Kat, Incorrigible

by Stephanie Burgis

  “Oh,” I said. Oh, Lord! I had to restrain myself from groaning.

  Not another lecture! We were high above the manor house now, much too far for a quick escape. I calculated distances anyway. Which was worse: to stay and be lectured on propriety by a wife-murderer, or to go back inside and be lectured on my disappearance by my sisters? Perhaps—

  “You see,” said Sir Neville, “very few people in good society understand how to cope with an unruly magical talent in their midst. And when that talent extends beyond mere witchcraft, into higher realms and unsavory secret Orders—”

  I jerked away. His arm felt as if it had turned to steel, trapping my hand against his body. I pulled as hard as I could, but I couldn’t escape his grip.

  He stood perfectly still and spoke as calmly as if I weren’t struggling with all my strength to pull away from him. “Did you think no one would notice your fireworks in the house earlier? Or just now? Or last night?”

  “Last night?” I repeated. My mind was whirling so quickly, I could hardly stand. But I hadn’t done any magic last night. Had I? All I’d done was talk to Angeline and Mr. Carlyle and then—

  He kept talking as if I hadn’t even spoken. “The use of magic emits a particular sort of vibration in the aether, you know, to those who know how to recognize it. There are many different variations. A mere hedge-witch’s spell is one thing; a more powerful witch’s spell is another. And when it comes to the workings of an untrained and highly dangerous Guardian … I wondered why Aloysius Gregson was here at this house party. Has he bothered to tell you yet what his Order does to witches like your own lovely sister Angeline? I wonder how long it will take him to recognize what she is.”

  “Let me go or I’ll kick you,” I said. I was breathing hard. I could hear my heartbeat thumping in my ears.

  “A dangerous threat indeed,” said Sir Neville. “And yet I wouldn’t, if I were you. For one thing, it would be remarkably uncivilized—and everyone agrees that your mother, for all her flaws, was never less than charmingly civilized. Perhaps even more importantly, though, your stepmother is actually watching us at this very moment, and you wouldn’t want to scandalize her, would you?” He pointed with his free hand to the house below us.

  I turned, my hand still trapped in Sir Neville’s arm, and saw that he was right. Stepmama stood outside the far corner of the house, shading her eyes as she looked up at us. For once, I felt nothing but sheer relief at the sight of her familiar figure.

  “Well, then,” I said brightly. “I really should be going. So if you’ll only let me go—”

  “Your stepmother doesn’t know you’ve been practicing witchcraft, does she? Or even more secretive Guardian magic?” Sir Neville watched me, smiling. “No? I thought not.” He shook his head. “What a pity. To have to disillusion such an admirable woman …”

  “I am not practicing witchcraft,” I said. “I told you—I don’t know what you’re talking about! And I’m not a Guardian, either, whatever that is.” Stepmama was hurrying toward us now, still out of hearing, but only barely. I said urgently, “I don’t know what you’ve heard or imagined about my mother, but—”

  “Oh, I know a great deal about your mother,” Sir Neville murmured. “Probably more than you do, in fact. It’s a pity you didn’t inherit her ability to tell a good lie—by all accounts, she was quite an accomplished deceiver, while you, on the other hand, are quite, quite unconvincing in your attempts. Somehow I don’t think your stepmother will have much difficulty in accepting my version of events, rather than your own. I wonder how surprised she will be by the news? Not very, perhaps. After all, it was only to be expected, from your mother’s daughters.”

  “Please!” I hissed. Stepmama was only fifty feet below us now, and I could see from the rigidity of her smile (aimed, of course, straight at Sir Neville) that she was already furious. “You don’t need to tell her anything. There is nothing to tell.”

  “If there is nothing to tell, then surely there can be no danger in repeating it. Perhaps, after all, she may not mind. Perhaps she would be proud to tell your father that—”

  “No!” I said. It came out as a croak.

  I could tell immediately that I had made a mistake. Satisfaction lit up Sir Neville’s face until he looked almost demonic. I didn’t have time to make it right or think of anything clever. All I could do was whisper, “Please. Please don’t tell her. Please.”

