Jo Beverley

by Forbidden Magic

  “So you could tell the earl,” Laura suggested. Clearly, Saxonhurst had not fallen far from his pedestal in her sister’s eyes.

  “Tell him what?” Meg asked with a sigh. “ ‘My lord, I am custodian of an ancient, magical statue which Sir Arthur has stolen. I need your help to get it back.’ He’d clap me in Bedlam!”

  Meg wondered with sudden alarm whether he’d like an excuse to clap her in Bedlam. It was one way to get rid of an inconvenient wife.

  “But when he saw that it was true . . .”

  “Laura, even if I went with the earl to Sir Arthur to demand the sheelagh back, Sir Arthur would deny all knowledge. I can’t prove anything, even that the sheelagh existed in the first place.”

  “I could say it did.”

  “I don’t think that would impress the authorities, and as far as I know, no one else ever saw it. Certainly no one could say it is magic, and if they did . . . can you imagine how strange it would all sound? I’m not even sure it’s not still illegal to practice magic.”

  “Like witchcraft?” Laura exclaimed.

  Meg shuddered. She’d never thought of the sheelagh in quite that way before, but now she knew that making it public could be disastrous.

  “If it’s not illegal, they’d think it proof of madness to believe in such a thing. I have to go to Sir Arthur and see what he wants.” Not Laura, Meg prayed. But that, thank God, was now impossible. Mad or sane, Saxonhurst would never permit it.

  “I wish you didn’t have to,” Laura said. “I don’t like Sir Arthur anymore. I hope we never see him again.”

  “I wish I didn’t have to. Try if you can to discourage the twins from wanting to see him. They’ll have treats enough these days to not be easily tempted.”

  “What do you think he wants? Money?”

  “I hope so. That would be simplest, though how I’m to find it, I don’t know. The earl has promised me generous pin money, but I don’t have it yet. I have to get the stone back, though. I can’t begin to straighten out other things until I do.”

  Suddenly, temptingly, came the notion to ask the sheelagh to heal things between the earl and his grandmother. Surely, that had to be good. Couldn’t carry a sting . . .

  She started, realizing Laura was frowning at her. “Things aren’t all right, are they?”

  Meg smiled wryly. “Not entirely, no. But there’s nothing wrong that will affect you. Now, shouldn’t you be back with the twins?”

  “Peter is helping them with arithmetic. He’s much better at it than I am.”

  Meg made herself stay silent. She supposed an embezzler would be good with figures. She rose. “I’d better speak to Mr. Chancellor about a proper tutor. Then I’ll go and see Sir Arthur.”

  “Won’t the earl object?”

  If he knew, Meg thought. How to sneak out of the house in daylight? But then she stopped that. “Laura, we’re not prisoners. You, too, may go out if you wish. Just remember to always take a servant with you.”

  “Will you take a servant? To Sir Arthur’s?”

  Meg hadn’t planned on it, but it was the sensible thing to do. “Of course. Don’t worry. I’m not going to do anything foolish.”

  Laura went away looking relieved, and Meg went into her dressing room where Susie was waiting. “What jewels, milady?” Susie asked when Meg was ready.

  “Jewels? I’m afraid I don’t have any.” She thought wistfully of her mother’s locket and pearls, simple things, but treasured, and sold to support them all.

  “The earl sent the jewel box, milady. Not the grand ones, of course. Mr. Chancellor has care of those. I think they’re in the bank vault.” She unlocked an inlaid wooden box that sat on a small table.

  The maid lifted out a series of trays, each containing different items—rings, pins, brooches, chains, necklaces, aigrets. . . .

  “Good gracious.” Like a child with a box of toys, Meg couldn’t resist. As Susie had implied, nothing here was fabulously valuable, but it was all a great deal more than she’d ever had before. Holding a pretty necklace of pearls and some pale blue stone set in silver, she realized that her estranged husband must have sent this sometime after their chilly encounter.

  How extraordinary. Would she ever understand the man?

  Perhaps he did do it deliberately, enjoying making others feel off-balance.

  She made herself stop playing. “I don’t think I want any ornament today, Susie. Pack it up. We’ll have to find a place for it.”

