The morning after our return from Stroud, Thomas invited me to accompany him on a horseback ride. It was a perfect spring morning. The breeze was pleasantly fresh, not raw. The meadows were invitingly green, not muddy. Even the stone walls seemed to glow golden in the sunlight.
There was such significance in his expression as he proposed the outing that I was not surprised when he drew rein the moment we were out of sight of the house.
"Will you help me cast the protective spell?" Thomas looked grave. "I'm going to ride the bounds of the park and the home wood. The barriers will be set deep and wide. No one will cross without my permission."
"I'll help all I can," I said.
Thomas looked pleased. "Excellent. Just stay close."
As we rode, Thomas cast his spell. It must take a master to work any kind of a spell from the saddle. I find it difficult enough to do it when I am sitting comfortably on the floor. The rhythm of the ride seemed to play a role in the rhythm of the spell. I had a sense that Thomas's spell used the life around us, the horses, the trees, the grass, the weeds— everything—to balance and to steady his intention.
I was very conscious of the way my ring felt on my finger. Had Thomas asked me to help in any active way, I might have found the sensation distracting. I could feel my heart beating, I could feel the ring, and I could stay on my horse. More than that, I could not have done.
We rode only the immediate perimeter of Skeynes: the grounds and gardens of the park to the east and west, the home wood to the north, and to the south, the home farm as far as the edge of the common. Truly, Arthur and Eleanor should pride themselves on the accuracy of their Map. I was pleased to note how faithfully they drew the boundaries.
By the time we returned to the house, Thomas was pale with fatigue, and I fear I have seldom been more disheveled. I had been at close quarters with every hedgerow and thicket en route, and my riding habit sustained considerable wear and tear.
Despite all this exertion, my hair did not come down, and I think you must have a point about the spells I have learned. The skill to keep my hair up reliably I count a true blessing. Calling and finding spells are important, but heaven forefend I need to use either of them again soon. My ears still ring from time to time.
The nursery is not the sanctuary I had hoped it would be, although it has helped me calm my fears for the children, spending so much time getting my hands sticky along with them. My advent has been accepted with visible tolerance by both Nurse Carstairs and Nurse Langley. Their patience is perceptible. I'm sure that they view my time in their stronghold as an indulgence to me. Indeed, it is.
Thank heavens for the charms of novelty. The children are not yet weary of my frequent presence among them, but soon the nurses will be. As a result, I am on my best behavior at all times, and when my presence is absolutely required elsewhere, the mutual relief is palpable.
Of course, we still have questions to answer. Thomas's enthusiasm for the inquiries in Stroud, I suspect, stemmed from his utter reluctance to question Georgy. Eventually, of course, the moment had to arrive.
Thomas and Georgy met (with me in the role of arbiter and referee) in the morning room, a spot as close to neutral territory as Skeynes can provide. Georgy had a bit of needlepoint with her and was seated in her favorite chair, her back to the window.
Thomas was having none of that. "Change places with Kate." As we obeyed, he added, "I need to see your face."
Georgy looked annoyed. "You enjoy ordering people about."
Thomas thought that over. "Doesn't everyone?"
"I don't," I said. "Oh, Georgy. I'm so worried. Please. Tell us what is going on."
Now, in all likelihood, I have said those words to Georgy a hundred times since her arrival. This time she answered me, but it was because of Thomas. I have never seen him show a more forbidding countenance. "I don't read Daniel's correspondence." The tone in which Georgy announced this suggested to me that she has done exactly that, more than once. "But he has been so ... so different of late. Cold. More than that, he has been impatient, even surly at times. I know he is in financial trouble. He always grumbles about his investments, but this is different. I have begged him to confide in me, but he gets his mulish look and says nothing."
"Daniel was rich as Croesus when you married him," I protested. "What happened?"
