be serving as a schoolhouse for very long,” Sarah pointed out.

  “Well, I think that wraps up all your loose ends, does it not?” Alderscroft said with satisfaction. “Not every case needs to end with saving the world, but then—”

  “I’d rather no more cases ended with saving the world!” Nan exclaimed with revulsion. “Saving a few people—or one!—is quite enough for us!”

  “Well then, in
that case, I think we have earned our tea,” his Lordship concluded, and looked at the birds. “And what would you like for tea, my feathered friends?”

  The birds looked at each other. Neville gave a blood-curdling laugh.

  “Ladyfingers?” Grey suggested.

  About the Author

  Mercedes Lackey is a full-time writer and has published numerous novels and works of short fiction, including the best-selling Heralds of Valdemar series. She is also a professional lyricist and a licensed wild bird rehabilitator.

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