Rose and the Silver Ghost

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Copyright © 2015 by Holly Webb

Cover and internal design © 2015 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

Cover design by Jane Archer

Cover illustration © Kevin Keele

Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

Published by Sourcebooks Jabberwocky, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

(630) 961-3900

Fax: (630) 961-2168

www.jabberwockykids.com

Originally published in 2011 in the United Kingdom by Orchard Books, an imprint of Hachette Children’s Books.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication data is on file with the publisher.

Source of Production: Versa Press-USA, East Peoria, IL

Date of Production: January 2015

Run Number: 5003105

Also by Holly Webb

Rose

Rose and the Lost Princess

Rose and the Magician’s Mask

Contents

Front Cover

Title Page

Copyright

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

About the Author

Back Cover

For Jon

One

And one, two, three, and one, two, three, and—twirl, girl!

Rose sighed and twirled obediently. The last time she’d danced had been in a Venetian ballroom lit by candles hanging in huge crystal wheels from the ceiling. She had been surrounded by masked society ladies and by the music, which swept her around in a whirl of silvery chimes.

The thin tinkling of the piano couldn’t send her feet circling like that Venetian orchestra had a few weeks before. And Bella refused to obey Miss Fell’s strict instructions on the polite steps of the quadrille. She kept adding fancy footwork, and Miss Fell did not approve. Even the jauntiest tune was dismal when the piano stopped every four bars while the pianist hissed with horror.

Rose half closed her eyes, remembering soft, white fur gloves instead of Bella’s thin, hot hands.

"Rose! Not you as well! Chassé! Oh, stop it, stop it. I cannot stand the pair of you any longer. Tell one of the maids I shall take tea and a piece of lavender shortbread in my room." Miss Fell sprang up from the piano stool with remarkable energy for one so elderly, and strode—as much as she ever did anything so unladylike—out of the room.

Rose sank onto a small gilt chair and shook her head. Mrs. Jones will have a fit. I’m almost certain there’s no lavender shortbread in the kitchen. She’ll have Sarah making holes in the plain kind with a pin and sticking the lavender in.

You’d think Miss Fell would know that, as she’s such a powerful magician, Bella said thoughtfully, chasséing perfectly across the polished floorboards and settling onto the windowsill beside Rose’s chair.

You would, wouldn’t you?

The two girls exchanged glances, and Rose looked down at the floor, smiling a little. Only a few months before, she had been an orphanage brat. The first time she met Bella, she had been laying the fire in the younger girl’s bedroom. Rose had moved from the orphanage to become the lowliest maid in the house of Bella’s father, Aloysius Fountain, a powerful magician who worked as an adviser to the king. But then Mr. Fountain’s apprentice, the insufferable Freddie, had discovered that Rose could do magic too, and everything had changed. Dancing lessons—however horrible—were a world away.

Miss Fell had been living in Mr. Fountain’s house with them ever since they returned from Venice, where they’d traveled to defeat the crazed magician Gossamer. Miss Fell wasn’t anything as humble as a governess, but she had taken over Bella’s lessons and insisted that Rose attend too. She also taught Freddie some subjects, but he had taken to developing interesting illnesses on his days for etiquette and genealogy.

Mr. Fountain had intended to find a new governess for Bella anyway, as she had finally driven off Miss Anstruther, her last long-suffering governess, just before they left for Venice. Bella’s magic was now starting to show—and she couldn’t control it properly. Rose rather suspected that Bella didn’t want to because it was more fun that way. Unfortunately, Bella’s magic was also immensely strong.

No one had quite realized how strong until they landed at Dover two weeks before. As Mr. Fountain had predicted, the Venetian ship hardly stayed in port long enough for them to disembark. The captain seemed to have little need of favorable winds, and the spell-laden sails filled and swelled despite the stillness in the air.

