The Master of Heathcrest Hall

by Galen Beckett

  It was not, she saw at once, the ledger.

  Rather than rows of expenditures, the exposed pages were filled with drawings done in charcoal. On one side was what appeared to be a scene from a play. Beneath the ornate curve of a proscenium arch, figures rendered in elegant lines moved upon a stage made to look like a forest. On the facing page were a number of small portraits and vignettes that could only be details of the figures on the stage. They showed young men with antlers sprouting from their brows or rising from the forms of horses in the guise of centaurs. The drawings were all extremely well done, having a remarkable verisimilitude, while at the same time retaining a freeness that allowed them to suggest and imply as well as to depict.

  Fascinated, Ivy turned through the pages. They were all filled with drawings depicting dramatic and mythical scenes, along with numerous illustrations that showed particular bits of staging or scene dress, or players in their costumes. As she looked through the folio, Ivy noticed that many of the young men were depicted in a similar fashion, with fine, classical features as well as long dark hair and dark eyes. Amazed as Ivy was at the beauty of the drawings, a concern began to grow in her. These particular portraits were, she thought, very familiar seeming.

  Footsteps sounded from behind her. The maid must finally have come.

  “It’s all right,” Ivy said, turning another page. “I stoked the fire myself.”

  “Ivy! What are you doing?”

  Startled, Ivy let the page fall and turned around. Lily stood in the door of the parlor, her brown eyes wide. A sudden shame filled Ivy. She had been so fascinated by the drawings that she had not stopped to consider what she was doing. Now she was mortified by her behavior.

  “Lily,” she said with a gasp. “It wasn’t my intention … that is, I was looking for the ledger. Only I came upon this by mistake.”

  All color drained from Lily’s face, and she spoke in a voice barely above a whisper. “You were looking through my folio. I never thought you would do such a thing, Ivy.”

  Ivy suffered a severe pang. “I’m so sorry. It fell open by accident when I pulled it out from the other papers.”

  “By accident? Really, Ivy, if you’re going to snoop through my things, at least have the courage to tell the truth of it! It only makes it worse that you speak a falsehood about it.”

  Ivy was so astonished by this accusation that she could not find the words to defend herself; though she supposed the case against her did appear very bad. Lily hurried up to the table and slammed the folio shut.

  “I’m sorry,” Ivy said again. “I didn’t mean to—”

  “Don’t even,” Lily said, glaring at her through narrowed eyes. With a rough swipe of her hand, she brushed the tears from her cheek, then took up the folio and rushed from the parlor.

  Ivy could only stare after her. Despite the fire crackling on the hearth, she felt miserably cold. To have violated her sister’s privacy like that was awful. Yes, it had been an accident that the folio had come open, but Ivy had chosen to turn through its pages. There was no excuse for it.

  And yet, now that she had, she could not say that there had been no benefit to her transgression. This was not a justification for what Ivy had done, but now that she had seen the drawings, she could not pretend she did not know what they portended. Ivy thought again of the many vignettes of the one particular player—the handsome one with long, dark hair—and she supposed she knew now why Lily had expressed so little desire to go to parties and dances where she might meet eligible partners. There was only one young man who engaged her fancies.

  Ivy wasn’t certain what to do with this knowledge. She would have to speak to Mr. Quent about it. And eventually she would have to speak to Lily as well—though likely she would have to wait until some time passed before Lily would speak to her. In the meantime, she might as well work on the ledger. She went to the fireplace for a minute to warm her hands, and then with much less anticipation than before, she searched for the ledger under the papers on the table. Finding it, she started on her task.

  HER FINGERS ACHED from the chill and from the many lines she had filled with ink by the time Mr. Quent came into the parlor. He encouraged her to set down her pen and then took up her right hand.

  “But it’s nearly frozen!” he exclaimed. He rubbed her hand gently, and blew upon it, until at last it began to grow warm. “Well, are we paupers yet?”

