01 Sorcery and Cecelia

by Patricia C. Wrede

  "Gammon," said Thomas. "What do you think spared me from Dorothea's enchantment? You keep that charm-bag safe. And as for our betrothal, you may cry off if you insist, but I wish you won't. I like the idea of marrying you."

  I came to a halt in the street. "Oh, do you?" I asked.

  "Yes, I do. I think we shall deal extremely." Something in my manner penetrated his notice even in the dark. "Why? Do you have some objection?" he inquired uneasily.

  "Only a very trifling one. You have never proposed to me," I answered.

  "Oh, well—if that is all," said Thomas with relief. "I recollect making you the offer quite distinctly—"

  I cut him off. "That was a matter of your convenience, conditional on my willingness to jilt you. I should like some indication that your desire to marry me extends beyond this evening's whim."

  "Oh, you are being a perfect pig about this, Kate. What do you want me to say to you?"

  " 'I love you,' " I informed him. He misconstrued me.

  Fortunately, by the time we were quite finished kissing in a public thoroughfare, he had said it himself, with considerable feeling. I admit I, too, repeated the words several times. And we agreed that we should, indeed, deal extremely.

  What with one thing and another, it took us quite a long while to walk back to Berkeley Square. When we were at the spot where the street opened out into the square, I stopped Thomas and held him for a moment with my hands on his shoulders.

  "What is it, Kate?" he asked. I didn't have to see him to know he was smiling; I could hear it in the dark.

  "Miranda is dead," I said, "but Sir Hilary is not."

  I felt the laughter leave him.

  "Miranda is dead," he said. "I'll find a way to deal with Sir Hilary."

  "Thomas," I said, exasperated, "you don't by any chance believe all that rubbish I told the Prince about what a marvelous wizard you are, do you?"

  Thomas laughed, and despite my irritation my heart lifted a little at the sound. "Very well," said Thomas, "you and I will find a way to deal with Sir Hilary."

  He took my right hand in his left and put his other hand on my waist. With a monotone but rhythmic buzz, which I took to be his attempt to hum a waltz, he led me into a dance in the middle of the dark street.

  "You and I and Lady Sylvia," I said, obeying his lead.

  Thomas stopped humming to say, "And James."

  "And Cecy," I added.

  "But not Aunt Charlotte," said Thomas, as he changed direction.

  "Definitely not," I said, following him through a sophisticated turn.

  So, in the dark, to music only Thomas could hear, we waltzed the rest of the way up Berkeley Square. And when I was alone before the mirror in my bedroom, I realized that Lady Sylvia was right. Despite the exertions of the night (and despite Thomas's affectionate nature), my hair stayed up all evening.

  Love, Kate

  14 July 1817

  Rushton Manor, Essex

  Dearest Kate,

  Your letter arrived this morning, and I was so delighted by your news I could scarcely contain myself. (Your news about marrying Thomas, I mean; your description of Miranda's fate was, I admit, welcome, but I hope I am not so lost to propriety as to rejoice over it with such glee.) It was rather difficult to explain my emotion to Aunt Elizabeth, as she was, of course, unaware of the circumstances behind your betrothal. I must own that I have wondered for some time whether you were quite so indifferent to the odious Marquis as you claimed. I have told James everything, and he was relieved to know that Miranda will create no further difficulties; Sir Hilary alone has caused quite enough trouble, to his way of thinking. James also said that if you were anything at all like me he did not know whether to send Thomas his felicitations or condolences. I believe he intends to send both (though I assured him you were far more sensible than I and would suit Thomas admirably), so I thought I ought to warn you in case Thomas makes one of his sharp remarks.

  Things have been very lively here as well. Saturday was completely taken up with all manner of last-minute preparations for Sir Hilary's party—procuring a fan that would look well with the amber taffeta, helping Aunt Elizabeth with her hair, etc. I took a great deal of trouble over my appearance, for if I was going to have to face Sir Hilary, I wished to do so looking as well as I possibly could. There is nothing that is quite so reassuring in an awkward situation as knowing that one is well turned-out, and while I hope I am not so fainthearted as to require such stratagems, I am not so foolish as to overlook their value. The dress suited me to perfection—Mrs. Hobart trimmed it with a brown velvet ribbon that is very nearly the same shade as my hair, and I wore brown satin slippers and Mama's locket.

