Sure enough, the light from above was fading. It must be past five bells, and she still had to wipe out the ovens. Isaveth jumped up and ran to do so, while Esmond grabbed a pile of rags to help.
“Do you think Mistress Anandri would be angry if she knew what we were doing?” Isaveth asked when they were finished, dropping the last black-stained rag into the laundry hamper and tossing her apron on top. The cleaning tablets had made the job easy if not exactly pleasant, but she’d made sure to dirty all the tools and sprinkle a bit of scouring powder about so that if Meggery came by it would look like she’d cleaned the ovens the hard way.
Esmond lifted her overcoat off the hook and held it for her. “She’s not particularly fond of Eryx, if that’s what you’re wondering. His first year at the college, he tried to bribe her into giving him the top mark in Common Magic, and she’s kept a wary eye on him ever since.”
Perhaps, thought Isaveth as the coat settled on her shoulders, but being suspicious of Eryx wasn’t the same as believing him a criminal mastermind. She’d have to be careful not to test Mistress Anandri’s generosity too far. She stacked up the books on the kitchen table and carried them back to the sunroom—all except the journal, which she tucked into her school bag for further study. Surely the spellmistress wouldn’t mind if she borrowed it for a day or two.
Isaveth fingered the handful of charms in her pocket, then buttoned up her coat and turned to Esmond. “I think I’ve got all I need for now,” she said. “Thanks.”
Esmond didn’t reply, only gazed at her. His teeth grazed his lower lip, and his good eye took on a wistful, questioning look.
“What is it?” asked Isaveth, but Esmond huffed a laugh and turned away.
“Nothing important.”
* * *
That night Isaveth stayed up as late as her father would allow her, searching the old journal for ideas on how to undo Eryx’s charms. By bedtime she’d found a couple of recipes that looked promising—including one that claimed to dissolve metal. But it called for ingredients she didn’t have, so Isaveth put the book away and resolved to talk to Esmond about it tomorrow.
The next morning Isaveth looked for Eulalie, but there was no sign of her. Even when the bell rang and all the other students were seated, her friend’s desk remained empty.
“Faking sick again, probably,” said Seffania.
The girl next to her rolled her eyes, and Paskin snickered. But a defensive spark lit inside Isaveth. “What do you mean, faking?”
“Well, she doesn’t look sick, does she? She’s got all the energy in the world when she wants it, but the minute things get unpleasant, off she goes. You can’t count on her for anything.”
“That’s not true,” said Isaveth. “You don’t know her.”
Seffania gave a short laugh. “Oh, don’t I? You’re not the first one she’s latched onto, you know. Wait and see.”
Just then Mistress Corto tapped her pointer and called the class to attention. Dutifully Isaveth opened her notebook, but her thoughts churned with unhappiness and a small, nagging whisper of doubt. Eulalie had been kind to her, and she owed the other girl a great deal. Yet it was odd that she didn’t seem to have any other friends at the college besides Isaveth. . . .
She had almost decided to ignore Seffania and put the matter out of her mind when Miss Kehegret, Seffania’s seatmate, leaned across the aisle and slipped a note onto Isaveth’s desk.
Ask E what she told DW about S at the Harvest Dance. Nobody likes a girl who can’t keep secrets.
* * *
Isaveth had hoped to borrow some money from Esmond for the ingredients she needed, so she could buy them on her way home and try out the metal-dissolving spell that night. But the message she left him went unanswered, and there was no sign of him at lunchtime. What if he’d been called home suddenly, because his father was about to die?
Dread clutched at Isaveth. Please, not yet, she begged silently. I need more time.
She turned on the crystal set as soon as she got home, but there was no news about the Sagelord’s health. Then Aunt Sal turned up at the door, insisting she had to go out and needed someone to come and look after her two children at once. Annagail was busy scrubbing the kitchen floor with soap ends, so Isaveth had no choice but to go—and by the time she got back, it was too late for experiments. All she could do was read the last few pages of the country-mage’s journal and pray for better luck tomorrow.