  “No one here would steal, milady, but there’s a safe in your bedroom.”

  Meg followed her and watched as she swung aside one of the small inset bookshelves. “I didn’t know about this, milady. Mr. Chancellor showed me just now when he brought the box.”

  Meg sighed. The jewels had doubtless been Mr. Chancellor’s idea entirely.

  Behind the shelves lay a metal door with a lock. Susie dug in her pocket and produced a key. “Here you go, milady.”

  Meg inserted it, and turned. The door opened to reveal a wide space about six inches deep and two feet high, set with two shelves. The box would fit on a shelf. However, Meg’s main thought was that the sheelagh would fit in it on its side.

  Susie put the box away and Meg locked the safe. “Who else has a key to this?”

  “Likely Mr. Chancellor.”

  It was definitely a possible hiding place, and the best she’d found so far. First she had to get the statue back. “Susie, you are doing quite well out of this marriage, aren’t you?”

  The maid turned from where she was tidying Meg’s nightgown, a rather wary look in her eye. “I suppose, milady. Though Monk says we can’t get on with things till things here are settled.”

  “Does he? Then I assume the two of you would like to help me settle things.”

  “Perhaps, milady.” From the tone, Susie was still very undecided about her. In a strange way, Meg rather liked being thought unpredictable and dangerous. It was certainly novel.

  “After I’ve spoken with Mr. Chancellor about a tutor, I need to visit our old landlord. I want Monk to accompany me. Is that possible?”

  “Of course, milady. You can’t be going off on your own.”

  Meg tried to think of a way to put it gracefully, but couldn’t. “I don’t want the earl to accompany us.”

  “He went out early, milady. Gone for the day.”

  Meg turned away to hide coloring cheeks. So, he was avoiding her. Doubtless, the jewels had been Mr. Chancellor’s idea.

  She put the key in her pocket, praying she’d be able to mend things later.

  “There’s this key, too, milady.” Susie picked up one from a side table. “It was in the pocket of your blue gown.”

  The back door key to Mallett Street! She’d thought she’d left it in the door, but clearly not. She took it, and dropped it to chink against the other one. Clearly, Sir Arthur knew that she’d been to the house, so she’d return it. Despite her minor illegal activities, she wouldn’t keep someone else’s property.

  The key dragged in her pocket like a guilty conscience, however, as she went in search of Mr. Chancellor.

  She found him in an office on the ground floor—a surprisingly businesslike office. The room was lined with glassed-in shelves over drawers, and Owain Chancellor was not alone. An elderly man and a gawky youth sat at tall desks entering something in ledgers.

  Mr. Chancellor rose. “Have you come to talk about a tutor, my lady?” He waved her to a chair.

  “Yes. Or a governess,” she said, sitting. “Which do you think would be best?”

  “We could have both, but we thought the twins would prefer to take their lessons together for now.”

  We? Had the earl and his secretary had time and inclination to think about educational matters since last night? Perhaps in this household, a night of destruction and melodramatic confrontation was all washed away with daylight.

  “Perhaps a well-educated woman for now,” Mr. Chancellor was saying.

  “Very well.” She made herself pay
attention.

  “Shall I arrange for you to interview some applicants?”

  Meg was daunted at the thought of assessing other young women doubtless very like herself, but it was her responsibility. “Certainly. As soon as possible.” She rose, but hesitated.

  “Do you require anything else, Lady Saxonhurst?”

  Uncomfortably aware of the clerks, Meg lost the courage to ask for money. Anyway, she couldn’t possibly ask for enough to meet any price Sir Arthur might set on the sheelagh. She had a few coins, and the earl had said the servants would pay for incidentals.

  She couldn’t help one question, however. “I gather the earl has left the house for the day.”

  “He had a standing arrangement to race at the Heath.”

  “I see.” Meg was quite sure the arrangement would have been altered in other circumstances. Other circumstances, such as him having spent the night in his wife’s bed, completing the wonderful seduction he’d begun.

