As they reached the ground floor, she murmured, “Let’s go to the kitchen and have bread and tea there rather than a formal breakfast.”
“In other words,” he translated, “you’d prefer to avoid Mother and her husband.”
“That, and I haven’t seen the kitchen yet since I haven’t had a formal tour of the household.”
She wasn’t likely to get one from his mother, he realized. “The kitchen was my favorite place when I was a lad,” he said fondly. “I spent more time there than anywhere but my bedroom. I wonder who rules there now? Not Mrs. Watson, I fear. If she was still cook, last night’s dinner would have been better. She was the jolliest, kindest of women.” Though he had doted on his mother, it was Mrs. Watson who’d hugged him when he fell from trees and listened while he chattered about boyish enthusiasms. And her pastries had been superb. He hoped she was alive and at another great house rather than dead. The world benefited from her existence.
Their plan to visit the kitchen unseen failed since they had to walk by the breakfast parlor. As they did, Scranton opened the door. His jaw hardened at the sight of them, and disappointment showed in his dark eyes. He must have hoped that the soul-sucking energy he had used on Jack would produce some permanent consequence.
With deliberate cheerfulness, Jack said, “Good morning, Scranton. It’s good to be home. I haven’t slept so well in years.”
As the other man glowered, a savage blow struck Jack’s energy field. Instinctively Jack deflected the attack. Scranton gasped, his eyes widening as negative energy rebounded on him. Jack found vicious satisfaction in the exchange, because it proved beyond doubt that Scranton had magic and was willing to use it against others.
Jack’s mother emerged from the breakfast room, as polished and pretty as a goldfinch. Each time he saw her, she seemed younger and more childlike. Ignoring Abby, she said brightly, “Good morning, Jack. Darling Alfred said that surely you would reconsider about us leaving after sleeping on the matter?”
Darling Alfred had hoped his wife’s son would be dead this morning, Jack thought dryly. “The night only confirmed my belief that it is time for you to leave.” He turned to Scranton, his eyes narrowed with menace, thinking how strange it was to fight this silent battle behind polite words. “Will you be leaving six days from today, or sooner? I’d be happy to arrange for an estate wagon to move your goods.”
“Your help will not be necessary.” Scranton spat the words out like poison darts.
“True,” Jack said heartily, since cheerfulness seemed to irritate the other man. “Moving personal possessions three miles is a minor matter.”
His mother drew closer to her husband’s side, her expression tragic. “Please don’t do this, Jack. I can’t bear the thought of leaving my home.”
“I’m sorry, Mother, but unless you can give me a good reason why you can’t move, you and your husband will have to be out in the next six days. Today I’m going to show Abby the estate. We shall see you at dinner.” Shaking internally at being so implacable to his mother, he took Abby’s arm and led her to the stairs that descended to the kitchen, glad to get away from Scranton’s fury and his mother’s accusing eyes.
When the door was closed behind them, Abby said thoughtfully, “I wonder if I shall always be invisible to them? It has certain advantages. I could conjure elephant illusions in the hallway and never be noticed.”
Jack’s laughter eased some of his tension. “I should like to see that. Never mind, in a few days they will be gone.”
“But not without a fight,” she predicted. “I wish I knew what battlefield will be chosen. Do they know I’m a wizard?”
“I don’t believe so. I haven’t told my mother, and I doubt that Celeste would have put such information in a letter.”
“Then their ignorance is a weapon for us.”
“A major weapon,” he agreed. “If not for your power, I wouldn’t be here.”
They reached the flagstoned hallway at the base of the steps and walked back into the spacious kitchen. It was large enough to prepare a banquet for a king, and had done exactly that in days gone by.
The shape and layout of the kitchen and pantries were familiar to Jack, but as soon as he stepped inside he realized how much the spirit had changed. No longer was the room a warm sanctuary saturated with delicious aromas and the chatter of half a dozen people. The great kitchen contained only an aproned cook and a single drab scullery maid.
