The Great Game (Royal Sorceress)

by Nuttall, Christopher

  But there was no motive for murder in the files.

  Cursing herself, she tossed the folder out of the safe and started looking for others, wondering how many of them she dared read. The Earl of North Hollow was accused of having had his sport with a young noblewoman against her will, although there was no proof and Gwen suspected that it was only good for nasty gossip. She’d met the Earl once and had ended up feeling thoroughly disgusted. His family, equally disgusted, had largely barred him from London.

  An oversized folder belonged to another nobleman Gwen knew, someone who had served in India, America and even France during the brief and aborted attempt to capture Toulon in 1801. His folder branded him a liar, a cheat, a braggart and an adulterer – and finished with a note from his manservant, claiming that he’d cheated in a duel of honour with another man in the same regiment. That would ruin a man’s career, even if the rest of it might be shrugged off. Gwen put the file back on the shelf, then looked down at one marked LADY ELIZABETH BRACKNELL. Bracing herself, she opened the fire and found the compromising letters.

  Lady Elizabeth had been a charming – and explicit - correspondent, she realised. Gwen had spent the last nine months in Cavendish Hall and she didn’t know half as much as Lady Elizabeth had done, when she was younger... how had she found out so much? It was difficult to imagine Lady Bracknell reading the trashy romantic novels that gave printing presses a bad name... but how else? No wonder Howell had been so convinced that the letters would destroy Lady Elizabeth’s engagement. Poor Sir Travis would have had no choice; he would have had to assume that his fiancée was an experienced woman.

  Gwen pocketed the letters, intending to return them to Lady Elizabeth, then started looking for other names. Somewhat to her surprise, the next one she saw was her own. What had Howell known about her? She pulled the folder off the shelf and read through it quickly, allowing herself a moment of relief when she realised that he hadn’t really known much, beyond what was already well known to Polite Society. There was a snide suggestion that her chastity might be in doubt – after all, she had slept in Cavendish Hall without a chaperone – but little else.

  The next folder was marked LADY MARY CRICHTON.

  Gwen argued with herself for a long moment. Part of her wanted – needed – to know what Howell had held over her mother’s head; part of her really didn’t want to know the truth. The secret could die with Howell, unless he’d taken precautions to ensure that his death resulted in all of the information being distributed... she didn’t really need to know, did she? And then she remembered how often her mother had forbidden her from reading specific books, stunting her education. She’d been so ignorant that she’d thought that she was dying when her body finally started to mature.

  She opened the folder and flicked through the pages. The handwriting was different; an older woman’s, she decided, written to confuse rather than to reveal. Gwen had plenty of experience with David’s handwriting and it was still difficult to parse out the words. But when she did, she almost fainted for the second time.

  “She couldn’t have,” she said, out loud. But Lady Mary had been terrified of Howell. She’d known that he had something on her, something that could never see the light of day. “She...”

  Abruptly, she felt rage and magic billowing up within her. How could her mother have lied to her for so long? How could she? The temperature rose rapidly; the folders started to blacken, then burst into flames. Gwen, lost in her fury, barely noticed until her trousers started to catch fire, shocking her back into full awareness. Choking for breath, she stumbled out of the safe towards the holes the fight had smashed in the walls. There was fresh air from where they’d cracked the side of the house.

  Coughing, she turned and watched as Howell’s collection of dirty little secrets were reduced to dust and ash. Pompey would have approved, she thought, remembering the copy of Life of Pompey by Plutarch that she’d borrowed from David. He’d burned thousands of incriminating letters after the end of the fighting in Spain, hoping to put an end to the civil unrest gripping Rome. It had worked, for a time.

  But it hadn’t entirely been her choice, had it? Her own thoughts mocked her. What would she have done if she hadn’t lost her temper? So many famous names, so many belonging to people who had mocked and sneered when she became Royal Sorceress. If she’d taken the files, could she have used them to ensure that no one ever sneered at her ever again? Or maybe she should have revealed everything, exposing the hypocrisy and deceit that ran through Polite Society. What sort of mayhem would that have caused?

