The Charmed Children of Rookskill Castle Read Online Free Page B

rich fragrance filled the hall.
    â€œI’m not sure . . . ” Kat murmured.
    â€œIt’s quite all right,” came a soothing voice with a boarding-school British accent. “I made it for you myself.”
    They turned. A woman moved from the shadows of a doorway on the far side of the hall. As she stepped into the yellow light of the lamps the children grew still. Kat became aware of the slow
tock, tock
of the great clock on the mantle and the snap of the fire in the grate.
    Kat dropped into a curtsey—the woman had that kind of presence. Shiny, that was how she seemed, like silver polished until it gleamed. Her smooth, porcelain skin stretched over her bones, all angles and points, her eyes were sharp as a badger’s, and her hair was swept up and silky and so fair it was almost white.
    As impressed as Kat was, she thought Peter would do well to close his mouth, and she had to ignore Robbie entirely.
    The woman walked toward them, her arms open in greeting. She shook hands with each of them in turn. “I’m Eleanor, Lady Craig. You may address me as Lady Eleanor. Welcome to the Academy at Rookskill Castle. You must be the Bateson children and the Williams boy. Peter, yes? My, you are tall.” Peter straightened to full height. “And Katherine, and Robert—young man, it’s hard to believe you are only eleven. And you, dear little thing, you must be Amelie.” Amelie’s hand sought Kat’s again the instant the Lady let go. “We’re so happy tohave you in our humble refuge. Katherine, Robert, and Amelie, you’re practically family, too, at least to my dear Gregor. Is London dreadful? I understand there are frequent bombings?”
    Robbie launched right in about the bombs and fires and rubble and broken windows, and how he was heroic and not at all scared, and the Lady listened, nodding and making sympathetic noises. Kat tried to distance herself from Rob’s all-too-detailed descriptions by focusing on the Lady. She was beautiful. And yet, there was something
off
about her that Kat couldn’t put her finger on.
    When Kat had taken the Lady’s hand, it was so cold. Almost icy, and hard. If Kat hadn’t been looking she might have thought she was shaking hands with one of Father’s calipers. The Lady had stared intently at Kat as she gripped Kat’s hand.
    Robbie nattered on and on, and the Lady wasn’t really listening to him. She murmured as if she was, but she glanced at Amelie, and then at Peter—she took a good long look at Peter. She didn’t look at Kat again.
    The Lady was fashionably dressed in a tailored tweed Norfolk jacket with a slim skirt, a tartan scarf crossing diagonally over one shoulder and tied at her waist. As she folded her arms, the jacket lifted just a little, and Kat saw. Dangling from the Lady’s skirt waistband was what looked like a chatelaine.
    Goodness,
Kat thought.
Another chatelaine?
    Kat’s great-aunt’s chatelaine held practical items—the pen,the scissors, the thimble. But on the Lady’s chatelaine were charms, though Kat couldn’t see much except a shell and a silvery heart.
    â€œOh! You have—” Kat began, and then as the Lady turned her eyes Kat’s way, Kat stopped. The Lady dropped her arms to her sides and her chatelaine disappeared again beneath the hem of her jacket. The Lady’s sharp glance was like a spider crawling over Kat. Kat’s little inner voice said,
Don’t mention the chatelaine
. She scrambled to find words. “You have a lovely home.”
    The fire popped and hissed, and Kat’s mouth went dry.
    â€œThank you, my dear,” the Lady said at last.
    Kat, still scrambling, pointed past the Lady’s head. “And that’s quite a nice portrait of you.”
    The Lady turned. “You are mistaken,” the Lady said. “That is Leonore, mistress of this castle in the mid-eighteenth century and