Hobgoblin Night: Mask and Dagger 2

by Teresa Edgerton

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  In which the course of True Love does not run Smooth.

  Though Sera was willing to present Lord Skelbrooke to the community at large under any name he might care to assume, she refused to impose on Miss Barebones. Moreover, she thought the time had come to make a clean breast of things by telling the headmistress her own name, Elsie's name, and their present circumstances.

  It might be (Sera told herself) that Miss Barebones would cast them both out; she would certainly be within her rights to do so. In that case, they would just have to find a new place to live, someplace where they would not abuse the hospitality of their hostess with lies and deceptions.

  But of course Sera need not have worried; Miss Barebones expressed only interested sympathy. "You must stay here as long as you wish, and use what names you please," said Miss Barebones. "And to think you have been here using false names all this time—how very romantic that is! As to any danger that may involve the rest of us, well, that hardly seems likely, but it is good of you to warn me."

  As for Skelbrooke, she took to him at once, charmed by his well-bred air and his fine manners. To the other ladies, Miss Fitch and Miss Eglantine, Elsie introduced him as her cousin, Mr. Carstares.

  "Doctor Carstares . . . I am a physician, you know," his lordship corrected her, with a mischievous gleam in his eye. "Finding myself in the vicinity of Hobb's Church and learning from Miss Thorn that my cousin suffers some mysterious malady, I at once resolved to make an extended visit to Mothgreen Hall, in order to observe her condition."

  In no time at all, he had won over Miss Eglantine and Miss Fitch, as thoroughly as he had won Miss Barebones. Both ladies were pleased to have a doctor on the premises—especially one who took such a flattering interest in all their complaints, real or imaginary.

  "I wonder that you are not ashamed of yourself, the way you go on here," Sera scolded him, as they walked in the garden the next afternoon.

  "But my dear Miss Thorn, I believe you once told me that I made a mistake when I abandoned the practice of medicine," his lordship said, choosing to misunderstand her. "I recall that you expressed yourself rather forcibly on the subject."

  Sera drew in her breath sharply. "I am sure that I never said or did anything half so impertinent," she said indignantly. "Though perhaps I did say that you would make a good doctor."

  "Indeed, I think those were your very words. What an admirable memory you have, Miss Thorn! And so I have it in mind to do just that," said his lordship. "I had very nearly completed my course of study when I left the University, you know, and I had extensive practical experience at the Hospital of the Holy Powers. There are many practicing physicians less qualified to do so than I."

  They stopped beneath a leafy grape arbor. "I should, eventually, like to spend another year or two assisting some professor of medicine, or apprenticing myself to a country doctor who practices both both physick and surgery. That must wait on more pressing matters; for now, I shall stay in Cordelia. Will you take me to visit Jedidiah tomorrow? I am most particularly interested in this machine he is building. Also, there are one or two things that I must tell him."

  As they ambled down a flagstone path, his lordship launched into a brief description of his adventures in Zammarco and his encounters with Caleb Braun and the mysterious Eirena.

  "Caleb Braun's daughter?" said Sera, with a disbelieving smile. "Perhaps you can tell me, sir, who the child's mother is supposed to be!"

  "It would appear," said Skelbrooke, "that she has no mother and never had. I beg your pardon, for I believe you will not like to hear this. Nevertheless, I think you ought to be told. Before I left the Continent, my friend Trithemius Ave finally convinced Caleb to divulge his secret (which I had already begun to suspect) and admit that Eirena—far from being born in the common way—is in fact a homunculus, created in the laboratory by your grandfather and Caleb Braun, using arcane materials and an ordinary mandrake root.

  "No doubt," added his lordship, "you will now tell me that the thing is impossible."

  "On the contrary," Sera said, with a troubled frown. "You forget that my grandfather played a dominant role in my education. I think perhaps such things can be done. The question is: whether they ought to be. Even if the end result should be reckoned harmless—which I am not prepared to allow—considering the cost and the high probability of ruinous failure, I do not think the attempt should even be made.

  "But you have actually seen the creature," she said. "Are you quite, quite convinced that Caleb spoke the truth?"

