The Foxfire Lights

by Elizabeth O'Connell

I had no chance to formulate a more coherent question, for at that moment Mrs. Forsythe arrived with the tonic, followed by the maid carrying Hal’s case. Mrs. Forsythe set the tonic on the table at Hal’s elbow, giving him a sharp look.

  “Now you’re ill as well,” she said, frustration and anxiety coloring her voice. “What shall I do if everyone in the house is ill?”

  “Everyone?” Hal said, raising his eyebrows. “Who else is ill?”

  “His Lordship, if you must know,” she said, taking the case from the maid and setting it on the tea table. Her hands were trembling as she spoke. “He’s taken to his bed.”

  “And not just him,” the maid said. Mrs. Forsythe shot her a sharp glance, and the girl seemed to shrink a little, but she continued nonetheless. “You were just saying how Jack was poorly, Missus Forsythe. That’s all.”

  Mrs. Forsythe straightened, smoothing her hands over her skirt and then her hair, the white bandage standing out in sharp relief against the dark drabness of hair and clothes. “It’s in the air here—they’ll all fall to it, one after the other,” she muttered, half to herself.

  I opened my mouth to say something but Hal shook his head. He was watching Mrs. Forsythe with an odd expression. She nodded to the maid and they left the room, leaving the case behind them.

  Hal took a long drink of the tonic, grimacing at the taste of it. “She is frightened—badly so,” he said, setting the tumbler back down. “I am certain now that she tried to break that spell—but why should she have cast it in the first place?”

  He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. I went and opened the case, taking out a roll of bandages and the ointment that Mrs. Ogham had given us. “I don’t know,” I said shortly. “I don’t know anything, it seems—but we must tend to your arm.”

  He frowned at me. “What’s wrong with you?”

  I sighed, setting the bandages down. “Father—you were going to say something but you stopped yourself.”

  “It always comes back to Father, doesn’t it?” he murmured, looking back at the fireplace. “This is what I know: he was frightened for you. I don’t know why, or what he thought would happen, but he worried about you. I don’t—I’m trying to keep you safe, Jem. That’s all I’m doing.”

  “But you can’t protect me forever,” I said, the words out of my mouth before I realized I was echoing the spirit. I scrubbed my hands over my face. “Never mind. Let me see your arm.”

  He gave me a strange look, but worked his arm out of his jacket, wincing as the movement pulled at the wound, and rolled back his sleeve, holding his arm out to me wordlessly. His forearm was covered in a large, hand-shaped welt, just as mine had been, and I felt my stomach twist with remembered pain. I worked silently, carefully spreading the ointment and wrapping his arm in the bandage.

  When I finished, I set the jar and the remaining bandages back in the case. Hal pulled his jacket back over his arm, the wince much less pronounced now, and fished about in his pockets until he found his pipe. He filled it and lit it, leaning back with an air of profound relief, closing his eyes and puffing smoke into the air as he drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. He was plainly deep in thought, no doubt about Mrs. Forsythe and the spirit. I left him to it for a moment, but in the silence my thoughts were crowded by the spirit’s warning and my father—which made me so anxious that I began pacing about the room.

  “Something on your mind?” Hal said mildly, breaking into my thoughts.

  I stopped pacing, pushing my hands into my pockets, and glanced back to the door. “We know Mrs. Forsythe cast the curse—so why aren’t we confronting her about it?”

  He frowned around his pipe, blowing out a puff of smoke. “Because we do not know anything of the kind. I am certain that she tried to break the curse—but that does not of itself mean that she cast it.”

  “But of course we know she cast it,” I said irritably. “Why else would she have tried to break it?”

  “There are several reasons she might have done so,” he said evenly. “Perhaps she wishes to protect the one who did cast it. Perhaps she has merely guessed at its effects, and wishes to stop them going further.”

  “Then at the very least she knows who has done it, if she didn’t do it herself,” I said, rocking back on my heels. “Because she knew where it had been cast—and she recognized it for what it was.”

