Lord Eubrey clapped his gloved hands. “Well, this is splendid. We shall make for a merry party indeed. We had only just arrived ourselves and were walking to the wall when we saw you, so we have not yet been all the way there. Shall we proceed?”
Now that Ivy’s initial astonishment had passed, she could feel only great pleasure that Mr. Rafferdy was here. She had longed to see him ever since their return from Asterlane. However, as the party walked along the path, there was no opportunity to speak about any topics other than those that were appropriate in general company.
As they went, Ivy was introduced to Lord Eubrey’s other companion, Lord Coulten, whose temperament was as exuberant as his hairstyle. Ivy could not help wondering if the latter was somehow encouraged by the former, for his spirits seemed as high as his coiffure. She was informed that the two of them habitually sat with Mr. Rafferdy in Assembly.
“Of course, we meet at other times besides,” Lord Eubrey said—rather mysteriously, Ivy thought. Lord Coulten let out a burst of laughter, but for his part Mr. Rafferdy gave Lord Eubrey a perturbed look.
There was no time to wonder what this meant, for by then Lady Crayford was demanding a full account of how Ivy and Mr. Rafferdy had come to be acquainted. An explanation was provided, with the two of them speaking in alternation—and each of them, Ivy knew, attempting to speak only what was strictly necessary. They had met through a mutual acquaintance of Lady Marsdel’s, Mr. Rafferdy said, and their fathers had known each other in the past, Ivy added.
“Indeed?” Lady Crayford said. “And here I had, in the most vain and prideful sort of way, allowed myself to think that I could claim to have given society the first and happy opportunity to become acquainted with you, Lady Quent. Yet now I learn that you were already exceedingly well-connected. It seems I have done you no service at all!”
“But you have!” Ivy said, alarmed by this speech. “You have given me so much—more than I can conceive, I am sure. I am greatly in your debt.”
Lady Crayford stopped her progress down the path, her expression thoughtful. “Dear Lady Quent, I can claim that you are in my debt no more than I imagine Lord Rafferdy can claim such a thing. It is we who have benefited from your society. If any debt is owed at all, then it is we to you. Would you not agree, Lord Rafferdy?”
“Completely, your ladyship,” he said, his expression suddenly so grave that Ivy could only imagine it was feigned for some sort of jest.
The party continued along the path, and soon Madiger’s Wall loomed before them. Now that they were close, the wall looked even more massive and more ancient. She was surprised to see that people were strolling right at its very foundation, and some were reaching out to touch its mossy walls.
She supposed there could be no real danger. There was ten feet of solid stone between them and the Old Trees on the other side. No branches had been allowed to droop down over the wall, and a number of redcrests marched in twos and threes among the pleasure walkers. Indeed, the presence of so many people could only mean that if there was any sudden change in the wall—a loose stone or a crack—it would be noted at once, and any peril it might present corrected.
“To think, we are truly here,” Mrs. Baydon said. She took Ivy’s hand in her own and squeezed it. “I feel as if I have stepped into another of Lady Crayford’s paintings. Isn’t it the most quaint and beautiful sight?”
Yes, the Evengrove was beautiful, and it was sad as well. Once, almost all of the island of Altania had been covered with deep, shadowed forest such as this. Then men had cut it back with fire and ax, and had quelled it with magick so it could be cut further. Now all that remained of the Wyrdwood were small patches scattered about the countryside, bounded by their own walls—and this single large grove.
Not that the Evengrove was really so very large in extent. Madiger’s Wall made a rough circle some twenty miles across. Yet when one considered that of old the Wyrdwood had stretched for hundreds of miles in all directions, it was not so great at all. The Evengrove was a mere remnant—an emerald lake that was all that remained of a deep green sea.
Even so, it was wondrous: a grove of Wyrdwood a hundred times larger than the stand near Heathcrest Hall! Why had this great swath of trees been allowed to endure when every other one in Altania had been reduced to a tiny patch—or cut down altogether? Ivy did not know, yet she was grateful for the fact. She listened, and in the murmuring of the leaves she imagined she could hear an echo of that ancient green sea.…
“Ivoleyn?” She felt a pressure against her hand.