  “Hmm.” Sir Neville patted my trapped hand. “For your sake, I shall consider the matter. But we must talk again, later. In detail.” He raised his voice. “Mrs. Stephenson! What a charming day it is for a walk, don’t you think? Your stepdaughter was kind enough to join me on a morning constitutional to tell me all about her fascinating oldest sister.”

  “How very … enterprising of her,” Stepmama said, and bared her teeth at me. I could tell she was trying not to pant from the exertion of her climb. “Katherine, you were very silly not to tell us where you were going. Your sisters were distressed.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” I said. “I’ll come back now.”

  I darted a look up at Sir Neville, wondering what I would do if he refused to let me go. But he stepped away, bowing over my hand as he released it.

  “Charming, Miss Katherine. If your sisters have anything like your talents …” I saw the teeth in his smile. “I shall be even more impressed by them.”

  Sickness roiled in my stomach. Stepmama tsked behind me.

  “For heaven’s sake, Kat!” she hissed. “Curtsy!”

  I curtsied. My head felt thick and numb. I couldn’t think of anything to say to combat the victory in Sir Neville’s eyes. And the warning.

  I shall be even more impressed by them …

  I remembered Mrs. Watson’s story about his first wife. I didn’t believe it anymore. Looking into Sir Neville’s hard, dark eyes, I couldn’t believe for an instant that he had killed his first wife out of jealousy, or for any other reason as simple as that. But I was absolutely certain that he had murdered her. He couldn’t be allowed to marry Elissa.

  I had no idea how I could stop him. The worst part was, I could tell he knew exactly how helpless I was feeling—and he was enjoying it. Deeply.

  He bowed to Stepmama. “Madam. Please do pass my compliments along to your oldest daughter. I can hardly wait to see her again later.”

  Then he turned and walked away, every line of his body radiating smug, inexorable power.

  Stepmama had to tug my arm twice to start me moving. “Whatever is the matter with you this morning?”

  “Helpless,” I said dully. I could barely move my tongue to say the words. My gaze followed Sir Neville’s retreating figure. I couldn’t make myself look away.

  Oh, I’d heard of helplessness before, but I’d never truly felt it. Now that I’d discovered the feeling, I didn’t like it one bit.

  But how could I possibly fight him?

  “‘Helpless’?” Stepmama repeated. “What nonsense are you spouting now? Speak sense!”

  I took a deep breath and wrenched my eyes off Sir Neville. “You’re right,” I said. “It is nonsense. I was wrong.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Stepmama peered into my eyes. “Are you quite well, Kat? Perhaps you’ve spent too long in the sun today. Although, heaven knows, you ought to be inured to that by now, after all the days you’ve spent running wild in the fields around our own house. But you cannot behave like such a feral creature here! Disappearing without a word to any of us, forcing your poor sisters to tramp up and down the manor and the abbey in search of you before they finally came to me for maternal assistance….”

  You mean, before you finally nosed out for yourself what they were up to, I thought—but it wasn’t worth arguing the point. Not now.

  I let the rest of Stepmama’s lecture wash over me as we walked back down the hill to the manor house. A gold and brown carriage rattled down the drive ahead, no doubt carrying even more guests to gossip and stare at my behavior, but I ignored it. I didn’t have
time to care about trivialities anymore. If there was one thing I knew for sure, it was that I was not a helpless person. So the answer to my problems was very simple.

  I would just have to find a weapon I could use against Sir Neville. No matter how difficult that might be, it had to be better than letting him hurt my oldest sister. But what that weapon might be …

  “Stop gnawing your lip, Kat!” Stepmama hissed as we stepped inside the house. Footmen bowed as they held the great doors open for us, and Stepmama put on a social smile as she whispered through her teeth, “It is unladylike, and it looks ridiculous!”

  “Yes, Stepmama,” I muttered. With an effort, I kept myself from rolling my eyes at her. No doubt that would be unladylike too.

  “You may think yourself very clever,” she added, as we walked toward the main staircase at a tired turtle’s pace, “but your scheme to turn Sir Neville against your sister has obviously had no effect. I don’t know what you chose to tell him about poor, sweet Elissa—”

  “Nothing that didn’t make him happy,” I said, and scowled.

