Goodly and Grave in a Case of Bad Magic

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2018

Published in this ebook edition in 2018

HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd,

HarperCollins Publishers

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

The HarperCollins Children’s Books website address is www.harpercollins.co.uk

Text copyright © Justine Windsor 2018

Illustrations copyright © Becka Moor 2018

Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers 2018

Justine Windsor and Becka Moor assert the moral right to be identified as the author and illustrator of the work respectively.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook onscreen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008183592

Ebook Edition © July 2018 ISBN: 9780008183608

Version: 2018-06-07

For Chas ’n’ Pheebs

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One: A Ball of Magic

Chapter Two: The Boy in the Alley

Chapter Three: When Sparks Attack

Chapter Four: The Bloody Penny

Chapter Five: Lord Percy and the Custard Slice

Chapter Six: Hard Times Hall

Chapter Seven: The War of the Maids

Chapter Eight: Lord Grave’s Exploding Great-grandmother

Chapter Nine: Gormless Grave

Chapter Ten: Rogue Animation

Chapter Eleven: Lucy Tests Her Theory

Chapter Twelve: A Note From Beyond the Grave

Chapter Thirteen: Demons and Doors

Chapter Fourteen: Lord Grave No More

Chapter Fifteen: The Wall of Masks

Chapter Sixteen: Pawprints and Fingerprints

Chapter Seventeen: Valentina’s Chits

Chapter Eighteen: A Stranger in the Library

Chapter Nineteen: Lucy’s Boots

Chapter Twenty: Summoned

Chapter Twenty-One: Swallowing Magic

Chapter Twenty-Two: Caught in the Net

Chapter Twenty-Three: Chasing the Demon

Chapter Twenty-Four: Caruthers Attacks

Chapter Twenty-Five: The End of Hard Times Hall

Acknowledgements

Don’t Miss the First Two Adventures!

Books by Justine Windsor

About the Publisher

Lucy Goodly dodged sideways. A flurry of sparks whizzed past, just missing her ear. Instead they hit the chimney breast behind her and sputtered out, leaving a faint smell of burning as well as a large scorch mark on Lady Tabitha Grave’s nose. Not the real Lady Tabitha Grave, but her portrait, which hung over the fireplace.

“Excellent!” said Lord Grave. “Your turn now. Concentrate. Create your own attack sparks and return fire!” Bathsheba, Lord Grave’s black panther, blinked her yellow eyes before slinking off behind one of the sofas, as though she understood what was about to happen.

Lucy narrowed her eyes and focused her thoughts on the spell in hand. As Lord Grave had instructed her earlier, she imagined all the warmth in her body rushing towards her fingers. As she did so, her fingertips grew hotter and hotter until they felt as though they would burst into flames. When she felt she couldn’t bear the heat a second longer, she raised her hand behind her head, and then, as if she was throwing an invisible ball, flung it forward. The orange-red sparks that were clustered around her fingers flew off like tiny flies and hurtled towards Lord Grave, who ducked. But he was a smidgeon too late and the sparks grazed the crown of his top hat. Lord Grave whipped it off and beat the sparks out before they could do too much damage. Lucy folded her arms and smiled in satisfaction.

“Impressive!” Lord Grave said. “Now, as I have just demonstrated, you might not always be able to get out of the path of an attack spark. And a magician skilled in this particular art might be able to create a spark that will track you if you try to flee from it. However, there is a technique that—”

There was a knock at the drawing-room door.

“Who is it?” Lord Grave called.

“It’s Violet, sir.”

“One moment!” Lord Grave put his hat back on. Then he hurried over to the window and opened it in order to dispel the smell of burning before calling Violet in.

“Please, sir. Mrs Crawley wants to know if you can spare Lucy for a while. She needs us to fetch some ingredients for the ball,” Violet said shyly. She was a small mousey-haired girl three or four years younger than Lucy, who was twelve. Caruthers, Violet’s knitted frog which she carried everywhere with her, was tucked into her apron pocket.

“Very well. Lucy has finished her … dusting, I think, so she’s free to go.”

“Thank you, sir. Oh my, look at Lady Grave! Her nose has gone all black!”

“What? Oh yes. Don’t worry, Violet, it’s soot from the fire, I expect. Becky can deal with it later. Now, off you go,” Lord Grave said. Of course he couldn’t tell Violet the real reason for Lady Grave’s blackened nose. The little scullery maid had no idea that her employer was a magician – as were most of the other staff at Grave Hall.

“Thank you, sir.” Violet gave Lord Grave a timid curtsey and then the two girls left the drawing room and headed for the kitchen.

“He’s up to no good!” Violet said as they hurried downstairs.

“What do you mean?” Lucy replied cautiously.

“I could smell smoke. He’s been puffing on his cigars in secret, hasn’t he? Master Bertie will be very cross if he finds out!”