  “Perhaps,” he said. “Or perhaps she only discovered the spell later, after it had been laid. I do not doubt she is the most likely suspect—yet, even knowing that, we are still only halfway to breaking the curse. At this point, we’ve no idea what her object was in doing so—nor how it has been thwarted by the spirit.”

  “But—we can’t just sit here,” I said, my frustration coloring the tone of my voice. “We have to break it—or you . . .”

  “I am in absolutely no danger until the contract is complete.” He closed his eyes again, drumming his fingers on the chair. “Nevertheless—I am not merely sitting. You always want so badly to do something—when so often the key is to think.”

  I sighed, sitting back down in my own chair. “Well, then—what are you thinking about? It does me no good to just watch you thinking.”

  His lips quirked up in a half-smile. “No, I suppose not. Very well. There is a component of this mystery that you have not spoken of since we returned—one which may indeed be the key to the entire mystery.”

  I chewed at my lip, trying to puzzle out his meaning. I reviewed what we had discussed so far—Mrs. Forsythe, the spell circle—and frowned. “The third person—well, I don’t suppose you’ve come any closer to solving that.”

  “No.” He frowned. “But that is not what I was thinking of.”

  “What—the collection,” I said, the answer finally dawning on me. “What about it?”

  “Yes, the collection,” he said, drumming his fingers more vigorously on his chair. “And its purpose—to heal Matthew. Why seek magic for a mundane illness?”

  I shrugged. “Perhaps Lord Ransom found himself in the same position as Sir Jasper—a sick child and no doctor able to heal him. Why shouldn’t he have turned to magic?”

  “Why not, indeed?” Hal muttered. “And yet—he could not name the specialists he had spoken to. He did not seek out the help of a medical magician—indeed, he went beyond even the local hedgewitch. Why seek out exotic magic?”

  “Because it was a curse,” I said. “At least—that is what he believed. And what good could ordinary magic do against that?”

  “Yes,” he said, sitting up abruptly. “And that leaves the question—why did he believe his son had been cursed?”

  I shook my head. “I’ve no idea. Why does it matter?”

  “Because—it has driven every action Lord Ransom has taken since his son’s birth,” Hal said. “It is the reason that he began this collection. And it may be the key to this second curse.”

  He stood up, striding over to the door. “Now we will do something—I think it is time we had a conversation with our employer.”

  I followed him out into the passage and up the stairs—we had not been to Lord Ransom’s chambers, but we were directed there by a sullen-faced maid who had the look of someone very much put-upon.

  “Aye, he’s taken to his bed, just as you was told,” she said. “And no one but Mrs. Forsythe is good enough to tend him. She’s putting on airs—ordering everyone about just as if she was the mistress of the place! Well, she’ll get what’s coming to her and no mistake—them that’s prideful always do.”

  The maid swept off down the stairs with a toss of her head, and we continued down the second floor passage to Lord Ransom’s chambers. Hal’s sharp knock was answered by Mrs. Forsythe, who gave him a scorching glare as she pulled the door open.

  “I told you his Lordship was ill,” she said, in a hissing whisper. “What do you mean by troubling him?”

  “I mean to get to the bottom of what has happened to his children,” Hal said evenly. “Perhaps you would tell him so.”

/>   She glared at him a moment longer, before stepping aside to let us through. “He’s no fit state to speak to you,” she said. “But I suppose nothing will keep you from trying.”

  “Nothing whatsoever,” Hal said. “I intend to break this curse—with your help or without it.”

  She shook her head, a weary kind of sorrow flashing briefly over her irritable face. “I wouldn’t be so certain of yourself—that sort of thing leads to more trouble than you know.”

  She pushed the door shut, and we followed her into the room, where Lord Ransom lay on a bed even larger and more intricately carved than Matthew’s had been. I was shocked at the change in him—he lay back against the pillows, his face grey and worn-looking, and his cheeks were hollow and gaunt beneath his dull eyes. He glanced up feebly as we entered.

  “Mr. Bishop—have you found anything new?” he said, his voice as feeble as his glance. “Is there any hope?”

  “A very interesting development, in fact,” Hal said, keeping his tone neutral, though there was a troubled look in his eyes. “Someone has been up to the tor—and they have tried their hand at breaking this curse.”

