Renegade Magic

by Burgis, Stephanie

  “To the wha—? Never mind.” I swallowed as I caught sight of the top of a purple turban, only fifteen feet away and moving in my direction. “That sounds marvelous,” I said. “Let’s go. Now.”

  “I must tell Mama first. And of course your stepmama—”

  “Fine,” I said. “Thank you. I’ll wait for you outside on Stall Street, while you tell them.” I dived out the door before she could answer. I didn’t have my umbrella anymore, but I didn’t care. I’d much rather risk the rain than Purple Turban’s fury.

  The rain was still falling in a cold, steady shower, harder now than earlier, but it didn’t stop the streams of people who poured in and out of the cobbled courtyard, filling the drizzly air with their voices. I darted through them and took shelter behind one of the wide stone pillars of the colonnade, facing onto Stall Street. If those two harridans in turbans came flying out demanding blood, the last thing I wanted was to be standing in full view, waiting for them.

  If Stepmama ever discovered what I’d done in the most fashionable meeting place in Bath, she’d have at least ten separate spasms and might never let me out of the house again. But the reticule hummed with heat against my arm, and happiness thrummed through my veins, even as I shivered from the cold rain that blew under the shelter of the colonnade and soaked through my hair and my thin morning dress. I’d reawakened Mama’s mirror, intentionally and knowingly, and I knew how to do it again. All I had to do now was stock up on Bath water … and if that meant I would spend the rest of my life smelling of rotten eggs, then so be it.

  I leaned back against the pillar, relaxing and looking out over Stall Street.

  Carriages and horses already filled the cobbled street nearly to overflowing, making it almost impossible to cross, but the lure of the Pump Room seemed too strong for anyone to resist. More and more people darted across the street in the gaps between carriages. Nearly all of them followed the same path between the pillars to the Pump Room. But as I waited for Lucy, I noticed a few people who didn’t.

  They were mostly elderly, and they were the first people I’d seen in Bath who looked as if they might actually need to try the famous water for their health. Some of them were carried down Stall Street in sedan chairs set on long poles hefted by two men each. Others hobbled down the pavement, leaning on the strong arms of menservants. There was even one girl much younger than me, whose thin face looked lined and weary, being carried in her father’s arms. Every one of them went straight past the line of pillars, ignoring the busy courtyard behind me, to disappear into a shorter stone building to my left, pressed up against the Pump Room but facing onto the busy main street.

  One invalid after another passed inside, but no one ever came out. Until …

  My stomach gave a sickly lurch as I recognized the tall, elegant figure who emerged from the shelter of the building, dressed in bright blue, canary yellow, and white. Tucking his walking stick under his arm, he unfurled a Chinese-style umbrella and lifted his quizzing glass on its velvet ribbon to scan the street around him. With a gasp, I broke out of my paralysis. I lunged behind my pillar, hugging my reticule tight to my chest. I pressed my cheek against the cold stone to keep a wary eye on him around its corner. Can’t see me, can’t see me, can’t see me, I thought with all my strength. I only hoped it would be true.

  Lord Ravenscroft dropped his quizzing glass. He turned toward the line of pillars, his face intent. His black-and-gold walking stick was purely for decoration, unlike the sticks and crutches of the other people who’d gone into the building. He raised it in the air as he looked around, and he swung it gently back and forth, back and forth. It was a strangely hypnotic gesture. I found myself watching it instead of him. Back and forth …

  Instead of thinking up plans, schemes for escape, excuses to offer, or even ways to keep the mirror hidden from him, all I could do was watch the black-and-gold walking stick as it swung. Back and forth, back and forth—and then the walking stick stilled.

  He headed straight toward my pillar.

  A group of girls surged out through the pillars around me, giggling and teasing one another. At the sight of them, Lord Ravenscroft stopped walking. His shoulders lifted in a shrug. He took one last look, then turned and strolled away down Stall Street, tapping his walking stick on the cobblestones all the way.

  I let out my held breath and nearly collapsed. Mama’s mirror was safe, and so was I. But what on earth had foppish Lord Ravenscroft been doing inside a building full of invalids? And what else was in there, anyway?

