A Hanging at Lotus Hall

by Corrina Lawson

  “I was born at eight months,” Joan supplied. “I was completely healthy.”

  “Exactly.” The dowager duchess shot Joan a look of gratitude. “Yes, that’s plenty of time for this child to have developed a proper set of lungs. You’ve picked out a name for the boy?”

  “Jared says it’s to be Jasper, after his father,” Victoria whispered.

  “He’s certainly getting a start on being as infuriating as his namesake, then, insisting on coming early.” Vai smiled.

  The duchess laughed but only for a second. “Oh God, Anne! I can’t even begin to help her. What’s wrong with her? Is she okay, is she—”

  Joan cut her off. “She’s resting with Phyllis and Mr. Dale. I’ll go see to her as soon as the midwife and doctor arrive.”

  “But she—” Victoria gasped as another wave of pain rippled through her. “She attacked me. No, she overcame my magical defenses. How? Why?”

  “I believe—” no, Joan was certain, “—that someone tampered with Anne’s mage abilities. That can cause brainstorms. I’ve seen this before. So has Gregor. We’ll take care of it. She’ll be fine.”

  “Promise?” the duchess asked.

  “I promise.” It was a promise she might not be able to keep. But Victoria needed to believe her daughter would recover.

  “Ride with the contractions, Victoria, and I’ll get you settled properly.” Vai looked at Joan. “Agnes is still hovering in the outer chamber. Joan, have her draft all the ladies’ maids into bringing us ice chips, cold cloths, and as much fresh linen as is available, please.”

  “Of course!” Joan skittered out of the room, relayed the order to the maid, and rushed back.

  Victoria shuddered. Another contraction. Another gasp of pain. Another gush of blood onto the covers. Thank goodness Victoria would not see that.

  “Too damn sharp,” the duchess said.

  “Yes, something is bruised in there, for certain.” Vai looked at Joan with fear in her eyes for the first time. She kissed her daughter-in-law’s forehead. “I’m going to see if magic can do anything about it.”

  “I can help,” Joan said.

  “Good. Hold my hand. We’ll do this together.”

  For the third time in the last hour, Joan called on her power. This time, it was a trickle of energy, one meant to seek, to help, if it could.

  “We’re asking little Jasper to calm down and help himself be born. It will be easier on him and his mother,” Vai whispered.

  Victoria was lost in another spasm of pain.

  Joan closed her eyes to the physical world, drawn to a tiny beacon in the distance, a tiny human-shaped being who reached out to grasp the power she and Vai sent to him.

  This one’s energy was strong and vital, if somewhat distressed. He calmed as Joan’s magic caressed his fingers.

  In another moment, a far greater power took over, soothing the child, smoothing the area around him.

  Vai.

  The dowager duchess was literally holding Victoria’s womb together with magic.

  “I’ve done this before during a birth. Now that Jasper’s calm, you can do this too, Victoria,” Vai said.

  Joan smiled at the duchess. “Your son is doing fine.”

  “Joan, now please go see what’s keeping the midwife and the doctor. This is going to have to be a joint effort of magic and science. Jasper will have quite a story about the day he was born.”

  “Of course.” Joan was torn. She wanted to stay and help. But she didn’t trust Dale to take care of Anne.

  “Don’t forget Anne,” Victoria added.

  “I remember my promise,” Joan said.

  She closed the door to the bedroom and rushed into the hallway but just as quickly, she stopped. She’d lost her bearings in this massive house. Left or right?

  The problem was solved by the appearance of Agnes and another woman.

  “This is the midwife, Miss Krieger,” Agnes said, waving her hand at the other woman. “She arrived at the front gate just as I was going to fetch her.”

  “Excellent timing,” Joan said.

  “It’s my monthly visit.” The midwife nodded. Her gray-streaked hair was held back in a tight bun and her clothing as practical as one could wish. “What’s happened?”

  Joan settled for simple. “She began bleeding, bright red blood, her water’s broken, and she’s having contractions close together. The baby is fine, so far, but the dowager duchess believes there is damage to the womb. She’s using magic to help with that.”

  Agnes whimpered at this news.

  “Bloody hell,” the midwife said. “How long since the bleeding began?”

