“Here it is, then,” George spoke again, obviously having come to a decision. “I believe I am needed more in Savannah than I am here. I have made quite a study of curses, ancient Egypt being my particular interest. If there is any possibility I could aid in Ethel’s recovery, I must make the attempt. However, I will leave my manservant with you. One of the lads can accompany me to Georgia. Nigel Hawkins is my trusted right-hand man. He is an initiate, trained to recognize and handle both magical and non-magical situations. You can trust him implicitly. Anything you might tell me, you may tell him. If there is great need, he knows how to contact me. It will work out best this way, in any case, as he can also be your driver. Taxi fares can bankrupt a man these days, I dare say.” George shook his head sadly. “Are you sure you do not wish to stay here at the manor? You would be my welcome guests.”
“No,” Lily insisted. “We need to be close to Oxford. I suspect I’ll be doing quite a bit of research and collaboration, plus our hotel is in the center of town barely two blocks from the Bodleian Library.”
“Ah yes, the Bodleian.” George smiled, eyes distant in memory. “One of my very favorite places in all of England, save perhaps the British Museum.” He recalled himself, then waved a hand in their general direction. “At least allow me to cover your expenses while you are here in England. The Macdonald Randolph is not inexpensive.”
Sebastian spoke up, shaking his head. “We’ve got it covered. But thank you.”
“Ah, the trust, I assume?”
“Yeah,” Sebastian said slowly, brow furrowed. “How did you know?”
“When your grandfather disappeared, I became the executor of your parents’ will. I oversaw the proper management and investment of those funds until you came of age. While this is certainly a worthy cause, I suspect there will be greater need of those funds in the future. Please, allow me this.”
Sebastian clenched his jaw, but finally nodded. While he looked relatively calm on the outside, Lily knew him better. She couldn’t imagine how frustrated he was at George, wanting to know the truth but aware it would be disrespectful to his parents’ wishes to try and discover it. She’d faced that very same quandary for most of her life and had finally chosen to ignore her mother’s warning. And look where that had gotten her.
They were ironing out more details when the door opened to reveal the butler. “Supper has been laid, Mr. Dee.”
“Thank you, Hammond. Please tell Elizabeth we will be along shortly.”
The butler bowed and exited, white-gloved hands pulling the door shut quietly behind him.
“Before we partake, I do believe there is one introduction that has been neglected,” George said, giving Lily a significant look before flicking his eyes to Sir Kipling. Her errant cat had taken over Elizabeth’s seat and stretched out on the chaise lounge, accepting the dutifully offered belly rubs from Sebastian.
“Oh! Yes. Mr. Dee, this is Sir Edgar Allan Kipling. He can understand you, though I’m the only one who can interpret his poor excuse for English.” She grinned shyly, pleased to see a flicker of amusement in George’s eyes.
“I’ll have you know I speak impeccable English,” Sir Kipling informed her. His statement wasn’t quite as dignified as he surely meant it to be. It was hard to be dignified when all four of your paws were sticking in the air.
Lily just shook her head, continuing to address her host. “You’re not missing much. Most of what he says is rubbish anyway.”
“Hey, I heard that,” Sir Kipling said, rolling over and glaring at her.
“Yeah? And what are you going to do about it?”
He got sulky at that, jumping down off the sofa and making a beeline for the closed door. “Come on, let me out of here. I bet the cook will be much more sympathetic.”
Lily laughed and stood, suggesting they relocate to the dining room.
George led the way out of the drawing room and to the right, down the east gallery. Elizabeth, having come looking for them despite already sending the butler, claimed Sebastian’s arm and plied him with more questions as they strolled slowly down the gallery. Sebastian looked a bit stiff—it had probably been more than twenty years since he’d seen his grandmother—yet he seemed to appreciate the attention.
Lily found herself walking beside George Dee, brimming with a hundred questions and too nervous to ask a single one. Fortunately for her, she didn’t need to.