Master Bertie was Lord Grave’s son. Surprisingly, Bertie hadn’t inherited his father’s magical ability. In fact, Bertie didn’t even believe in magic, arguing that it could all be explained by science.

Lucy breathed a quiet sigh of relief. She’d worried for a moment that Violet might have seen traces of the attack sparks in the drawing room and become suspicious. Although most non-magical grown-ups wouldn’t have noticed magic if it bit them on the ear, non-magical children were a different matter. Their minds were still developing and much more open, so it wasn’t unknown for them to be able to see spells being cast. Because of this, all the magicians who lived at or visited Grave Hall were careful how they used their talents whenever Violet, and Becky, the under-housemaid, were around.

Down in the kitchen, Mrs Crawley, Grave Hall’s cook-cum-housekeeper, was in a high state of anxiety. Potatoes, carrots, bags of flour and sugar, and a large bunch of stinging nettles were strewn across the huge kitchen table. Mrs Crawley was bent over the cooking range, which crouched in the chimney breast. Today her long beard was fastened in a bun on her chin. It looked like a giant, hairy spot. The reason for this unusual beard style was to stop it trailing in the numerous pots and pans that were bubbling away.

A ginger cat was lying in front of the kitchen range, warming itself. It was not the most attractive of cats with its one and a half ears, missing eye and truncated tail.

“Look at Smell. He’s so lazy!” Violet exclaimed, before going over to tickle the cat under the chin. Smell was named for his unfortunate propensity for producing whiffs that could knock a person out if they got too close. Being a magical cat, he also had the ability to speak, but of course he never did so in front of Violet and Becky, or anyone else non-magical.

The heat in the kitchen was stifling and for once Lucy wished she was wearing a frock instead of her customary breeches, shirt and jacket. Mrs Crawley always said that frocks kept the nether regions cool in a hot kitchen and that was why she preferred to wear them herself, even though she was actually a man. Lucy had been very confused by this when she first met Mrs Crawley but, as Mrs Crawley had pointed out, it wasn’t usual for girls to wear breeches, so she and Lucy had something in common in their unconventional clothing choices. Mrs Crawley’s name was also something Lucy had found puzzling at first. But now she was familiar with Lord Grave’s insistence on sticking with certain traditions, one of them being that the cook should always be known as “Mrs” regardless of marital status or gender.

Vonk, the butler, who was small man, as short as Lucy in fact, was sitting at the kitchen table. His shirtsleeves were rolled up and he was carefully polishing the best silver cutlery. At the same time, he and Mrs Crawley seemed to be having words.

“Mrs C, I really don’t think that’s wise,” Vonk was saying, pointing the tines of the fork he was cleaning at the bunch of nettles that lay on the table. “Lord Grave said no experimental dishes for the feast.”

“Vonk, nettle pudding is hardly experimental. I found the recipe in an ancient cookbook. Many magicians ate it in olden times.”

“Wouldn’t nettle pudding sting your mouth?” Lucy asked.

“A good point!” Vonk replied.

Mrs Crawley chuckled. “Of course it won’t. Cooking takes the sting out of them! I’m sure you girls will like it when you try it!”

Lucy and Violet exchanged disgusted looks. Mrs Crawley was a little too avant-garde at times with her cooking. Only that morning she had tried to tempt them both with bacon and frogspawn for breakfast.

Once they’d obtained the shopping list from Mrs Crawley, Lucy and Violet left their fellow servants to carry on bickering about menus, and set off towards Grave Village. The trees that lined the rough road leading to the village were beginning to look rather bare, their branches dark and spiky against the grey October sky. Lucy and Violet scrunched their way through the piles of red, yellow and purple leaves strewn underfoot. A fine rain began to fall, so they put the hoods of their winter cloaks up. Violet began chattering about the preparations for the ball.

“I wish I was working on the big night. I don’t know why Lord Grave is giving me and Becky the day of the ball off. I hope you’ll be all right on your own.” Violet looked anxiously at Lucy.

“I’ll be fine. Vonk and Mrs Crawley will be here.” Lucy knew that Lord Grave had decided Violet and Becky should be absent from Grave Hall on the day of the ball, in case either of them noticed any magical activity. Lucy really didn’t mind being the only maid on duty. In fact, she couldn’t wait for the ball. Magicians from all over the world were due to attend, and Lord Grave had promised to introduce her to them. According to him, magicians liked to show off and try to out-magic each other at these sorts of events, so the ball promised to be a spectacular affair.

Lord Grave had also told Lucy that the ball was being held to celebrate the one hundredth anniversary of the defeat of a very wicked magician called Hester Coin, by Lord Grave’s great-grandmother, Lady Constance Grave. Although Lady Constance had successfully vanquished Hester Coin, she had been worried that other corrupt magicians might undertake similar criminal activities in the future. So she’d created Magicians Against the Abuse of Magic, otherwise known as MAAM, to combat such threats.