  "I am. For once the idea had entered my mind, everything I knew of Eirena supported the notion. Perhaps you, too, remember something about those last days at your grandfather's bookshop."

  Sera considered for some time, a frown knitting her brows and her dark eyes distant. "Yes," she said reluctantly. "Yes, I do remember—oh, things that made no sense at the time. A tiny shroud, and a word let fall by Caleb Braun. But if this incredible thing should happen to be true then Eirena must be, in some sense, my grandfather's child as much as Caleb's."

  Skelbrooke cleared his throat, spent a moment adjusting the plain bands at his wrist. "As to that, I would prefer to spare you the specific details, but the circumstances surrounding Eirena's creation were such . . . in short, she can claim kinship with Caleb and Jed, but none at all with you."

  They continued their stroll side by side, through the scented pathways, between beds of flowering lavender, rosemary, and bee-balm. Sera was very quiet, for Skelbrooke had given her much to think about. But when they came to a low gate and passed through it to the orchard, she suddenly asked: "Speaking as a physician, sir, do you tell me this thing is possible?"

  "Speaking as a physician, Miss Thorn, I should have to say no. But speaking as a magician and a Glassmaker," said Skelbrooke, "I am utterly convinced of it."

  "As a magician." Sera's eyes went darker still. "But of course you must be. You are deep in the councils of the Guild, are you not?"

  He suddenly caught her in his arms, robbing her, for a moment, of breath. Though surprised and considerably ruffled, she made no move to extricate herself.

  "Dear Sera," he said, grown suddenly very earnest. "I cannot say it is a part of my life I could easily or instantly abandon. But if you would prefer to be . . . not a magician's wife, but the wife of an ordinary physician, I can only promise that I would strive to be—"

  Unfortunately, at that very interesting moment, Miss Fitch appeared at the end of the path, and Skelbrooke was forced to relinquish his hold. Blushing furiously, Sera stepped out of his arms. Though nothing more could be said on the subject, Sera's softened expression gave her suitor reason to hope.

  But later that evening, after supper, when his lordship and the ladies went into the parlor—the old ladies and Elsie to sit down and play a game of whist, and Skelbrooke to assume a negligent pose by the fireplace, with one elbow on the mantelpiece, the better to observe Sera as she mended a pair of gloves—he made a serious blunder. In reaching for his snuffbox, he brought out the box of Sleep Dust instead.

  Instantly realizing his error, he snapped the lid shut. But Sera had already recognized the little gold box with its inlay of pearl and ivory, identified the fine crystalline powder, and was unable to disguise her chagrin. He saw that she had long since realized all the implications of his immunity to the Dust. With a faint blush, he put the box back in his pocket.

  It did not seem a propitious hour to continue their conversation from the garden.

  ***

  Tired and out of sorts, confused by her own tumultuous emotions, Sera went up to her bedchamber early, ostensibly to make certain that her gown and her bonnet were in perfect order for church on the morrow.

  Her temper grew worse when she could not find the little necklace of sea-ivory and gold, which she had removed the day before, on what impulse she was not quite certain. Had she supposed that by wearing his gift she would give Lord Skelbrooke encouragement she was not yet willing t
o give? For whatever reason, she had not remembered to put it on again this morning. She thought she had put it away, very carefully in a drawer, was firmly convinced that she had closed the drawer immediately afterwards, but rifling through her gloves, her handkerchiefs, and her stockings, she discovered that the necklace was not to be found.

  Sera stood back from the chest of drawers, trying to remember. Perhaps she had placed it in another drawer? That hardly seemed likely; her memory for these things was always very good. Nevertheless, she searched through the other drawers, through every chest and cabinet in her room, even—growing a little frantic—through Elsie's room as well, in case the necklace had been accidentally transferred when Elsie borrowed a lace scarf or a pair of gloves, but all without success.

  With tears of frustration stinging her eyes, Sera sat down hard on the edge of Elsie's bed. Had hobgoblins taken her necklace for the sake of its glittering gold? But hobgoblins did not open drawers or cabinets. They only took what people left lying carelessly about, as though they actually felt compunction about stealing what others treasured. That was why Sera had taken such care to put the necklace away in a drawer.