  “You will kindly remove that expression from your face at once,” Stepmama said. “And in the future—”

  But I never managed to hear what the future had in store for me. Just as we started up the staircase, the front doors swung open behind us once again, with a bustle of footmen snapping to new attention. At the very same moment, Lady Graves appeared at the top of the stairs and came running down them, far too quickly to be considered truly ladylike. A maid trailed behind her, still holding an open letter. Lady Graves barely spared either Stepmama or me a glance as she rushed past us, toward the open front doors.

  I started to turn around to see what was happening, but Stepmama caught my elbow with a grip of steel and propelled me up the next step of the staircase.

  “Ladies do not stare!” she hissed. “Just keep walking, Kat, and later, I am certain—”

  Her instructions were cut off by an all-too-familiar voice speaking from the doorway.

  “My dear Lady Graves.”

  “And my dear Lady Fotherington,” Lady Graves answered. “How delighted I am that you could come, after all.”

  Fourteen

  I had to grab the marble banister of the staircase for balance. My mind spun wildly. Had my spell not vanished, after all? Had I split into two, back in the abbey ruins? Was that me down there, talking to Lady Graves, at the very same time that—

  “Of course I had to come,” Lady Fotherington purred. “How could I stay away from such a gathering? Especially with so many charming gentlemen among your company?”

  Well, that proved it wasn’t me, at least. I would never say anything so disgusting, no matter how many spells had been placed upon me.

  Unfortunately, that left me with only one conclusion: Lady Fotherington really was standing right below me.

  Right below … Oh, Lord. I’d frozen on the third step of the grand staircase, in full view of the open front doors. The moment Lady Fotherington looked away from her hostess, she’d see me standing as still as a stick, just waiting for her.

  I lunged forward, up to the next step. But Stepmama’s grip was still tight on my arm, and she didn’t follow me. To my horror, I could feel her starting to turn back.

  “No!” I hissed. I yanked hard, pulling her up, stumbling, to join me on my higher step. “You said a lady never stares,” I whispered. “You said—”

  “Don’t be absurd, Katherine,” Stepmama said, in a horribly normal, horribly loud voice. She let go of my arm and shook her head. “We mustn’t rush away now, just when a new guest is arriving!”

  There was a sudden, startled silence behind us. I cringed. Stepmama swung around, beaming.

  “Why, my dear Lady Fotherington,” she trilled. “I do hope you remember me. We met at the Whitelaws’ ball in Grosvenor Street ten years ago, and—oh, good, you do remember. But I had no idea you would be attending Rosemary’s little house party!”

  I clung to the banister. I couldn’t bring myself to turn around. Maybe, if all Lady Fotherington could see was the back of my head, she might not—

  “Why, Margaret Stephenson,” Lady Fotherington said. “As I live and breathe. Of course I remember meeting you—you were still Margaret Havisham then, were you not? What a charming surprise to see you here. And is that one of your stepdaughters I see beside you?”

  I gritted my teeth and turned around as slowly as I could. The front doorway came slowly into view before me: Lady Fotherington resplendent in a fashionable green morning gown, with her dark hair arranged in an elegant trailing style; Lady Graves with her hands still held out in warm welcome; and all the footmen trying to look as if they didn’t have eyes or ears or brains, only uniforms. The very worst part came when Lady Fotherington deliberately met my eyes and smiled. She didn’t have to speak. I could read her triumph even from fifteen feet away. And her nose, just as Mr. Gregson had told me, was as perfectly straight as if I had never even touched it.

  “My youngest stepdaughter, Miss Katherine,” Stepmama said, and put one hand behind my back. From the doorway, it must have looked like a loving gesture. I knew better. I curtsied before she could remind me of my manners with a pinch.

