Angel of Ruin

by Kim Wilkins

  “I assure you it is possible. One generation is often exceeded by the next.”

  Deborah’s imagination was captured by Amelia’s words: to surpass Father in learning? Was it wrong even to dream of such a thing? She forced herself to remain unmoved, to stay upon the path she had come here to explore.

  “Amelia, I have so many questions.”

  “Then ask them.”

  “May we start at the beginning? Could you tell me how it all happened? How my mother could afford such a luxury for her daughters as an angel? For surely, would not every man have one were it so easy to acquire?”

  “Your mother did not pay for her angel with money. I owed her a favour. It is a great deal of work and time to call an angel, and it is very detrimental to the caller’s health.”

  “Why did you owe her a favour?”

  “She saved my life.” Amelia pulled one of her cats into her lap, her fingers working gently through its fur. “I was set to hang for witchcraft.”

  “For witchcraft?”

  “Actually, for murder, but I had been accused of murdering through bewitchment. I was residing at Stanton St John at the time, and I knew your mother well. She provided information at the assizes which made it clear I could not have murdered the man, and I was set free. When she came to London, we contacted one another and I promised her I would repay her.” She smiled a mischievous smile. “I did, by the way.”

  “Repay her?”

  “No, I did kill the man.”

  Deborah felt her breath catch in her throat. “What?”

  “He deserved to die. But fear not, he is the only person I have killed and I have no regrets, and nor would you if you had been in my circumstance.”

  “What was your circumstance?”

  She scooped up the cat, cradled it like a baby. “Yes, I think Deborah Milton might understand,” she said to her cat, in the kind of voice one might use with a small child. She looked up at Deborah again. “I have never married, and nor have I ever lain with a man. I have no desire for it. Men are beasts.”

  Amelia Lewis suddenly grew immense in her estimation. “Yes, yes, it’s true. Mary gives up her body indiscriminately. What gain is there for the soul, for the mind, in that?”

  Amelia nodded. “Then you will understand. This man, the man I killed, attempted to defile me. When thwarted, he threatened to return and complete the task.” She laughed lightly. “One should not threaten Amelia Lewis. He was dead in forty-eight hours, a strange pox which no doctor could explain. I did it, and I am glad. And I am glad withal that I did not hang for it, for he was not worth dying for.”

  For all it was a breach of one of the Ten Commandments, there was a certain Old Testament justice in Amelia’s story. “How may I be like you, Amelia? How may I avoid the curse of marriage?”

  “You are little more than a child. Marriage is not yet a threat to you. In the meantime, you must work to become independent. You must develop your mind, and exercise the powers which are now available to you.”

  Deborah felt her excitement die a little. “You mean Lazodeus?”

  “What are your misgivings?”

  “He lied to us. He told us he was an angel.”

  “And so he is.”

  “A fallen angel.”

  “The politics of Heaven are not for men to understand.”

  “Is he a demon?”

  Amelia smiled. “A demon is something quite different. The Greeks believed demons were benevolent spirits. Socrates had one, you know.”

  “But aren’t demons evil?”

  “Nothing in the universe is evil. Demons are merely spirits.” She paused, then said, “Spirits that may be commanded.”

  “It sounds wrong.”

  “It is a great tradition, and divers great and learned men command spirits. It is a pity so many women are scared away from the science. But women are often scared away from what will make them powerful and wise.”

  “I would be powerful and wise, I would be a great natural philosopher and physician, but I do not want to command spirits.”

  Amelia sniffed. “Because you are afraid.”

  “Because it is wrong.”

  “Forget what you have heard. Learn anew.”

  Deborah felt the start of a curious longing flicker to life inside her. Learn anew.

  “Lazodeus has divided us.”

  “That is your fault,” Amelia said, and Deborah was surprised by her frankness. “You are not listening. Your heart knows that he is telling the truth when he says he is not evil. But you are so full of old ideas that new ones cannot make their way in. You may never surpass your father in wisdom unless you reach beyond what you already know.”