“Who else is caring for Madam Barrington besides Allen LeFay?” the older wizard asked.
“My mother is the one actually nursing her while my uncle concentrates on finding a cure.”
“Good, good…” George said distractedly, then looked over, giving her a dry smile. “My dear late wife would have my head should anything happen to Ethel.”
“Sir?”
He sighed, a wistful look in his eyes. “Day was always very close to her sister. It pained her terribly when their father disowned Ethel and she left England. They corresponded in secret for many years. I didn’t even know my wife had a sister until after their father passed away in 1960. I suspect he might not have willed Day the family estate had he known of her continued relationship with Ethel. Though perhaps I am being too harsh. He was the hardest, most rigid man I had ever met, but Day said he regretted disowning his eldest daughter in the end. He was just too proud to admit it. He even considered me second-rate. The Dees are not nobility, after all, simply one of the strongest wizard lines left in England, now that the Mathers and Percys are virtually extinct and the LeFays left for America. Oh, and there were the Witherspoons, but they left over a hundred years ago. With such limited options, the Viscount must have decided blood was more important than title. It was a shame his own title could not pass to a female heir and inevitably went to some distant mundane cousin.
“In any case, after Viscount Barrington passed away I began my own correspondence with Ethel, largely to discuss matters of research and magic. My Day was a queen among women and my dearest companion, but a wizard she was not.”
He fell silent, cane tapping a muffled counterpoint to their footsteps on the antique rug beneath their feet.
Speaking hesitantly, Lily braved a question. “How long ago did she pass away?”
“Almost fifteen years…fifteen years in which I have contemplated the curse of longevity, and found its rewards unequal to its price.”
Lily took an unsteady breath, sobered both by his words and by the look of pain on his face that no amount of control could hide.
They halted, having reached an open pair of double doors leading into a brightly furnished breakfast room. George gestured, inviting Lily to precede him.
“Let us not dwell on our trials. Good food and pleasant company have always been the best stay of sorrow. There is much to be done, but it can wait until after we sup.”
3
Of Libraries and Legends
Supper was a delightful affair and afforded both Lily and Sebastian an opportunity to question their hosts on the subtleties of British culture. Lily, on her own, would never have been so forward, but Sebastian was in fine form and led the charge, setting a tone of easy companionship that made them all relax. In the course of the conversation she discovered that, while the English were generally more reserved than their American counterparts, there were always exceptions and plenty of eccentrics who delighted in defying the stereotype. They also learned that the English apologized for everything, whether it was their fault or not, and would often say the exact opposite of what they meant, simply to avoid the appearance of being rude. Lily completely understood. She felt she would fit in quite well here. That is, until she got tired of all the waffling and ambiguity. As loath as her inner introvert was to admit it, she’d inherited too much of her mother’s fire—the fault, no doubt, of her French and Italian heritage—to ever be properly British.
All in all, it was a lovely evening, and they prepared to depart feeling much more comfortable now that they had solid allies at their back. Sebastian was happy in his grandmo
ther’s presence, but sometimes when there was a lull in the conversation, Lily caught him brooding.
Before they left, George disappeared upstairs to speak with his manservant and explain the situation, Lily assumed. Sebastian volunteered to go to the kitchen to retrieve Sir Kipling, if he could be pried away from the cream and several female cats that were currently occupying his attention. This left Lily alone with Elizabeth, who approached, looking as if she had something to say but wasn’t too keen on saying it. The old woman took one of Lily’s hands, patting it in a motherly way.
“Are you sure there’s nothing more we can do to help? Anything at all? Clothes? Supplies? Food?”
“No, really, Mrs. Blackwell. We have more than enough funds and—” Lily stopped, struck by a sudden thought. “Actually…now that you mention it, I don’t suppose you know of any good tailors who can work on short notice? There is something I need but it’s highly, um, irregular.”