  “Charming,” Lady Fotherington murmured. “But …” She turned her gaze back to Stepmama. “Isn’t she a trifle young for house parties, Margaret? She looks—”

  “She is rather young to be allowed in public,” Stepmama said. “Indeed, I would have kept her in the nursery myself, where she belongs, but dear Rosemary did choose to insist—”

  That did it. I smiled brilliantly at Lady Fotherington and cut straight across Stepmama. “But don’t you remember, Lady Fotherington? We’ve already met.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Lady Fotherington blinked rapidly, losing her smile.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Katherine!” Stepmama glared at me. “Of course you haven’t met. Lady Fotherington has only just arrived. There is no possible way in which—”

  “But we have met, Stepmama,” I said, in my most innocent voice. I widened my eyes for added effect—not for Stepmama’s sake, of course; she would never be fooled by that—but for the benefit of our observers below. “And Lady Fotherington can’t have just arrived, because I met her this morning in the abbey ruins. She was with that pleasant gentleman we met yesterday—Lady Graves’s cousin from town. Mr. Gregson, I think his name is?”

  I heard the hissing sound of Lady Fotherington’s indrawn breath all the way across the foyer. But she didn’t say a word. She didn’t have to—Stepmama was bristling enough for three.

  “That is quite enough out of you, young lady. Making up absurd stories to tease our hostess’s guests—”

  “But it isn’t a story, Stepmama,” I said sweetly. “It really happened. If you don’t trust me, you can ask Elissa. She met the two of them there, as well. You wouldn’t accuse Elissa of making up stories, would you?”

  Stepmama looked like a startled frog, blowing up her cheeks with air and stuttering instead of speaking. But our hostess, Lady Graves, let out a low, delighted laugh.

  “My, my, Lydia,” Lady Graves said to Lady Fotherington. “From the mouths of innocents, eh?”

  “Innocents …,” Lady Fotherington repeated.

  She might have been trying for a light tone. But I could almost feel the steam that rose from her rigid figure all the way to where I stood on the stairs, looking down on both of them with my most harmless and puzzled look.

  “I do beg your pardon, Lady Fotherington,” I said. “Have I said something wrong?”

  The look in Lady Fotherington’s eyes was worth everything I’d suffered in the last few hours. I tried to memorize it, so I could enjoy it again later, during my sisters’ inevitable lectures.

  “I would never have mentioned seeing you and Mr. Gregson in the abbey ruins if I’d had any idea that you wouldn’t like it,” I said, and then stopped, biting down hard on my lower lip, before I could ruin the effect by laughing.

  “Now,
now. You can hardly blame the poor girl for not knowing better than to let your little secret out.” Lady Graves took Lady Fotherington’s arm. “My dear, you must tell me all about it. I want all the delicious details. I would never have guessed Aloysius to be your sort. You two have been cunning, haven’t you?”

  “Someone certainly has been,” Lady Fotherington said coolly. “I must admit, I should quite like to talk to him right now.” She shot me a meaningful glare.

  “I imagine you would,” Lady Graves said. “But just now, I am going to spirit you away for a proper interrogation, before you can agree on any stories with him. Margaret, won’t you join us for tea and a spot of gossip in my dressing room?”

  “Ah …” Stepmama hesitated, glancing between me and the two ladies.

  It must have been an excruciating dilemma for her—whether to indulge herself in a towering scold over my behavior, or to be included in a private gossip with two fashionable women from the high society she longed for. I wondered if the effort of choice would turn her cheeks purple. Perhaps she would even explode. I watched her with interest to see what would happen.

  “Now, Margaret, I am sure that Miss Katherine is old enough to find her way back to her own room by herself,” Lady Graves said.

  “Indeed,” Lady Fotherington said, and smiled thinly. “One certainly does receive the impression that Miss Katherine is capable of anything.”

  I smiled back as enchantingly as possible, just to make her seethe. “That is very kind of you to say, Lady Fotherington.”

  Lady Graves glanced between us. Her lips twitched. “As I said. Margaret? Lydia? Shall we retire to my dressing room?”

  “I would be delighted,” Stepmama said. But before she stepped away, she leaned in to whisper in my ear. “You will go directly to your room, Kat. Or else!”

  “Yes, Stepmama,” I said, and batted my eyelashes at her.

  She couldn’t let out any shrieks of rage in public, not in front of Lady Graves and Lady Fotherington. But the look on her face was enough for me.