When she checked the library the following morning, there was still no news from Esmond. Eulalie turned up to Sagery class, but all she would say about her conversation with Betinda was, “It makes me cross when people say horrible things,” and she dismissed her absence with a vague, “I just wasn’t feeling right.”
She showed no sign of having been ill, however, and the doubt inside Isaveth sank its roots a little deeper. Eulalie might have a reputation for giving away other people’s secrets, but she clearly had no trouble keeping her own. So Isaveth was too distracted to pay much attention when she passed a cluster of girls outside the dining hall and heard Betinda Callender announcing loudly, “I got it for my birthday. Daddy had it sent all the way from Uropia—he says it’s just like the one the Little Queen wears.”
Betinda boasting was hardly unusual, so Isaveth rolled her eyes and walked on. By the time Calculation class started, she’d forgotten all about it.
“Open your notebooks to the third chapter,” said Master Valstead. “Today we will begin Lesson Seven, which . . .”
“Oh!” Betinda exclaimed, clapping a hand to her throat. She dived under her desk, then popped up again, scanning the floor in all directions.
“Miss Callender!” their teacher commanded. “Sit down at once.”
“But sir,” she gasped. “I’ve lost my diamond pendant. It must have fallen off—I can’t find it anywhere!”
Privately Isaveth thought it served Betinda right, but the girl wept so noisily into her handkerchief that Master Valstead gave in. “Very well, all of you get up and look for Miss Callender’s necklace.”
Everyone did so, with much milling about and creaking of desks and chairs. But there was no sign of the pendant.
“It had the prettiest golden chain,” Betinda wailed. “And the diamond was shaped like a teardrop, with little sapphires all around it. . . .”
“If it was so valuable, Miss Callender, you should not have worn it to school,” said Master Valstead severely. “When did you last have it?”
“At the bottom of the stairs, before I came up to class. Oh, please let me go look!” She half-rose, but their teacher raised a forbidding hand.
“Enough. I will deal with this.”
He strode out the door and returned a few minutes later, announcing that the housekeeper and her staff were on the way to search the building. Then he walked back to his note stand and continued the lesson.
The bell rang for the end of class, but the door remained shut. Master Valstead sat down, and all the students began whispering to one another.
“If they haven’t found it by now . . .”
“Someone must have pocketed it.”
“Did anyone come late? Maybe they saw . . .”
A knock rattled the door, and Master Valstead rose to answer it. He stepped outside for a brief, muttered conversation, then returned looking even more stony than usual.
“Your necklace is found, Miss Callender.”
“Oh, thank the Sages,” breathed Betinda, scrambling to her feet. “Where was it?”
“You may reclaim your property from the governor’s office after school,” their teacher continued, ignoring the question. “For now, proceed to your next class.”
Isaveth picked up her school bag and started after the others, but Master Valstead blocked her path. “Miss Breck. Remain here, please.”
“But, sir—” she began, then faltered silent as the last of her classmates vanished out the door and Meggery marched in. A nervous-looking maid trailed after her, carrying a bundle of black cloth.
br />
“That’s her,” said the housekeeper, nodding at Isaveth. “She’s the one.”
Chapter Twenty
FOR ONE WILD MOMENT Isaveth could not make sense of what was happening. Her first thought was that it must have something to do with the bell tower—but if Meggery wasn’t satisfied with Isaveth’s punishment, why would she bring it up here, and now?
“You are certain?” Master Valstead asked. “You have witnesses?”
Meggery nudged the maid, who stepped forward. “I found the necklace, sir. Harlin was searching the coatroom with me, he saw it too.”
“And where did you find it?”
“In the pocket of this, sir.” She shook out the overcoat she’d been carrying, and Isaveth’s knees wobbled. That slightly shabby collar, the mismatched button on the lapel—it was hers.
“But that’s impossible,” she whispered.