  “No, but candles have become more expensive than ever,” Ivy said as she turned back to the table and looked at the figures in the ledger. “Do you see? We are spending nearly as much on them in a month as I used to spend on the whole of our household at Whitward Street.”

  He came in close behind her and laid his hands upon her shoulders. “You know we have no need to worry over the expense, Ivoleyn.”

  “But what of all those who are less fortunate than we? It seems there have been more long umbrals of late, and I read in the broadsheets that some astrographers believe even longer spans of darkness are to come. I fear that soon people won’t be able to afford candles at all. But how can they read or cook or go about their business without any light to see by?”

  “There will be candles for them—some at least.”

  She shut the ledger and regarded him. “How so?”

  “The Crown has been, for at least two years now, buying candles and lamp oil and keeping them in large stores. If the long umbrals continue, the government will begin delivering rations out of these stores to the people—not in large quantities, but enough to keep at least a little light in their houses. It is seen as an important measure to maintain order in the realm and to ensure commerce continues. For without any light, havoc would ensue.”

  Ivy was pleased to learn this, but puzzled as well. “I am glad for this news, yet I can only wonder why the government has for so long been buying up candles.” Even as she said this, she realized the truth of it. “But they’ve known all this while, haven’t they? The government has known that the lengths of lumenals and umbrals would become unpredictable, and that longer and longer umbrals would come.”

  “Known?” He stroked his beard. “No, it has not been known. But suspected, yes, by some at least.”

  “By the inquirers, you mean?”

  “Yes, by the inquirers. Or rather, by Lord Rafferdy. I am not certain how he apprehended what he did, though he hinted to me once that it was from Earl Rylend that some of this knowledge came.”

  Ivy considered this in light of her own knowledge. Earl Rylend had possessed a deep interest in magick, and he and Lord Rafferdy had been close companions in their youth. It was Rylend who had led the elder Rafferdy, along with Lord Marsdel, into the cave in the far south of the Empire where they had discovered the Eye of Ran-Yahgren, the artifact which acted as a sort of window that looked upon the surface of the planet Cerephus.

  “Earl Rylend must have known about Cerephus, just as my father did, and how it would affect the lengths of days and nights.”

  Mr. Quent nodded. “I must suppose that is the case. When he first asked me to become an inquirer, Lord Rafferdy told me that he believed a darkness was coming.”

  “You mean like the one the broadsheets say is coming—a greatnight that will go on and on, longer than any other ever before?”

  “Yes, a darkness like that. But more than that, I think. Several times over the years, Lord Rafferdy spoke to me of a darkness that would descend upon the world, and I do not think he meant simply an umbral of exceptional duration. He said also that the Wyrdwood had some role to play in all of these happenings, and that was why he accepted the post as lord inquirer.” He regarded her, his brown eyes solemn beneath a furrowed brow. “Discerning things as we do now, I can only believe he understood much.”

  Ivy had to think that was indeed the case—that Lord Rafferdy had been aware of Cerephus and how it would seek to draw near to Altania, like a ship with red sails making for the green shore ahead. Whether he had known of the shadowed beings who journeyed upon that vessel, she did
not know, but certainly Lord Rafferdy had known a dark time was coming.

  Just as he had known that the Wyrdwood, as well as those who could hear its call and shape its actions, might have a role to play when that darkness came. He had to have believed that, for else why would he have worked through the Inquiry to guard and keep watch over the Wyrdwood, as well as the witches who were called to it?

  She did not need to speak these things to Mr. Quent. It was clear from his expression that his understanding was one with her own.

  “Lord Rafferdy was very wise,” she said. “And the work of the Inquiry is more important than ever.”

  Mr. Quent’s rounded shoulders seemed to slump a bit, as if a weight rested upon them. “So it is. And it is for that reason only that I am willing to go subject myself to the scrutiny of Assembly.”

  Ivy felt a sudden anticipation, though whether it was of something good or ill she could not say. She rose from her chair. “What do you mean?”