  As soon as he was safely out of sight, I darted out for a better look at the building, ignoring the rain. I couldn’t get any wetter now, anyway, so there was no point worrying about it.

  Wide stone steps led up to a doorway set far back from the main street. KING’S AND QUEEN’S BATHS, read the words above the door. The building itself was shorter and much less impressive than the massive Pump Room to its left, but the carvings above the doorway were far more elaborate and exotic: two sphinxes staring intently at a man and a snake. There had to be some symbolism there, but I had never paid enough attention to Papa’s Classics to work it out. Greek fashions might be popular, but these carvings looked positively pagan to me—mystical, too—and strange for a building so close to a church. I frowned, trying to guess what they might mean. If only Papa were here to interpret …

  “There you are!” Lucy’s voice made me jump. She giggled, handing me my umbrella. Her own was already unfurled, and her pink dress and blond curls looked perfectly dry. “Goodness, I did startle you, didn’t I? If you could see the look on your face—oh!” She stepped back. If I’d been a rude person, I could have told her something about the look on her own face, as it crinkled up with horror. “What is that smell?”

  “It’s only the famous Bath water,” I said. “Someone spilled it all over me.”

  “How terrible for you! Oh, and you’ve been soaked by the rain, too, you poor thing. But no wonder you were in such a hurry to leave—you must have been so humiliated. I would have wanted to lie down and die, if it had been me! Would you like to go home first, so you can change your gown before we go to the library?”

  “Never mind that,” I said. “What is this building?”

  “That? Oh, that’s only the Baths. They’re filled with the same water we all have to drink in the Pump Room, you know, so it’s supposed to be terribly healthy to bathe in them. They’ve been around forever, since before there were even any real people here.”

  I looked hard at her as I unfurled my umbrella. “Surely there must have been some people, or else—”

  “Oh, I don’t know all that dusty history! It was a long time ago, that’s all I know, and I’m sure whoever built them wasn’t at all civilized. Anyway, it used to be very fashionable to go into the Baths, but of course it isn’t anymore, although some people still do it. Can you imagine it, ladies and gentlemen all going in together, with the water right up to their necks! Can you even bear the very thought of anything so indecent?”

  “Oh,” I said. “Oh. You’re right, actually. That is rather shocking. Taking baths together naked—”

  “Naked? Oh, you are an absurd creature. As if they wouldn’t wear clothing when they went into the Baths! The things you say! Really, if Mama or Maria heard you …” Lucy tucked her hand into my arm. “Come, I’ll take you to the circulating library, and we can forget about all of this nonsense. Only the most unfashionable people go into the Baths anymore—well, and people who are really ill, I suppose, but they couldn’t be fashionable at all, could they? So there’s no point looking to them for an example.”

  “Hmm.” I frowned. “Do you think they’ll have any books about the Baths in the circulating library?”

  “Oh!” Lucy shook her head at me. “What have I just been telling you, silly? No one would dream of looking for any such thing there. The circulating library is for novels, not tedious history books! And they have some of the most delicious new novels available, straight from London. I’ve alr
eady read the first two volumes of The Witch’s Revenge, and it is so horrid, you would not believe—it has the most wickedly shocking witches you can imagine! I could scarcely sleep a wink after I finished the second volume. I have to find the third volume today, or I’ll simply perish with anxiety!”

  I sighed and let Lucy’s chatter wash over me as she led me down Stall Street, past clothing shops and stationers and delicious-looking pastry shops. But I shot one last look back at the Baths before they disappeared from view behind us.

  I didn’t know why Lord Ravenscroft had visited them. But I knew that I—and Mama’s mirror—would be coming back soon to find out.

  Eleven

  When we returned from the library, I sat down to a task that was far more difficult than I’d originally anticipated. I had promised to write to Elissa every day, but it had already been a week since her wedding, and I hadn’t had a chance until now. Lucy and I were the only ones in the Wingates’ drawing room, as none of the others had returned yet. Lucy sprawled across the chaise longue, reading the third volume of her novel and periodically letting out squeaks of horror and excitement.