Ivy blinked, and the air around went from green back to gold. “Yes,” she said, and squeezed Mrs. Baydon’s hand back. “It’s very beautiful.”
Mrs. Baydon smiled at her, and they continued walking. Soon they reached the path at the base of Madiger’s Wall, and they joined the other parties who strolled along it. The day was growing warm, but a pleasant chill emanated from the wall as if it recalled the touch of night. A longing came over Ivy to reach for the mossy stones, to cool her fingers against them.
Instead, she kept her hands at her sides.
Their party soon became drawn out along the path, as a few rushed along toward some interesting sight, while others lingered to examine a feature of the wall. As a result, Ivy found herself after a little while walking alongside Mr. Rafferdy and at some distance from the others.
Now that she had an opportunity to speak to him with some privacy, Ivy was not certain what to say. She supposed he might have questions about her conversation with his father, which she had described in her letter to him. Yet that was a topic of considerable gravity, and in the brilliant sunlight of a long afternoon, and after such a long time since their last meeting, she could not quite bring herself to broach it.
“I believe I owe you an apology, Lord Rafferdy,” she began instead.
He winced at this. “I know that is a title I cannot now escape, Lady Quent, but I was wondering if you might do me a kindness and instead address me as Mr. Rafferdy. It would give me great comfort to hear those words from you. Namely, it would remind me of a simple and happy time!”
She gave him a fond smile. “I have happy memories as well of a time when you bore no other title. I will gladly honor your request—but on one condition only. That is, that you refer to me as Mrs. Quent in turn, so I might be similarly reminded.”
This arrangement was readily agreed to, much to their mutual satisfaction.
“But I am rather confounded, Mrs. Quent,” he said, giving her a quizzing look. “While I can easily think of a hundred things I should apologize for, no matter how hard I think on it, I cannot conceive of anything you ever have done that would require an apology to me.”
“There is in fact something, though perhaps you do not recall it. You see, once when you were walking with my sisters and me, I told you that one can truly know a thing through reading about it in a book.”
That elicited a smile. “You did say such a thing when I suggested otherwise. As I recall, you corrected me with some zeal.”
“I am sure I did! That is why you are owed an apology, for I know now that I was wrong.” She gazed at the rough stones above them. “I have read a great deal about Madiger’s Wall—of its history and dimensions and the manner of its construction. I thought I had mastered all there was to know about it. Yet now that I am here, I see how woefully I was mistaken. You see, I did not know how even on a long lumenal one would be able to feel the coolness of night coming off the stones. That was a fact that was never contained in any volume I ever read on the subject. Therefore you were right to tell me one cannot really know something by reading it in a book.”
“But I cannot accept your apology!” he said with a laugh.
“What reason could you have to refuse it?”
“Because you were right.” He swung his ivory-handled cane as they walked. “Prior to meeting you, Mrs. Quent, I never thought that anything of real worth could be gained from a book. I have come to see how witless and conceited that noti
on was. Indeed, I have learned that there are some things that can be gained only through the pages of a book—for there is no other way in which a mind might ever have an opportunity to apprehend them.”
This speech both delighted and astonished Ivy. She could not recall ever hearing him speak in such a manner. “I can only think, Mr. Rafferdy, that we have had an influence upon each other. For my impression of books has been lessened even as yours has been raised. Yet as ever, I suppose the truth lies somewhere in between the extremes. Even if books cannot reveal all to us, they can impart knowledge and experience—even wisdom, I would go so far as to say.” She shook her head, bemused. “Yet from the way you speak, I would almost think you are studying magick again.”
He cast a glance over his shoulder, then returned his gaze to Ivy. “I am,” he said in a low voice.