  She looked back at Howell, remembering her first impressions of the man. He’d been a monster, far worse than any of the noblemen or criminals Jack had killed in his campaign to unsettle the establishment. Howell’s activities had shattered lives, ruined reputations and created nightmares that had never truly ended. Everyone he blackmailed must have been left wondering if they would hear from him again, no matter what assurances he offered. They would have been looking over their shoulders for the rest of their lives.

  It would have ruined her, she realised numbly. If she’d kept all the secrets, if she’d used them, it would have destroyed her soul. She might have got away with it, but she wouldn’t have been the same person afterwards. Master Thomas had stepped over the line to preserve society, the society he’d fought to upheld throughout his adult life. What would her excuse be?

  And yet she was still angry at her mother. How could she?

  She put the folder to one side, beside the one for Sir Travis, and then looked into the safe. The papers had been destroyed and the flames were slowly dying down, having scorched the metal walls, leaving nothing but ashes. Gwen watched the final flames flicker away and die, then drew on her power, scattering the ashes so completely that no one, even Mycroft’s brother, could hope to put them back together. Perhaps Sir Charles was right. There would be thousands of people who would thank her for what she’d done.

  “Lady Gwen,” Inspector Hopkins said, as he entered the room. “What... what in God’s name happened here?”

  Gwen smiled, although she felt no real humour. Hopkins had always considered himself a more intellectual detective than Lestrade, but he had never really accepted Gwen’s authority on the grounds that she’d come into her position through good luck rather than earning it fairly. In some ways, Gwen understood him better than she did Lestrade, yet there was no time for an argument. Or even a frank exchange of views.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said, tightly. “This is very much a magical affair.”

  She ignored his cross look and continued. “Mr. Howell needs to be taken to the hospital, where one of the Healers can take a look at him,” she said. “If the Healers manages to actually Heal him, he is to be treated as a rogue Charmer and gagged as well as cuffed. He is to remain cuffed and gagged until I see him personally.”

  Hopkins nodded. Scotland Yard had good reason to be nervous around Charmers – or any other kind of magician, for that matter. They turned the world upside down.

  “His servants are to be taken to the nearest jail and kept there, again, until I have had a chance to take a proper look at them,” she added. “I think we killed all of the magicians, but there’s no way to be entirely sure. You can hold them under Section Five of the Rogue Magicians Act of 1820, if necessary. I don’t think that many of them will object.”

  Hopkins nodded. Section Five covered non-magicians who helped rogue magicians to hide, or employed them. The servants might not be in hot water – it had been Howell, she assumed, who had employed the other magicians – but they might be glad to be in jail, once Howell’s enemies realised that his power was broken. They might go after his servants just to see if any of them knew where he might have stored copies of his incriminating documents.

  “Yes, Milady,” he said. “When will you deal with them?”

  “I have another matter to attend to,” Gwen said. It was true; besides, she wanted to make sure that Howell couldn’t be Healed before
she started talking to his servants. “I will consult with Cavendish Hall afterwards, so we can decide properly what charges should be filed.”

  She scowled at Howell as two burly policemen picked him up and carried him out of the room. He didn’t respond at all to their manhandling.

  “After that, I want this house sealed,” she added. “No one goes in or out without my permission, no one at all. If someone comes, you are to take their names and business, but they are to be denied access. Have officers patrolling the grounds; someone might decide to climb the back wall.”

  “Yes, Milady,” Hopkins said. He sounded more than a little irritated at her constant stream of orders, but Gwen found it hard to care. “I shall see to it at once.”