  “Amelia, I fear for our souls.”

  Amelia put her cat aside, leaned across and touched Deborah’s hand. “Lazodeus does not want your soul. It is safe, as are the souls of your sisters. Enjoy yourself, exercise your power, find your independence.”

  “I know not —”

  “And nor will you ever know if you don’t learn.”

  Deborah’s hands clenched and unclenched in her lap. She suddenly felt very young. She wanted to trust Amelia because she liked her: Amelia was intelligent and strong and unconventional. Deborah had never met another woman like that.

  “Deborah, there is a great tradition among male magicians of taking on an apprentice.”

  Deborah looked up.

  “Would you like to be my apprentice?” Amelia continued. “I could teach you about the unseen world. Perhaps then you would not feel so afraid of Lazodeus.”

  The idea filled her with wild excitement. Then she thought of Father, of how desperate she was to make him proud. She said soberly, “No. My father would not want that.”

  Amelia drew her eyebrows down together. “No? I thought you wanted to learn.”

  With a great effort, Deborah rose from the couch. “I should go. I have stayed too long and my father may need me.”

  “I will be kinder to you than your father is.”

  “Good day, Amelia.”

  Unsurprised, Amelia stood and showed her to the door.

  “Thank you for answering my questions,” Deborah said as she stood in the threshold to the dirty winter day outside.

  “You will return,” Amelia said with confidence.

  Deborah didn’t reply. She walked out into the street and turned towards home, vowing to herself that Amelia was wrong. She would not return.

  Anne was supposed to be helping Liza with the mats, but instead she was taking a few blissful moments of solitude up in her bedroom. Mary and Deborah, uneasily reconciled after their disagreement, had gone walking. They had been surprised that she did not want to join them. But more and more, she relished being alone. Being alone meant she could think about Lazodeus.

  She sighed and lay back on her bed. The quiet hung around her like a promise. She closed her eyes and remembered the feeling of speaking easily. “I can speak,” she said aloud, for she rarely stammered when she was on her own. Still, the words didn’t come easily, as though her mouth were a mechanism with jammed parts. She drew deep breaths, aware of the rise and fall of her chest, of the mellow heaviness which lay in her limbs.

  His face. Those lips, so magnificently expressive. Those eyes, so clear and bright. How could Deborah suspect for a moment that he was anything less than a good angel? He was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Beauty of that magnitude could not be evil.

  And his body. She opened her eyes suddenly. Crazy emotions raced around inside her. Was this love? She would like to be able to ask Mary, who had been in love so many times. But it felt so private, so sore and sweet. She feared to ruin it by speaking of it.

  She rose and went to the mirror over the dresser, examined herself. She had always despised her appearance. Her crooked gait and her stupid twitching face made her feel like a grotesquerie. But now, with her face at rest, perhaps she was not so ugly. She looked very much like Mary, though not as plump and merry.

 
Anne had long believed that she could be herself, with all her faults, and angels would still love her. Now she had met one, it seemed all she could think of was how he might judge her. She leaned close to the mirror. Her eyes were bright, her teeth were still good. Perhaps her chin was too pointy. Perhaps her hair was too severely parted, too fine and straight. She touched her face with her fingers. Her skin was soft. Had Lazodeus noticed this when he had touched her cheek? Had he thought about her soft skin afterwards?

  As minutes ticked by she gazed at herself in the glass. Gazed for so long she almost couldn’t identify herself any more, as though she had dissected herself into unrecognisable parts. Her lips; were they inviting? Mary’s lips must be inviting, for there was no shortage of people who wished to kiss her. And Anne’s lips were almost identical.

  What would she look like to someone intending to kiss her? Would such a close view deform her into a monster? She leaned her forehead against the mirror and looked at her dark eyes staring back at her. Pressed her lips against the cool glass and watched herself. Would Lazodeus find her beautiful if he kissed her?