Master Valstead regarded her coldly. “This is a serious charge, Miss Breck. What do you have to say for yourself?”
Her mouth felt parched, her tongue thick with disbelief. But she had to speak before this madness went any further. “I didn’t do it, sir—I couldn’t have. I was in the classroom before Betinda lost her necklace.”
Meggery huffed. “So she claims, master, but I’ll warrant her classmates tell a different story. No doubt Governor Buldage will find the truth of it.”
“Indeed.” Master Valstead straightened up grimly. “Miss Breck, come with me.”
Heart hammering, Isaveth followed Master Valstead out of the building, with Meggery and the maid at her heels. They crossed the snowy cobbles to Founders’ Hall and climbed the stairs inside.
Even as they approached the governor’s office, Isaveth was too distracted to recognize the greater danger. Not until she found herself face-to-face with his secretary did the full horror of the situation crash in, and by then the woman had already seen her.
“What is she doing here?” the secretary demanded, pointing an accusing finger at Isaveth.
“Excuse me?” asked Valstead, frowning. “Do you know this young lady?”
“She turned up the week Master Orien passed, claiming to be a cleaning maid. Asked me all manner of impertinent questions about his death.” She surveyed Isaveth with displeasure. “Morra, wasn’t it?”
Isaveth shook her head, though the sick feeling inside her warned that the truth would be no help now. “I’m Isaveth Breck.”
The secretary’s face closed up like a slamming door. “Well,” she said. “How interesting.”
“We need to speak to the governor,” said Master Valstead. “Is he available?”
The woman picked up her earpiece, listening. Then she pressed a button on her desk and the inner door swung open.
Governor Buldage rose as they entered, pale and haggard as a prisoner called to his execution. “Good day,” he said hoarsely. “How can I help you?”
“Miss Breck is accused of theft,” announced Master Valstead, and Buldage blinked, his color returning. Whatever he’d expected when Isaveth arrived in his office, it hadn’t been this.
“How so?” he asked.
Valstead gave him a brief summary of what had happened in the classroom, then gestured to Meggery to step forward and tell how she and the servants had discovered the necklace in Isaveth’s pocket.
“ ’Twas my idea to search the coatroom,” she concluded smugly, “as I thought some greedy girl might have seen it fall and snatched it up for herself. And I was right.”
“Yet Miss Breck insists she was in the classroom before Miss Callender arrived, and therefore could not have taken it,” said Valstead. “I was not present at the time, so I cannot say. We will have to question the other students.”
Governor Buldage sat back, running a finger across his lips as he studied the pendant. “I will speak to Miss Breck in private,” he said at last. “You may go.”
Master Valstead bowed out at once, but Meggery lingered. “Sir, if I might say a word—”
“Thank you, Missus Jespers. That will be all.”
Isaveth had never heard the housekeeper called by her family name before, and even Meggery seemed taken aback. She scurried away, taking the maid with her.
“Sit down, Miss Breck.” Governor Buldage gestured her to a chair. “Tell me what happened.”
He spoke so gently that Isaveth’s eyes began to burn. She had to shut them as she repeated her story. “I didn’t take Betinda’s necklace. I didn’t even look at it. I would never—”
“No,” said Buldage, “of course not. That would be foolish and greedy, and from what I have seen, you are neither.”
Hope leaped up in Isaveth. “Then you believe me?”
“I do. However . . .” He sighed. “I doubt it will make any difference.”
“But you’re—”
“The governor? Indeed. But Miss Callender’s parents are powerful nobles and patrons of this college. They will not be satisfied until someone is punished, and they have every reason to want that person to be you.”
“But someone must have planted the necklace in my pocket. If we could—”
“Find out who might wish to see you expelled from the college? There is no shortage of suspects. Including, it appears, my own secretary.”
So he had heard. He knew now, if he hadn’t before, that she had come to this very office four months ago looking for clues to Master Orien’s murder. Buldage rose, his tall figure looming over her, and Isaveth shrank back—but he only walked to the window, lacing his hands behind him as he gazed out over the grounds.
