“How did they get in, anyhow?” Mina asked. “Weren’t the wards supposed to keep them out?”
“They were,” said Stephen. “Colin? I thought they were solid enough, but a fresh pair of eyes might help—and you’ve always been better at magic,” he admitted, feeling that he owed his brother something.
Mina frowned at him. “Now? The man’s got a broken arm.”
“I’ve done more under worse circumstances, and it is important. Though it’s kind of you to worry,” Colin added, smiling up at Mina in an obvious attempt at charm.
“You’ll be no good to anyone if you make yourself worse,” said Mina, but she did smile back. “Go on, then.”
Colin took a breath, straightened his back, and spoke the invocation. His eyes became unfocused, glowing faintly silver, and then focused again, first on Stephen and then on Mina.
“Ah,” he said and shook his head. “That would be the trouble, wouldn’t it?”
“What would be the trouble?” Stephen asked.
“The two of you.”
Mina coughed. “I beg your pardon?”
“Oh, I’m not implying anything,” Colin said. With an absently muttered word, he withdrew his sight back to the mortal side of the Veil. “The wards themselves are quite solid. Looking at them, it’s hard to believe you were new to magic,” he added to Mina, which wiped the should-I-be-offended look off her face.
She practically beamed, in fact.
“Right,” said Stephen, reminding himself that his brother was injured and thus not growling about how information, not flirting, was wanted here. “Then what happened?”
“Well—”
“Doctor Banks, sir,” said Baldwin.
As was almost second nature by now, Stephen left the alibi to Mina, who made up something simple about Colin falling down the stairs. Colin, Stephen was pleased to note, bridled at this clear implication that he was less than perfectly graceful, but had no chance to contradict Mina. He settled for saying that it was dark, he’d been ill, and he wasn’t used to this house.
“Yes, I’m quite sure,” said Dr. Banks, clearly not giving a damn. “Hold this sponge, please, miss. And don’t breathe deeply.”
As Mina held the sponge out with steady hands, he very carefully poured some of the contents of an unmarked bottle over it. A sickly sweet smell rose up: chloroform. Dr. Banks took the sponge back and thrust it under Colin’s nose. “You take a deep breath, sir. Good.”
The title was clearly perfunctory. Neither bloodline nor wealth carried much weight with Banks. Stephen wasn’t sure even the true nature of the MacAlasdairs would make much difference to the tall, gray-haired man, not if either of them was a patient.
Obediently, Colin took a long breath in, then, on Dr. Banks’s command, another, until his eyes rolled back in his head and he sagged onto the couch, boneless with unconsciousness.
Lucky Colin: the last time Stephen had broken a bone, he’d had a quart of whiskey to see him through the setting and had bitten most of the way through a leather belt despite that.
As Banks applied the cast, Stephen took Mina aside for a moment. Trusting to the doctor’s presence to guarantee his self-control, he took both her hands in his. “Are you well?” He looked into her face as he asked the question, trying to see the truth beneath whatever brave mask she might put on.
“I—” Mina caught her breath when she met his eyes. “I will be. No harm done, right?”
“Right.” The hands Stephen held didn’t shake, but they were cold. He used that excuse to keep them in his a few moments longer. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have known something was wrong.”
“I don’t see how,” Mina said. “Colin said everything looked fine.”
“Except for us. I should have looked.”
“It might not have been obvious. We won’t know what’s going on until he wakes up—or until the doctor leaves and you can have a look yourself.” She glanced over at the doctor, and although he was still working on Colin’s cast, she blushed and let go of Stephen’s hands.
Stephen let her go without protesting—without protesting aloud, at least.
As Dr. Banks patted the final remnants of the cast into place, Colin’s eyelids fluttered and he muttered some sleepy words, a woman’s name among them. “Ellie” or “Lilly” or something similar was Stephen’s guess. He wasn’t sure if Mina had heard it, and her face showed no reaction, for what little that was worth.
“Quite a constitution your brother has,” said the doctor.
“You don’t know the half of it. Will it do any harm for him to wake up now?” Stephen asked.
“It shouldn’t. Just don’t let him move around too much, and have a basin ready if he tries. I’ll come back in a week. You know how to reach me if anything urgent transpires.” Dr. Banks clicked his bag shut and took his leave.
“Actually,” said Mina, after the good doctor was several minutes away, “it’s lucky his arm will be slower than is usual for your lot. It’d be a bit chancy trying to explain why the bone had healed so quickly, next time the doctor comes back.”
“Ah, no,” said Stephen. “We’d just pack him off to France for a month or so, and say he’d healed over there. It’s not a bad idea even now.”
“Ha,” Colin slurred. His eyes focused on Stephen, as much as they could focus on anything just then. “I know why you really want me gone. An’ I’m not a—ammand—abandoning you now. I can think even if I can’ fiiight.”
“Can you, now?” Stephen asked, amused.
“Can once this stuff wears off. Stop grinnin’ like that. Unbecomin’ to a man of your years.”
“I’ll take that under advisement,” said Stephen. “And if you think that your mind is valuable, perhaps you can continue to tell us why the wards failed. What’s wrong with me and Mina?”
“Oh, that.” Colin tried to wave his broken arm dismissively, swore, and shook his head. “What?”
“The wards?”
“Maybe we should wait,” Mina said. “He’s not thinking clearly right now.”
“I’m thinkin’ very clear, thankyouverymush. The wards are ver’ simple, really. You two are linked to ’em. And to each other. When you’re both here or you’re both out, ’sallright. You’re both…one thing. Coherent.”
“More than I could say for you at the moment,” said Stephen.
“Hush. When one of you is in the house and one’s outside, the wards get confused. Stretched. Things get in through the stretched bit. Is that all? I’ve things to do.”
