“There’s great good in seeking a…deeper meaning in life,” she said aloud. “Most people take no harm from it, and it puts many of them on a better path than they might have found otherwise. Maybe a truer one too.”
“Sometimes,” Joan said. “Sure.” Then she went back to her notes, philosophy abandoned now that she’d had her chance to wax wrathful. Olivia doubted if, an hour later, she’d remember much about the conversation.
Olivia’s mind, however, remained unsettled, if she ever had been able to call it truly settled over the last week or so. She still couldn’t say with certainty that she regretted her choice after Tommy’s death. She was certain she could have chosen worse occupations. But she found herself thinking about the faces she’d seen in her audiences. Had any of the curious young men and women who’d come to see her turned to bloody bargains to get their way in later life? Had any of the grief stricken, the elderly, the desperate gone from her to another “medium,” one who had drained them of any means of support? And if so, how much of that had been her fault?
Surely she was not completely to blame. The people for whom she’d performed had still possessed their will, and the people who might have lured them into one trap or another were certainly the most accountable. Olivia was too old for extravagant self-reproach, and she couldn’t believe her hands were as bloody as all that.
Neither were they so mildly tainted as she had always thought.
And what did Olivia do about that? Lyddie was dead, she had no idea where Hawkins and his show had gone…and neither of them had made her join up. She’d come of her own free will. There was nothing to be found there. Of her clients, she’d known few names and remembered still fewer, and she didn’t know what reparations she could make.
Then…
Elizabeth’s scream shattered her thoughts.
***
Elizabeth was close at hand, and Olivia and Joan were quick. Before the scream had completely died away, Joan was across the hall and opening the door to the room from which it had come. Olivia, though she couldn’t claim such speed, was close at her heels.
As she might have expected, Elizabeth was hovering near the ceiling again. Below her, Charlotte was facing what looked, for a second, like a human figure with a dreadful face. It was grayish and hung in loose flaps of flesh. Jagged teeth surrounded a gaping maw. Olivia caught her breath.
“You vile little pig,” Charlotte said and boxed the figure’s ears with quite a bit of strength.
Olivia stepped forward, ready to defend her student even as she realized the scene wasn’t quite what it appeared to be, and the monster reached for its face.
“Ow,” it said in a muffled boy’s voice. “I had that coming, didn’t I? Sorry, Lizzie.”
“Arthur?” Olivia asked as he drew off the mask. On closer inspection, it appeared to consist of a pillowcase, some broken bits of glass, and a substantial amount of both paint and glue. It was rather well done, in all honesty. That didn’t do much for her temper. “What in the name of God is going on here?”
All three students started talking at once.
“Donnell.” Joan’s voice cut through the clamor. Her glare silenced it. “Get down from there. I know you can.”
Elizabeth sniffled and wiped her eyes, but nodded. She looked over briefly to Olivia, who gave her a reassuring smile, and then closed her eyes and started breathing deeply.
Joan turned her attention on the next easiest student to deal with. “Woodwell, don’t hit when you’re angry. If you ever stood a chance of talking things out with the guy, it’s a lot harder if you hit him. And if you didn’t, now he knows how you fight, and you probably need to kill him.” She paused, seemed to realize they were staring, and added, “That doesn’t apply here. Don’t kill Waite.”
“I’ll try to restrain myself, ma’am,” said Charlotte, sounding like it would be a challenge.
“Waite, really, what the hell?”
“Um,” said Arthur. He didn’t seem shocked. Olivia had overheard Joan teaching the students to fight, and thought all of them were used to worse language by now, but he looked down at his shoes for a moment before meeting Joan’s eyes again. “Wanted to find something out, ma’am, so I was hiding in the closet. I didn’t think Lizzie’d be coming in.” He added, looking upward, “And I am awfully sorry about that.”
“Oh,” said Elizabeth, opening one eye to look at him. “If you didn’t mean to be horrid, I accept your apology. But still, it was a nasty thing to do.”
“It was an idiotic stunt,” Mrs. Grenville corrected her, “and this is one of the better ways it could’ve ended. Trust me on this, Waite. You do not want to give me a scare. Or Simon. And we’re not made of sheets, by the way.”
“Yes, ma’am. Sorry.”
Joan looked over at Olivia. “You have this under control? I should make sure Simon’s not trying to rush in and save us all.”
“Yes, I’ll be fine,” Olivia said. When Joan had left and Elizabeth was on the ground, she sent them off to get some tea, and turned to Arthur. “Now,” she said. “What did you have to find out that was so important it merited childish pranks in a house where someone’s trying to recover?”
“It’s just that…” Arthur looked toward the door and shrugged. “I wanted to see what one of us would do when something jumped out.”
Olivia lifted her eyebrows. “So you were trying to get yourself killed?”
“No, ma’am. I’d put up a shield of power, the way you taught us. I thought I’d find out. It probably wouldn’t be anything, but we’d know. Given the way things are.”
“Arthur,” Olivia said with what felt like the last remaining store of her patience. “If I had three wishes, I think I’d spend all of them on making you, for once in your life, think before you acted. I realize it’s not something you’ve had to do often, but I strongly suggest you develop the habit.”