Since then, the head of MAAM had always been a member of the Grave family, apart from one recent period of a few years when the current Lord Grave had been too sad and heartsick at the disappearance of his son Bertie to bother with MAAM duties. But Lucy had changed all that when she had rescued Bertie from Amethyst Shade, the wicked magician who had kidnapped him. Now Lucy herself was a proud member of MAAM. Of course Violet didn’t know any of this. As far as she knew, the ball was to celebrate Bertie’s return home.

Naturally, Lucy had been very keen to find out exactly what Hester Coin had done that was so bad. However, Lord Grave had refused to tell her.

“She committed so many crimes, it would take too long to explain them all. And, for various reasons, we don’t like her last and most heinous crime to be widely known. She was finally defeated here at Grave Hall, and only we Graves and Lord Percy’s family know the full details.”

Although she was warm and toasty inside her thick cloak, Lucy couldn’t help shivering a little as she remembered the look on Lord Grave’s face when he’d said this. He’d looked afraid. Lord Grave was a courageous man who didn’t scare easily, so Hester Coin must have done something very bad indeed.

After about an hour, Lucy and Violet reached St Isan’s, the old church that stood at the edge of Grave Village. The church clock began to chime eleven, sending the crows perched on the spire flapping and cawing into the sky. By now the rain had stopped and the sun had come out, although the day was still chilly. The two girls pushed back the hoods of their cloaks as they took a shortcut through the graveyard to reach the high road where the shops were. Violet murmured to Caruthers in a soothing manner as they walked.

“Don’t worry. It’s daytime. All the ghosties will be asleep,” she told him.

The two girls picked their way between the gravestones. Some were very old and spotted with lichen, their inscriptions faded. Violet pointed to a particularly decrepit one, which leaned over at an angle.

“Look, Lucy. When a gravestone’s all lopsided like that it means the person buried under it’s been trying to get out,” she said in a hushed voice, her eyes wide.

“Who told you that?” Lucy asked.

“Becky.”

Lucy sighed. Becky loved to tease and scare Violet. “That’s a load of rubbish! Don’t believe anything she says.”

They left the graveyard behind, and headed through the church gate out into Grave Village high street. It was a bustling place. People hurried to and fro across the cobbled pavements, and horses and carts rumbled along the road. There were plenty of shops to visit. There was a draper’s, where Violet’s mother worked as a seamstress; a candle-maker; a butcher’s and a greengrocer’s. There was also a shop called Busby’s Buns that sold confectionary and cakes. Violet immediately dragged Lucy to the window of this shop where all sorts of delicious indulgences were on display. There were buns oozing cream, tarts with glossy jewel-coloured fruit fillings, as well as chocolate-covered gingerbread men – Lucy’s favourite. Her mouth watered as she imagined the spicy-sweet taste of them.

“Shall we go in and spend our threepenny bits?” Violet asked. Mrs Crawley had generously given each of them one of the silver coins to buy themselves a treat.

“Let’s wait until we’ve done the shopping,” Lucy replied. “Where is it we have to go?”

“Surprising Supplies. The owner is Mrs Crawley’s cousin twice removed, isn’t she, Caruthers?”

Lucy wondered if Mrs Crawley’s cousin twice removed was a magician, but of course she couldn’t ask Violet this. “I’m guessing that means it’s an unusual sort of shop?”

“Ooh, yes. It sells some very odd things, like powdered worms and ants soaked in brandy,” Violet said, wrinkling her nose. “We have to go down that alleyway to get to it.”

Violet pointed to a narrow alley, which ran between the butcher’s shop and The Grave’s End, the village pub. There was a tall blonde girl, aged about sixteen, standing near the entrance to the alleyway. She was holding a violin, and a large, shaggy brown-and-white dog sat at her heels, panting. Its breath steamed in the cold air. The girl tucked her violin under her chin and began to play it as Lucy and Violet approached. The tune was a very popular one about a man deceived by his sweetheart. Violet began softly singing some of the words that accompanied it. “The mask she wore, the mask she wore, to hide herself from me …”

Lucy was about to enter the alleyway when Violet suddenly stopped singing and grabbed her sleeve, pulling her back.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s Caruthers. He’s scared. It’s too dark down there.”

Lucy peered into the alleyway. It was rather narrow and gloomy. “What about all the times you’ve been here before? Caruthers wasn’t scared then, was he?”

Violet shook her head. “No, but that’s because Mrs Crawley was with us. She’s tall and strong. He felt safe with her.”

“We can hold hands if you’re scared, Violet.”

“I’m not scared,” Violet insisted. “It’s Caruthers. He doesn’t think I’m big enough to defend him from robbers.”

