The Rowanwood Curse (Hal Bishop Mysteries Book 1)

by Elizabeth O'Connell

  Hal raised an eyebrow. “And you thought that would be sufficient?”

  “Well, why not?” Sir Jasper stood back from the mantel, running a hand over his face. “I had asked that he not be permitted to waste the estate—and if he were safely tucked away in Italy, and I were left to run the estate—why, then there would be no danger.”

  “It never occurred to you that a young man might return to claim what was his?” Hal’s voice was like a hammer striking; Sir Jasper seemed to shrink at each word. “It never occurred to you that he might want to see where his father had died, and to confront the man his mother claimed was responsible?”

  Sir Jasper sank back down into his chair with a groan. “I hoped. I hoped. I wanted it to be enough. Don’t you understand that I never wanted that boy to suffer as my brother had?”

  “Then what did you do when he returned?” I said.

  “I tried—I tried everything to get him to leave. I was cold—I was a tyrant—I was the absolute worst caricature of a miser uncle that ever lived.” He buried his head in his hands. “But it was no good.”

  “Because he had fallen in love with your daughter.” Hal pushed his hands into his pockets and blew a cloud of smoke at the ceiling. “And if that portrait is anything to go by, she returned his feelings.”

  Sir Jasper did not look up. “Yes, they were in love with each other. And I played the tyrant there, too—you can’t imagine how difficult that was. To know that I was destroying my daughter’s happiness. But it had to be so.”

  “It was too late already,” Hal said. “As I say, I believe his fate was sealed the moment he returned. The curse came into its full fruit then—and payment was due.”

  “No—no, that can’t be right.” Sir Jasper sat up, pressing a hand to his blind eye. “I already paid—this eye, from the night I called the spirit . . . .”

  “That might have been sufficient if you had taken your brother’s eye,” Hal said quietly. “It might have sufficed even for his fortune. But you took his life—and the life of his child. Did you truly think that one eye would suffice?”

  “Oh God.” Sir Jasper buried his face in his hands again, and began to rock. “Oh God, what have I done? Cecilia—my poor child . . . .”

  We waited in silence for a moment, while he wept. It was a strange thing, to see his dark head bowed and his great shoulders bent and shaking. It was like watching a monument weep. Slowly, he came back to himself. The shaking stilled and the sobbing ceased, and he sat up, his face set like a man bound for the executioner.

  “I know I must pay for this,” he said, his voice hoarse but steady. “I suppose you must report me to Scotland Yard.”

  “Yes, that would be simplest.” Hal drew in a long pull from his pipe. “And you would go to the gallows, certainly. Then three more lives would be forfeit to this tragedy. But you did not ask me to bring the caster of this curse to justice. You asked me to break the curse.”

  Sir Jasper blinked. “But then—what do you propose to do?”

  “Do?” Hal gave him a sharp look. “I intend to break it. And that is up to you. A curse can be broken by making a counter-offer to the fairy that made it. So I ask you—what do you suppose your daughter’s life is worth?”

  Sir Jasper stared at him, comprehension slowly washing over his features. He closed his eyes and nodded. “Give me—give me until tomorrow evening, at the least. I have—I must put my affairs in order.”

  “Very well,” Hal said. “And if this works, two innocent lives may be spared, at least.”

  “Yes.” Sir Jasper raised his great bulk from his chair, and made his way to the door, as though in a daze. He turned just as he reached it. “I am—I am not a monster, Mr. Bishop.”

  “No,” Hal said. “You are merely a man who has done a monstrous thing.”

  Sir Jasper bowed his head, and left us alone in the library.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  I did not sleep well the night after our conversation with Sir Jasper; nor, I believe, did Hal. When I went down to breakfast that morning, he was seated at table, a sallow look to his face and dark circles under his eyes. There was a plate of food before him, but he plainly had not touched it. I recalled our meeting with the spirit the evening before, shivering as I remembered the lines spreading over Hal’s face.

  “Aren’t you nervous to call the spirit again?” I absently buttered a piece of toast, setting it down on my plate.

  He blinked, as if startled to see me there. “No, not at all. I’ve done it once. It should be simple enough to do it again.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Yes, calling her should be easy enough.”

