Witches—so that was the matter they had been arguing over. “But how can she and Lord Valhaine complain?” Ivy said, feeling some indignation on her husband’s behalf. “After all, you captured the witch in Torland.”
“Yes,” he said, gazing forward as he drove. “Yes, we did capture her.”
Then what disagreement could there be? Ivy wanted to ask, only at that moment Mr. Quent pulled back on the reins, and the cabriolet came to a halt before The Seventh Swan.
“I must leave you here, dearest,” he said. “I fear I must return to the Citadel to have more arguments before I can leave the city tomorrow. Do not worry—I am sure all will be resolved.”
Startled, Ivy blinked. So engrossed had she been in the history recounted by Mr. Quent that she had not realized they were already at the inn.
“Of course,” she said. “I will not keep you.”
He came around to help her from the carriage, and she kissed his bearded cheek.
“When should I expect you tonight?”
“I fear it is best if you do not expect me at all before you retire.”
He pressed her hand to his lips. Then he climbed back into the driver’s seat, and with a flick of the reins the carriage moved away down the street.
IT WAS DEEP in the night when Ivy awoke to find the other side of the bed still empty.
At first she tried to return to slumber. However, while she had been oblivious to Mr. Quent’s absence when she was asleep, now that she was awake she was keenly aware of the largeness of the bed and the quietness of the room. Besides, it was one of those umbrals that was just a little too long to sleep all the way through.
Ivy put on a shawl, lit a candle, and sat at the desk in the corner of the bedchamber. She longed for a bit of company, but she had no doubt Lily had stayed up late reading, and that Rose had wandered about in the middle of the night, and that both would be fast asleep now.
“I will look to you for companionship, Father,” she whispered.
With a touch and a thought, she opened the Wyrdwood box. As always, a pleasant shiver passed through her as the tendrils unbraided at her beckoning. Not for the first time she found herself wishing she was back at Heathcrest, walking on the moor east of the house, toward the stand of straggled trees behind the stone wall atop the ridge. However, to do so would be gravely perilous. It was best she was here in the city, far away from any stands of Wyrdwood—and from temptation.
She opened the journal, once again fondly reading the inscription her father had written to her on the overleaf. Then she opened it to the middle, to read again the journal entry that had appeared the previous night by means of some enchantment. She wanted to read it again, for she was not sure she had really understood it.
In the entry, her father had described how he had hidden something called Tyberion from the other magicians of his order, and how they had never known about another thing called Arantus, for he had hidden it earlier. But what were Tyberion and Arantus? She could only suppose they were magickal artifacts of some sort, things like the Eye of Ran-Yahgren, that he did not wish the other members of his order to discover.
Only he had told Mr. Bennick of them.
Well, Mr. Bennick was far away in Torland, and whatever the objects were that her father had described, they were no doubt hidden still. She turned through the pages of the journal.
And turned, and turned. Soon she turned the last page of the book, but she had not come upon the entry.
“I must have missed it,” she murmured with a frown.
This time she started from the back of the journal, going page by page, making certain no two were stuck together. Every page she turned was blank, until she reached the very first page with the inscription to her. There could be but one explanation: whatever enchantment it was that had caused the entry to appear, it had expired.
Ivy pressed a hand to her brow and let out a sound of dismay. How foolish she was! She should have known a magick that could make something appear could cause it to vanish again just as easily. Why had she not thought to write down her father’s words? Only she hadn’t, and now they were gone—perhaps never to appear again.
So once again, Ivy had been deprived of the comfort of her father’s companionship. She sighed, then shut the journal back in the Wyrdwood box. A weight of loneliness pressed down upon her. At the same time, the darkness encroached as the candle wavered in a draft. It was useless; such a singular, feeble light could do nothing to hold back the vast and eternal power of night.
Ivy surrendered, and blew out the flame.