Elizabeth’s eyes lit up. “Why of course, dear. My personal tailor, Emmaline Nichols. She’s good enough to design for Burberry, or even start her own brand, but she doesn’t like the attention. I’ve told her again and again to get out and rub elbows, but she won’t hear of it. In any case, she’s not working on anything for me at the moment. I’ll give her a ring tonight and see if she is free tomorrow. What is your contact number?”
Lily rummaged in her purse, finding a slip of paper where she wrote down the information. Elizabeth accepted it gladly, but then hesitated, lips parting to speak without any sound coming from them. Finally, she spit it out.
“You’ll…you’ll take care of him, won’t you? I realize I don’t know what you’re up against, but anything involving a LeFay will be dangerous.” Though her tone held no animosity, Lily couldn’t help but notice the double meaning. “He is too like his grandfather,” Elizabeth continued, eyes sad. “Stephen was never very good at being cautious. I couldn’t bear to lose my grandson too, not after…” she paused, sighing. “We all miss Thomas and Alison, but I fear Sebastian never moved past his pain. It has changed him. He was so open and joyful as a child, but now…there are walls everywhere. He is shut so tightly I’m afraid he has forgotten how to let anyone in.”
Lily snorted, all too aware of that annoying trait in her friend, but then quieted under Elizabeth’s knowing stare.
“But you…the way he looks at you…please, be cautious. You have the power to save him, or utterly destroy him.”
Lily looked down, both terrified and elated at the same time. But mostly terrified. The idea that anyone’s fate but her own rested in her hands was disconcerting. She swallowed with difficulty, trying to ignore the rapid thump of her heart as she attempted to form an answer.
“I will do everything in my power to…to keep him safe. Though he generally does most of the saving, not the other way around.” A nervous giggle escaped her lips, giving her a few seconds of blessed not-talking as she concentrated on suppressing it. Then it was gone, and she had to talk again.
“Sebastian…I…that is—” her voice caught, and she swallowed repeatedly, mouth dry. “I care…deeply”—swallow—“for him. Sebastian, I mean, of course, because there’s no one else I could possibly mean—”
Elizabeth laid a hand on her forearm and Lily fell silent, finally daring to look up when the older woman gave her a reassuring squeeze. There was no judgment in Elizabeth’s gaze. Her eyes were soft, brows knitted together in concern and, quite possibly, understanding.
“Perhaps you are more British than you imagine. We’re altogether horrid at expressing our feelings. Don’t take it to heart, dear. I generally find it useful to quote what others have said much more cleverly than I. As a tamed fox once said to a little prince, it is only with the heart that one can see rightly. What is essential is invisible to the eye.”
Lily’s heart constricted, filling with an aching nostalgia as she remembered lazy summer days of reading that particular book over and over again. But what did Elizabeth mean by it? Was there something specific she was supposed to see?
But she never got the chance to ask, because with a final squeeze, Elizabeth let go, turning to the sound of her approaching grandson as he returned from the kitchen, triumphantly holding a disgruntled Sir Kipling. He set the glowering feline down to give his grandmother a hug and they exchanged a few quiet words. Lily tried not to notice the quick glance Sebastian shot her, much too flustered to do anything but guess wildly at its implications. Soon, though, Elizabeth took her leave, perhaps too full of emotion to stay and watch them depart.
It was then that George returned, followed by a middle-aged man who appeared in every way unremarkable. His height, build, and looks were average. Brown hair adorned a passive face with eyes that looked neither too dull, nor too sharp. He was impeccably dressed in a black suit and tie, and stood at easy attention, giving them each a little bow as George introduced them.
“Hawkins, this is Miss Lily Singer and Mr. Sebastian Blackwell. Miss Singer, Mr. Blackwell, my man Nigel Hawkins. I have informed him of the situation and am putting him at your disposal. He will provide all your transportation and whatever other service you require. Should you have any questions that he cannot answer, he knows how to contact me.”