She knew her voice was harsh. Arthur faced her with tight lips and flaming cheeks, and simply nodded. He looked miserable. Most of the time, that would have moved her. Now she just wondered if it was an act. Surely he’d had worse scoldings.
“Go help in the kitchen,” she said. “I’m sure they need something peeled or chopped or sliced. And I’m sure that’s a far easier punishment than you deserve. If you have an idle moment for the next three days, it won’t be for lack of trying on my part.”
She watched Arthur leave, stiff-backed and quick. Then she sank into a chair, wondering why she felt so drained when she hadn’t done anything.
Chapter 39
“Mrs. Brightmore?”
Olivia looked up at Charlotte’s voice, then immediately straightened. How long had she been slumped in the chair? What had she missed? What had gone wrong?
But Charlotte’s face held neither alarm nor reproof, only concern. Concern was bad enough, but Olivia would take it. It had been that sort of day. “How’s Elizabeth?” she asked.
“Just fine,” said Charlotte. “She’s gone up to our room to read a bit before dinner. The boys are doing the same, I think.” She rubbed the back of her neck for a second, working up to whatever she had to say, and Olivia braced herself for some unpleasant statement. “I think you should come outside with me.”
“What? Why?”
Charlotte shrugged. “I can’t explain in here.”
Olivia blinked. “It’s raining,” she said.
“It’s stopped.”
“The ground—”
Charlotte tossed her head impatiently. “I’ll buy you a new pair of boots. We’ll stay in sight of the house, if that’s what you’re worried about, and you can run away if it looks like I’m going to touch you. Though if you think I’m possessed, you should be trying to knock me down about now. Just come with me. This is important. Ma’am.”
Clearly it was important enough that Olivia wasn’t going to get a minute’s peace unless she complied. “Oh, very well,” she said and got up, a difficult maneuver, for the chair seemed to have its own gravity.
Charlotte led her out to the gardens. For a wonder, she didn’t talk, and Olivia didn’t complain. There was relief in the silence, just as there was in the stars overhead—more than she’d ever been able to see in the city—and in the feeling of cold air against her skin. She took a deep breath, and it felt like her first in days.
They stopped by an ornamental fountain, ghost white in the starlight. “Feeling tired?” Charlotte asked.
“I…no.” Olivia shook her head. As exhausted as she’d been inside, she was perfectly energetic now. She felt as though she could’ve gone on walking all the way to the village. “It must be the fresh air.”
“Some of it. Maybe,” Charlotte said. “Some of it isn’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s something wrong in there.” Charlotte waved a gloved hand toward Englefield. “The animals feel it too. Things are…wound too tight. Today was just part of it. Elizabeth told me she’s been having nightmares again. Bad ones.”
Olivia nodded. “Everyone’s nervous about the demon,” she said. “Being shut inside together doesn’t particularly help either. Everyone starts noticing everyone else’s flaws. Your animals are probably picking up on that.” She put a hand against the fountain, bracing herself, and asked, “Or do you think it’s something else?”
“I don’t know,” said Charlotte. “I’ve been stuck in close quarters before, and it wasn’t usually this bad. But then, it wasn’t with a houseful of people who could kill me with a thought, and there wasn’t a demon lurking around. So maybe it’s just that.”
“I’ll check all the wards again,” Olivia said. “Maybe Mr. Grenville’s illness left something damaged.”
“Do that,” said Charlotte, “but take a walk around for a bit first. It’s how I’ve kept from running mad.” She grinned. “Assuming I have. Well worth a pair of damp feet.”
“Are you coming with me?”
Charlotte shook her head. “Works better on your own, I find. Besides, I’ve got to make eyes at the cook. Maybe she’ll give me some scraps to feed Star.”
With a wave, she turned and headed back to the house, becoming a dark shape against the stars. Olivia stood for a few moments and watched her draw near to the lighted windows, then found the nearest path and let it lead her onward.
Charlotte was right. As Olivia walked, she felt weight and constriction lift away, as if she’d just stepped out of an iron cage she’d been wearing for the last day or two. It was wonderful, and would have been better if it hadn’t made her worry.
She looked over one shoulder at the house. Mr. Grenville’s protections were sound ones, and Olivia had been reinforcing them, but would they hold against something as nebulous as mental influence? None of the students or servants had gone to town for two days without her, Joan, or Gareth accompanying them, and she’d watched visitors carefully. But had someone slipped past?
There was only one way of knowing, and that discovery would take a while. Best to start in the morning, when she’d have a little more time, even if that meant another uneasy night.
The path turned around the house, leading toward the back to the stretch of land overlooking the dormitory and the forest. Olivia followed it, and her thoughts turned as well, to the discussions she and Mr. Grenville had been having about the forest’s guardianship. She’d seen enough of city life for a while, and staying in one place sounded quite nice. She wouldn’t have minded taking up the responsibility, but she wasn’t sure she’d have the skill for it, or the sense of the land and living things. Charlotte might have done better, but she clearly had no desire for the post.