  “Only minutes.”

  “That’s good, at least.” The midwife set her hands on Agnes’s arms. “Ice chips, cold cloths, and boiled water, Agnes. Ensure I have a steady supply of all of them.”

  “They’re already on their way,” Agnes said.

  “Excellent. Keeping the mother calm and her body hydrated is going to be the most important part of this.”

  Agnes ran back down to the stairway and the midwife hurried into the duchess’s suite, leaving Joan standing in the middle of the hallway.

  Anne.

  Mr. Dale and Phyllis. Both mages, both under suspicion, both alone with Anne.

  Joan followed Agnes’s path out of the ducal rooms, and flew down the steps to the nursery.

  Chapter 19

  Anne’s attack on her mother had to be due to magical manipulation. It seemed a foregone conclusion that the person who’d done it had been the mage who’d killed Cooper. And who admitted to seeing Anne and who’d been near the body?

  Nick. Who could have manipulated his niece.

  But that didn’t match up with Gregor’s telegram. He trusted Nick.

  Joan had no idea if she could cure Anne. But she could keep the girl safe from injuring herself or others until Gregor returned and used his special ability to wipe out any manipulation, just as he’d shut down the teapot’s malignant spell.

  Joan found Anne in the nursery, laid on the couch below the window. The girl was still unconscious, but she breathed easily. Phyllis and Mr. Dale hovered over her.

  Before Joan could speak, Mr. Dale pulled out a watch from his waistcoat pocket. “Lord Gregor made this years ago. It deflects most magical attacks, at least for a few seconds. It should help us today, Phyllis.”

  “Father, that watch belonged to the late duke,” Phyllis breathed. “How did you find it?”

  “I found it in his things after he died. Never thought I would have this particular use for it. Poor, dear girl.” He kissed Anne’s forehead. “Phyllis, you look like hell. You should rest.”

  “I won’t leave Anne. She’s my responsibility,” Phyllis said.

  Joan approached them. “I think I can help.”

  “You mean wake her up?” Phyllis asked.

  “No, I mean see if she’s under a compulsion.” A spell, some people called it, but this was a residue of power left behind that could confuse the mind. “I need to free her, and I need to find out if I recognize the flavor of the magic.”

  Phyllis looked down on her charge. “I can’t imagine why anyone would want to hurt her.”

  “Easy answer: to cover up a murder,” Joan said. “She must have seen something. Someone tried to make her forget.”

  Mr. Dale grunted. “I fear you’re right, Miss Krieger.”

  Phyllis passed her hand over her face. “How is Her Grace?” she whispered.

  “Under the best possible care. She’s attended by the midwife and the dowager duchess.” Joan paused for a breath. “Anne’s going to have a brother in a few hours, if all goes well. The midwife and Vai are optimistic.” That last was a lie. But a harmless one.

  “But she was bleeding,” Phyllis said. “That’s bad. Oh, this is horrible. First my Samuel and now… It’s like there is a curse on this house.”

  “No, it means the Sherringfords have an enemy, one we must uncover so they can pay for their crimes,” Joa
n said.

  “What can we do?” Dale cut in.

  His formidable brows were creased with concern. He seemed stronger than just last night as well. If Joan were wrong about him, if Moriarty were right, what Joan was about to do would open her up to attack from him.

  “I need to take her hand.” Joan took a deep breath, to center herself, to push worry aside, to focus on her power, as Gregor had taught her.

  Joan closed her palm around Anne’s fingers. The girl’s hand was warm to the touch. Her lips moved but she said nothing. Such a strong face, almost too strong for a girl. She would have a will of iron when she grew up.

  If she grew up. No, focus. The girl’s mother had thrust the responsibility for her on Joan. She would prove equal to the task.

  Anne mumbled something that sounded like “Papa?”

  “She always wants her father when she’s hurt,” Phyllis said.

  Joan closed her eyes and let her magic flow around Anne. Careful, careful. She needed the equivalent of a carefully crafted stitch, not a show of force.

  Joan shifted into a trance by reciting her favorite prayer and kept her eyes closed, seeing the world through her inner vision. Power pulsed from Anne’s self, bright purple, lively, and young. She was as full of magic as her soon-to-be-born brother was, though it was more harnessed than the baby’s.