  I watched Mrs. Forsythe out of the corner of my eye as he spoke; she did not look up at his words, but her hands stilled at their work and her neck went stiff, as if anticipating a blow. I turned back to Lord Ransom, who was frowning at Hal in some confusion.

  “Someone has tried to break it?” he said. “But—how?”

  “Very crudely,” Hal said, without looking away from Lord Ransom. “He—or she—has tried to erase the spell.”

  “And—would that work?” A light seemed to flash dimly in Lord Ransom’s eyes. “Is it—could it be so simple?”

  “No,” Hal said, in that same carefully neutral tone, and never glancing at Mrs. Forsythe. “The contract has been made, and the spirit must fulfill it—unless it is voided by another. I fear the danger remains.”

  There was a slight clattering from where Mrs. Forsythe was gathering things on a tray, but when she looked up her face was carefully blank—though her hands held the tray in a white-knuckled grip.

  “I’ll bring you another tonic, shall I, my Lord?” she said crisply. He waved his hand and she disappeared through the door without a backward glance.

  Lord Ransom turned back to Hal, his face very grave. He looked terribly old just then, even his hair seeming to have more grey in it than before, and there was a weariness in his eyes that was hard to look at.

  “I suppose it was too much to ask,” he said, when the door had closed behind Mrs. Forsythe. “I had hoped—but why should it be different now?”

  “Different from the curse on Matthew, you mean,” Hal said. “The curse which you could never break.”

  Lord Ransom closed his eyes and was silent for a long moment. “Yes,” he said at last, his voice filled with pain. “Nothing—nothing has ever worked to cure him. Not even to improve his—his condition. And now . . .”

  Hal frowned around his pipe. “And why were you so certain the boy was under a curse?”

  “Don’t—don’t pretend that you don’t know,” Lord Ransom said, opening his eyes and fixing Hal with a gaze that had some of its old sharpness to it. “You know what happened to my ancestor—how my father took his title. He told me a reckoning was coming—and when Matthew was born, I knew. I knew that it had come.”

  At that word—reckoning—I felt a shudder run down my spine. Hal glanced at me, a troubled look passing briefly over his face, before returning his focus to Lord Ransom.

  “But accidents do happen,” he said. “And titles have passed under stranger circumstances. Why should you be so persuaded by the ramblings of a dying man?”

  “He was not rambling,” Lord Ransom said sharply. The effort choked him, and he broke off into a fit of coughing, before sinking back onto the pillows. “He—he died here, in this very room. In the same way that I am dying now—by inches. And when he was dying he would have no doctor—only the hedgewitch.”

  “Mrs. Forsythe’s grandmother,” Hal said.

  “Yes.” Lord Ransom closed his eyes, his voice growing wearier with each word. “She told me that it was a curse—and when Matthew was born—she said it hung about the place like a smell. Like the smell of something dying.”

  “A very clever hedgewitch, then,” Hal muttered. “But she could not save your father.”

  “Nothing could have saved him,” Lord Ransom said. “Just as nothing could save Matthew—and nothing can save me. We are all—it is a reckoning for us all.”

  There was a long silence after that, Lord Ransom going so still and quiet that I thought he must have fallen asleep. Hal made no move to leave, watching Lord Ransom with a strangely intense expression. Finally, Lord Ransom seemed to realize that he was being watched, and opened his eyes.

  “What is it?” he said. “Why do you linger? There—there is nothing left for you to do.”

  “But there is,” Hal said gravely. “There is a curse I must break—perhaps more than one.”

  Lord Ransom stared at him. “More than one? Mr. Bishop—I caution you, do not make a promise you cannot keep. I have been—many have promised me what could not be done.”

  “I make no promises,” Hal said. “But—there is hope yet. And that I do not say lightly.”