The next time Olivia had an opportunity to enter the forest, she would talk to Brother Jonathan about it, though heaven only knew when that would be. Certainly the current state of affairs—
A figure stood nearby, motionless and leaning against one of the trees.
Olivia’s breath caught in her throat. She froze and looked again.
The figure was a man, or at least man-shaped, though the darkness prevented any clearer impression. He stood with his head turned away from her. He hadn’t moved, so he probably hadn’t seen her yet.
Olivia ducked behind a nearby rowan tree and picked up a fallen branch. Rowan wood was some protection against magic. She could amplify its power a little, and if nothing else, the branch was a stout one. Thus armed, she took a few steps closer, trying to be silent, but she had never learned much stealth. The figure looked up before she got very close, and Olivia caught her breath for another reason entirely: the light of the full moon bathing Gareth’s face.
Chapter 40
Olivia was exactly who Gareth had been hoping to see, and precisely who he’d been dreading would appear. Wrapped in black clothing, with the moon lighting her pale face and the wind tugging at her hair, she looked more aethereal than human for a moment. She might have been an apparition his troubled mind had placed before him.
She also clearly had no real idea how to hold a weapon. Gareth’s experience of such things was only secondhand, but even to him her grip on the branch she carried was clumsy and uncertain. Either a spirit or a hallucination would have made a better job of it. Either one would probably have had better weapons—or none.
So he recovered enough to manage speech, though his first words were only: “Good evening.”
“Good evening,” Olivia said with a rather dubious glance up at the sky. “Finally.” She spoke a little too quickly. Nervous. Of him, or of the unknown figure that had prompted her to arm herself, however inexpertly?
He would have had to admit her courage, but he’d stopped trying to deny it some time ago.
“I didn’t think anyone would be out here,” he said and then realized he’d spoken as if in complaint. “You have every right to be.” This had all been much easier when he’d been trying to cast barbs in her direction.
“Yes, but I can understand how you’d think otherwise,” Olivia said before Gareth could think of any other way to soften his words. She sounded calm and amiable enough, if a little weary. “Charlotte suggested a walk would do me good.”
“Miss Woodwell’s a bright girl.”
Olivia looked up at him. In the moonlight, her eyes were very dark. “You’ve felt it too?” she asked with far more hesitation than Gareth was used to hearing in her voice.
“Yes,” Gareth said and considered what to say next, while the wind picked up and died down fitfully around them. “Tension. Irritability. Weariness. It happens sometimes. We’re not good at facing threats that don’t show themselves.”
The rest of his feelings had been, in his experience, far less common.
He didn’t dream of Olivia. When he did dream, there were mostly nightmares, and sometimes he didn’t dream at all, simply woke out of habit. When he did, his first thought was to seek her out.
Gareth’s second thought over the last two days had been to reject the notion. Most simply, he’d thought she had her duties the next day, and they would be somewhat more arduous with Simon absent. Waking her would not have been the act of a gentleman, even such a flawed one as he managed to be most times. If not for their conversation and for the train of his thoughts coming back from the Talbots’, he might still have done it.
But he still didn’t know, concretely, what he felt. He wouldn’t have been at all certain how to express it if he had. Midnight was not an hour that lent itself to either.
Still, his good resolutions were frail compared with his memory of Olivia’s passion. The longer he stayed outside, he’d reasoned, the more soundly he’d sleep, and the less he’d think of her.
Now she was here.
Gareth looked away from
her, out across to the dormitories and the forest beyond them: oak and pine, ash and beech, dark, ancient shapes under the moon and the stars, more ancient still, and all holding secrets whose smallest portion he hadn’t comprehended until he’d reached Englefield. Not too long ago, Gareth knew he would have shied from that concept, from the awareness of all he didn’t understand. Now it sat more easily on his mind.
The woman beside him, another dark shape, was part of the reason, but that wasn’t all. Not all of the reason, or all of her.
She hadn’t spoken yet.
Gareth turned toward her. “I can’t be around you without wanting you,” he said, his voice rough and clipped. “I have tried. God knows. Perhaps with a few dozen years of mental discipline—but I can’t.”
The air between them seemed to heat, to thicken. Olivia’s face was grave when she replied, but there was an edge of irony in her voice. “I would imagine either of us would have stopped if we could,” she said. “Quite a while ago, I’d think.”
Gareth searched for something to say without insulting her. She knew what his feelings had been on their first meeting. He didn’t think she could help thinking of them now, but he didn’t want to speak of them, all the same. Perhaps regret was futile, perhaps his behavior had been justified, but he still wished he hadn’t hurt her. “The struggle is a bit distracting.”
“Yes,” Olivia said quietly. She folded her arms under her breasts and fell silent. Between them, the heat faded a little. In its place came stillness and waiting. Any words now would be weighty things, nothing to be forgotten or discounted the morning after. Lead and steel, not fairy gold.
Off in the distance, an owl cried, seeking its prey.
Olivia took a long breath and squared her shoulders. She started to step toward Gareth, and then, clearly thinking better of it, stopped.
Lessons After Dark Page 24