“At your service sir, miss,” Hawkins said, giving them another bow. “If you’ll wait a moment, I shall bring the car around.” With that he turned and glided away down the hall.
Their goodbyes were brief and unemotional. After George shook both their hands, he was silent for a long moment, studying them. “I can see, Miss Singer, that you are already protected by forces far more powerful than I could bring to bear. But you, great-grandson,” he eyed Sebastian, seeming to come to a decision. Pulling off a signet ring from a finger on his right hand, he held it out to Sebastian, who slowly took it, looking conflicted.
“You are a Dee, whatever your legal name might be. This ring has protected generations of Dees and will serve you far better than that generic ward you are wearing now. While it grieves my heart that you are not a wizard and I cannot pass on to you the magical knowledge of my ancestors, you have proven yourself willing to take on the responsibilities of the Dee and Blackwell names where Frederick has rejected them. Perhaps one day he will come around, but past are the days when the eldest son is assumed the successor. After Eliza, you and Frederick are my only remaining heirs”—Lily’s ears perked at the word ‘remaining’ and wondered who else there had once been—“and someday soon, decisions will have to be made. Keep this in mind as you go forth. Hold honor and duty as your closest companions and be mindful of the responsibility that accompanies power. If you do not control it, it will control you.”
Sebastian nodded solemnly, putting on the ring as George finished. Perhaps she’d been imagining it, but Lily felt like he’d been talking as much to her as he had to his great-grandson.
The door behind them opened, and they turned to see Hawkins standing there, silhouetted by the evening sun. “The car is ready, whenever you have a mind to leave, Mr. Blackwell, Miss Singer.”
Sebastian turned to shake George’s hand one last time. “Thank you for everything, sir. I think my parents would have approved of you, magic and all.”
“Perhaps,” George said with the ghost of a smile. “One last thing. If you encounter any wizards from the old families who are, shall we say, reluctant to help, show them my ring. It will clear up any misunderstanding. Though,” he hesitated, “perhaps avoid mentioning that you are a witch. My ancestors’ inquisitiveness has made our family comparatively open-minded. But wizards distrust witches for good reason, as I am sure you have experienced yourself.”
“I could say the same about wizards,” Sebastian observed coolly, then sighed. “But I get your drift. I’ll be circumspect.”
Lily felt a tinge of sadness as they descended the front steps and climbed into Hawkins’s awaiting car. She wished they had more time to get to know George and Elizabeth, not to mention their magnificent manor. But perhaps they would have re
ason to come back someday.
Darkness was falling as they pulled out of the manor’s courtyard and onto the long drive. Lily stared out the window lost in thought, and so didn’t quite register what she’d seen until they’d already accelerated past the clump of trees marking the entrance to the manor: a silver-grey snout below glittering eyes and perked ears peeking out from the bushes.
Hawkins delivered them safely to the door of their hotel, giving them both his card and instructing them to call him as soon as they needed assistance. Lily let him know they expected to spend most of the next day in Oxford. Depending on what they learned, they might need to travel far and wide in the following days to find Morgan. After a bit of discussion, Hawkins decided to return that night to Highthorne manor to see his master off, then return and install himself at Oxford to be more readily available when the need arose.
After the manservant drove away, Lily and Sebastian decided to make an early night of it. Both still felt jet-lagged, and Lily’s meeting with Helen Pemberton was bright and early in the morning. She tried not to blush as they arrived at Sebastian’s room and she recalled their encounter earlier that day. His mind must have been elsewhere because he made no comment, simply swiped his room key and wished her goodnight before disappearing inside. She did, however, notice that Sir Kipling had started purring. Drat that cat.
This time Lily changed into her nightclothes before falling into bed. The bed was soft and sleep beckoned, but not so strongly that she didn’t notice a certain absence as she reached to switch off the bedside lamp. Where was that cat? He usually slept beside her. She sat up and spotted him sitting by the door, staring at her with yellow eyes. Lily lifted an eyebrow.
Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus Legends Page 6