  Gwen nodded and stood back, leaving the policemen to get on with it. The two maids were loudly protesting their innocence as they were cuffed and marched out of the house, followed by the cook, who seemed to be in a state of shock. A handful of policemen picked up the stunned servants and dragged them out of the building; they probably wouldn’t wake up until they reached jail. One of them clearly had a broken leg, but there was no Healer at the jail. He’d have to hope that the prison doctor knew what he was doing...

  Some hope, Gwen thought, sourly. Even with the new laws, prisons were far from healthy places – particularly for prisoners who were already wounded when they were brought in and placed in a cell. Unless, of course, the prisoner happened to have noble blood – or a great deal of money.

  Sir Charles looked over at the blackened safe. “Those were all of his papers?”

  “I think so,” Gwen said. The entire house would have to be searched – the third house that had been searched since Sir Travis had been murdered. She hoped that Hopkins could trust his policemen if they did find something incriminating; the temptation to use it would be incredibly strong. “How many other stashes do you think he had?”

  “None,” Sir Charles said. He picked up a piece of ash, studied it thoughtfully and then ground it to dust. “Who could he trust to take care of them?”

  Gwen considered it for a long moment, then put the matter aside. “I need you to drive me to my mother’s house,” she said. Her anger was still there, ready to be unleashed. “Can you do that?”

  Sir Charles hesitated. “Are you sure you’re up to visiting your mother?”

  “Yes,” Gwen snapped. No doubt Lady Mary would wonder if he’d asked her to marry him when they arrived. She was in for a rude shock. “I have to see her. Now.”

  Sir Charles nodded and left the room. Gwen started to follow him and then stopped, staring around at the devastation. If three untrained magicians – and her – could do so much damage, what would happen when – if – magicians went to war against other magicians? How dangerous would it be in London if magic were used in an outright fight... or airships were used to drop explosives on the city... or steam-powered warships sailed up the Thames. For a moment, she almost felt sorry for the people who disliked magic and distrusted her. Their world was changing and they no longer felt safe.

  She looked down at the file in her hand, then walked after Sir Charles. Perhaps he was right and it wasn’t the best time to talk to her mother, but it had to be done. She was not going to allow her mother to treat her like a child again.

  And Lady Mary had to answer for what she had done.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Lord Rudolf is in the study, talking with Lord Flitch-Fletcher,” the butler said, as he showed Gwen into her old home. “Lady Mary is in her study.”

  “Thank you,” Gwen grated, as she walked past him. She’d had the whole drive to build up her temper and it needed release, before she lost control of her magic. Even Sir Charles hadn’t been able to calm her down.

  She stepped into her mother’s study – a room she’d rarely been allowed to enter as a child – and closed the door firmly behind her. Lady Mary looked up, surprised and then concerned, as Gwen dropped Howell’s folder on the desk in front of her mother.

  “I took it from Howell,” Gwen said. “What were you thinking?”

  Lady Mary opened the folder and read the first sheet of paper. Her face paled; for a long moment, Gwen was convinced that she was going to faint. Then she looked up at her daughter, her eyes wide with horror – and shame. Polite Society was unforgiving when someone broke the rules and Lady Mary hadn’t just broken them, she’d shattered them into tiny pieces. Gwen refused to look away as her mother swallowed hard. Whatever she’d imagined, she hadn’t imagined this.

  “I had no choice,” she protested. “I couldn’t...”

  “Every day, ever since I was born, you tried to mould me into a perfect young lady,” Gwen hissed. “You told me what to do and corrected me ruthlessly; you wanted someone you could marry off to someone of a higher rank than us. And yet you had this in your past. How dare you?”

  “It was your father’s child,” Lady Mary said. “We... we just couldn’t keep it.”

  “You’re lying,” Gwen snapped. Everyone knew that a bride could do in six months what a wife needed nine to do. Polite Society wouldn’t have commented if the formalities were observed. “When did you plan to tell me about the brother or sister I never had?”

  Her voice hardened. “Who did you sleep with to get pregnant?”

  Lady Mary shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she muttered. “But I had no choice.”