  He frowned at me, mouth tightening around his pipe. “What do you mean?”

  I looked down at my plate, poking the eggs around with my fork. “Just—be careful, won’t you? She nearly got you last time.”

  His brow creased, and he began heaping marmalade on toast with unnecessary vigor. “She did not almost ‘get me,’ as you put it. She—it—was merely attempting to draw me into a bargain.”

  “If you say so,” I said, skeptically. He hadn’t told me what she’d done to him, and I didn’t know what would have happened if I hadn’t broken the spell. “But still . . . .”

  He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s different this time, Jem. I’m calling the spirit on behalf of another, and he’s quite willing to bargain with her.”

  I set my fork down. “And just what is Sir Jasper going to offer the spirit?”

  “That is entirely up to him,” Hal said, blowing out a cloud of smoke. “Though I believe, if you thought about it, you could hazard a guess.”

  I looked back down at my plate. “Isn’t it—don’t you think it’s wrong to offer one life in place of another?”

  “It’s not my life to offer,” Hal said quietly. “This is Sir Jasper’s choice. And his life is forfeit regardless—for he would be hanged for casting the curse, and no one would be saved. If he chooses to spend his own life to spare his daughter and his nephew, who am I to question it?”

  “I suppose,” I said, pushing my chair back. “I’ll be in the library.”

  He looked down at my plate and frowned. “Still no appetite?”

  I shook my head. I felt a cold lump in my stomach as I remembered there was yet a third person Hal was trying to save. “It’s—I’ll be all right soon, right? You don’t have to worry.”

  His frown deepened. “Get your coat. We’ll go down and see Mr. Gilley.”

  I did as I was bid, and we made the long walk down to the Gilley farm once more. We were met by the farmer, hale and hearty as ever. Hal told him to meet us in front of the Hall at sundown.

  Mr. Gilley took off his cap and scratched his head. “Not going to call that spirit again, eh? The sheep were all in a tizzy last night—making noise like anything.”

  Hal smiled thinly. “One more time, Mr. Gilley—and that shall be the last you see of us.”

  Mr. Gilley set the cap back on his head and looked up the hill at the towering residence that sat atop it. “You know how to save the lass, then?”

  Hal nodded, and the old farmer smiled broadly.

  “Well, that’s worth all the trouble,” he said. “I don’t care for the old man, but his daughter’s a sweet lass. It’ll be good to see her up and about again.”

  The arrangement having been made, we went back up to the Hall. Hal was silent on the long walk, his pipe sending great billows of smoke weaving about his face. He was nervous—more than he would ever have admitted, and I wondered again what the fairy had done to him. I cleared my throat, and he turned, raising an eyebrow.

  “Something wrong?”

  “No, I was just . . . .” I looked down at my feet, rubbing my elbow. “What—what makes spirits dangerous? I mean, I know they curse people, but . . . .”

  “Temptation,” Hal said grimly. “They can offer you almost anything—power, fame, fortune. They can give you back something you’ve lost, or keep something safe. Anything yo
u wish for.”

  “Can they bring back the dead?” I asked the question without thinking about it, and I regretted it almost at once.

  Hal’s face went very pale, a deep line forming between his eyebrows. “I suppose—but it’s not a thing to wish for.”

  “Why not?”

  He rubbed a hand over his forehead. “There’s no such thing as a gift with them, don’t you see? There’s always a sting in what they give you—and always a price to be paid. You always come off the worse for the bargain.”

  “Then why should Sir Jasper bargain with the spirit now?” I scuffed at the ground with my feet. “Isn’t that just as dangerous?”

  “Sir Jasper is now a man with nothing to lose.” Hal’s face was grave. “If anyone is safe from a fairy, it is a man like that.”

  We walked the rest of the way up the hill in silence, and went into the Hall. Sir Jasper had not emerged from his room, nor would we see him for the remainder of the day. Hal went into his own room, asserting that he had preparations to make. For my part, I went up to my room and tried to rest. I called the maid to bring me some of the tea Mrs. Ogham had given to us, and sat back on my bed, staring up at the ceiling.

