Wizards Daughter

"I see," Nicholas said slowly, eyeing Block, whose expression never changed, remaining aloof, only a slight tic at the corner of his left eye. "Well, then, since my grandfather is singing because her ladyship is here now, he is bound to sing even louder when he meets her."

"I would, were I he," Block said, and gave her a formal bow and a smile that showed a near full mouth of beautiful teeth. "It is a pleasure, my lady. Welcome to Wyverly Chase. If it would please you, my lady, I will also sing to you. I would accompany myself on the pianoforte. Do you like rousing Scottish tunes? Do you know, his old lordship doesn't ever sing Scottish duties."

Rosalind was charmed even though she didn't have the slightest idea what was going on. There was a ghost singing in the house? Nicholas's grandfather?

She smiled at Block. "I should love to hear you sing, Block." She noticed the old man's linen was as white as the cumulus clouds overhead, his black suit such a shiny black she could see herself. She said, "Willicombe, our butler in London, has always wished for his trousers and coat to be shiny like yours, Block, but has never managed results such as yours. Perhaps you could write to him and tell him how it is done?"

"I have done nothing, my lady," Block said. "These clothes are as ancient as the Moorish tiles in the bathing closet. What you see is the high shine of honest age. How I enjoy viewing my noble countenance when I chance to gaze down at my sleeve, and thus have refused new clothes. Our laundress knows how to brush them just so, so they remain shiny. Do not be alarmed. I assure you that no moths hunker down in my seams, my lady."

"Thank you, Block. I will communicate with Willicombe and tell him to simply refuse all new clothes. So our laundress hasn't left?"

"She and her assistant are too far away from the library to hear the old earl sing and bang into furniture. Cook tells me that as long as she feeds Mrs. Bates and Chloe her excellent stuffed chicken necks, they will be content to remain and wash and iron."

Nicholas heard Peter Pritchard's deep melodic voice. "The old earl was singing a moment ago in the library, my lord. Earlier in the day I believe he was reading. If you would care to assure him that you and your new wife are home to remain, perhaps he will depart the premises and continue on to the heavenly climes."

Block said, "Perhaps it is the possibility of traveling in the other direction that keeps him earthbound."

Rosalind looked from one face to the next. She stared at Peter Pritchard. "What does he sing, Mr. Pritchard?"

"Ditties, my lady. At least they sound like something a man might sing while striding a ship deck."

To the best of Nicholas's knowledge, his grandfather had never set foot on a ship deck in his life.

Rosalind asked, "What does he read?"

Peter gave her a lovely bow. "Forgive me, my lady, I am Peter Pritchard, the earl's estate manager. I fear I have been a bit distracted."

You have a ghost in the house. No wonder.

Peter said, "Yes, things have been rather at sixes and sevens here for the past several days, actually, since the day his lordship sent a messenger informing us of his plans to return home with a wife. Forgive me, my lady. You asked me what the old earl reads. There are piles of books on the floor beside his favorite chair. The one on top is a treatise on hermit wizards who dwell in caves in the Bulgar and eschew all human contact."

Rosalind said, "If they eschew all human contact, I wonder how anyone could write a treatise about them." Nicholas laughed.

Rosalind slipped her hand into his. "I should like to accompany his lordship to the library and make the acquaintance of my grandfather-in-law's ghost."

Block heaved a sigh. "How fortuitous that you do not appear to be of a highly sensitive nature, my lady. Indeed, an overabundance of nerves could possibly prove fatal to your marital bliss, given our current visitation."

"Not I, Block. I am as stout of heart as Lee Po."

"Ah, his lordship's man of affairs. Lee Po tells the grandest stories. Come now, Cook has chilled one of the old earl's bottles of French champagne and made her exquisite gooseberry tarts. If you would like to enter, my lady, I will introduce you to the maid, Marigold, who appears to be about the same age as that young maid of yours, who looks really rather alarmed and a bit white about the mouth."

Rosalind turned to Matilde and smiled. "Come along, Matilde, everything is all right."

Matilde nodded even though she didn't think anything was all right, and dutifully trailed after Rosalind into the massive ugly house, which gave her the shudders. At least Mr. Lee Po was here. No one and nothing would try to harm her whilst he was about.

Only one young girl, dressed in a dark muslin gown, a white cap perched on the side of her head, stood at attention in the center of the massive black-and-white-tiled entrance hall. She saw Nicholas and Rosalind and quickly dropped a curtsy. "Oh, dear, here ye are, standing right here in front of me eyes." She bobbed another curtsy. "Me name's Marigold. Me mum loves yellow, she does, that's why she named me Marigold." And she curtsied again.

Block said, "Marigold laughs when the old earl sings. Or sings along with him, depending on her mood."

"He doesn't carry enough of a beat for me to dance," Marigold said. "But we do make lovely harmony."

Rosalind smiled at her and said, "This is Matilde. If you would show her to her room, Marigold, and introduce her to Cook, Mrs. Bates, Chloe, and the tweeny."

"The tweeny would be Mrs. Sweet, my lady. She's fair to doddering, but still can polish an armoire to a high shine. Not as high a shine as Mr. Block's suits, but high enough to remark upon."

Rosalind hadn't met many tweenies, but she'd never heard of one older than sixteen. "How old is Mrs. Sweet, Marigold?"

"Older than me mum, my lady, got three teeth left in 'er mouth, all in the front, a good thing, me mum says, else she'd have to gnaw 'er food with 'er gums."

"I see. I would also like you to give Matilde a tour of the house. Matilde, when you are finished, come to my room. Go along now. Thank you, Marigold."

"Yes, my lady." And yet another curtsy, this one deeper, nearly toppling her onto her face. "Matilde, now that's a purty name too, I'll ask me mum what she thinks of it." And off they went.

Nicholas was looking toward the library, listening.

Block said, "I suppose even a ghost must occasionally take a respite."

At that moment, they heard a strong loud bass voice sing out,

I went to sea as a wee young goat. I crossed the waves in a very small boat. I learned to swim-I can tell you that! And never once did I wear a hat. Hey ho. Hiddy ho.

The sun burned and blistered but there I sat And not once did I wear a hat.

There were three more eminently forgettable verses, then silence, dead and utter silence.

Peter gave them a crooked smile. "The hair on my arms no longer rises. To become used to the presence of the ghost of my old master, now, doesn't that bespeak a tortured brain? But the fact is he is indeed here and so what is one to do?"

Nicholas saw a pallet lying in the corner. Peter's had, he supposed. "Rosalind, why don't you accompany Block upstairs and I will go bid Grandfather hello."

Like that would ever happen, she thought. "Oh, no, I'm coming with you. Do you know, perhaps the two of us can sing a duet."

Peter Pritchard gave her an amazed look, then laughed and coughed behind his hand.

Nicholas gave one final fond thought to his huge bed upstairs with Rosalind naked on her back in the middle of it, perhaps beckoning to him, smiling, then took a resolute step toward the closed library door at the end of the long corridor.

"I leave the door open," Peter said, "but it always closes. Always. At first I was disconcerted, frightened to my booted heels, to be honest about it, but now-" He shrugged and gave Rosalind another smile. "You do not appear to be afraid, my lady."