Rose and the others were left abandoned at the dock, something that happened to Mr. Fountain very rarely. It was terribly cold, and Rose felt desolate, looking at the gray water and grayer sky. It was surely about to snow again, which would at least cover the dirty slush around their feet. Their adventure in Venice had been dangerous and frightening and almost fatal—but it had been exciting too, while coming home was just dismal. Tattered recruiting posters were pasted on every wall, and the war with the Talish Empire seemed to have grown nearer and more certain while they were away.

Bella had huddled against Rose, moaning, her hands snuggled inside her huge, white fur muff and her blue eyes enormous in her pinched, cold face. I want a carriage! she whimpered. I’m frozen. Papa, summon a carriage. I want to go home!

I want, I want, Freddie muttered. Don’t worry, sir. I’ll run to the inn and fetch one. Sit on that post, why don’t you? He ushered the master over to the iron post, worriedly eyeing the area of Mr. Fountain’s waistcoat where the magician had been stabbed. Bill, one of the young servant boys, helped Freddie to ease Mr. Fountain down. And don’t let Bella work you into one of her tantrums. If anything’s going to bring about a relapse, it’ll be that.

Thank you, Frederick. Mr. Fountain sighed wearily. The cold seemed to affect his spirits in the same way it ruined Bella’s.

I’m not having a tantrum! Bella smacked Freddie on the arm. I won’t be spoken of in that horrid way. Apologize! Papa, make him!

Bella dear! Miss Fell frowned haughtily. Ladylike manners, if you please.

"I’m not a lady. I’m only eight, and I’m cold, and I want to go ho-oome!" The last word extended into an eerie wail, and Rose put her hands to her ears as they began to throb, pain pulsing through them with the wobble in Bella’s voice.

There were startled cries from the deck of the ship anchored nearest to them, a tall clipper, as the masts started to shake. The sailors fell to the deck, wrapping their arms around their heads.

Bella, stop it… Please… Rose whispered. There was no chance that Bella would hear her. How was she doing it? She had always had a piercing scream—Miss Anstruther had left Mr. Fountain’s employ after Bella had made her ears bleed. But nothing like this.

A break in the dreadful battering of sound let Rose open her eyes, but the silence was only due to a catch in Bella’s throat. The wailing would start again in moments. A horrified glance around showed Rose that the others were clutching their heads as she was. Bill was on the ground, pulling his jacket over his ears, and Mr. Fountain drooped limply on his perch. Freddie was trying to hold Mr. Fountain up, his face buried in the master’s shoulder as he tried to protect himself.

Bella’s father! She was killing him! Rose took a determined step toward Bella, who seemed to be affected by the sound herself. She was lying in the snow, curled into a little ball, still uttering that unearthly noise.

Bella! Rose pulled urgently at Bella’s shoulder, then cried out herself. Taking even one hand away from her ears was agony. "Bella, you have to stop! Bella!" Suddenly angry, Rose resorted to Mrs. Jones’s remedy for hysterical housemaids and smacked Bella across the face.

The screaming stopped rather abruptly, and Bella uncurled and looked up at Rose, her hand to her cheek. "Did you hit me?"

Rose took a cautious step back. Yes, she admitted, wondering if she should run. But Bella looked more confused than angry.

Why? she murmured, rubbing her cheek. Rose could see the red mark across Bella’s pale skin, but she didn’t feel guilty.

Look! she snarled, hauling Bella up. Rose wasn’t frightened anymore. Now she was furious. How could Bella not know what she’d done?

Bella sagged in Rose’s arms and looked around at the others. Mr. Fountain’s cat, Gus, was slumped on the cobbles, his fur trailing in the dirty ice. As the girls watched, his tail flickered, and he licked a paw weakly.

You did that, Bella! Rose snapped. Because you had a stupid, selfish little girl’s tantrum. You can’t do that anymore.

But I didn’t mean to… Bella whispered weakly. Then she ran to stand in front of her father, laying a hand on his sleeve. Freddie was kneeling by him still, and there was a thin trickle of blood running down the boy’s neck from his ear, staining his starched collar.

Oh, Papa! I didn’t mean to hurt you. Bella glanced up at Rose with wide blue eyes, the whites showing all around the blue. Did I do that to Freddie? The blood?