  She clasped her hands together. Hobgoblins did not open drawers, but perhaps they might take something from a drawer that was already standing open? Had she left the drawer open, earlier in the day, when extracting some item? She certainly did not remember doing so, but perhaps in some moment of distraction, when the ivory charm was no longer on her mind . . .

  One thing was certain, Sera thought miserably. If the hobs had taken the necklace, it was irredeemably lost.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  In which Jed and Mr. Jonas receive Visitors, both Welcome and otherwise.

  In the workshop behind Mr. Herring's establishment, Jed and Mr. Jonas were hard at work, busily reconstructing their fabulous machine. They had worked so industriously these last few days, they had very nearly completed their task. Nor had any further damage occurred to set them back, possibly (they thought) because Mr. Jonas had rigged a trap over the door, and they set it to spring on any intruder each night before they went home.

  When someone rapped briskly on the door at the front of the shop, Jedidiah and the gnome exchanged a puzzled glance. They had not expected company, and Mr. Herring, naturally, possessed his own key. But Jed put down his hammer and his nails and went off to answer the door, coming back a few moments later, very warm and indignant, followed by Moses Tynsdale.

  Mr. Jonas greeted this intrusion with a frown, an expression rarely seen on his broad, good-natured face. In combination with his curving horns, the effect was surprisingly formidable.

  "He insists that he won't go home without gaining a look at the 'infernal' machine we are building here," Jed explained.

  When not in the midst of some violent harangue, the clergyman always conducted himself with perfect formality, and this occasion was no different. "Indeed," he said, with a stiff bow and a dark glance. "And a fiendish mechanism it looks to be."

  Jed leaned against a wall and folded his arms across his chest, as though it were necessary to confine those big active limbs of his in order to prevent them from taking violent action. But Mr. Jonas went back to calibrating the delicate instruments on the machine.

  "If that is how it appears to you, I beg leave to tell you: you are greatly mistaken," the gnome replied dryly. "You might call it, rather, a celestial engine."

  Tynsdale paced a circle around the machine, continuing to fix it with a brooding eye. His nostrils dilated as he caught a whiff of brimstone. "I apprehend that it has some connection with the pagan ruins up on the hill?"

  "There is some tenuous connection," replied Mr. Jonas, measuring the distance between two of the magnets. "But we are not unearthing a pagan ruin on Spyglass Hill; it was a chapel dedicated to the worship of the Nine Seasons."

  "I stand corrected," said the Reverend Tynsdale, coming to a halt. He clasped his hands behind his back and stood rocking back and forth from heel to toe. "And perhaps you will also be so obliging as to explain to me just what precisely you intend to do with this device."

  At this, Jedidiah could no longer contain his outrage. "Burn him! He has no right to come here and question us this way, curse his impudence. He's not the vicar, and we're not obliged to answer his questions."

  "No more we are," said Mr. Jonas. "But I see no reason not to reassure him, now that he has asked. The device is harmless, Mr. Tynsdale, you may accept my assurance of that. As to its precise function: I shall not trouble you with an explanation, for it is very complex and you would not understand the half of it.

  "Now I must beg your indulgence," he added, with a stiff little bow of his own. "Mr. Thorn and I were just finishing up. The hour is late and we are eager for our beds. If you are truly interested, perhaps you might call another time."

  Mr. Tynsdale stalked out in high dudgeon, and Jedidiah went after him to bolt the door.

  When Jed came back into the shed, he found Mr. Jonas sitting on a stool beside the device, surveying his handiwork with a thoughtful frown.

  "Word is leaking out," said Jed, thrusting his hands into his pockets. "Our activities are hardly a secret anymore. And we may be called to account yet. I wish I had held my tongue, or at least contrived to be more polite. The temper of the town is not very pleasant, these days, with all the fuss and bother over hobgoblins, and we have seen how successfully this fellow Tynsdale is able to stir up a mob."