  My arm ached, and my head was not far behind it. I didn’t like the idea of calling the spirit again; I couldn’t seem to shake the image of Hal with those dark lines spreading over his face. But he had plainly made up his mind that this was the only way to break the curse. I ran a hand over my forehead.

  The maid entered with the tea, and I drank a cup of it, letting it soothe my headache and ease the pain in my arm. I leaned back, and let myself fall asleep. I was awakened hours later by a sharp rapping on the door between my room and Hal’s. As I was sitting up, my brother let himself into my room.

  “Come along,” he said, his candle making shadows play across his face. “It’s time.”

  I looked out the window, and saw the sky glowing the pink-orange tint of sunset. I climbed out of bed, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, and followed Hal down to the library. Sir Jasper was already waiting for us there. He sat before the fire, his hands folded on his lap. He wore what must have been his finest suit, a sharp black affair with a clean crisp collar. He had a flower in his lapel, and his hair was carefully combed. He looked like a man bound for his wedding—or he would have, but for the sickly pallor of his face and the shadowed fear in his eyes.

  “I am ready,” he said, looking up as we entered the room. “Let us go, and have it done with.”

  Reeves helped Sir Jasper into his coat with a solemn air, and we proceeded out the front door of the Hall into the fading light to meet Mr. Gilley at the end of the lane. Sir Jasper made no protest at being made to ride in a pony cart. In fact, he said nothing at all for quite some time. In the last glow of sunlight, his face looked old and grey; there were lines about his eyes and mouth that I had never noticed. He sat tall and silent, back straight and hands folded, looking neither to the left nor to the right.

  I sat in the back of the cart, leaning against one corner of it, holding my elbow to keep from jostling my arm, and watched Hal. He had his head back, blowing clouds of smoke into the air, and his arms crossed over his chest. He was as silent as Sir Jasper; but where Sir Jasper was like a statue, Hal was like a coiled spring, full of nervous energy.

  As we approached the heft, Sir Jasper blinked, looking down at his hands. “Mr. Bishop—there was something I wondered about. Is it—is it possible . . . .”

  He broke off, his jaw working, and wrung his hands together in his lap. Hal raised his eyebrows, pulling the pipe from his mouth, and watched him silently.

  “The price for the spell,” Sir Jasper continued, his voice trembling just slightly. “My daughter for my nephew, I understand—but for my brother . . . do you think my wife . . . ?”

  I stared at him, a hollow feeling in my chest as I realized what he was asking. I had forgotten that Sir Jasper’s wife had died so soon after his brother. I swallowed back a lump in my throat and turned to Hal.

  He frowned, leaning back and sticking his pipe between his teeth. “It is fruitless to speculate about the dead. Let us concentrate on the living.”

  “But do you think—could the spirit . . . .”

  “No.” Hal cut him off and sat up, his eyes blazing. He took hold of Sir Jasper’s coat. “Do not even think of it. Can you imagine the price to raise the dead?” He shook him. “Your life can spare two innocents—is that not enough?”

  Sir Jasper blinked at him and ran a hand over his face. “Yes—yes. I am sorry.”

  Hal released his coat and sat back, blowing out a breath. “No—it is natural that you should think of it. But you mustn’t—the spirit will tempt you with everything it can. You must keep your focus. Think only of your daughter.”

  We had reached the stone by then. Mr. Gilley stopped the cart, and we climbed out. Sir Jasper moved carefully, his breath blowing clouds into the air, and he kept his hands in his pockets. He had straightened his coat, and despite his haunted eyes, there was a quiet dignity about him as he watched my brother lay the spell circle.

  I watched Hal for a moment myself, as he laid the three layers of salt and set the candles in each direction. I was thinking of his strong reaction to Sir Jasper’s question—the same question I had asked him earlier in the day. He’d said he couldn’t bring Father back, but I wondered how long he had thought about trying before deciding it was impossible—and what he would give to do it, even now. Temptation was the most dangerous thing about dealing with a fairy, he’d said—and how could he stand in front of the spirit and not wish for Father back? My stomach twisted, and I pulled my coat tighter to ward off a sudden chill.