  The door suddenly flew open and Anne hastened away from the mirror. Liza stood there, hands on her hips.

  “Your father has said you must help me with the mats.”

  “I am sorry. I f-forgot.”

  “I told him you must have forgot, but he’s angry.”

  “He th-thinks I’m an idiot anyway. I c-c-can hardly fear his anger.”

  “Don’t talk such nonsense. Come.”

  Anne left the room with one last glance at the mirror. Once again she was limping, twitching, stuttering Annie. Nobody would ever love her. Least of all an angel.

  “What are you doing, Mary?” Anne said sleepily.

  Mary turned from where she stood near the window and put a finger to her lips by the light of the candle she carried with her. “Shh. You’ll wake the whole household.”

  Anne propped herself up on an elbow. “Close the window, ’Tis cold.”

  “I’m going next door to my secret room.”

  “You’ll freeze.”

  “I took coal over this morning, and some old rugs.”

  “Be c-careful.”

  “I promise I shall scream mighty loud if I fall,” Mary said.

  “D-do not even make such a joke,” Anne said, settling back under the covers.

  Mary hoisted one leg and then the other out the window, turned and said goodnight to Anne, then made her way along the ledge. It was not as easy with only one hand to steady her, but the ledge was sturdy and her feet were sure. Once in her secret room, she took a few minutes to light the fire and assess the room.

  The rugs were dismal and threadbare. Even the light of the fire hadn’t the power to cheer the room. She sank to the floor, depressed. In her imagination, the secret room was full of the rich fancies that Amelia owned. In reality, it looked like a pauper’s home.

  She stretched her hands out to the fire and sighed. Perhaps she should have properly dressed, instead of coming in her shift. The room was cold, and taking a long time to warm up. Still, she was alone, away from her sisters, and ready for adventure. Ready to try a seduction.

  “Lazodeus,” she said, “come to me.”

  He appeared, and Mary marvelled that something so magical could happen so quietly. It seemed the whole world should rise and applaud at such a wonder. She smiled at him.

  “Good evening, Mary,” he said.

  “Do you like my new room?”

  “No. It is very cold and colourless.”

  “Can you fix it?”

  He sat down next to her. “Maybe.” Almost instantly, the fire began to roar, the temperature in the room began to rise.

  “What about some cushions? Some tapestries? Like Amelia Lewis’s house. I suppose they were provided for her by you or an angel like you?”

  “I know not how Amelia Lewis furnishes her home.”

  “Do you mean you won’t do it?”

  “Is that why you called me? To command me to produce little comforts?” He sounded impatient.

  Mary was taken aback. “No. I merely wanted to speak with you.”

  “Your sisters do not know you’ve called me.”

  “Anne wouldn’t mind, I’m sure. Deborah is still deciding whether or not to trust you, but I already trust you. So I don’t see why I shouldn’t call you.” Still, a guilty feeling lurked in the back of her mind. Deborah would prefer it if Lazodeus only attended them all together. She had explained to Mary on their walk that afternoon, that her greatest fear was the three of them being divided over the angel. Mary had assured her that it wouldn’t happen, and yet here she was speaking with him by herself, hoping that she may enjoy some forbidden intimacy with him.

  She pushed the guilt aside. She was braver than her sisters, and they all knew it. Brave enough to deal with Lazodeus directly.

  “Forget about the furnishings,” she said. “I only wished for a nicer setting in which to entertain you.”

  “You are entertaining me?” he asked, smiling. “Am I not supposed to be entertaining you? I am your servant, at your command.”

  “I want you to be our friend, not our servant,” she said. “In fact, I command it.”

  “Your sister Deborah would be appalled to hear such a thing.”

  She waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, Deborah is such a baby, really. She may be Father’s favourite for being clever, but it does not equate with being wise.”

  “A very wise thing to say,” he said, and Mary felt herself blush with pleasure.

  “What would we speak of?” Lazodeus continued. “What would we do, now we are friends, rather than servant and mistress.”