  She suppressed a sigh and left before Mr. Chancellor asked about her plans. In the hall, she found Monk waiting, small but dignified in his braided livery and powdered hair. “You required my services, milady?”

  The stately butler stood nearby, and though he appeared uninterested, Meg had the feeling that he might step forward to prevent her leaving the house.

  “Yes, Monk,” she said in as ordinary a manner as she could. “I have a few errands.”

  The big dog was lying by the door like a very shaggy rug, probably waiting for his master to return home. Meg could sympathize, though she was pleased—she had to be pleased—to have a day free to settle the matter of the sheelagh.

  Brak turned his snarling, woeful face to her, heaved up, and came over, as if he’d decided she’d do as a very poor second. She fondled the dog’s ears and its tail stirred.

  “How did the earl come to have Brak?” she asked Monk.

  “He was like he is from birth, milady. None wanted him.”

  And that was complete explanation?

  “I’m surprised the house isn’t full of such unwanted creatures.”

  Monk glanced at the butler as if checking how far he could go. “There are more at Haverhall, milady. But mostly, we makes sure he doesn’t come across too many.”

  “Do you require the carriage, milady?” interrupted the butler in the tone of one who expects the answer to be yes.

  Brought back to the matter in hand, Meg said, “No, thank you. . . .” Bother, she couldn’t remember his name.

  Pringle, mouthed Monk.

  “My errands are all close by, Pringle. But I do want my outdoor clothing.”

  “Very well, milady.” Meg saw the flickered look he cast at Monk before departing. It surely carried the message, Watch this one.

  Even in this house, the hall was a little chilly, so she waited in a warm reception room, shadowed by Brak, until Susie appeared with her hooded cloak, bonnet, gloves, and muff.

  Then, of course, the dog wanted to come with her. She said, “Stay!” and pointed to a spot on the floor. Mournfully, he flopped down there and she could escape.

  “He is well trained,” she remarked as they went down the steps.

  “Sax won’t have untrained beasts around.”

  Meg wondered wryly about untrained wives. Looking back on last night, she couldn’t decide who’d been most at fault. Perhaps it was beyond the line for a wife to disobey her lustful husband. Oh well, if only she could get the sheelagh back she was sure she could sort out all the other problems.

  An icy wind whipped down the street, lifting her skirts and chilling her legs. She asked Monk if he was warm enough with only his livery.

  “I don’t need much to keep warm, milady. Just me gloves. Where to, then?”

  They were approaching an exit to the square. Meg glanced at him. “I didn’t tell the butler the truth, Monk, but I didn’t want to use one of the earl’s carriages. Take me to the nearest hackney stand.”

  “Very well, milady.” His manner was as chilly as the January air. Meg wished she could explain. She wished she could tell everyone about everything, but she couldn’t. Once she had the sheelagh back, she could start to act like a proper countess and they’d soon realize she wasn’t a wicked adventuress.

  Because of the nippy wind, Meg was glad to settle into the hackney carriage, even if it smelled of many past users and had hard seats. Just a few trips in the earl’s carriage and she was spoiled. Monk would have ridden outside, but she commanded him to join her.

  “Now,” she said, as the coach jerked off, showing that the springs were not the best, either. “I am about to visit my old landlord, Sir Arthur Jakes.”

  “Very well, milady.”

  She ignored his distant manner. “You are to stay outside and out of sight while I go in.”

  “Yes, milady?” His skinny, monkeyish face expressed profound disapproval.

  “I’ve known the man all my life. I’ll be perfectly safe. But I don’t want to arrive with an escort.” She couldn’t explain it, so she didn’t try.

  “Very well, milady.”

  They sat there in silence, bouncing and rattling across London.

  When the carriage stopped, Monk leaped out to pay and collect the ticket. Then he turned back to hand her out.

  “Which house, milady?” he asked, looking at the row of tall stuccoed residences. Only a few streets separated them from Mallet Street, but these were clearly gentlemen’s residences.

  “It’s number three, down the other end. You stay here.”

  He almost stood to attention. “As you say, milady.”

  Meg walked a few steps, then sighed and turned back. “Very well, Monk. I’m not absolutely sure of my safety. If I don’t come out again in a half hour, you may send for assistance.”