Rose nodded and saw the expression on Bella’s face change. The fear shifting slightly into thoughtfulness. Perhaps even a little pride.

Yes. And it’s horrible! Rose hissed.

Bella nodded guiltily.

Please don’t do that again, Freddie muttered, shaking his head as though he felt dizzy. Sir? Sir? Are you all right?

Mmm. Tell me, Frederick. Dear boy. Was that Bella?

Freddie hesitated, not sure whether he might send the master into heart failure by admitting that it had all been Bella’s doing.

Yes, then. Mr. Fountain sighed. I really should have found her a better governess.

She doesn’t need a governess. She needs a cell! Miss Fell swept across the snow toward them. Her hat was on crooked, and she seemed old and angry.

Bella was trying hard to look innocent, as though it was all just an unfortunate misunderstanding, but when no one seemed to appreciate the careful fluttering of her eyelashes, she lapsed into a sulk.

There was an ominous creaking sound from above them. Rose looked up slowly, reluctantly, as though if she didn’t look, it might not happen.

The mast! Freddie muttered, staring with her. She broke the mast! I don’t believe it. Sir, we have to move. Please, you have to get up!

The foremast of the clipper, a solid lump of wood taller than a tree, was swaying above them. Bella’s screaming had splintered it fatally.

The sailors… Rose whispered. It’ll hit them—they’re all unconscious on the deck. We recovered faster because we know magic. Bill’s still collapsed too. Look.

Don’t just stand there gaping and whining, you silly girl, Miss Fell snapped. Help. And you too, Isabella, since this is all due to your ridiculous behavior. Frederick, see to your master. And the cat and the servant boy. She marched briskly toward the ship’s gangplank and swept up it, her plum-colored coat trailing over the wood. The girls scurried after her.

Why are we going toward it? Bella whimpered. "We should be going away…" But she stopped when Miss Fell and Rose turned remarkably similar glares on her.

Miss Fell threaded her way delicately between the unconscious sailors, pulling the skirts of her coat away from them. Bella and Rose trailed behind her, staring up at the hypnotic swaying of the mast. Rose felt herself drawn toward it, wondering which way it would fall.

Put your hands on it, Miss Fell commanded. Isabella, stop playacting. This is your ridiculous spoiled-child mess. She snatched Bella’s hand and pressed it against the dark wood of the mast. Rose followed, wincing as she felt the tearing shudders running through the timber.

It’s going to fall on us, she muttered. Bella, if I get squashed, I will kill you.

Bella snickered, but stopped quickly when Miss Fell glared at her again.

I don’t work with wood. Miss Fell sounded frustrated. She was gripping the wooden mast as if she was trying to push her fingertips into it, but it was iron hard, cured by the salty sea winds.

Rose pressed her fingers against the polished wood, feeling for a hold, but it was no use. She hissed crossly and felt Miss Fell’s eyes on her, just a moment’s glance.

Ever since they first met Miss Fell in Venice, she had been looking at Rose oddly, and she kept dropping strange little hints. She seemed convinced that Rose must belong to one of the old magical families. Bella was certain of this too. Rose kept finding Bella staring, her nose wrinkled in a delicate little frown as though she were trying to catch a scent.

I can’t get inside the wood, Rose told Miss Fell apologetically. It’s too dead. The sails maybe? Could we do something to those?

The old magician gave a thoughtful little nod.

Our magic is very similar, I think, Rose… Agh!

With a shrieking crack, the mast suddenly listed to one side, sending Bella careening into Rose. Rose fell back but was hooked upward by something seizing her coat collar. An invisible something, a spell that Miss Fell had conjured up to catch her. At the same time, the sixty-foot mast suddenly exploded—very gently—into a cloud of powdery dust.

Gaping, Rose steadied herself and dragged Bella upright. I thought you said you didn’t work with wood, ma’am, she murmured admiringly, looking around the deck of the ship, now heaped with little drifts of sawdust.

Miss Fell’s lips pursed in a dissatisfied expression. "I don’t. I dislike merely—blasting things. No