Once more there was a seriousness to his expression. When they had first met, Ivy had thought Mr. Rafferdy to be good-looking only when he smiled. Sometime over the last year that had changed. Perhaps it was simply that he was a year older and was coming into his own as a man. Regardless, he looked very good at the moment—even lordly, she might have said; and so solemn was his expression, without any hint of a satirical purpose, that she was forced to concede that he spoke the truth.
“Mr. Rafferdy!” she exclaimed, laying a hand on his arm, and stopping them both in the path. She saw his gaze dart past her; she had spoken loudly. Hastily, she lowered her voice. “This is the most remarkable news. I do confess, I am to a degree surprised to hear it. I had not thought it was your inclination to continue to make a study of the arcane. I am very pleased to discover I was incorrect—I am very pleased.”
Now his smile returned, though it was muted compared to before. “I was not certain until I told you just now that I would even impart this knowledge to you. Yet now I have done it, and I suppose I had some idea that you would appreciate hearing it. Lady Crayford says we all owe you a debt. It is certainly true that I owe any interest I have in magick to you.”
“If that is the case, if I can claim to have encouraged you in some small way, then I am happy indeed,” she said. “But I cannot claim any more due than that. The talent you have for the arcane is entirely your own, and any progress you have made in pursuing it is because of your own diligence. But I am curious, how are you going about studying magick? Have you returned to university, then?”
He shook his head. “I believe one goes to Gauldren’s College to learn how to affect the air of a magician rather than how to become one. Rather, I am meeting with a private society. I probably should not have just told you this, as it’s all meant to be very secret. Yet I believe you heard Lord Eubrey allude to it earlier, for he and Lord Coulten are also part of the society.”
“A society of magicians, you mean? That is marvelous!”
“On the contrary, you must not think so much of it. I have in fact seen very little actual magick done in any of our meetings. Further, we gather in the most low and humble sort of environs, a place that could not be more mean. That is, we meet in a room beneath a tavern.”
Ivy’s fingers tightened around the sleeve of his coat. “You say that you meet in a tavern?” These words were rather breathless, and she could feel her heart beating rapidly in her chest.
“Yes, that’s what I said. Why do you look at me like that?”
Her head had grown light, and she made herself take in a breath. Then, in as few words as she could manage, she explained to him how she had been looking into the history of the man who had built her father’s house, and how she had discovered that Dratham had belonged to a society of magicians who met beneath a tavern on Durrow Street.
“Now I see,” he said when she had finished. “That you should have reacted as you did is perfectly understandable, but now I am given the unhappy task of disappointing you. I’m afraid the tavern we meet beneath is not situated on Durrow Street. While it is in the Old City, it is a quarter mile at least from Durrow Street. So I do not think it can be the same establishment where your man Dratham once mingled with magicians.”
His expression was filled with real concern, and Ivy at once assured him that she was in no way disappointed. She had been startled by the coincidence, that was all, and so had leaped to an unwarranted conclusion. Nevertheless, she was very pleased that he was continuing his magickal studies, and she was curious to know more about the matter—how he had found this society, and what sort of things he was learning there.
Even as she asked these things, they heard the sounds of Mrs. Baydon and Captain Branfort behind them. Mr. Rafferdy gave a slight shake of his head, and Ivy understood. Discussions of secret arcane orders were best left to a time when others were not nearby. They continued along the path, and turned their conversation to topics that could be more safely overheard.
“It really is wonderful to see you, Mr. Rafferdy. I know you have been much occupied, but I fear Lily is convinced you no longer like us.” She affected a light tone so he would know she was teasing. “Or perhaps it is simply that we were only amusing to you when our connections were scandalous, and now that we have become respectable you find us necessarily dull.”
This elicited a laugh on his part. “What was dull was being required to listen to your cousin expound upon his theory that romance and lawyering were closely akin. Be assured I will always find you amusing, Mrs. Quent. Besides, I cannot fault your current society—it is far better than what I keep! If I had not met you last year, then I would never have a hope to do so, as I imagine you soon will be far above me.”