"He has many investments," Georgy said. "Yet somehow Daniel's investments are not like other people's investments. Other people invest money, and it earns more money. Daniel's investments seem to demand more money, always more money, even for him to keep the holdings he has. He has shares in several railways. The only one that ever showed any promise is the Stockton to Darlington line. Five months ago, they demanded he double his stake."
When Georgy said "Stockton to Darlington," I could not help a glance at Thomas. His attention was all on Georgy, his expression grim.
Georgy continued, "That last afternoon, I was in the drawing room with Daniel as he read a letter he had received. It angered him. He crumpled it up and threw it into the fireplace. His aim was not of the best, however. When Daniel left the room, which he did very soon after, I was able to scrape it out again, smooth the page, and read it."
"So, whatever it was," I said, "Daniel could not have considered it of great importance. If he had, surely he would have kept it... or made certain to burn it. He would not have treated it so carelessly if it mattered to him."
Georgy paid no attention to me. Her gaze was fixed upon the needlework in her lap, but she seemed not to see it. "The letter was unsigned. It said, 'If you want a dead duchess, you've done all the right things.' I threw it from me as if it were a poisonous snake. This time the fire caught it at once, and it burned to ash before my eyes. I ought to have kept it as evidence, I know. A moment's reflection told me I was a fool."
"Unfortunate," Thomas agreed. "Did the letter come with a cover? Any sort of return address? A clue of any kind to the identity of whoever wrote it?"
Georgy shook her head. "It was a single sheet of paper, folded and sealed with wax. The direction was to His Grace, the Duke of Waltham. There was no frank. It might have been delivered by a footman. It must have been, for it was a Sunday. I didn't think of that then. I didn't think of anything. All I could do was leave at once."
"Thank goodness you came here," I said. "At the very least, it referred to a threat against you. But I fail to see how it incriminates your husband. Harming you would only add to his troubles, not solve them."
"You forget the settlements," Georgy said. "When the marriage was arranged, Daniel settled a sum of money on me. It was a trifle to him then, but his circumstances are different now. The only way he can touch those funds is if I... die."
"Oh, nonsense," I exclaimed. "If Daniel needs funds so desperately, why can't he just sell a few thousand acres of land?"
"Most of the property is entailed," said Georgy. "No one could sell it."
"Well, suppose Daniel did mean to murder you for the money," I said. "Do you believe that is the sort of letter a hireling would write in reply to such a proposal? It hardly seems businesslike."
"Probably a mistake to assume Daniel means you any harm on the basis of that evidence," Thomas agreed, "but I think it was a sound decision to leave, given the circumstances."
Georgy twisted the needlepoint canvas in her lap. "That was the most odious journey I have ever undertaken. I thought at times I must surely be in a nightmare." She looked up at me, and I saw her eyes were full of tears. "It has no end. No matter how dull and safe and soothing you are, I'm still in that nightmare."
"You might have told us this when you arrived," I said, with what I considered commendable mildness under the circumstances.
Thomas was more nettled than I. "I suppose you thought it would all go away if you squeezed your eyes shut and wished with all your might."
Woebegone, Georgy protested. "I wanted to tell you."
"Then why didn't you?" Thomas demanded. "Has it never occurred to you that we n
eeded to know about this in order to protect you—and the children?"
"You must believe me." Georgy began to cry. "I never dreamed the children were at hazard. Oh, dear. Oh, dear."
Thomas rose and set to pacing. His agitation was plain. The fact that he resisted the obvious desire to shout at Georgy did very little to diminish the thunderous atmosphere in the room. Given that I was torn between the urge to pat her hand and the passionate desire to box her ears, I did the best I could to soothe Georgy.
When she had collected herself, Georgy added, "I will do whatever you wish. Must I go?"
"Don't be an idiot." Thomas kept pacing. "If we let you out of our sight, there's no telling what nonsense you may engage in. You're to stay here where we can keep an eye on you."
"Where you will be quite safe," I amended. "Isn't that right, Thomas?"