  Hal finished laying the circle and stood, bringing the empty bag of salt back to the box. He frowned at me as he passed.

  “Go back to the cart, Jem.” He pushed the box at me. “Take this with you.”

  “What?” I stared at him. “No. I’m staying right here.”

  He sighed, setting the box back down by the stone. “I can’t—I need to be able to focus. For the spell.”

  “Then focus,” I said. “But I’m staying here. If I hadn’t been here last time . . . .”

  His brow furrowed, and he ran a hand through his hair. “All right. But stay back by the stone—out of sight if you can.”

  I nodded, and he walked back over to the circle where Sir Jasper waited. I crouched down beside the stone, leaning against it. I was bone-tired, and my arm was heavy and sore in its sling, but I drew in a breath of chill air, willing myself to stay awake.

  Sir Jasper followed Hal into the circle. Hal took a bit of chalk from his pocket and wrote something on the ground, then pulled out his flask and poured its contents over what he had written. He lit a match and dropped it, and the multicolored flame sprang up once more. Hal closed his eyes, the flames casting eerie shadows on his face. Sir Jasper stood as still and silent as the stone I leaned on, staring out into the darkness.

  A chill gust of wind blew out the flame, and the dark lines twisted and gathered, resolving themselves into the shape of the ice woman in her dress of night, her beetle eyes gleaming with a cold anger. At her feet, Cecilia still clung to her skirt, her face blank and eyes empty. Sir Jasper gave a choking gasp, and the fairy’s beetle eyes narrowed.

  “Why have you summoned me here?” She pointed at Sir Jasper, and a shudder ran through him. “And what does he want? Have I not done enough for him?”

  “You’ve done a great deal indeed,” Hal said, folding his arms over his chest. “So much so that he wishes to bargain with you again.”

  “Does he really?” The fairy laughed, brittle-sounding and cold. She turned her gleaming black eyes on Sir Jasper. “Whatever for?”

  Sir Jasper paid her no mind; it seemed that Hal’s warning to think only of his daughter had been unnecessary—Sir Jasper scarcely noticed anything else. From the moment Cecilia appeared, his eyes had been fixed on her. For her part, the girl did not notice him—her face remained as
blank as ever, sightless eyes staring into the blackness.

  The fairy’s mouth twisted. “See? He does not even answer. What bargain can he make? Now, you . . . .”

  She glided forward, reaching out her hand to Hal. I drew in a sharp breath, my shoulders tensing, and it was all I could do not to jump up and scuff away the spell circle once more. But I needn’t have worried—Hal was ready for her. He stepped back, evading her hand.

  “I have not summoned you on my own behalf,” he said. “I have called you for another. There is nothing you can offer me.”

  The fairy pulled back her hand, mouth breaking into a smile that showed all her sharp, pointed teeth. She moved back and stood before Sir Jasper, putting herself between him and Cecilia. “Then let this other speak. What do you seek from me?”

  Sir Jasper blinked. “I—my lady, I offer myself in place of my child.”

  The fairy laughed again, her teeth glinting in the moonlight. “Well! That is something. Are you certain of your offer?”

  Sir Jasper stared into the gleaming beetle eyes, his mouth setting in a firm line. “Absolutely.”

  The fairy took his face in her hands and bent down to him. “You won’t die, you know,” she whispered, in the same sing-song tone she had used to taunt Hal. “You’ll live—long, long years—maybe forever. You’ll watch your daughter grow old and die. You’ll see your home crumble into nothing.”

  Sir Jasper tried to pull away, but the fairy drew him closer, her black eyes seeming to take over her face. “And you’ll watch the worthless son of your worthless brother take everything of yours—your home, your fortune, your child. Isn’t that what you came to me for—to stop this?”

  Sir Jasper’s face twisted, anger and jealousy and pure hatred flashing across it. “Yes,” he said, his voice low and hoarse. “Yes, I wanted him to die—both of them to die. Never take what’s mine again.”

  My spine crept at his tone—this was the ugly truth that Sir Jasper had hidden away all these years, even from himself. He had hated his brother—hated everything about him—and that had fueled this spell. I looked back to Cecilia, with her blank face, tracing a finger in the black dirt, and felt sick.