  In spite of all this work, I am afraid I was nearly as nervous as Aunt Elizabeth when we arrived at Bedrick Hall. Sir Hilary did not appear to notice, but greeted us both as though nothing at all out of the ordinary had occurred.

  Aunt Elizabeth tried to make a stiff little apology for abusing him at tea, but Sir Hilary cut her off with a bow and told us to enjoy the party.

  James Tarleton arrived a few minutes later. I was in the middle of a country dance with Martin De Lacey when I saw him, and I nearly forgot the figure in my annoyance. For he knew that Sir Hilary would be watching him, and he did not have to come. He glanced over the company in a bored fashion, and I could not help but notice that he was dressed with as much elegance as ever—black satin knee breeches, a white silk waistcoat with pale blue stripes, and a very dark blue evening coat of a superior cut.

  I returned to Aunt Elizabeth as soon as the dance was over. Mr. Tarleton did not come near us, but strolled along the opposite side of the room, chatting with acquaintances, and looking perfectly at ease. I determined to do the same, to help make it plain to Sir Hilary that there was no connection between us. So I had a perfectly miserable time for the early part of the evening, forcing myself to make bright, cheerful conversation with everyone else while still keeping an unobtrusive eye on James.

  That was my undoing, for in the middle of a waltz with Jack Everslee someone behind me stepped on the flounce of my gown and I felt the stitches rip. I turned to find Sir Hilary apologizing profusely for his clumsiness. I was afraid he was going to offer to escort me to one of the private rooms to pin up my hem (which offer I should certainly have declined!) but, instead, he found Patience Everslee and asked her to accompany me. I was not entirely reassured by this, for it seemed peculiar that Sir Hilary would practically force on me the opportunity of prowling about Bedrick Hall. I therefore insisted that Patience stay and help me (which she did without objection), and returned to the ballroom with as much haste as I could manage.

  My first thought on reentering the ballroom was to look about for James. He was not there. I looked again to make certain, and my heart sank. I had no way of knowing whether Sir Hilary was responsible for James's absence, or whether James was sneaking about the grounds somewhere, but I could not feel sanguine about either possibility. I looked about again, hoping to find Sir Hilary (on the theory that if he was in the ballroom he could not be casting spells on James), and saw him just vanishing through the door of one of the card rooms.

  I hesitated only briefly before making my way around the room. I was quite sure that Sir Hilary would not attempt to do anything to me while I was in company, and I was also sure that I should keep a close watch on him. When I reached the door of the card room, I glanced quickly around the dance floor to make certain James had not returned. Then I opened the door and stepped through.

  As I crossed the threshold, light flared all around, momentarily blinding me. I blinked and shook my head. Then my eyes cleared and I saw that I was not in the card room at all. Instead, I was standing in a pleasant little cloistered garden. The light came from seven tall torches thrust into the ground just inside the wall. The flames wavered in a cool evening breeze, and by their light I saw a chair on the opposite side of the garden occupied by a man in evening dress. I realized at once that it was James.

&nb
sp; I whirled to run, but my arms were caught in a grip of steel and I heard Sir Hilary's voice in my ear, "You really should not be so inquisitive, my dear."

  I kicked him and screamed as loudly as I could for help. Sir Hilary did not seem the least discomposed, and his grip on my arms did not loosen. "You may stop that dreadful noise, my dear," he said when I paused to draw breath. "An entire artillery brigade could fire a salute inside this place and not be heard outside the walls."

  As he spoke, he dragged me halfway across the garden toward James. He stopped in the center and jerked my locket off without bothering with the catch, which stung rather painfully. He tossed the locket in a corner, turned to me, and muttered a word. Then he let go of my arms. I tried to run, and discovered that I could not move at all, except to blink. I was completely numb. I could not even speak (which was exceedingly frustrating, as there were any number of very uncomplimentary things I would like to have said to Sir Hilary just then).