“I hoped,” he murmured, “that I could make amends. But to do that, I would have to be free.” He turned back to her, looking more weary than ever. “I am sorry, Miss Breck, but I must protect the interests and the reputation of this college. Until we have fully investigated this matter, I have no choice but to suspend you.”
* * *
Isaveth stumbled through the front door of her cottage, the school bag slipping off her shoulder to fall with a thump to the floor. The house was empty and icy cold, but that was nothing compared to how she felt inside.
Suspended, not expelled. That was some comfort. There was still a chance that whoever had put the necklace in Isaveth’s pocket would be caught . . . or that at least some of her classmates would agree she couldn’t have taken it.
But an investigation would unearth other details that could ruin Isaveth just as surely. The governor’s secretary could tell how she’d disguised herself and pried into college business; and Meggery would be quick to report how she’d seen her sneaking out of the bell tower. After hearing all the trouble Isaveth had gotten into, the board of masters might well decide that thief or not, the school would be better off without her.
“Why did you let me come here if you knew this could happen?” she’d asked Governor Buldage at the end, too anguished to hold back any longer. “Was it Eryx Lording’s idea to humiliate me? Or did you really think being kind to me could make up for helping murder Master Orien and letting my father take the blame?”
Her words had struck home: Buldage’s nostrils flared on an indrawn breath, and his face turned more sallow than ever. “I will pretend that I did not hear that,” he said tightly. “You may go, Miss Breck.”
There’d been no time to leave a message for Esmond or talk to Eulalie. As soon as she came out of the governor’s office his secretary had called for the porter, who’d escorted Isaveth off the school grounds.
After nearly a week without protests, threats, or nasty messages, Isaveth had dared to hope that her enemies had lost interest in her. Now it was bitterly clear that they had only been biding their time.
Yet one thing hadn’t changed. No matter how crushed she felt, no matter what Betinda’s parents might say or the masters decide, Isaveth wasn’t giving up. She was fighting for her family and her people, even if they didn’t know it, and she had work to do.
She unlaced her boots, hung up her coat, and went to light the stove for her next round o
f experiments.
* * *
“You’re home early!” exclaimed Mimmi. Her cheeks were still rosy with cold, her hair fuzzed where she’d carelessly dragged off her hat. “What are you making? It smells good. Is it for supper?”
Isaveth glanced at her little sister distractedly, balancing the journal in one hand as she stirred her latest decoction with the other. This one claimed to be an antidote to curses, which nobody really believed in anymore. But a curse was a kind of spell, at least in theory . . . and until she could get the ingredients for the metal-dissolving potion, it was the best she could do.
“No,” she said. “It’s magic.”
“Oh,” said Mimmi, lip jutting in disappointment. Then she brightened and began to chatter about the soap carving she’d made at school. Isaveth let her little sister’s words wash over her, nodding at intervals. At least someone was happy.
“Where’s Lilet?” she asked, when Mimmi paused for breath.
“She had to stay behind. I think she was fighting again.”
Isaveth nearly dropped her spoon. “Again? How many fights has she been in?”
“A few. She usually wins, though.”
The liquid in the pot was simmering, tiny bubbles rising toward the surface. Isaveth added a pinch of null-pepper and began to stir in the opposite direction. She’d had no idea Lilet was getting into trouble at school—she’d been too consumed with her own troubles to notice. How much else had she missed these past few weeks?
“Does Papa know?” she asked, but she already knew the answer. Lilet would never admit to causing trouble, or even being in it, until she was caught.
“No, and she said she’d thump me if I told him. She didn’t tell me not to tell you, though,” Mimmi added, proud of finding the loophole.
Isaveth rubbed a hand across her brow. She had one piece of bad news to share already; now Mimmi had handed her another one. It was going to be an unhappy evening in the Breck household. . . .
Unless, of course, she said nothing. Not just about Lilet fighting, but about her suspension as well.