Then she could see Lord Endicott in the distance, covered in butterflies, and she tried to follow him, but he was always two doors ahead of her, laughing and running as if it were a wonderful game. The doors were growing darker and more twisted, as they had when she was tracking King. It was again as if she were running through a dead forest whose branches tangled in her hair and clothes, scratching and stabbing at her so she had to force a path for herself, following Lord Endicott’s colorful figure, which always remained clear no matter how many brambles stood between them.
She knew Mr. Rutledge was there before she saw him, could feel his hand on her arm the way he had held her in the carriage, and then he was between her and Lord Endicott, completely blocking the way. In her dream he was a vast giant, much bigger than he was in life, and he held her arm so she could not move around him. He was in the way of her revenge, and she yanked free of his grip, but he looked at her with those dark, intent eyes, and she knew the way one did in dreams that if she could only find a way past him, he would never trouble her again.
She stood looking up at him for a moment, hoping for some sign, something that would tell her what to do, but he said nothing, only reached out to her again. Why would he not help her take her revenge on Lord Endicott? She twisted out of his reach, darted around him, and he vanished, leaving her face to face with her nemesis. There was a pistol in her hand; she raised it, pulled the trigger, and woke to find herself sobbing without knowing what emotion fueled her tears. She wiped her face with her blanket and curled back up in her bed, lacking even the energy to look at her watch to see at what ungodly hour her horrible dream had woken her.
She slept fitfully the rest of the night, waking herself every time she began to dream, and morning found her sitting up in bed, staring at the lightening square of the window, thinking of nothing in particular. She was no closer to a solution than she had been the night before. She rose wearily and rang for Beeton. Possibly Cecy or Lewis or Daphne had thought of something.
But when she arrived at the breakfast table, Lewis sat alone, his eyes shadowed as if his sleep had been as restless as hers. “Cecy is very unwell this morning,” he said. “I have called for Dr. Garland.”
“You should have woken me. I would have helped you with her last night.”
“I thought it better one of us be alert to watch her this morning, and I wasn’t going to be able to sleep anyway. I’m going to bed as soon as I’ve eaten, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. Will the doctor be here soon?”
“I hope so. Her assistant said she was not very busy this morning. She has already seen to Mr. Parris’s mother, so you might convey our gratitude to her when she arrives.”
“And I have spoken to my solicitor about his brother’s schooling. The young man is a promising student, so I feel I have done a good deed as well as fulfilled a promise.”
“Mr. Parris should be grateful you did not reveal his crime.” Lewis went back to eating, fiercely, as if his doing so might ease his wife’s pain. Sophia found herself again without an appetite, and again forced herself to eat. She would do Cecy no good if she were faint with hunger.
They were both almost finished when they heard the distant sound of a knock on the door. “No, I will go,” Sophia said when Lewis began to rise. “You should go to bed. I can help Dr. Garland with whatever she needs.”
She hurried out of the room and nearly ran over Simon approaching from the other direction. “Madam, the door—”
“I know, Simon, I’ll take her to Cecy,” she said, moving more quickly now. “Dr. Garland,” she began as she came into the entry hall, then stopped, because it was not the doctor who stood there, but Mr. Rutledge, the shoulders of his greatcoat dusted with snow. He carried a newspaper rolled tightly under one arm and his gloved fingers flexed, once or twice, as if they were cold despite the gloves.
“Mrs. Westlake,” he said, “I apologize for disturbing you so early. Is something wrong?”
“Only Cecy’s usual illness,” Sophia said, echoes of her dream overlapping with reality, leaving her confused. What was he doing here? “Why are you here?” she said, realizing only after the words had left her lips how rude they sounded.
“To make amends, if I can,” he said. “Your Dreams were all correct. Lord Endicott embezzled from the Army and he is behind the counterfeiters I have been trying to apprehend.”