Lucy sighed. “What about if I look after Caruthers?”

“That’s a good idea. And we could hold hands, I suppose, to make him feel extra safe.”

Violet handed Caruthers to Lucy, who stuck the little knitted frog down the front of her cloak, so that only his button-eyed head peeped out. Then she took Violet’s hand and the two of them stepped into the alley. Although Lucy had been rather dismissive of Violet’s fears, she felt a prickle of unease as they left the autumn sunshine for the gloomy dankness of the alley. There were no cobbles to walk on and the ground was muddy underfoot. Lucy was glad she was wearing her sturdy winter boots, as there were filthy puddles to splash through.

They were halfway down the alley when they heard a noise.

“Awwww! Awwww!”

“What’s that?” Violet said, clutching Lucy’s arm.

“I don’t know.”

“We should go back!”

“Awwww! Awwww!”

“I think someone’s hurt,” Lucy said. She gathered her courage and ventured a little way further into the alley, with Violet still grasping her sleeve. A very strange sight soon met their eyes. A boy around the same age as Violet was sitting in one of the mucky pools of water, sobbing loudly. He had golden curly hair and a chubby, cherub-like face, which was streaked with dirt, as was his neck. His gaze flickered first towards Lucy, then to Violet.

“Miss, you’ve a kind face!” he said to her. “Please help me!”

“Oh, of course I will!” Violet said, her fear forgotten. She moved closer to the boy. “Whatever’s the matter? Are you hurt?”

“He stole my bun money!” the boy wailed. “I’ve been saving up for buns for my mum’s birthday tea. It’s taken me months. And he stole it! Awww! Awww!”

“Who did?” Lucy asked. She had to shout to be heard above the din. Although she felt sorry for the boy, the dreadful wailing was rather wearing on the ears.

“A big brute of a lad! And now there’ll be no buns for tea!”

“How horrid!” Violet replied. “But do stop crying. I’ve got threepence. You can have that to buy some buns.”

The boy looked up at her with a shocked expression on his face. It seemed he was unused to kindness. “Really?”

“Of course! Now, you should get up out of that puddle or your bottom will rot! Then you really will have problems!” Violet said. The serious expression on her face indicated she earnestly believed in bottom-rot.

The boy did as Violet suggested and stood up, muddy water dripping off the seat of his ragged trousers. Violet held out her silver threepenny coin to him.

“You’re so kind, miss. I wish I could give you summat in return.” He began patting the pockets of his jacket. Lucy frowned as she noticed something puzzling about him. His jacket didn’t match his raggedy trousers. It was new-looking and made of good, thick material. Perhaps he’d stolen it? But Lucy didn’t have time to dwell on this as by now the boy had found something in his pocket to give Violet. There was a flash of silver as he whipped out a knife.

The boy leaped at Violet, wielding his blade. He knocked her to the ground, then pinned her down by kneeling on her arms.

Violet shrieked wildly.

Lucy charged towards the boy, her fingers tingling with heat the way they had earlier that morning when she’d been practising magic with Lord Grave. Barely thinking about what she was doing, she drew her hand back and sent a flurry of attack sparks whizzing towards the boy’s exposed nape, just above his collar. The sparks struck their target perfectly.

The boy screamed in pain, clapping his hand over the back of his neck. Violet managed to free one of her arms and punched the boy. The punch didn’t have much power behind it, but it did land somewhere sensitive, and the boy squealed. At the same time, Lucy let fly at him with another volley of sparks. The combined assault completely unbalanced the boy and he ended up flat on his back in the mud. Cursing, he quickly scrambled to his feet, snatching up something he’d dropped. He stepped towards Lucy, clearly considering charging at her. But then he stopped, and for a few seconds he just stared at her, then over his shoulder at Violet, then at Lucy again. His eyes widened.

“You’re her! I thought she was … That stupid frog!”

Lucy had expected the boy to demand more money, so his words confused her. Caruthers had fallen out of her cloak during the fight and was now lying with his head in a muddy puddle. What did he have to do with anything?

“Leave us alone or I’ll hurt you some more!” Lucy yelled. Her heart was pounding so hard she could hardly hear her own voice, which sounded far more threatening than she actually felt. She pointed at the boy, her fingertips stinging with heat again. The boy stepped back, his gaze fixed on the attack sparks that were beginning to crackle around Lucy’s hand. Her heart lurched. Not only could the boy feel the sparks, he could see them too!

After a moment’s hesitation, the boy turned and ran off down the alley. His gait was somewhat lopsided as he splashed through patches of muddy water, no doubt due to Violet’s lucky punch.

When the boy was safely out of sight, Lucy hunkered down next to the little scullery maid and helped her sit up. “Violet! Are you all right?”

“He c-cut me!”

“Where?”

Violet held out her right hand. The soft flap of skin between her thumb and forefinger was bleeding.