  I could have told her something about truly shocking witchy behavior, using Angeline’s latest mad scheme as my example … but even if I’d trusted her that much, she was far too involved in her book to ask what I thought of it, or even—for once—to chatter at me.

  That meant I had no excuses left. I set out a quarto of letter paper on the round worktable, dipped my pen in a bottle of ink, and began.

  Dear Elissa,

  Ink spots dripped onto the paper as my hand hovered in midair. I rubbed them out with my finger, groaning. Luckily, Lucy was too engrossed in her faux-magical horrors to notice.

  What could I say? If I told Elissa the truth, she would cancel her wedding trip and come flying down to Bath to take control of the situation. As much as I wished she could …

  I paused, gnawing my lip. Actually, I wasn’t so certain I did want that, anymore. It would certainly be useful to have her here to keep a firm eye on Angeline and Charles, but when it came to my own schemes … well, I had to admit, it did make things easier not to have my oldest sister playing propriety mistress to us all. Perhaps I should sort out my own magical worries first, and only then drop Elissa a hint of the troubles we were having.

  But not until after her honeymoon was finished. Elissa had played martyr to the family far too many times, and really, Mr. Collingwood deserved a real holiday after the mess Mrs. Carlyle had made of his wedding.

  All is well, I wrote, and winced at the blatant untruth. Stepmama has taken us to Bath to stay with her best connections as a … More ink spots, as I considered a rationale. … distraction for Angeline. Angeline is not happy, but is less distressed than you might expect.

  No, wait. That would alarm Elissa more than anything else I could say, short of the truth. She knew Angeline just as well as I did—and if such a thing were true, it could only mean that our sister was preparing a truly nightmarish scheme. I picked up a pair of scissors from the worktable and cut out that line from the letter. Angeline is furious, I wrote truthfully next to the telltale hole in the paper, but she is not without hope, and she is controlling her temper.

  The drawing room door burst open.

  “We will speak more of this later!” Stepmama hissed, and Angeline laughed derisively.

  “What more is there to speak of, ma’am?” she asked, without bothering to lower her voice. “Am I not following your explicit orders to try to attract an eligible suitor?”

  Lucy’s head shot up from her novel. She looked agog with fascination.

  “Eligible—!” Stepmama’s voice cut off. She took a deep breath, and assumed an unconvincing smile. “Dear Cousin Caroline,” she said.

  Lucy scrambled up to a sitting position just in time as her mother entered the drawing room. Mrs. Wingate’s haughty gaze passed over the two of us without interest. Maria stepped up behind her, her face pursed with self-satisfaction.

  I hope all is well and you are both enjoying the Lakes, I wrote hastily. Yrs. affec:ly, Kat. Then I folded up the letter as quickly as I could, before anything else could happen that I’d be lying not to mention. It was a terrible waste of money for Elissa to pay sixpence to receive such a short letter, but then, as Mrs. Collingwood, she had plenty of money to waste … and it was far better for all of us than filling up a whole double-sided sheet with the truth would have been.

  Angeline’s eyes narrowed as I sealed the letter. But Mrs. Wingate spoke first.

  “Lucy—Katherine—I believe the two of you had better make your excuses.”

  I blinked. “But—”

  “Yes, Mama,” Lucy said meekly, and stood to curtsy.

  I repressed a groan. How typical, that I would be sent away just when something interesting was about to be discussed. “Actually—” I began.

  “Katherine.” Stepmama’s glare could have pierced armor.

  I gritted my teeth, stood, and curtsied. The others remained maddeningly silent as Lucy and I walked out of the room. Maria Wingate’s smug smile felt like thorns against my skin. When I passed Angeline, she only shook her head at me. With an effort, I restrained myself from sticking out my tongue at her. It would have given Maria far too much satisfaction.

  I would have stayed and listened at the door, but the footman who closed it for us took up guard outside, his stance rigidly correct. I gave him one considering look, then abandoned the idea of persuading him into anything. As Charles would have said: Dash it.

  Giving in, I held out my letter to Lucy. “Where should I put—?”