  Sir Hilary smiled mockingly, as if he was aware of my efforts, and glanced from me to James. Then he reached out and turned me a little, so that I was facing straight at the chair where James sat.

  "There," Sir Hilary said with satisfaction. "I believe that will do. I regret that I must leave you temporarily; I cannot have my guests wondering over the disappearance of their host. Don't fear I shall forget you, however. I will be back as soon as the last of them leaves. In the meantime, do enjoy yourselves as best you can."

  He stepped out of my sight, and I heard his footsteps leave the pavilion. I was left in a blaze of candlelight, staring at James and quite unable to move. He appeared to be in exactly the same case as myself, for he sat like a wooden statue. I could see the anguish in his eyes, and I felt very little better myself. It was horrible to have to stand there, waiting, unable to do anything whatever to save either of us, and unable even to speak to James. For I was quite sure that he blamed himself for my predicament, when it was my own folly that drew me out into the garden, and I wished very much to explain it to him and apologize for being such a goose. I ought, at the very least, to have informed Aunt Elizabeth.

  The thought of Aunt Elizabeth made me feel a little better, but only briefly. Sir Hilary was not foolish enough to kidnap me at his own party without having concocted some tale that would satisfy Aunt Elizabeth, at least temporarily. I did not think that she would be fooled for very long, whatever story he told her, but I was sure he had taken that into consideration, too.

  I will not dwell on the next several hours. I had no way of telling how much time had passed, or when Sir Hilary would return. It was maddening to be so helpless, and the worst of it was having to watch James sitting like a corpse with living, tortured eyes. It was almost a relief when I heard the door behind me open and Sir Hilary's voice say, "How kind of you both to wait for me."

  Neither James nor I, of course, could say anything in response. I heard noises behind me, and shortly Sir Hilary appeared, carrying three white candles in silver holders and a large bag. He dropped the bag beside James and set one of the candles carefully on the ground between James and me, then moved on. In a few minutes, he returned, this time carrying black candles in gold holders. He placed one just to the left of the white candle, lit both of them, and moved out of sight again. He returned a third time, empty-handed, and stood between me and James for a moment, studying whatever he had done. Then he set his quizzing glass firmly in one eye and muttered something long and involved.

  The candles flared all around me, and suddenly I could move again. I leapt for the door, hoping to catch Sir Hilary by surprise, and bounced off an invisible wall. Just beyond, I could see a ring of black and white candles, six of each set in mismatched pairs surrounding me.

  "I wouldn't bother trying to escape, Miss Rushton," Sir Hilary said. "The boundaries are quite solid, once they've been properly established. I'm afraid you'll find your movements rather restricted, but it won't be a problem for very long."

  "Why not?" I said before I could stop myself, and I am afraid my voice was a trifle shaky.

  Sir Hilary smiled. "I'd rather not disturb you by explaining."

  I snorted, trying not to show how frightened I was. "You are being ridiculous, Sir Hilary," I said. "Aunt Elizabeth and Papa will surely be looking for me before long."

  "On the contrary, my dear." His smile grew wider and thinner, and I wanted to throw something at him. "Your aunt is under the impression that you went home with Patience Everslee, at the invitation of her mother. Mrs. Everslee is a most... suggestible woman. By the time Elizabeth discovers that you are not with the Everslees, she will also have information indicating that you and Mr. Tarleton have, er, eloped."

  "Aunt Elizabeth won't believe it," I said.

  "Oh, but she will, Miss Rushton," Sir Hilary said in smug tones. "When she hears the full tale of your clandestine meetings with Mr. Tarleton during your morning rides—a most unwise thing for a young lady of quality to do—she will have no trouble whatever in believing you have run off with him."

  "And when she finds out I haven't?" I demanded.

  "Ah, but she won't discover that at all, my dear. Why do you think I bothered to decoy both of you? I'm afraid Mr. Tarleton is only of incidental value to me, you see, though I certainly won't waste him. The two of you will be found tomorrow, on the road to Ipswich, I think. It's clearly not in the direction of the Great North Road, and I believe Mr. Tarleton owns a quiet little place up in that area. It won't take long for people to conclude that he had no intention of marrying you, Miss Rushton. No, Mr. Tarleton cleverly abducted you, right in the middle of my ball. Everyone will consider it fortunate that he broke his neck in the curricle accident— Did I mention that there will be an accident? How careless of me to forget. Yes, Mr. Tarleton will have broken his neck, and I am very much afraid that your wits will have been permanently turned by your harrowing experience. I shall, of course, be as horror-struck as everyone else, and most sympathetic to your poor relatives. I believe it will serve admirably. Don't you agree, Mr. Tarleton?"

