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see that there was a definite mistrust of this magical creature among the servants. And none of them seemed to like Freddie much, either. Maybe normal people just didn’t trust magic? But then, Miss Bridges clearly thought the world of Mr. Fountain, and Bill seemed to have a grudging respect for him too. He did pay their wages, she supposed. It was difficult to pin down. Still, it would be better not to let slip that she was grasping at the edges of this strange subject—at least until she understood more of what was going on. Magic was clearly an upper-class thing. It wasn’t her place to know about it. Rose shuddered. She didn’t want to be seen as getting above herself.
    She looked up and caught Miss Bridges eyeing her consideringly. Rose tried to look innocent, and rather stupid, but she wasn’t sure that Miss Bridges was convinced. Her dark eyes were interested—interested and thoughtful behind the glittering pince-nez spectacles she was using to inspect the laundry list. Rose had a worrying feeling that Miss Bridges didn’t believe she was stupid at all.
    ***
    After breakfast Miss Bridges took Rose on a more thorough tour of the house than she’d had the day before to show her what her duties were. Like this morning with the fires, it seemed that Susan, as the first housemaid, dealt with the main rooms, the grander ones on the ground floor, and Rose did upstairs. That was fine by her. She’d had a quick peek at the drawing room as they passed, and the number of fragile-looking ornaments had set her heart racing. She would much rather clean bedrooms. It was just about possible to smash a chamber pot if you tried hard enough, but it would take a real effort.
    â€œAnd this is the workroom.” Miss Bridges opened a smoke-stained door. “Mr. Fountain uses it for magical…things…” she added vaguely. “But he’s always at court at this hour, so you won’t be disturbing him. Dust the equipment, sweep the floor, polish the vessels, but for heaven’s sake, Rose, do not touch anything that he’s working on. It could be vital to the nation.”
    Rose eyed the piles of delicate glassware anxiously. Perhaps the drawing room wasn’t such a bad choice after all. She shivered. The room was gloomy—even though it was surrounded by tall windows. The light just didn’t seem to reach into the corners. There were no spiders’ webs and no dust, but it was still an eerie place. The central table was loaded with a complex arrangement of glass tubes and bottles filled with a murky yellow liquid, flowing sluggishly from one end to the other.
    â€œIs that gold?” Rose asked curiously. After all, Bill had said Mr. Fountain made gold, and gold was yellowish.
    â€œOf course not!” a voice behind her snapped.
    The pale-haired boy, Freddie, was standing there looking disgusted.
    Miss Bridges sniffed, which was the most unladylike thing Rose had yet seen her do. Clearly Freddie was about as unpopular as the cat, who now prowled into the room behind him, looking smug.
    Rose watched him under her eyelashes while pretending to stare humbly at her boots. She was getting very familiar with them here. Rose had a feeling that it wasn’t his magical ability that made Miss Bridges dislike Freddie—more that he was rude. She seemed to have more patience with magic (and the people who could do it) than the rest of the servants. Freddie had recently broken a Ming vase, of course—Miss Bridges had probably wanted him disemboweled for that.
    Freddie stalked past her, wrapped in a cloud of don’t touch me superiority. Rose wished she could ask him about the strange things that had been happening to her recently and how his own magic worked, but she was meant to be invisible to these people.
    Miss Bridges left Rose to it, with another warning against touching things she shouldn’t. Freddie settled at a table and started turning the pages of a