The cook was thin and gray and dispirited, but there was something familiar about the old woman. She glanced up from the bread she was kneading, her expression weary beyond imagining. Her eyes widened as if he was a ghost. “Master Jack, is that you?”
Dear God, it was Mrs. Watson! She had been nicely rounded and usually dusted with flour. Now her extra weight was gone, along with her smile.
“Mrs. Watson, how wonderful to see you!” He had always greeted her with a hug when he returned from school, so he stepped forward and embraced her, hiding his shock at her appearance.
She had once been soft and wonderfully comforting to hug. Now she was a collection of bones. She shook in his arms, and he realized that she was trembling with barely suppressed sobs. “I never thought to see you again, lad,” she gasped.
“I’m home for good now,” he said soothingly. “My mother never mentioned you, so I didn’t realize you still presided here.”
She patted him on the arm, as if needing to be convinced he was real. “Aye, ’tis me, lad, though all else has changed.”
She looked ten years younger than when they’d entered the kitchen. He beckoned Abby forward. “This is my wife, Lady Frayne. She is your new mistress.”
Mrs. Watson looked her over eagerly. “My new mistress, you say? It won’t be Sir Alfred choosing the menus and giving the orders?”
So Scranton had taken over the household from Jack’s mother. The news did not surprise him; the baronet would want to control every aspect of life at Langdale Hall. “Sir Alfred and my lady mother will be moving to Combe House in a few days.”
“And it’s past time they did, lad!” She wiped her hands off on a towel. “Now, will you be wanting some food? You never once showed your face here when you weren’t hungry.”
Abby laughed. “That’s exactly why we’re here, Mrs. Watson. Frayne told me that the kitchen was his favorite place in Langdale. We were hoping for a bite to break our fast, then perhaps some food to take with us as we ride over the estate.”
“You’ll be wanting eggs and bacon with your tea, and some nice fried potatoes, and maybe ham sandwiches and ginger cakes to take away. With more warning, I could do better.” Mrs. Watson glanced at the scullery maid. “Annie, you make some fresh tea and set places at the table.” She smiled, and looked younger yet. “My lord and his lady have come home.”
Jack pulled Dancer to a halt when they came in sight of the crumbling stone cottage, surprised at the intensity of his disappointment. The day had deteriorated sharply after they left Mrs. Watson. He and Abby had ridden over much of the estate, and found mostly barren fields and unhealthy-looking stock. A handful of tenants and laborers were still in residence, but the majority of cottages had been abandoned.
“A shepherd named Maxon and his wife and four children lived here,” Jack said bleakly. “The family has been in Langdale for generations, and I thought surely they would be among those who stayed. I wonder where they have gone?”
Abby got a faraway look in her eyes. “To a farm south of Leeds, with the oldest lad now in the army. The family remembers Langdale with fondness and regret. They would come back if the land was healthy again.”
“It’s disconcerting when you do that.” Jack dismounted to take a closer look at the door and window framings of the cottage. “How often can you tell where people are and what they are doing?”
“It varies. The Maxons lived here happily a long time. Their thoughts are still tied to the place, which is why I received a strong impression of their current situation.”
“If the estate is restored and this cottage repaired”—Jack frowned as he rapped the rotten wood of a window frame—“would you be able to locate them so they could be invited to return?”
“Perhaps. But first the land must be healed.” She gestured. “We’ve been riding all morning and found only one in three cottages inhabited, and the people in them are a sad lot. The sun is out, but it’s still winter here even though spring has come to the surrounding countryside. Scranton’s damage runs deep.”
“Are you sure I can’t just kill him?” Jack asked wistfully.
“No!” she said emphatically. “That’s much too dangerous, and not only because murder is a hanging offense. If it became known that you murdered a man and that you have magical power, it would put all wizards at greater risk.” Abby’s mouth twisted. “Even in communities where we’re accepted, the line between safety and torches at midnight is a thin one. As a wizard, any crimes you commit reflect on all of us.”