  At the heart of her gift, Joan caught a glimpse of a compacted dark ball of…something? She reached for it with a sliver of mage power. The dark ball wrapped tendrils around the sliver, slashing it.

  Joan gritted her teeth, held firm, and investigated that dark ball, now seething with something that resembled magical lava.

  Anne screamed, tugged her hand out of Joan’s grip, and slapped her.

  Joan’s magic faltered. The image of the dark ball flitted away from her senses.

  Mr. Dale grabbed the child’s arms and laid the pocket watch on her chest. Anne froze, stared at Mr. Dale, blinked, and collapsed again.

  Joan wiped blood from her chin. Anne had split her lip. Something didn’t want anyone in there. Something vile held Anne captive.

  “Oh God,” Joan said. “She’s got a seething mass of nasty mage power inside her. And it didn’t come from her. It was placed there.” And, Joan didn’t add, it felt just like the power from the teapot that had nearly killed her.

  Mr. Dale gathered up Anne in his arms. The girl breathed heavily, sighed, but did not stir.

  “What did you do?” Mr. Dale asked.

  “I probed the…spell…placed inside her. It defended itself. Threw me out.”

  “Then she wasn’t herself when she attacked her mother?” Phyllis asked.

  “No, she was compelled by whatever is in her. She’s not responsible. Whoever did this to her is the one we want,” Joan said.

  “I think the watch will keep her contained but I’m not sure how long we should do that.” Mr. Dale stared down at his niece. “What’s the cure?”

  “We need Gregor. His anti-mage abilities could counter it.”

  “What about her father?” Phyllis asked.

  Joan nodded. “Her father should certainly be told and as fast as possible.” If Jared were more powerful, he might get through the barrier inside his daughter. “Can you find the duke, Phyllis? Time is of the essence here.”

  “Of course!” Phyllis jumped to her feet and rushed out the door.

  As Phyllis left, Joan settled into a chair at the foot of the couch, inwardly cursing her lack of knowledge. Anne’s face was nearly as pale as her mother’s. Whatever—no, whoever controlled the little girl could be doing irreparable damage even now.

  “I feel so helpless,” Joan muttered. Yet jumping in again could hurt Anne. She wasn’t her child. The duke would have to decide what would be done next.

  “You should have ice for that split lip, Miss Krieger,” Mr. Dale offered.

  “I’m fine.” Joan sucked the blood from her lip, remembering how the midwife had called for ice chips. “It’s not important.”

  “Could you tell who did this?” Mr. Dale asked, staring at the little girl. Tears gathered in his eyes.

  “No. Not yet. But we will.” Gregor, I need you here. Now. When Gregor had left his family in her care, he must have assumed their relative safety. Bad assumption, love.

  Joan had failed his trust. Three lives, the three most vulnerable in the family, were fighting to live now. Gregor had suspected more than he’d said before he left. If he’d confided in her, she might not be so helpless.

  Secrets. They could destroy.

  Mr. Dale stroked his great-niece’s fingers, and it finally clicked for Joan that she was alone with Gregor’s mysterious uncle.

  “Reginald Benedict was going to speak to you,” Joan said. “Did he?”

  “Aye, he did. Vai and I told him what I’m going to tell you: Gregor and Nick need to be present, along with you and Reg, when we talk about this.”

  “You left out the duke,” she said.

  “He certainly did leave me out, which only confirms my suspicions, as does my finding you two together.” The duke himself stood in the entrance to the nursery, his mouth twisted in anger, his body a storm of suppressed violence. Mage power flashed around his hands.

  “Get away from my daughter, Miss Krieger,” he growled at her.

  Joan rose and smoothed down her skirt to buy time before answering, and finally noticed the blood on her hem.

  Victoria’s blood.

  “Your Grace, this is the first time I’ve exchanged private words with Mr. Dale. What should concern you is that someone’s hurt your daughter, magically. She may be under a compulsion.”

  “A compulsion.” That seemed to freeze the duke for a moment, but the anger quickly flashed again. “If that’s true, how do I know it wasn’t your compulsion?”