  “We could speak of intimate things,” she said boldly. “We could undress each other.” This very offer had worked so many times for her, that she was stupefied to see him shake his head.

  “No, Mary. That is not for us to do.”

  Disappointment sank down inside her. Fool, for thinking that an angel would be so easy to seduce. “But why not?”

  “Because you want such intimacy for the wrong reasons.”

  “I want to please you.”

  “And what of your pleasure?”

  “It would please me to lie with you.”

  “The pleasure you take from your lovers is cruel. It is about defeating them, not about loving them.”

  “Love is a word fatigued through use. Besides, I can command you to do it.” She warmed to the idea.

  He leaned very close, his nose almost touching hers, the warmth of his body seeking out her skin. She felt vaguely frightened but was unsure why. “You can no longer command me, Mary Milton. For you told me not five minutes past that you would now have me for friend rather than servant.”

  “But I meant …” She had meant exactly that. Her heart picked up a quick rhythm. “So I can no longer tell you what to do?”

  He shook his head. “Nor your sisters for you did say ‘our friend’? From now on I may listen and help you, because of the love I bear you all, but I may say no whenever I please.” His fingers brushed her shoulder. “Mary, there is a delight in skin touching skin which you do not yet know,” he said. “Are you not curious?”

  Nothing was going to plan. She had imagined their exchange so differently. He would be like all the others she had known — the offer to use her body would be quickly accepted, clothes would be removed, some childish grunting would follow and then she would be the new queen of his angelic body, the object to which his thoughts always returned, the constant topic of his conversation, the sole aim of his labours. Instead, he was no longer her servant and she felt threatened, as though she teetered on the brink of a chasm.

  “I …”

  He leaned away suddenly. “When I think you are ready to know the true pleasures of the flesh, I shall call upon you again. Until then goodbye, friend.”

  “Go then,” she said, turning her face away. “I don’t care if you go for I —” She stopped abruptly as she looked aro
und and saw he had gone.

  The empty room suddenly felt very cold.

  The next morning, Mary took a brass candlestick across to her secret room as though that one small object could counter the dingy appearance of the place. As she climbed in the window, she gasped with astonishment.

  The room was full of velvet cushions, thick fur rugs, rich curtains, ornate lamps and candlesticks, gold-threaded tapestries, paintings, pottery and statues. She stood in the middle of it for a moment, taking it all in. Then she began to laugh.

  This kind of luxury was the least a girl who had once commanded angels could expect.

  “Mrs Milton, may I speak with you?”

  Betty glanced up from her embroidering. She sat in a weak sunbeam in the whitewashed withdrawing room. Liza stood in the doorway, shifting from foot to foot like an anxious dog. “Of course, Liza, what is it?”

  Liza looked furtively behind her then approached Betty. “I have been waiting for an opportunity to speak privately, while nobody else is nearby.”

  “What’s all this about? What secrets are we sharing?” Betty asked, putting her embroidery ring aside. Secrets made her nervous.

  “I want to show you something, but I … that is … you aren’t to be cross with me for not showing you earlier.”

  “What is it?”

  “Here.” Liza suddenly dropped to her knees and folded back one of the mats.

  “You want me to join you on the floor?”

  Liza made a motion for her to be quiet and beckoned her over. Betty’s curiosity was piqued. She knelt on the floor next to Liza. “What am I looking at?” she whispered.

  “See …” She indicated a knot in the floorboard. “I realised a few months ago that I could do this.” She pushed her smallest finger under the knot and it popped out, leaving a perfect hole about an inch across. Liza pointed down and mouthed the words, “Look you.”

  Betty leaned over and peered through the hole. She could see directly into John’s study. He sat in his chair listening to Deborah reading to him. Betty flinched and drew back, indicating that Liza should reseal the hole. When the mat was returned to its place, Betty grabbed Liza by the arm. “What is all this about? Have you been spying on my husband and me?” She felt unsafe and exposed.