"Completely safe," said Thomas. "No one can come through the barriers I've put up without my knowledge and permission. At least, not unless we have a visitor with a great deal more ability in magic than I've ever encountered."
I will spare you the remainder of the interlude. You can imagine it all too easily. When your letter arrived, the information about Lucky (what an unsatisfactory nickname!—it could hardly give us less to go on) gave Thomas a reason to cross-question Georgy, but to no avail. Thomas and I agree with you. The Duke of Waltham isn't the threat to Georgy. His friends, if anyone has the bad taste to befriend him, are the place to look for a culprit.
Georgy assures us that she has told us everything she knows of Daniel's business associates. She has no better reason to suspect him of designs upon her than those given above. Thomas and I are convinced that the letter is nothing more sinister than an attempt to influence Daniel through a threat to Georgy. Still, that is sinister enough, all by itself.
My chief concern is the nursery. I will have the full story out of Edward yet.
Love,
Kate
P.S. Should the dastardly duke recollect his duty as a guest and reappear, try to leave some scraps of him. Enough for Thomas to conduct a few experiments upon, at least. —K.
P.P.S. Of course Daniel has always been punctilious about paying his debts of honor. It's the other kind of debt that's ruining the man, the debts run up by a life of indulgence. I think Georgy is well rid of him. Perhaps she could live on the Continent, in something resembling respectable obscurity, once all this dreadful business is tidied up. —K.
P.P.P.S. Or perhaps Georgy can move somewhere within walking distance of Aunt Charlotte. Aunt Charlotte would welcome such a distraction, I am sure. I hope that last flight of fancy has made you smile, at least. —K.
18 April 1828
Skeynes
(Enchanted by my own hand, T.S.)
Dear James,
From the mere words, you might think you know what laid couching is. You'd be wrong. (Unless I do you an injustice, and you do know what it is. In that extremely unlikely event, you have my wholehearted respect and a full apology. Not to mention my undivided attention, should you decide to explain to me why you know so much about stitchery.) Laid couching is the reason Kate and her escadrille of nurses are convinced that Drina, as everyone calls our superfluous child, is of good family, indeed, a rich man's child. No one in her right mind would work a child's petticoat with laid couching for the pure joy of it, I gather.
Oh, ask Cecy about it. This, like the mysterious business of when and where a woman must begin to wear her cap, seems to be one of those things all women know, yet even the best of them can't explain. I have every confidence that Kate's letters to Cecy will go into the matter of plackets and gussets and intricate embroidery in excruciating detail. Better her than me, that's all I say.
Kate says Drina has good manners and clean habits. If anything, the child has proven to be a beneficial influence on our children.
Arthur and Eleanor are fascinated by Drina's silence, for although we know from Edward's account that she can speak, she refuses to do so. (Kate suspects Drina is standing mute on principle, perhaps to protect someone.) As a result, they are quieter than usual themselves.
For Edward's part, Drina is the goddess of his idolatry. Enforced detention in the nursery could have vexed him, for it curtails his customary explorations. On the contrary, Edward hasn't even seemed to notice his confinement. He is far too busy adoring Drina.
Drina plays with Diana as if she were a highly satisfactory doll, which, thank God, the amiable Diana takes in good part. She is interested in both the babies, but the nurses keep her (as, in truth, they do all the rest of us) at a safe distance.
Edward has said very little of his adventure to me, which Kate informs me is my own fault, for roaring at him. Edward says a great deal to Kate. The problem is sorting it. Some of it seems to have come from a story by Mrs. Hannah More, of whom Kate has the lowest opinion imaginable, and some of it derives from the old story of Tom Tit Tot. I leave the matter in Kate's capable hands.
I have also left the matter of investigations at the house in Stroud in the hands of Piers and his redoubtable wife. My duty is here, protecting Skeynes and its denizens.
The rude wagon left behind on the premises in Stroud bears so little resemblance to the delightful vehicle Kate described, and the evidence of shape-shifting (a skill that requires a considerable degree of strength, as well as good solid training) is so marked, that I fear we are dealing with an accomplished magician at least, if not a full wizard.