SHE MUST HAVE finally fallen asleep, for when Ivy opened her eyes sunlight streamed into the room. Mr. Quent stood by the window. He wore his riding coat, and his brow was deeply furrowed as he gazed outside.
Ivy sat up in bed. “Is something wrong?”
He turned around, then smiled. “I didn’t realize you were awake.”
“Were you thinking of slipping away without saying good-bye, then?” she said, affecting an impertinent tone.
“On the contrary,” he said, crossing the room to sit on the edge of the bed, “I was thinking of all the things I might do while you were insensible, Mrs. Quent.”
Her cheeks flushed from the heat of the sun, and from an inward warmth. “In such an instance, I would far rather I had my senses about me.”
“As would I, my dearest.” He brushed back a lock of her hair and pressed his lips against her throat.
She drew a deep breath and pressed a hand against his bearded cheek. “You do not have to leave soon, do you?”
He kissed her several more times, then drew back with a sigh. “The soldiers are already here with the horses. You would see them if you were to look out the window.”
“You are not taking a coach?”
“Riding will be quicker. If we go by horse, and change mounts often, we will arrive a lumenal sooner than otherwise.”
“Why must you go so quickly? Surely it cannot matter that much if your surveys in the North Country are resumed one day earlier.” However, even as she said this, she thought of the grim manner he had gazed out the window, and the warmth fled her. “There has been some news, hasn’t there?”
His brown eyes were somber. “I am not going to the North Country to continue the surveys of the Wyrdwood. Rather, I ride for Torland.”
“Torland! But why?” She could not help a gasp. “There have not been more Risings, have there?”
“No, there have been no more incidents, for which I am grateful. However, I must go to see the … to see that the work we accomplished there remains in place. We go quickly only because—well, as you know, there are some in the government who do not understand the labors of the inquirers, and we do not wish them to arrive there before us, lest they perform their own investigations and conceive false notions of what was done there.”
“Some people,” Ivy said, frowning herself. “Like Lady Shayde, you mean.”
He did not disagree, and she took that as an affirmation of her guess.
“Do not worry, Mrs. Quent,” he said, taking her hand. “It is all merely government rigmarole. Such nonsense only keeps us from work that is of true importance. I am sorry I have to waste my time on it, but that is the way of politics. All the same, there is nothing that need alarm you. I will not return any later than I would have from the northlands.”
Ivy was alarmed, but she did not say it. If there was something she needed to know, and which it was within his power to tell her, then he would do so. Besides, he had more than enough to concern himself with while he was gone; she would not have him worrying about her as well. She did her best to smile for him, and to assure him that she would be very well.
“My dearest,” he said, his voice so low she felt as much as heard it. “How much I have asked of you, and continue to ask of you now. Yet you behave as if I have never done you any wrong in your life!”
“Because you never have.”
“You can say that even now as I am abandoning
you once again?”
“But I am not abandoned! To be sure, I will miss you terribly. However, I have my sisters for company, and Mr. Rafferdy has promised to call on us the lumenal after next with Mr. Garritt.”
“Is that so? Well, I am very glad to hear it. I hope Mr. Rafferdy will come often while I am gone. But what of your evenings, when guests are not here and your sisters retire?”
“Well, this evening I have the party to attend at the house of the viscountess Lady Crayford. Who knows what other fine people I will meet there, and what affairs they will invite me to?” She tilted her chin up. “No, I’m sure I will be very pleasantly occupied while you are gone.”
“Not too pleasantly, I trust.”
But he was grinning, looking like a mischievous Tharosian faun again, and she could not help laughing at her own little play. She threw her arms around him and held him close, so that she could smell the scent of heather that always seemed to linger in his coat. He might leave the moors, but they never left him. Too soon they drew apart, and he kissed her once more.
“The men are waiting,” he said, then took up his hat and left the room.
IVY THOUGHT THE loneliness she had suffered the umbral before would return after Mr. Quent departed. However, she soon found she was too busy to entertain such feelings.