  “Just a short while ago I learned that, as we have long suspected might be the case, Lord Valhaine has nominated me for the post of lord inquirer. As a result, I am to be called before the Hall of Magnates to testify, so that my suitability for the position can be judged.”

  “Your suitability?” Ivy exclaimed. “But who could possibly be more suited to be lord inquirer than yourself? Nor can I imagine that Lord Rafferdy would have wished for anyone but yourself to succeed him. I am certain it is merely a formality.”

  Mr. Quent nodded. “It is a formality, yes, but one that cannot be escaped. It is the purview of the Crown to arrange special commissions at its will—commissions such as the Inquiry or the Gray Conclave. But it is also the right of the Hall of Magnates, as set down in the Grand Charter, to advise the Crown in such matters, and to give its approval of them.”

  “But how can they withhold their consent?” Ivy said. “They cannot possibly do so, not when the nation is in such great need.”

  “It is not the matter of their consent that worries me, but rather that of their questions.” His voice went suddenly low, as if someone might be listening to them. “It is as I told you before—there are those within the government who would not condone the way I conducted matters in Torland last year.”

  Ivy shivered as a chill crept along her skin; the fire had burned down on the hearth and was in want of more coal.

  Last year, Mr. Quent had gone to Torland and had succeeded in stopping the Risings by capturing the witch who had been aiding the rebels there. Only then he had let her go when she agreed to cease inciting the Wyrdwood. It had been the quickest and surest way to bring an end to the Risings and to prevent further deaths. But it was possible some might not view it that way, that they would instead accuse him of making a bargain with the enemy.

  Some time after the Risings, Lady Shayde had gone to Torland to investigate for herself what had taken place there. Though the matter of the Wyrdwood—and thus the matter of witches—was under the purview of the Inquiry, the Gray Conclave was ever interested in the topic, and Lady Shayde was one of its chief agents. It was the purpose of the Gray Conclave to seek out all threats to the sovereignty and safety of the Crown, and it no doubt perceived such a peril in the Wyrdwood.

  Only Mr. Quent had hastened to Torland ahead of Lady Shayde to put matters in order. Which meant she could not know what had occurred there. Besides, the White Lady served at the pleasure of Lord Valhaine, and it was Valhaine who had nominated Mr. Quent for the post of lord inquirer.

  “I am sure the magnates will have few questions for you,” she said, making her voice light. “They no doubt have many other matters to concern them. And Lord Valhaine would not have nominated you if he had thought there was any concern about undue scrutiny.”

  He did not utter an agreement with this logic, but nor did he refute it.

  “How long will it be until you must testify before Assembly?”

  “A half month, though I would rather it was not so soon. I will need to prepare myself, and I have much work to see to as it is.”

  Despite the seriousness of the matter, Ivy could only laugh. “But I am astonished by you, Mr. Quent!”

  The creases on his forehead deepened again, though with a more quizzical expression this time. “How so?”

  She brushed a curl of brown hair away from that furrowed brow. “I am sure another man would be eager to prove himself worthy of such a post, and would have at the ready many reasons why he was deserving of it. Especially knowing that another title, one even higher yet, might well be bestowed upon him if he were to win the appointment. Yet you want only to do your work, and seek no such accolades.”

  “I have no need of accolades or titles, Mrs. Quent,” he said, pulling her toward him. “I have all that I need in you.”

  Ivy could not help but be pleased with this answer. All the same, she affected a disinterested tone. “That is your belief, perhaps. But that you will receive such things as you wish from me is not confirmed, Mr. Quent. I will need to interview you myself.”

  His coarse beard parted as he grinned, and he looked, as he sometimes did, like some wild faun out of Tharosian myth. “Oh? And for what position shall I be interviewed?”

  “Allow me to explain it to you.”

  She stood upon her toes to kiss him—and then those same toes quickly left the floor as he swept her up in his embrace.

  SHORTLY AFTER DAWN CAME, Ivy departed the house on Durrow Street in the cabriolet.