  Gwen looked down at the documents. Howell had found out – somehow – that Lady Mary had visited an abortionist, three months before her marriage to Lord Rudolf. If it had been Lord Rudolf’s child, it wouldn’t have been that much of a problem... but someone else’s would have been a major scandal. The wedding would have been cancelled, leaving Lady Mary forever tainted with a reputation for premarital sex. And the child would probably have been given up for adoption.

  Her mother started to cry. “I had no choice,” she repeated. “I didn’t realise that I could get pregnant until it was too late. My mother arranged the appointment with the abortionist...”

  “And you killed your child,” Gwen said, coldly. She knew, through Lucy, that abortionists were common in the poorer parts of London, but she had never realised that upper class women went to them too. “I should have had a half-brother or sister, if you hadn’t killed the child.”

  “You wouldn’t have existed at all,” Lady Mary said, rallying. “Do you think Rudolf would have kept me if there was proof that I...”

  “Go on,” Gwen sneered. “If there was proof that you gave yourself to another man before your wedding?”

  Her anger grew stronger. “Every day, you told me to be the perfect lady,” she snapped. “And you were nothing more than a hypocrite! You lied to me!”

  “I did what I thought was best for you, even after you became a... a magician,” Lady Mary said. “I didn’t want you to grow up like me!”

  “Always running, fearful that someone would catch you out,” Gwen said, quietly. “What did Howell demand from you in exchange for his silence.”

  “Six thousand pounds,” Lady Mary said. “It was my legacy from my grandfather, enough money to ensure that I would be a catch in society... I had to transfer it from my bank to Howell, knowing that my husband might one day want to use it. But I had no choice.”

  Gwen felt a twinge of sympathy. It was rare for a woman to control what she brought to the marriage; customarily, it was given to her husband to use as he saw fit. Lady Mary’s grandfather had been staunchly traditional in such matters; he’d always believed that women were incapable of doing anything unless they were led by men. Her mother might, depending on how the courts looked at it, have stolen from her own husband.

  “And Howell promised you that no one else would ever know,” Gwen said, remembering what he’d told Lady Elizabeth. “But he kept the files... and I found them.”

  She looked down at her mother. “Who was he?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Lady Mary said, softly. “He never knew that he had a child. Our lives parted before I knew
that I was with child; I never told him the truth. By then, I was engaged to Rudolf...”

  Gwen remembered everything her mother had done, in the guise of teaching her to be a proper young lady. The endless lessons in etiquette, the ritualised banquets when she’d pretended to be hosting the highest aristocratic families, the dresses and... and so much else, all blurred together into a stifling childhood. And if she hadn’t had magic, she would have been married off, unaware that her mother’s past might overshadow her future. If Lady Mary’s secret had come out, Gwen’s husband might have separated from her. It was believed that certain tendencies ran in families.

  Her mother had kept Gwen when others might have abandoned her, Gwen knew. But that didn’t make up for everything she’d done.

  “Howell is... unlikely to recover,” Gwen said, hoping that she was right. Part of her wouldn’t care any longer if her mother was disgraced, but she knew just how many others would be threatened by the blackmailer’s recovery. “I think your secret is safe.”

  Lady Mary looked up, her eyes stained with tears. “What did you do to him?”

  “Broke his mind,” Gwen said, flatly. She would not share the details with her mother. “I took your file, then burned the rest of them to ash. Howell’s collection of dark secrets died with him.”

  Her mother relaxed, slightly. “Make sure you get the credit for it,” she said, softly. “Your reputation will be made.”

  Gwen shrugged. “My reputation was ruined the first day I used magic,” she snapped. She risked a question she would never normally have dared ask. “Am I my father’s child?”

  Lady Mary glared at her, one hand raised as if she were about to slap her daughter.

  “You’re Rudolf’s girl, all right,” she snapped. “And mine too, for my sins. There were enough times when I thought you were my punishment for what I had done.”