  “Shh!” she whispered, and grabbed my hand. “Come, quickly!”

  We ran up the stairs to the next floor. She pushed open the second door on the right and pulled me inside a small room filled with bookcases. At the far corner of the room, I saw a huge globe, beautifully painted, set next to a large, comfortable-looking armchair. Light from the windows shone on an Oriental carpet in the center of the room.

  “The library,” Lucy said. “Mama thinks it very proper that I like to sit in here to do my sewing when I’m alone. That’s because she and Maria don’t realize how useful it is.” She took two glasses from the sideboard. “Look!”

  She lay down, pulled aside the carpet, and set one of the glasses against the wooden floor. I followed suit with the other.

  Mrs. Wingate’s voice sounded in my ear almost as clearly as if I’d been inside the drawing room itself.

  “The shocking impropriety of his lifestyle, alone—”

  “Whose?” Lucy whispered. “Who do you think they’re talking about?”

  “Viscount Scarwood,” I whispered back.

  “Oh!” Her blue eyes widened. “Oh, my goodness. I’ve heard of him!”

  “So has Angeline, now,” I muttered. Unfortunately. Didn’t they have any idea how to manage her?

  Apparently not. Maria Wingate’s voice was filled with spiteful glee as she spoke. “His reputation is absolutely scandalous. Why, last year he ran away with the Tilburys’ oldest daughter and spent three nights with her, away from either of their families—and he did not even marry her afterward!”

  “Maria.” Mrs. Wingate’s voice was repressive. “An unmarried young lady should know nothing of such matters.”

  Maria’s titter sounded through the floorboards. “One would prefer to know nothing of them, Mama, but when such a scandal breaks across Society, one is forced to take a lesson from it. The girl was ruined, of course. Completely ruined. Her family was forced to repudiate her entirely.”

  “Were they indeed?” Angeline said in her most lethally innocent tone. “And was Viscount Scarwood ruined too?”

  “Of course not,” Maria said. “Oh, her brother called him out, of course, but Scarwood shot him in the arm and his honor was satisfied.”

  “It is a lesson to all young ladies,” Mrs. Wingate said.

  “Hmm,” said Angeline.

  I winced.

  Lucy’s squeak
of alarm was my first sign of danger. I’d been so intent on listening, I hadn’t even heard the door open behind us. Lucy dropped her glass onto the carpet, her face the very picture of guilt. I shoved my own glass behind my back, scrambled to my knees to face the door … and relaxed.

  It was Papa, blinking down at both of us. “Pardon me,” he said. “I … er … that is, I beg your pardon. Was I interrupting something, Kat?”

  Lucy let out a wordless bleat of panic.

  I said, “Don’t worry, Papa, we don’t mind being interrupted. Was there something you needed?”

  “No, no. I only thought I might take the opportunity to investigate the library while … er …” He looked pained. But he didn’t need to explain himself any further.

  Papa’s first instinct, whenever trouble brewed between Stepmama and one of us, was to take instant refuge amid the safety of his books. He was probably missing his own study terribly right now.

  I said, “You can come in as long as you’re quiet. You don’t have to worry about disturbing us.”

  “If you’re quite sure … ?”

  “Of course,” I said. “Only, be sure to close the door firmly, won’t you?”

  “Yes, my dear.”

  He closed the door and stepped around us to peer at the rows of books shelved behind glass in the tall bookcase behind me. I lay back down and set my listening glass against the wooden floor. After a moment, Lucy retrieved her own glass, darting a nervous look back at Papa. He didn’t even see it. He was too intent on his perusal.

  A moment later, he pulled out a book and retreated to the armchair by the window with an audible sigh of relief. I pressed my ear back against my glass.

  “So what you mean me to understand,” Angeline said, “is that although Miss Tilbury has been ruined and left by her family to starve in the streets, Viscount Scarwood’s own place in Society is left undamaged?”

  “Such is the way of the world,” Mrs. Wingate said.

  “And Miss Tilbury should have known it,” Maria added. “One must hold her fully to blame for succumbing to him. A young lady cannot be too careful of her reputation.”