His grandson watched him carefully.
Master Boatswain handed me the stone. It was triangular in shape and had a hole in the middle.
“A hagstone,” I said.
Master Boatswain nodded. “Do you know of them?”
I’d heard of hagstones before. Hagstones, or holed stones, were thought to have supernatural powers. If one looked through a hagstone, one could see the preternatural. Of course, such stories were just fairy tales, but the expression on Master Boatswain’s face was quite earnest.
“I do. Uncle Horace has a book on them. But Master Boatswain, I’m afraid I don’t make the connection.”
Master Boatswain tapped the stone. “Let in a little love, a little life force, a little magic. You’ll find it there,” he said, pointing to the hole. “This is where magic lives. You need to add a little magic to your design, Miss Rossetti. Alas, I’ve only one stone, but this will do for now,” he said, patting my little clockwork gnome on the head. “Now, Archie, I’m for bed,” he said. “Walk me upstairs. I don’t mind the steps, but Horace’s castle is a maze. It will take me a month to find my room.”
Archie chuckled. “Of course, Grandfather,” he said then turned to me. “Good night, Miss Rossetti. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“If you can catch her,” Master Boatswain said.
Archie chuckled.
“Good night, Archie. Goodnight, Master Boatswain. And thank you for the hagstone.”
Master Boatswain patted my gnome once more. “Just give it a try. You never know.” He winked at me then turned and left.
I slipped the hagstone into my pocket, packed up the gnomes, then headed to my room. Once I was safely inside, I changed into my dressing gown and slid into the window seat that sat looking out at the garden. I took out the hagstone. Lifting it, I glanced through the stone out the window. The lawn surrounding Strawberry Hill was covered in powdery white snow. It glistened in the moonlight, shimmering like diamonds.
Magic.
Hardly a surprising proposal from one of Uncle Horace’s friends. But it seemed too fantastical an idea to come from Master Boatswain whom I’d always guessed to be a man of science.
Looking through the hagstone, I glanced down the lane. There, at the entrance to Strawberry Hill, I spotted robed figures just outside the gate. They stared at the castle, their eyes glimmering in the moonlight.
Hooligans? No. I recognized the robes. It was the traveling merchants.
I swallowed hard and lowered the hagstone.
Looking out the window with my naked eye, I espied the gate once more.
There was no one there. No one.
Had it just been shadows? A trick of the trees and the snow.
Willing my hand to be steady, I lifted the hagstone again.
I clenched my jaw when I saw the figures there once more…through the eye of the hagstone. And only through the eye of the hagstone.
Like a whisper on the wind, they called: Come buy. Come buy.
Jumping up, I flung the curtains closed then crossed the room to blow out my candle. I slipped into bed and pulled up the coverlet. Master Boatswain’s words had my imagination running away with itself. There was no such thing as magic. And it was nearly Christmas. Nothing bad could lurk at this time of year. I was just imagining things. I clenched the stone hard in my hand and willed myself to sleep, dreaming—not of imaginary monsters—but of twinkling, mistletoe-green eyes.
Chapter 5: Creatures a’Stirring
I woke at sunrise the next morning. The house was quiet, only the servants moving about. No doubt, Uncle Horace and his friends had been talking late into the night. If I was quick, I could stop by Lizzie and Laura’s shop, let Annabeth know the good news, then make it back before breakfast. No doubt Laura and Lizzie would be at it already, especially considering how busy they had been. Poor dears, I worried about them.
Heading to my wardrobe, I pulled out an old dress, but then I paused. Whatever I put on, I would wear the same thing to breakfast. I returned the old dress to the wardrobe and pulled out one of my favorite red gowns. It was a fine gown with long sleeves and a bundle of white, French lace at the neck. It brought out the bloom in my cheeks. I hadn’t worn it since I arrived, but I knew it was flattering…in case anyone was looking.
Taking a little time to fix my hair, I pinned it up at the back of my head and affixed it with a pretty red bow. I pulled on my boots, grabbed my red cape, and slipped down the stairs to the library where my basket sat waiting. Taking the gnomes and supplies, I headed out the front door. Just outside, Mister Edwards was extinguishing the gaslamps while a footman cleared the snow and ice from the front stoop.
“Miss Rossetti,” Mister Edwards said. “You’re awake early.”
“Yes. Just need to take a quick jaunt to town to return this,” I said, patting the basket. “I’ll be back in no time.”
“The breakfast bell rings at nine o’clock, Miss Rossetti. You have two hours,” he said with a chuckle.
“Then I better be on my way.”
At that, I gave Mister Edwards a wave then rushed down the drive. As I neared the gate at the end of the driveway, I remembered what I had seen from my window the night before. Pausing, I pulled out the hagstone and looked toward the gate.
There was nothing there.
I eyed the hagstone. As I did so, light snow began to fall, dusting my hands.
Magic.
Either that or I had a very active imagination. No doubt I had merely turned shadows into phantoms, Master Boatswain exciting my nerves with the idea that there was something to the hagstone folklore.
But if it were true? In that case, it was a pity I didn’t have hagstones for the rest of the gnomes.
Passing the gate, I headed down the road and toward the woods. As I neared the thick forest, I slowed a little. In my haste to get to town, I had nearly forgotten the merchants. I hadn’t gone far when I heard their call.
“Come buy. Come buy.”
I peered into the woods. Sure enough, I spotted the colorful tents deep within the forest. I could smell smoke, and see the merchants milling about their fire. They were singing a merry tune:
“Come buy our orchard fruits,
Come buy, come buy:
Apples and quinces,
Lemons and oranges,
Plump unpeck’d cherries,
Melons and raspberries,
Bloom-down-cheek’d peaches,
Swart-headed mulberries,
Wild, free-born cranberries,
Crabapples, dewberries,
Pineapples, blackberries,
Apricots, strawberries;
All ripe together
In summer weather,
Morns that pass by,
Fair eves that fly;
Come buy, come buy:
Taste them and try,
Sweet to tongue and sound to eye;
Come buy, come buy.”
I stood watching them, a strange but merry troupe. They danced around their fire.