I make my preparations accordingly.
Do take care of yourselves.
If Daniel should reappear at Haliwar Tower, strain every sinew to keep him with you. Reflection has done nothing to sweeten his wife's temper. One could almost pity the man.
Yours,
Thomas
P.S. Roaring. I like that. I make a few restrained observations and Kate calls it roaring. I wish she could, if only once, have heard my father when he was in top form. That was roaring, if you please.
21 April 1828
The Eagle's Nest, Stockton
Dearest Kate,
As you observe from the inscription, we are no longer stuck fast at Haliwar Tower. As you also observe, I am continuing to enchant my letters to be unreadable save to your eyes, or Thomas's. It is a nuisance, to be sure, but after recent events, both at Skeynes and here, I feel that it is better to be safe.
Our departure from Haliwar Tower comes, naturally, at the most annoying possible moment—just when it seemed we were about to discover something of interest. For Daniel's departure caused a good deal of talk among the servants, most especially when his valet left for Waltham Castle on Friday morning. Until then, the Webbs could speak with some plausibility, if not conviction, of their expectation that Daniel would return momentarily.
Walker was, of course, privy to the gossip, which she reported to us on Saturday morning. Most of it, she said, was of mysterious local disappearances of the past, largely sailors who vanished from the decks of their ships, entire ships that vanished, miners who vanished from the coal mines, and so on. Apparently, some of the staff felt that Daniel's evaporation should be added to the list, though at least one of the maids did not think it sufficiently sinister to warrant inclusion as yet.
"Just a lot of local legends," James said when Walker finished. "The sort of thing people like to inflict on visitors at the least excuse."
"But of course, Monsieur," Walker replied. "I think, me, that they tried to frighten the little French maid. I pulled down my chin, so, and made my eyes very big so that they would continue talking. I thought that perhaps when they finished the stories, they would speak more of milord duke."
"Did they?" I asked.
"Not much," Walker admitted. "Only that Monsieur Webb was most put out, because he had finally 'wangled an invite' to Waltham Castle when no other guests would be there. That is interesting, no? For Monsieur Webb is of the sort who would very much like to visit a duke, yes, but for people to see and admire, and perhaps to meet other dukes." She sniffed.
Walker disapproves strongly of encroaching behavior; I think it is because her late husband's parents thought it was what she was doing when she married their son.
"I am sure Waltham will honor his invitation when he reappears," James said.
"James!" I said. "Don't you think it odd at all?"
James frowned. "Now that you mention it, it does seem odd that anyone would want to spend a private week with either one of them. Though I can't say that I blame Waltham for disappearing, in that case. I'd want to vanish, too, if I'd been, er, wangled into inviting Webb for a visit."
"You are being deliberately provoking," I said. "Just because these disappearances have nothing to do with your missing surveyor..."
"But, Madame, I think they may," Walker said, a trifle diffidently. "One of them, at least."
James sat up suddenly. "What? What's that you say?"
"Most of the stories were old, old, and the footmen were telling them, but once the fille de chambre began to speak of an odd, foreign man who disappeared last October. Monsieur Webb's valet told her sharply that the fellow had merely moved on, but she said that her aunt in Goosepool said the foreigner and his things had disappeared in the night from the farmhouse where he was staying. One of the footmen said that was just like a foreigner, to leave without paying his bills." She sniffed again. "Then the valet told her to be quiet, in such a way, and she did, and me, I pretended to notice nothing."
"Walker, you are a gem," James told her, which is what he always says when she makes this sort of discovery. "Did she say where this farmhouse was?"
"Near a place called Goosepool," Walker replied. "I do not know exactly where, because of the interruptions, but I think I can find out more from the fille de chambre when Monsieur Webb's man is not nearby."
James and I looked at each other. "This valet was particularly concerned to keep her from speaking?" I said.
03 The Mislaid Magician Page 9