  “What?” Joan had been prepared for questions about Anne, for him to question her ability to make such a diagnosis, and for his rage.

  But not an accusation.

  “Your Grace, she did nothing, she—”

  Phyllis stopped speaking the second the duke’s arm cut through the air.

  “You are paid to follow orders, Phyllis, not question them.” He pointed at Joan. “You, Miss Krieger, were in my wife’s rooms when magic injured her. You are here now hovering over my child, perhaps you’ve injured her as well. And you presume to tell me how to handle it?”

  “I wouldn’t presume,” Joan said, containing her temper with difficulty. The man’s wife and baby were fighting for their lives. “I’m only informing you that Anne’s—”

  “I can see what ails my child myself. And I hold you responsible for her injuries, as well as what happened to the duchess and…and…our son…”

  His voice broke. Joan’s heart almost broke with him.

  “With all due respect, Your Grace—” she began.

  “Due respect? You have no idea of due respect, Miss Krieger. First, you carry on a sordid affair with Gregor, and then you saunter around my house and dare to ask me questions as part of a murder investigation when your only qualification to do so is your…proximity…to my half-brother. Now you deign to tell me how my daughter should be treated? Leave my home, Miss Krieger. Now. I’ll not have strangers here while my family is in jeopardy, especially those from backgrounds that I cannot trust. Perhaps you are too much like your mother.”

  Joan could feel the heat rise in her face as that last shot hit home as neatly as if he’d spitted her on a pike.

  “Insulting me won’t help your daughter,” Joan countered.

  “Is that a threat against her?”

  “Of course not! I’m concerned for her. She needs help and she needs to be protected.”

  “All tasks that I’m far better suited for than you, seamstress.”

  He sneered at her. Actually sneered. “Did you not hear me, earlier? Get gone from my house. Now.”

  “Jared, calm down.” Mr. Dale grabbed his arm.

  Jared shook him off. “And who are you to tell me to c
alm down? Certainly not family.”

  “I’m who I’ve always been,” Dale responded in a quiet tone.

  Phyllis rose. “You’re not! The duke’s right. You’re different from my father. You’re probably not even my father.” Her face was flushed. “For all I know, you killed Samuel.”

  The duke crossed his arms over his chest. “Just so, Phyllis. Whether you’re Mr. Dale or someone pretending to be him, right now I don’t care. You can join Miss Krieger in leaving my home right now.”

  “You deny me?”

  Those three words of Mr. Dale’s held terrifying amounts of grief and fury. Joan was reminded of her mother, when Joan had turned against her.

  The duke’s power flared about him, red like fire. “Leave, before I throw you out.”

  A temper, Reg had said. But this was something more than a simple temper. This was the command of a lord who felt he’d been attacked in his own home. This was an enraged man who would lash out and hurt, perhaps kill, without a second thought.

  Gregor had misjudged his brother. But Nick, if what Reg said was true, had not.

  “Until you arrived, Mr. Dale, there was no murder in my home. Until you arrived, my wife and daughter were safe and well. Leave. Begone, foul imposter.”

  Edward Dale stared at the duke for a long moment. “As you wish,” he finally said, his words a whisper. He looked to Phyllis. “Watch over Lady Anne, please. She needs you.”

  Joan set her jaw. If Dale was ready to give up, she was not. “I promised the duchess I would watch over Lady Anne, Your Grace.”

  “And I vowed to my wife to keep her safe when we were married. You have no claim on Anne here, Miss Krieger. Go. Or do I have to make you?”

  Shocked, Joan let Dale steer her to the hallway. “Not the time to confront him, Miss Krieger,” Dale whispered to her.

  The duke slammed the door shut behind them.

  “We could fight him together,” she whispered.

  “In front of his daughter, who’s already injured, and with Phyllis available to help him, since she clearly believes I’m not her father? It would be a disaster, and Lotus Hall has had enough of that today.” Dale shook his head, lines of grief furrowed into his face. “Jared’s not the enemy, though I know it seems like that. Come with me, Miss Krieger. We have much to talk about until Gregor and Nick return.” He glanced around. “But, first, where is Vai?”