Jack hadn’t thought of that. Reluctantly he accepted that he couldn’t kill Scranton, even though the bastard deserved it.
He was about to remount when a skinny dog with matted black and white fur limped into the yard from behind the house. “That’s a sheepherding dog. I wonder if she was left behind when the Maxons moved.”
“Perhaps. She looks as if she’s been on her own for quite a while.”
The beast approached Jack warily, as if unsure whether to wag or run. Jack offered his hand for her to sniff. “Maxon bred the finest sheepdogs in West Yorkshire. This poor old girl looks like one of his.”
After the dog licked his hand, Jack scratched the unkempt head and was rewarded with an adoring, hopeful gaze. “Do you think you could do anything for that limp?”
Abby shook her head. “It’s an old injury. She isn’t bothered by it much now, but she can’t herd sheep the way she once did. Or hunt hares for her dinner.”
Jack took one of Mrs. Watson’s thick ham sandwiches from his saddlebags and offered half to the dog. She grabbed the food eagerly, too hungry for manners.
As the dog wolfed down the sandwich, Jack said, “What I don’t understand is why Scranton needs so much energy that he’s stripped the estate of most of its life force. He would have been wiser to allow the place to run normally. Instead, Alderton and my London man of business have both visited to find out what was wrong. Granted, they found no malfeasance, but it would have been safer for Scranton if there had been no reason for them to come at all.” He gave the dog the rest of the sandwich.
“The best wizards have absolute mastery of their powers,” she said thoughtfully. “If Scranton is the exact opposite, it makes sense that he can barely understand or control what he’s doing. Reading standard texts on magic wouldn’t help him since his own talent works so differently.”
“How do you think he learned his kind of magic?”
“By trial and error, I imagine. Even if the only spells he wanted to cast were the ones to keep you away, his negative magic is likely so inefficient that he had to drain massive amounts of energy from his surroundings to get results.”
Jack pulled his second sandwich from his saddlebag and left it for the dog, then swung into his saddle again. “Why does he rob my land, not his own?”
“He probably wanted to keep his estate productive because that’s where he gets his income. He wouldn’t care what his depredations are doing to your income.” She shook her head. “There’s too much we don’t know.”
“If I can’t kill Scranton, is there a way to cut off the flow of energy from the land to him?”
“There should be,” Abby agreed. “If so, it’s the single most effective thing we can do at this point. Even though we can’t attack Scranton directly, Langdale will start to recover once he can no longer drain its life force. If we can find how he connects to the land, we’ll be able to come up with a plan of attack. But the estate is so large that it’s difficult to know where to start. I’ve been watching, and haven’t seen anything that looks like it might be the link between the land and Scranton.”
An image from one of his bad dreams floated through Jack’s mind. “The well!”
“You’ve thought of a place?”
“There’s a holy well with a reputation that goes back to the Druids and probably earlier,” he explained. “I visited often to read Mr. Willard’s magic books and daydream and practice spells. If the well is the source of the land’s health, might Scranton work his wickedness there?”
“Let’s find out. Which way?” Abby collected her reins. Despite the somberness of the atmosphere, she looked magnificent on horseback—like a warrior queen ready to lead her troops into battle.
“The well is located very near the border of Scranton’s property. His land falls in the next dale and is separated from mine by a ridge. The well is in a hollow not far below the ridgeline.” Jack gestured to the left and they set off. “When we get there, might I humbly beg one of your sandwiches, since I gave both of mine away?”
“Of course.” Abby’s gaze shifted behind him. “The sandwiches were a good investment. They seem to have bought you a dog.”
Jack glanced back and saw that the ragged dog was following him, limping but determined. “I like her. Do you think Cleocatra will mind?”
“Cleo minds that animated fur muff of your mother’s, but I’m sure she and this dog will learn to get along. Do you have a name for her?”
“Maxie, in honor of the Maxons.” He snapped his finger at the dog. “Come along, my girl. It’s soap and water and regular meals for you!”
