The Moon Master's Ball by Clara Diane Thompson

together the
ingredients to a lemon poppy-seed cake, Lord Hollingberry’s
favorite. No one else was home but the lord himself, and although
the cook was terribly fond of Tilly, she was glad to be alone. She
bustled about her domain, thinking there was nothing better in life
than a clean kitchen.
    The back door creaked and she heard someone
enter. It was probably Tilly, home from wherever she had got off
to.
    “Tilly?” the cook called as she squeezed
some lemon into the batter. “Would you mind handin’ me the—” Mrs.
Gregson stopped. It wasn’t Tilly who had entered after all.
    Anger swelled up from her chest and shone
brightly in her eyes as she saw Mrs. Carlisle in her kitchen.
    “Hello, Mrs. Gregson. What are your skilled
hands baking today?” Mrs. Carlisle asked as she roamed the large
space, gazing at different pots displayed on the walls.
    Mrs. Gregson huffed. “Get out.”
    “I suppose the reason your food is so
utterly delicious is that you use magic to make it. Am I correct?”
Mrs. Carlisle continued, ignoring Mrs. Gregson.
    The cook grabbed a sturdy nearby pot and
brandished it menacingly towards Mrs. Carlisle. “You’re mad!” she
stated.
    The invading housekeeper chattered her teeth
thoughtfully before muttering foreign words under her breath.
    Mrs. Gregson started to move towards the
woman she so despised. “What’s that gibberish you’re mumblin’? I
said, get out!”
    Before she quite knew what was happening,
Mrs. Gregson’s raised arm froze and the pot slipped from her grasp
to clatter on the floor. Her eyes felt heavy, and though she fought
to keep them open, her eyelids slid shut. She fell, joining her pot
on the hard kitchen floor.
    Mrs. Carlisle clicked her teeth again,
shaking her head as she focused her small black eyes down at Mrs.
Gregson. “I expected more from you. ”
     
    Then she slipped quietly from Winslow Manor,
scurrying quickly back to her home.
     
     

     
10
     
    Tilly hastened down the street with her back
towards Winslow Manor, trying to ignore its imposing shadow that
leaned over the other houses to glare disapprovingly at her. She
knew Lord Hollingberry wouldn’t commend her for going to see
Caroline behind his back; but since he wouldn’t answer her
questions himself, Tilly felt that she must ask her old friend
instead. Perhaps nothing unusual was going on in Winslow. Perhaps
she was simply being used as a courier between a delirious old lord
and a crazed young man.
    But why had Caroline been talking to Lord
Hollingberry the day before, when Tilly had just returned from the
Circus? Tilly had never known them to have any sort of relationship
before.
    She mulled these thoughts over as she
mounted the steps of Apple Tree Inn, noting absent-mindedly that
weeds were reigning supreme in the flower garden. Pushing open the
inn door, she felt the chill of an absent fire in the hearth. In
fact, there was no hearth at all in the small room. No chairs or
tables were set up, and no candles glowed placidly in the corners.
Indeed, this didn’t appear to be Caroline’s inn at all.
    “You were right, Mother. It did work.”
    Tilly whirled around to face the person who
had just spoken behind her. Drosselyn closed the whining door and
looked at her mother, who was stepping out of the shadows.
    “Of course it worked. My magic always does,
silly girl.” The old woman chuckled and rubbed her hands together,
looking at Tilly with glistening, beady eyes that resembled a
rodent’s. “But I have to say that was surprisingly
simple.”
    “M—Mrs. Carlisle. Drosselyn.” Tilly nodded
to each of the women. “Hello. I seem to have entered the wrong
place. Silly me.” She smiled, hoping they would do the same. But
their returning smiles made her stomach clench with sudden
dread.
    “Oh, no,” said Mrs. Carlisle, taking a step
nearer. “You came to the right place. Didn’t she, dear?”
    Drosselyn tossed her hair over one shoulder
and sighed, apparently bored with the whole