  Sir Hilary made a complicated gesture with his right hand as he spoke, and James began cursing in a steady, vicious monotone. "Really, Mr. Tarleton, and in the presence of a lady, too. You forget yourself." Sir Hilary gestured again, and James was completely frozen once more.

  "It will never work, Sir Hilary," I said. "You'll be caught."

  "On the contrary, my dear. No one will connect it with me at all."

  "Kate will," I said before I could stop myself. "And so will the Marquis of Schofield."

  Sir Hilary's expression became, if possible, even more smug than before. "That is the cream of the jest, my dear. Neither your cousin nor the Marquis can do anything against me without proof, and I assure you, there will be none. They will each feel hellishly guilty for having involved the two of you, and with a very little prodding they can each be brought to blame the other for the sad fate of their dearest friends. So I shall have the pleasure of dividing Thomas from the woman he loves, as well as watching him writhe with guilt every time Mr. Tarleton's name is mentioned."

  All I could think of was to say, in a most unconvincing tone, "But the Marquis doesn't love Kate!"

  Sir Hilary snorted. "Don't play the innocent with me. I know Thomas far too well to think he'd behave as he's been doing for any other reason."

  "And you're going to kill James and ruin me, just to make the Marquis suffer?" I said numbly. "You're worse than Miranda!"

  "Not at all." Sir Hilary looked annoyed. "Miranda let revenge distract her from what should have been her main goal. I, on the other hand, would be quite willing to forget about Thomas if necessary—indeed, for a while I thought I would have to. It is simply my good fortune that you will serve both my purposes at once. Which reminds me; there is one last bit of Thomas's interference that I should like to clear up. Excuse me, my dear."

  Sir Hilary walked over to the bag that lay beside James, taking care to stay outside the ring of black and white candles that surrounded me.
He took a silver-rimmed mirror from the bag and muttered over it for a minute. Then he pulled out a small, ivory-handled knife and came toward me. I shrank away, pressing against the invisible barrier behind me, and Sir Hilary frowned.

  "Don't be a fool, girl," he said. "Give me your hand."

  "I wouldn't give you a greeting at church," I said.

  Sir Hilary snorted and muttered something that sounded like the classical Greek Papa speaks upon occasion. I found myself frozen in place once again. Sir Hilary circled the candles until he reached my side. I saw him take my hand and nick my finger with the dagger, though I could not feel a thing. He squeezed my hand in a way that I am sure would have been painful if I could have felt it, and let the blood drip onto the mirror. He dropped my hand and stepped away, muttering a single word. This time I was quite sure it was classical Greek, though I did not quite catch what it was he said. An instant later, I could move, and my hand was throbbing most unpleasantly.

  Sir Hilary ignored me completely, staring into the mirror. Suddenly he gave a harsh laugh. "Waycross! Of course! And I've been looking for the brat everywhere else in England! My lord the Marquis of Schofield is nearly as clever as I am."

  He wiped the mirror clean and replaced both it and the knife in the bag, then turned to me. "I do hope you will excuse me for a little, my dear. I realize it must be very trying, but I have just stumbled across an opportunity that is far too good to miss. I shall return in a little while." He made the same complex gesture as before in James's direction. "Keep the lady company, dear boy. And do try to moderate your language." He bowed mockingly and left.

  I ran across my invisible prison until I hit the wall just opposite James. "James! Are you all right?" I demanded.

  "How should I know?" he said, still glaring after Sir Hilary. "I can't feel a thing from the neck down." He transferred his gaze to me and said in a gentler tone, "Don't cry, Cecy. Please don't cry. There isn't anything you can do, and it only makes both of us feel worse."

  "But there has to be something," I sniffed. "There is always something one can do."