These words shocked her. “I will never be any such thing, Mr. Rafferdy! Besides, given the connection between our fathers, I am sure it is impossible that we would not have met. Rather, it is the most expected thing that we are acquainted.”
“Of course,” he said, but he looked away as he said this, and for a little while they were quiet as they walked.
“How is Mr. Garritt?” she asked at length.
“I have not seen him much of late, though we have traded some notes. I gather he is very busy. He is clerking for the rector at Graychurch these days.”
Ivy was glad to hear this news, at least to a degree. “That seems a very respectable sort of occupation. All the same, he is such a kind and thoughtful man. I cannot help wishing that he could rise higher.”
“As do I. I cannot conceive of anyone who would deserve it more. It seems to me that many who deserve to inhabit high positions are ever denied them, while so many who are anything but deserving can claim them by mere circumstance. It is exceedingly cruel, yet not unexpected. I have come to believe that there is a force in the world, a natural order that constantly labors to keep us all in our places.”
“An order, yes, but there is nothing natural about it!” Ivy exclaimed. “Why should one person be elevated above another? There can be no reason, of course, for we are all of us the same.”
His brown eyes sparkled. “Why, Mrs. Quent, I wonder if I should call out for the redcrests. You sound like a regular anarchist.”
Ivy felt her cheeks grow warm. “I am no such thing! I do no more than repeat the wisdom of the Testament, which tells us we are all of us the same in God’s opinion.”
He waggled a finger at her. “You will not so easily convince me of your innocence, Mrs. Quent. That we are all the same is a very insidious notion—one that kings and generals have long fought to stamp out. For why would a man follow a king, or a soldier a general, if he did not believe that other was greater than he? As for God …” He shrugged. “Well, if all men were identical in His eyes, would they not all enter into Eternum upon departing this world? However, that is not the case, and I am sure any priest will tell you that a vast number of souls are bound to end up somewhere else.”
He spoke all this merrily, clearly intending to make a jest, yet it did not provoke laughter in Ivy. Instead, his words unsettled her, though she wasn’t entirely certain of the reason. Perhaps it was because, even if society were to consider all m
en to be alike, a woman would still never be like to a man. Only why? If there was a natural order that kept all in their places, why did it make sure that a woman’s was always beneath a man’s?
A rushing sound drew her attention upward to the crowns of the trees that rose over the wall. They swayed as they felt the touch of a zephyr, their crooked branches bending this way and that, but unable to reach beyond the stones that encircled them.…
“Hello there, Rafferdy!” called out a voice. “Come here and tell us what you think of this.”
Ivy lowered her gaze and saw Lord Coulten and Lord Eubrey a little way ahead, standing beside the wall. She and Mr. Rafferdy walked in their direction and soon joined them.
“What is it?” Mr. Rafferdy said.
“A very curious thing,” Lord Coulten replied. “Look at this stone here. Do you see how it is different than the others in the wall?”
Mr. Rafferdy stroked his chin. “I suppose it is a different color than the other stones.”
He was right. The block of stone Lord Coulten had pointed out, which was perhaps a foot on a side, was not gray like the others but rather was a deep, reddish hue. It was a color that Ivy at once found familiar, as it was very like the ruddy stones that formed the outer walls of the old house on Durrow Street.
“Is that the only difference?” Lord Eubrey said with a grin. “You’re not looking very closely if that’s all you see.”
Mr. Rafferdy shook his head, evidently at a loss for words.
“There is no moss on it,” Ivy said.
Lord Eubrey raised an eyebrow. “It seems Lady Quent’s powers of observation are keener than yours, Rafferdy.” He turned his attention to Ivy. “As you say, there is no moss on this stone, while all the others are covered with it. I believe you possess a methodical mind, Lady Quent—do you have any hypothesis of why that might be so?”
Ivy hesitated. Lord Eubrey’s initial query had not been directed to her, and she had spoken without meaning to. However, he had now posed her a question, and so she could not ignore it.
The House on Durrow Street Page 50