They rode toward the holy well, which was in an isolated area of the estate they hadn’t visited yet. As they turned down into the hollow where the well was located, he said, “Is it my imagination, or is the general sense of doom we’ve felt all over the estate getting stronger?”
“It’s not your imagination,” Abby said grimly. “I feel like I’m riding into a poisoned swamp that is trying to suck me under the surface.”
He scanned the hollow, where a cluster of trees concealed the well. “This used to be a happy place—the heart and soul of Langdale. The closer I was to the well, the better I felt. Now the atmosphere is so heavy the horses are skittish.”
She patted her mount’s neck. “Even this old slug is nervous. Is the well close enough to walk the rest of the way? I’d rather not make the horses miserable.”
“The well is in the middle of this grove, so we can leave the horses here.” Jack reined Dancer in and dismounted. “I thought we could eat by the well, but unless the atmosphere improves greatly, we’ll want to find another picnic spot.” He scanned their surroundings, military habit causing him to note potential ambushes and danger points even though the struggle with Scranton would not be fought on this kind of battlefield.
After tethering his horse, he helped Abby dismount. She was quite capable of getting off her mount, of course, but helping was a good excuse to catch hold of her waist and lower her to the ground. Which left him well placed to steal a kiss.
Her return kiss was so luscious that he was able to briefly forget the tainted energy of the well. She ended the kiss, looking mischievously from under her lashes. “Make sure the place we find for our luncheon is very private.”
He grinned. “Is it mere randiness that makes a kiss drive away some of the heaviness of the atmosphere? Or is it something more?”
“Something more.” Her horse secured, Abby caught up the long skirt of her riding habit with one hand and took his elbow with her other hand. “Passion is positive because it’s the essence of life. It creates a spark of light against the darkness.”
They headed into the grove. Maxie, who had followed faithfully across the estate, began to whine. When Jack turned to look at the dog, she sat down on her haunches and gazed at him unhappily, a faithful servant being asked to do something impossible.
“She has good canine intuition,” Abby observed as she bent over to ruffle the dog’s ears. “Would I prove myself deeply clair
voyant if I predict that this scraggly beast is soon going to be moving into the house and growing fat at Mrs. Watson’s hands?”
Jack laughed. “And you said you had no ability to see the future.” He scratched the dog’s ruff. “Go guard the horses, girl.”
The dog turned and trotted back to where the horses were tethered as if she’d understood every word. Jack’s amusement faded as they walked through the trees toward the well. Not only was the atmosphere increasingly menacing, but he felt physically heavier with every step, as if he was carrying a mountain on his back. From her set expression, he guessed Abby felt the same way.
They emerged in the clearing of the holy well. The spring that formed the well bubbled out of a crack in a large rock that bulged from the hillside. The water collected in a small pool a couple of feet below, with the pool draining into a brook. Even in the driest of summers, the water had always been sweet and abundant and thick vegetation grew around the banks of the pool and brook.
Now the spring had dwindled to a damp film on the face of the rock. The pool was a mere muddy puddle and the banks were bare, no longer lushly overgrown.
By unspoken agreement, they stopped at the edge of the little clearing. Abby drew a deep breath. “I find myself reluctant to approach any closer.”
“I feel the same.” The sense of danger and dark oppression had increased with every step, and now the desire to bolt was almost overpowering. “This is worse than the fear before battle, when there’s a risk of being blown to bloody pieces.”
“It’s fear for the soul—a conviction that if we get too close to the source of evil, we’ll be doomed forever. Which is nonsense, of course. Only God can choose what happens to souls. This is only a fear spell, but it’s the strongest I’ve ever experienced.”
“Since fear is the most negative of emotions, Scranton is probably a genius at creating such spells.” Jack told himself that he’d visited here a thousand times before and there was nothing to be afraid of. His heart pounding as if crack French cavalry were charging down on him, he stepped away from Abby and began to walk the last fifty feet to what had once been a holy well.
The Marriage Spell Page 29