In which Mr. Rutledge redeems himself
ow do you know?” Sophia said. The sense of unreality threatened to sweep her away entirely. Mr. Rutledge could not possibly believe her now, of all times.
“The newspaper,” he said, making as if to offer it to her, then withdrawing it before she could accept it. “It’s perhaps better you not read today’s story. It is somewhat lengthier than the first and has Lord Endicott’s protestations that he forgives you your ‘mistake’ in a manner that makes your guilt seem more certain.”
“Then I still do not understand,” Sophia said, “why you do not believe that story when it is so convincing.”
“Because I know you, Mrs. Westlake,” Mr. Rutledge said. His deep voice was practically a rumble. “You are incapable of using your Sight to do deliberate harm to anyone, let alone to someone who was a virtual stranger to you when you made that accusation. I told you I believed you had simply made a mistake.” He drew in a deep breath. “I was wrong. There was no mistake. Endicott managed to cover his crime and then, it seems, took great pleasure in tormenting you as revenge for daring to interrupt his scheme. And I should have taken more pains to investigate your claim before simply agreeing with the prevailing opinion.”
Sophia realized her mouth was hanging open. “But…why now?”
“I told you. The newspaper. Endicott was the only person who would have revealed that story without including his own name. It made no sense that he should do so now, after months have passed and he has given out he is almost engaged to marry you. I take it you were responsible for attaching his name to this farce?”
“Lady Daphne.”
He laughed. “That makes even more sense. I believe the War Office has no idea what they are letting themselves in for.” More soberly, he said, “That he should reveal that story in such a manner made me believe I should examine your supposed mistake more closely. To be honest, I was shocked at how haphazardly that investigation was conducted. It seems no one thought to determine whether Mr. Tate’s death was suspicious. You have grounds for suing the War Office for defamation of character, if you choose.”
“But it has only been one day. You could not possibly have learned all of that in such a short time.”
He looked away from her. “In truth, I have been looking into it since you accused me of not truly being your friend. Your words made me feel ashamed. I should have thought better of you, and I apologize.”
It was as if she had been carrying around a load of bricks that were one by one lifting away and vanishing into the sky. “Thank you,” she said, feeling unaccountably shy. He turned to look at her again, and smiled. It made more of her load fly away.
“Thank you for not evicting me summarily,” he said. “I would have understood it, but I much prefer having the opportunity to make things right between us.”
“So do I,” Sophia said, and reached out to clasp his hand. His grip was strong, but gentle, and it comforted her as much as his smile had.
“At any rate,” he said, releasing her hand, “I will not insult you by renewing my offer of employment—”
“I need your help, Mr. Rutledge,” Sophia said. “I want to find the printing press, and my Dream tells me if we capture the man who has it in charge, he will help us condemn Lord Endicott.”
He blinked at her abruptness, then laughed. “Mrs. Westlake,” he said, “you continue to amaze me. My resources are at your disposal. Tell me what to do.”
Someone knocked again, then opened the door. “I understand my favorite patient is in need,” Dr. Garland said, striding off in the direction of the stairs
. Sophia began to run after her, then turned back to Mr. Rutledge, who hadn’t moved.
“Wait for me,” she said, then followed the doctor to Cecy’s room, where to her relief she found Cecy asleep and not restless. Dr. Garland settled herself on the edge of the bed and took Cecy’s hand in both of hers.
“I’ll let you know when I’m finished, Mrs. Westlake,” she said. Sophia took that for a dismissal and fled.
Mr. Rutledge was still in the entry hall, looking as if he had taken her request to wait as a literal command to remain motionless. “Come with me to the drawing room, and I will explain everything,” she said, leading the way up the stairs again.
Mr. Rutledge examined the map with some interest. “I’m going to guess you are tracking the press,” he said, tracing one of the arrowed lines with his finger.