  Lawden had put up the calash top, for the morning was dim. A rain drizzled down from clouds that were so low they touched the heights of the Crag, and the Citadel was all but lost among sheaths of gray. All the same, the streets were busy with carriages and carts, and people on horseback or on foot. The umbral had again been long, and no matter the damp or chill, people were eager to get out and conduct their business while they might.

  Ivy had business to conduct herself, for she at last had an opportunity to go to Mr. Mundy’s shop. She had checked her father’s journal diligently each umbral and lumenal these last days, but no further entries had appeared to explain why he wanted her to seek out his former compatriots from the Vigilant Order of the Silver Eye. Yet she had to believe Mr. Mundy would be able to offer some clue regarding the matter.

  Provided he would let her into his shop. The toadish little man had been anything but cordial to her the last time she had encountered him. But at the time she had not known he had once been a friend of her father’s, and likewise he had not known she was Mr. Lockwell’s daughter. Thus she had every hope that things would be more amicable this time.

  As Lawden navigated the cabriolet through the cramped streets of the Old City, Ivy turned her attention to the folded note on her lap. It had arrived at the house just as she was going out the door. Usually she would have left any correspondence to read upon her return, but seeing the bold and attractive, though somewhat careless, penmanship with which the address was written, she had taken it from Mrs. Seenly.

  Opening it now, she saw that it was indeed from Mr. Rafferdy, as she had expected. It was very brief, as was his typical style.

  My dear Mrs. Quent, it began. This was in accord with their prior agreement to continue addressing each other as Mr. or Mrs. rather than Lord or Lady. I have just been commanded to present myself at Lady Marsdel’s when evening falls today—whenever that might happen to be. As I am far down on the list of her ladyship’s favor, I am sure that those who are higher upon it must also be summoned. Thus consider yourself fairly warned! I hope this notice will allow you to avoid this doom, as I myself have not.

  The note was signed simply R.

  Ivy smiled as she folded the note again. She had learned that Mr. Rafferdy seldom asked in a plain way for anything he wanted. Rather, he would pretend not to wish for a thing, preferring it to be spontaneously offered to him instead. In this case, it was clear he was letting her know that he would be at Lady Marsdel’s in hopes she would be tempted to go herself.

  Which, of course, sh
e was. It had been some time since she had gone to her ladyship’s, for with Mr. Quent away it had been her duty to entertain their guest. But with Dr. Lawrent now departed, and Mr. Quent returned to the city, there was no reason she could not go. If Mr. Rafferdy was unable to avoid this doom, then as a friend it was her duty to join him in it.

  The cabriolet jostled to a halt. Ivy looked out and saw they were on the edge of Greenly Circle. A moment later Lawden appeared at the door.

  “Forgive me, my lady,” the driver said in his characteristically soft voice, “but I don’t know that I can maneuver the carriage any farther. I fear that if I do, I will never extract it again.”

  Ivy suspected he was right. Greenly Circle was thronged with people who were making their way among various stalls and carts. There was barely room enough to walk, let alone drive.

  She told Lawden that she could go on foot the remainder of the way. His hesitation to agree to this was evident upon his homely face, but she assured him that she would be very well. After all, it was daylight, and there were many people about.

  Lawden gave a reluctant nod, then opened the door of the cabriolet. Ivy instructed him to wait where she might easily see him, then made her way along the periphery of Greenly Circle. Even keeping to the edges of the broad circle, she was forced to wend her way among knots of people gathered before various stalls offering apples or eggs or candles. Though from what Ivy could tell, most of the vendors seemed to have more customers than they did goods to sell, and she was witness to more than a few angry exchanges and shaken fists as she passed.

  Ivy did not linger, and she soon found herself starting down the lane on which Mr. Mundy’s shop lay. At once sooty buildings closed in above, shutting out the greater part of the light that seeped from the dull sky. The bustle of Greenly Circle became a muffled drone behind her, and the sound of her footsteps skittered ahead along the narrow way, which was barren of people. Suddenly Ivy felt less certain that it had been a good choice to leave Lawden and the cabriolet behind.