Just after breakfast, a note came from Mrs. Baydon that she was suffering great anguish over choosing a gown to wear that night, for everything she owned was hideous and not fit to be seen in public. Ivy knew that was hardly the case, for Mrs. Baydon had many pretty gowns. She composed a letter suggesting that Mrs. Baydon wear a particular saffron gown and gave the note to Lawden.
Not an hour later came a despondent reply: that gown would only make her an object of ridicule. Several more notes were exchanged throughout the morning and afternoon, so that the only thing moving more swiftly than Ivy’s pen was the messengers running between Marble Street and Vallant Street.
At last Mrs. Baydon was convinced to take the ribbons she liked from a gown she loathed, and move them to a gown she adored except for its awful ribbons. By then, it was time for Ivy to consider her own attire for the night, only to realize she had given it little prior thought.
At once she was nearly in a panic similar to Mrs. Baydon’s. She forced herself to take her own advice and, enlisting the help of her sisters, she removed the pretty lace from an outmoded dress and used it to decorate her favorite, if somewhat plain, gown of green.
“You will be the most beautiful lady there,” Rose said as she fixed the lace to the gown with small, neat stitches.
“The second most beautiful, you mean,” Lily said as she retied the ribbons on the sleeves. “The viscountess will be there, and I’m sure no one will be prettier than her.”
“Ivy will be,” Rose said.
“How can you know that when you’ve never seen the viscountess?”
“You’ve never seen her either.”
Lily opened her mouth but could find no reply for that, so she settled for glaring at Rose.
“You’ve made me very cross, you know, Ivy,” Lily said after a minute. “I shouldn’t even be helping you with your gown. I don’t know why you’re taking Mrs. Baydon to the party and not me.”
“You know very well why I cannot take you.”
“But it’s absolutely mad! Young ladies without handsome suitors are the very sort of persons who need to go to parties. How else are they supposed to find husbands?”
“You will be able to go to parties without Mr. Quent’s accompaniment once you are out.”
“When will that be?” Lily crumpled a ribbon into a ball and slumped back against the sofa. “Never, I suppose.”
Ivy studied her youngest sister. She looked more like a girl of twelve than a young woman of sixteen at the moment. Yet sixteen she was, and it was time for her to be out in the world. Yesterday, Ivy and Mr. Quent had agreed to start preparations for her and Rose’s party on his return. Ivy had thought to tell her sisters then, so as not to make them suffer too great a degree of suspense, but perhaps it was best not to delay the news further.
“Never is a very long time,” Ivy said. “I would think you should expect to be presented to society significantly sooner than that.”
Lily grimaced. “Really? And when should that happen?”
“I am sure it will happen just a moment after Rose is introduced,” Ivy said.
“Rose! I am sure I will walk the plank if she is out before she is a spinster!”
“Then we must find a plank for you to walk on. For Rose will be presented at the party Mr. Quent is holding for you both next month. Though since you’ll have gone overboard, I suppose it will be just Rose’s party.”
Lily’s jaw dropped open, and Rose let out a gasp. She put her finger to her mouth, having pricked it on the needle.
“Blood and swash!” Lily roared. “You mean it, don’t you? We’re to have our party at last?”
“Not if you don’t stop speaking like a pirate,” Ivy said gravely. Then she smiled at her sisters. “But yes, it is past time that you were both out. Only our father’s condition and the demands of Mr. Quent’s work have delayed it, but it can be put off no longer. We will have the party at Durrow Street as soon as the repairs are complete, and Mr. Quent will present you both to society.”
At this Lily let out a crow of delight. Then she took Rose’s hands and pulled her up off the sofa, spinning her around in a circle and laughing. At last they sank back to the sofa, breathing hard.
Ivy could not help being delighted at the happiness the news had given her sisters. “I take it you are pleased, then?”
“Blow me down!” Lily said. “I mean, yes, very much. A party at last! And we must make sure all the handsomest young gentlemen are invited. Especially Mr. Garritt. How long did you say Mr. Quent was to be away?”