“Now that we are friends again, I can compliment you on your insightfulness,” Sophia said. He smiled at her as if nothing had ever come between them, and a few more bricks disappeared until she felt light enough to fly away herself. She explained, briefly, the discoveries they had made the day before, and finished by saying, “I realize it is boring, watching someone sleep, but I must Dream again in order to know where the press will be, and I am not certain how long it will take. But—will you stay?”
“Of course,” he said, and pulled a chair close to the chaise longue. “And I assure you I will do my best not to be bored.”
“There are books,” Sophia said, laughing at his ostentatiously solemn expression. “If you can find any in keeping with your naturally sober thoughts.”
“I do read novels, you know. But only sober ones.”
“I did not realize there were any of that description. You should be wary. They might make you frivolous, and then I would not recognize you.”
“Then I would ask you to dance, and trip over your toes, and then you would know me again.”
Sophia blushed, and lay back on the chaise longue to cover the confusion his bantering words sent her into. Were those words of friendship, or did they mean something more? “You must ask me to dance again soon,” she said lightly, “when this is all over.”
“I promise to do so,” he said. His eyes were so uncomfortably direct that she closed hers and went into Dream more rapidly than she had planned, without taking time to meditate. She knew her mistake when she saw the doors thronging about her, none of them what she wanted.
She cleared her mind as best she could. Returning to the waking world so suddenly seemed a waste of Dream, and… yes, she had asked him to stay, but the thought of Mr. Rutledge watching over her as she Dreamed felt intimate, because of her feelings for him, in a way it never was with Cecy or Daphne or even Lewis. She chose to wander until her embarrassment died away, and hoped she might find some door that would give her what she wanted.
Though she had not meditated, it seemed her ordinary dream of the night before had influenced her thoughts, because the doors of Dream were no longer randomly scattered, but lined up in rows so that, if they were doors in the waking world, one might walk through them in a straight line, one after the other. The lines extended into what passed for distance in Dream; they might well loop around and form an infinite circle, if the geometry of Dream allowed it. I wonder, she thought, and laid her hand on the door in that infinite loop that was closest to her, and was drawn into it.
She had not paid attention to the image on the door and was surprised to find Cecy standing there, staring into the distance beyond Sophia’s left shoulder. She was in her nightgown with her hair braided for sleep, and she was saying something that to Sophia sounded like a high, distant wail. The rest of the space was clouded, meaning that Cecy and her words were all that was important, but what startled Sophia was the door beyond Cecy, standing upright in a nonexistent wall—not an ordinary door, but one of the doors of Dream. It was as if the Dream contained another Dream within it, something Sophia had never seen before.
Curious, she passed Cecy and laid her hand on the door, and was drawn through like silk sliding over skin into another Dream. To her surprise, the new Dream looked identical to the first—Cecy, still in her nightgown, stood there as before, wailing. It was so unexpected she gasped, felt her sleeping self react to her surprise, came close enough to waking to feel Mr. Rutledge touch the back of her hand, and had to calm herself before she was flung free of this new Dream. It was an impossibility for two Dreams to be identical, another impossibility to pass from one Dream to another without waking between them. What had the orientation of the doors done to their Dreams?
She examined the new Dream closely, ignoring Cecy for the moment, though she appeared to be excited about something. Again a door stood upright in the center of the cloudiness that defined the edges of this Dream; she leaned close to it, but did not touch it, afraid to be drawn into yet another Dream before she had exhausted the possibilities of this one. She discovered, upon examination, that there were small differences between the Dreams; Cecy, when she finally looked at her, was wearing a different nightgown, and her hair looked different. She could see nothing that might indicate why this Dream was so similar to the first.
Finally Sophia turned to face the door of Dream. A Dream located within another Dream, she thought, what else might it contain? She laid her palm against the new door and was drawn through it.