  “Oh, right,” he said, relaxing into something close to a glower. “And Sax’ll skin me alive! Now, milady, let’s rethink this one.”

  “Not at all! You can tell the earl it was all my doing.”

  She walked briskly away, but heard him say, “Fat lot of use that’ll be.”

  She paused for a moment before Sir Arthur’s house. Even though he’d visited her house many times, she’d never been here, and she felt like a fly about to rush into a spider’s web.

  That was silly. She couldn’t imagine what he was up to, but he wouldn’t try to do her harm.

  She rapped the lion’s head knocker briskly, then again, and again, wondering why no one was answering. Could he have been suddenly called away?

  Then the door was opened by a dark-haired woman in black bombazine and a severe cap. “Yes, ma’am?”

  Despite the woman’s dress, Meg found something faintly improper about her. Perhaps it was her full lips, or her heavy-lidded eyes. Meg reminded herself of Brak. Not every housekeeper could look like starched propriety.

  “I wish to see Sir Arthur.” When the woman’s dark brows rose, Meg realized she’d have to give her name. No, her title. How strange. “Tell him Lady Saxonhurst is here.”

  “Lady?” The woman’s bold eyes passed over Meg’s serviceable gown and brown cloak. Then they flicked beyond, clearly checking for carriage and servants. “Pull the other one, dolly.”

  Meg stood straighter. “I am Lady Saxonhurst, and well known to Sir Arthur. I assure you, he will be very distressed if you turn me away.” With exasperation, she added, “I used to be Meg Gillingham. My family rented the house in Mallett Street.”

  “Oh, that one.” The woman stepped back and invited Meg in, but without any sign of increased respect. Meg wished desperately that she had a quizzing glass and the earl’s ability with it. Injury was added to insult when she was put to wait in a frigid reception room lacking any kind of fire.

  Meg paced to keep warm, but also to work off anger and nerves. She had to get the sheelagh back. She tentatively checked for the feel of the thing, but the air here seemed dead of it. Never having studied this aspect of the magic before, however, she had no idea how close she had to be to sense it. />
  What if Sir Arthur didn’t have it? What then?

  But he’d said he had. . . .

  Hadn’t he?

  How much did he know? Did he know about the magic, or just that the sheelagh had some value? He couldn’t possibly know that she’d used it to trap the earl, could he? No one knew that but herself and Laura.

  It was becoming such a burden of guilt, however, that she felt as if it were branded on her forehead!

  “My dear! Having to exercise to keep warm!”

  Meg whirled to face him. He was still elegant in clothes and smile. He still made her flesh crawl.

  “You must be turning to ice. Come upstairs.” As they passed through the hall, he called out, “Hattie! Hot tea for her ladyship.”

  His use of the servile title was clearly ironic. If only she knew what he wanted!

  On the upper floor, he opened a door. Meg hesitated. She’d expected to be taken to a drawing room, but this was a more private kind of sitting room. It could be attached to his bedchamber. She walked in anyway. It was warm, and he’d made it clear before that he had no wicked designs on her aged body.

  Determined not to show any fear, she put aside her muff, and stripped off her gloves. “You wished to speak to me, Sir Arthur?”

  “No, no, my dear. You wished to speak to me, or you would not be here. All alone, as well.” Cruel humor glinted in his eyes. “Did you have to steal out of the house? Would your exalted husband not approve?”

  “I left the house openly.” Doing her best to appear unconcerned, Meg sat in a chair by the fire. “Sir Arthur, there was an item missing from our house. I am here because you implied that you have it.”

  He sat opposite, flipping his coat tails out of the way, then crossing his legs. “Missing? But you took all you believed was yours, did you not?”

  Meg prayed not to blush. “I forgot something.”

  “Then it could hardly have been important. . . . Ah, the tea. Thank you, Hattie.” As the housekeeper set down the tray, he said, “Lady Saxonhurst, would you pour?”

  Meg did so, glad of a moment to collect her thoughts. “Milk, Sir Arthur? Sugar?” When she’d added them, she passed him his cup.