“I am not certain,” Ivy said. “His business is very important. It may take him until next month.”
“Well, I cannot wait to talk to him the moment he’s back.”
“To thank him?”
“That,” Lily said, then winked at Rose. “And to ask him to take us shopping for new gowns!”
IVY WAS PRESSED for time as it was, and once again the lumenal was shorter than the timetables in the almanac had predicted. As a result, a violet dusk was thickening outside the inn by the time Lily fixed the last pin in her hair and Rose sewed one last stitch in her gown.
The old rosewood clock let out a chime as the dark disk covered the gold. At least it always knew when the umbral was commencing. Just then a knock came at the chamber door; the carriage had arrived for her.
“The ribbon on your shoulder is still crooked!” Lily exclaimed.
However, there was no more time.
“I must fly,” Ivy said to her sisters, kissing them each, then left their chambers to dash down the stairs. As if she were indeed a sparrow, her heart fluttered wildly in her chest.
“She is only a viscountess!” Ivy said under her breath. “And you have met a king. Besides, you have ridden in her carriage before. There is nothing for you to fear.”
Even when rational thought urges calmness, there are deeper and more ancient instincts that advocate a different reaction, and the rapid beating of Ivy’s heart continued as the footman helped her into Lord Baydon’s barouche.
She found Mrs. Baydon inside, if possible in an even more distressed state. Her eyes were wild, and her cheeks were very flushed, though she looked beautiful in a blue gown that matched her eyes.
“Are you well?” Ivy said.
Mrs. Baydon shook her head. “I think I am coming down with a fever.”
Ivy smiled at that. “You are simply excited, as am I.”
The carriage started into motion, and Mrs. Baydon gave a small cry. “Why ever did I wish to go to a viscountess’s party? If anyone looks at me or speaks to me, I am sure I will faint. Though if anyone notices me at all, I will be mistaken for a servant. What was I thinking to wear such a dreadf
ul gown? We must tell the driver to return to Vallant Street at once. He can drive you to the party after you let me off.”
Confronted by her friend’s trepidation, Ivy’s own receded a fraction. “I will have your arm, so you need have no fear of fainting. Besides, I am sure if anyone is mistaken for a servant, it will be me.”
“Oh, no one would ever mistake you for a servant, Lady Quent,” Mrs. Baydon said. “No matter what you wore.”
So serious was her expression that Ivy found herself unable to reply. Instead the two sat in silence as the barouche made its way up the Promenade toward the New Quarter. Too soon the carriage came to a halt before a grand house whose facade featured more columns than could be easily counted.
Ivy’s trepidation returned as she and Mrs. Baydon departed the carriage and walked slowly up the broad bank of steps. Other revelers passed by them, some in capes and feathered masks, all in finery and moving quickly, as if eager to experience the delights inside. Light shone through the windows of the house, changing hues every few moments. Each time the door opened, the sound of laughter and music spilled forth.
At last they could go no farther without knocking upon the door themselves.
Mrs. Baydon stopped and shook her head. “I cannot go in. It was mad to think I was fit for such an affair. I do not know anyone who will be there!”
Ivy took a breath. “On the contrary, you will indeed know someone at the party.”
Mrs. Baydon shook her head. “But who?”
“You will know me, of course.”
The two of them clasped hands tightly. Then the door opened, and together they stepped into a dazzling light.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
RAFFERDY LURKED BETWEEN a pair of columns in the loggia outside the Hall of Magnates, watching as lords passed through the gilded doors.
How he wished he were anywhere but this place! Had he instead been presented with the opportunity to play several hands of Queen’s Cabinet with Mrs. Chisingdon, he would have made his choice without hesitation. Instead, he was here, and once again he must sit on a hard bench and listen to countless somniferous speeches, with sleep prevented by the former even as it was induced by the latter.
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