Once again Cecy stood there in her nightgown, and another door of Dream stood opposite her, but now—Sophia gasped, and nearly fell back into the waking world. She had to fight herself to stay in Dream, because what she wanted was to run to her friend and dance and shout with her. She passed her hand over Cecy’s hugely protruding belly, which in Dream was insubstantial, then circled her to examine her from all angles. A future, yes, and a much distant future, at least seven months from the present, which was another impossibility, because the future branched so easily and so quickly that Seeing more than a few days into it always failed. So how had this happened?
She looked at Cecy’s belly once more, then at the door. If these Dreams arise from other Dreams, then I know what I will find here, she thought, and let herself be pulled into the door to find Cecy cradling an infant, and that was too much for her; she rose out of Dream so fast it left her waking body dizzy and she had to put out a hand to steady herself. Another hand gripped hers, and she blinked up at Mr. Rutledge, then at Daphne, both of whom were staring at her with concern.
“Move,” she said, rolling off the chaise longue and pushing them out of the way, running at full speed down the hall and up the stairs and into Cecy’s room, startling both Cecy and the doctor. “You’re with child,” she said, panting, just as Cecy said, “Sophy, I am with child.”
Sophia flung herself onto Cecy, laughing and crying, and Cecy clutched at her, saying, “How did you know? Dr. Garland only just told me—”
“I Saw it in Dream, Cecy,” Sophia said, “and—” She released Cecy and sat back. “I know how to find Baines,” she said. “Remind me to thank Lord Endicott, when this is over. He has driven me to discoveries no Seer ever thought to make before. I can barely think, Cecy, I am so overwhelmed.”
“Well, you should try not to overwhelm my patient,” Dr. Garland said. “I’ve done what I can for the moment to ensure you have no discomfort, Mrs. Barham, and I believe you’ll find a lessening of your pain in your expectant state, but you should still call on me when you feel an episode coming on. And I’ll arrange for a midwife to attend you as well.” She stood and shouldered her satchel. “I did tell you it would happen, didn’t I? I’m not above gloating a little when I’m right. Good day, Mrs. Barham. Mrs. Westlake.”
“Oh, Sophy, I am so happy!” Cecy said when they were alone. “Will you bring Lewis here?”
“I will, and I… oh, I forgot about Daphne and Mr. Rutledge!”
“What do you mean, Mr. Rutledge? And I thought we could not find Baines in time to apprehend him before he moved elsewhere.”
Sophia kissed Cecy on the cheek. “It can wait, dearest. I will send Lewi
s, and when you are able, we will all sit together and I will explain everything.”
Cecy began to get out of bed. “I am not going to wait,” she said, “because you have a look in your eye that says you are on the hunt again, and I want to be there when you capture your prey.”
In which there is much discussion of a technical nature
he first thing you should understand,” Sophia told her listeners, “is that Dream is, or was, limited to the near future in what it predicts. The future diverges so quickly that asking, for example, the question ‘Where will Cecy be on this date one year from now?’ can yield no answer, because Cecy might make hundreds of choices between now and then that could put her in any one of a thousand places at that time.”
“And that is why you could not simply See where King would be when he was arrested, because it might be days or weeks before that happened, especially since, as a Seer, he could predict you would be trying to have him apprehended,” Cecy said.
“Yes, exactly. However, I seem to have stumbled on a way to make Dream reveal those futures. I have yet to understand the technique fully, and I am afraid I may not be able to explain it well to anyone who is not a Seer, but—” She caught Mr. Rutledge’s eye, saw his amused expression, and realized she was pacing in a tight circle before her seated audience. She smiled at him in wry acknowledgement of her restless excitement and managed to stop herself and clasp her hands behind her back to still them.
“Dreams arise out of what is,” she said, “at this moment, and that is as much as anyone understands about how they work. I might Dream, for example, of where Cecy will be tomorrow, and once that has happened—assuming she does not take action to invalidate the Dream—I might Dream tomorrow of where she will be the day after tomorrow. But I cannot Dream today of where she will be in two days; that door of Dream simply would not appear to me. That is, until now.”
Wondering Sight (The Extraordinaries Book 2) Page 26