  Lord Ransom looked at him for a moment longer before nodding gravely. Then he closed his eyes once more, and we left him to his rest.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I followed Hal out of the room, thoroughly confused by what had just transpired. To Hal, it clearly represented a sort of breakthrough, but I could not understand why a curse upon Lord Ransom’s ancestor could have any relation to the curse cast upon Albert, born years after that ancestor had died. I could not ask Hal, for he was too deeply in thought to even acknowledge my presence; he strode down the hallway, his hands in his pockets and pipe billowing smoke.

  So deep in thought was he that he never noticed Addy coming up the stairs just as he began his way down them—I called out to him just in time for him to avoid a collision, and he looked up at her, quite startled.

  Addy was in a rather distracted state of mind herself—her face was terribly agitated, but she looked at Hal with such relief that one would have thought he had just rescued her from some terrible fate, instead of very nearly being the cause of a broken neck.

  “Oh, Mr. Bishop—I’ve just been down to look for you,” she said, wringing her hands. “Her Ladyship’s in a terrible state—terrible upset, weeping like—like someone’s died. She wanted me to fetch you to her at once.”

  “But what is the trouble, Addy?” I said, taking pity on her in her anxious state. “Has something happened?”

  “No—yes—oh, I don’t know,” she said despairingly. “I only know she wants to see you—now.”

  “Then we mustn’t keep her waiting,” Hal said. “Let us see what she has to say.”

  Addy nodded fervently, and led us down the passage to Lady Ransom’s chambers. She pushed the door open carefully; and just as she had said, the moment it opened, I heard the sound of a woman weeping bitterly. We entered to find Lady Ransom on the floor of her chamber, draped over the seat of a chair, with her face buried in her arms. Her shoulders heaved with sobs, and she never looked up until Addy tapped her lightly on the shoulder.

  “Mr. Bishop’s here, your Ladyship,” Addy said quietly, before meekly retreating to the other end of the room, where she stood in a corner, big-eyed and pale.

  Lady Ransom lifted her head, her hair falling disheveled about her face; she was pale, her eyes red-rimmed from heavy weeping, and she stared at us with open contempt.

  “What do you mean by telling my husband that my father has cursed his sons?” she said, her voice hoarse but steady. “How dare you to suggest such a thing?”

  “It was suggested to me,” Hal said, frowning around his pipe. “Never mind by whom—but it had to be investigated.”

  “Did it?” She stood, tossing her dark hair behind her hea
d. “And what do you find? That there is nothing to it, of course. But you have—my husband is—do you know how you have humiliated me?”

  “It was never meant to get back to you,” Hal said mildly. “I have told Lord Ransom that I find no support for it.”

  She turned away from him, going to stand before a window with her arms folded over her chest. “Well, it did come back to me,” she said, her tone dark. “And you need not tell me who suggested it to you—nor who made certain that I heard it.”

  “What do you mean?” I said.

  She gave a short humorless laugh. “I have told you often enough—that woman. She hates me. She has hated me since I arrived, and she has made certain that I know it.”

  “Hm.” Hal blew out a puff of smoke. “But why? Why should she hate you so?”

  “Because she is a fool,” Lady Ransom said, turning from the window, eyes blazing. “She thinks that he could—when she is nothing more than a servant!”

  “I don’t understand,” I said, shaking my head.

  “I do,” Hal said, regarding Lady Ransom with a strange expression. “You believe—she is in love with your husband?”

  “Of course she is,” Lady Ransom said, turning back to the window. “You see how it is, when he is ill—she alone can nurse him. She makes his tonics for him and his tea—she nursed his son. She runs his home. And she has—she has convinced herself that she is the mistress here.”

  “But that is a far cry from being in love with him,” I said. “She has been the housekeeper here for many years—perhaps . . .”

  “No.” Lady Ransom shook her head vigorously. “I have seen it in her face. And I know—I have been told—she was beautiful when she was young. There were rumors then—and now . . .”

  “Rumors?” Hal said. “What have you heard?”

  Lady Ransom gave a glance to Addy, who still stood in her corner, wringing her hands together. “Tell him what you told me.”

  Addy glanced between Lady Ransom and my brother, her freckles standing out sharply on her pale face. “Well, sir—it’s only gossip, you know. I don’t—I wasn’t here for any of it, you see.”