  "Nevertheless," said Mr. Jonas, "until we are called to account for our actions publically—which we may still avoid, yet—we must maintain such secrecy as we are able. It would not do to reveal our plans to the whole world."

  ***

  Sera walked into church the next morning, on Francis Skelbrooke's arm. As usual, his lordship succeeded in charming everyone he met, and there were a great many, among those who attended early morning service at the little white Church of Seven Fates, who were eager to make the acquaintance of such an elegant gentleman.

  Sera had to admit that he looked very fine, in a suit of primrose satin, with a malacca walking stick carried in one hand, and a tricorn hat with a feather panache. His hair was immaculately powdered, he was delicately scented with bergamot and neroli, and beside him, Sera felt very dowdy and countrified, in her cherry-striped poplin and second-best bonnet.

  After church, Sera took him up past the gravestones to the top of Spyglass Hill, that he might view the floors of the ruined chapel. Most of the rubble had been cleared away, and the tiles beneath were all scrubbed clean. Besides the border of stars and comets, the gilded boats and balloons full of interplanetary travelers, they had uncovered a seascape filled with strange plants and fantastic aquatic creatures, some of them (so said Mr. Jonas) not natural creatures at all, but certain to be mechanical in origin.

  Lord Skelbrooke took a pair of scissor eyeglasses out of his pocket and examined a picture—it appeared to be a silver-plated whale equipped with wheels and portholes—which (as Mr. Jonas had explained to her) could only be meant for an underwater vehicle.

  "Dear me," said his lordship, quirking an eyebrow. "I cannot imagine how anyone ever mistook these for the work of savages!"

  Sera regarded him with a puzzled frown. Along with his fine clothes, his hair powder, and his scent, he had also regained something of his old manner. As had happened so often before, she did not quite know what she ought to make of him.

  They left the cemetery, walked down the hill, and started across the green, on their way to Mr. Herring's cottage to meet with Jed and Mr. Jonas. As on other Sundays, Moses Tynsdale held forth in his customary spot at the base of the statue. The rector of Seven Fates, the mild and saintly Mr. Bliss, steadfastly refused to share his pulpit with the rabble-rousing Tynsdale.

  As they drew near the marble statue, Skelbrooke suddenly stiffened. "That man, Miss Thorn. Do you know him?"

  "Why yes," said Sera, wondering why he should speak so sharply, stare at the clergyman so fiercely. "That is the Reverend Mose
s Tynsdale, the itinerant preacher."

  His lordship continued to frown. "His name is not Tynsdale, it is Hooke," he said grimly. "He was at one time a clergyman, but no sooner ordained than defrocked. He is not at all a proper person for you to associate with."

  Sera smiled disbelievingly. "Because he is here pretending to be someone he is not?" She lowered her voice. "But it seems we are all using assumed names these days; it has become the merest commonplace. Perhaps, like the rest of us, he is trying to hide himself."

  His lordship took her firmly by the arm and led her down a street—in quite the wrong direction as it happened, but Sera was not paying attention, either, being most forcibly struck by this change of manner, which she liked rather better than his earlier pose of lazy elegance.

  "Considering what bad odor he was in with the authorities, when last we met, I can readily imagine that he wishes to hide himself," fumed Skelbrooke. "The last time I knew him he had been condemned to a life in prison; how or why he was allowed to escape I do not know. But I repeat, he is a very dangerous man, and not a proper person for you to know!"

  Sera refrained from the obvious retort. Instead, she asked curiously, "You are well acquainted, then, with this Hooke or Tynsdale?"

  "There was a time, to my sorrow, when we were intimately acquainted," Skelbrooke replied brusquely.

  "But there is not—forgive me—some kinsman of yours?"

  His lordship was plainly startled at being compared to the swarthy Tynsdale. "By the sacred Powers, no! Do you mean to tell me that you perceive some resemblance?"

  "Not . . . any similarity of feature or figure," said Sera slowly. "But, sometimes, one of expression."

  Skelbrooke's grip on her arm had not slackened. "Euripides Hooke and I once shared some remarkably painful experiences. It was not a time in my life that I care to remember, but one supposes these experiences leave their mark."