“Sleep being first on the list, I’d think,” said Mina, shaking her head. “We’ll think about the rest of this later—and we’ll need to decide what to tell everyone else,” she added, looking to Stephen. “Meanwhile, I think I can take his feet if you can keep his shoulders fairly still.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Stephen said. “I’ll ring for Baldwin.”
“Baldwin’s got quite enough to cope with right now,” said Mina. “So do the rest. I promise I won’t let him drop, if that’s what you’re concerned about.”
“It’s not,” said Stephen, moving to take hold of his brother’s shoulders. He couldn’t have said what really was bothering him, though—or perhaps he just didn’t want to.
Thirty-four
In the ballroom, the servants stood quietly assembled, uniforms cleaned and pressed, backs straight, hands clasped in front of them. That was the way you presented yourself to your employer. It also made Mina wince with guilt, and she was relieved to see a similar expression on Stephen’s face. Nobody in front of them had done anything to deserve this. Emily had done nothing to deserve that hellish half hour in the pantry, and neither she nor Stephen deserved such an expression of loyalty and professionalism.
Later, she would realize that she’d classed herself with Stephen, and neither her presumption nor her readiness to share his guilt would surprise her, though they would dismay her. For now, there was a task at hand.
“First of all,”
Stephen said, “is everyone still all right?”
Heads bobbed. “Yes, sir,” rose in a ragged chorus, valiant and not entirely true. Polly still looked gray around the lips; Baldwin’s hands twitched slightly; Emily might have been at any other reasonably solemn assembly. The resilience of youth, Mina thought. It was a wonderful thing in some respects.
“You know now,” Stephen began, “that I haven’t told you everything. I couldn’t, for you’d not have believed me until now. There’ll still be things I must conceal, for your sake and mine both, but I’ll explain what’s in my power.”
“The monsters,” said Mrs. Baldwin with an outward calm that itself spoke of inner turmoil. “Emily told us about them.”
“Aye,” said Stephen. “Miss Seymour told you that I’d an enemy, and that’s true enough. She didn’t say that the enemy had—has—some mystical powers. That he’s capable of sending things other than men after me.”
Nobody looked surprised, though a few people shifted and looked away, uncomfortable to hear Stephen put the situation into words so bluntly.
“I’ve some abilities of my own,” Stephen went on. “I’d set up my own protections on this house, and I had thought they’d work well enough to keep any such things away. I was wrong, and I am most sincerely sorry for that.”
The words hung in the still air. Polly swallowed hard. Mrs. Hennings closed her eyes for a second.
Stephen cleared his throat and looked over at Mina. Briefly, she wondered if he expected her to say anything—and she wondered what she would say—but he turned away again just as quickly and spoke once more. “I believe I know what went wrong. With Miss Seymour’s help and with my brother’s, we should be able to make the house safe from any further attacks.”
Both maids turned their eyes on Mina now: Emily wondering, Polly dubious.
“However,” Stephen took a long breath, “given the circumstances and the unforgivable risk I’ve placed you all in, I will quite understand if any of you wish to depart my service, either for the duration of this crisis or permanently. I’ll provide a month’s wages and a good character to anyone who wishes to leave, and I’ll be glad to take you back on afterward if you’d like.”
Clearly unable to help himself, he glanced for a moment at the Baldwins and then over at Mina again.
“You can speak with me privately about your decision, and you don’t have to make it just now. I’ll be here if you have any questions. Once again, you have my deepest apologies,” said Stephen, and he actually bowed.
It wasn’t a very courtly bow, particularly given the wounds he’d suffered, but the mere fact of a lord bowing to his servants drew a few gasps. After a moment of stunned silence, the servants bowed in response. They left in twos and threes, leaving Mina and Stephen alone once more.
“I’ll go to the kitchens,” Mina said, “and see what the mood is. They might be more likely to talk with me.”
Stephen nodded, frowning, then stepped toward her with inhuman speed and put a hand under her chin. Immediately, Mina’s blood began to heat, her heart to race. His lips were close, his strong body closer, and she found that she wasn’t as weary as she’d thought.
His thumb brushed over her cheekbone. “I’d make the same offer to you, you know. You’d get the hundred pounds and a good character—I wouldna’ bind you here, not when it’s so dangerous. Not when you were nearly killed.”
“I hear danger’s good for the mind,” Mina said, trying to breathe steadily.
Stephen’s other hand clenched on her shoulder. “Mina—”
“Besides, I can’t leave now, can I? Not without making a big hole in your wards.”
“When Colin’s well enough, we can reset them,” said Stephen. He sighed and stepped back, and the air seemed very cold in his absence. “Until then—I feel the worst sort of cad, draggin’ you intae this as I’ve done.”
“You didn’t drag me,” said Mina. A dozen questions came to her mind, questions for which this was neither the time nor the place. In the face of Stephen’s guilt, she might not have trusted the answers anyhow. She turned away. “I’d better go and talk to the others.”
***
When Mina reached the kitchen, Mrs. Baldwin was pouring out tea for herself, Polly, and Emily. “Hennings is upstairs,” she said when Mina came in. “Packing.”
“I don’t blame her,” Polly said. “Especially with her knee the way it is. If I couldn’t run, I’d be out of here like a shot,” she added, heedless of any contradictions in her speech.
“But, since your knees are fine…” Mina replied, with a questioning look at the housemaid.
“Oh, I wouldn’t leave now for the world,” said Polly, and gave Mina a daredevil grin. “I’ve been in service three years, and I haven’t seen anything near this exciting anyplace else.”
“You call that thing at the door exciting?” Mrs. Baldwin said, shaking her head. “I can well live without that sort of thrill, that’s certain enough, and so can anyone of any sense.”
Polly’s eyes flashed. “People die in this city every day, you know. Typhoid’s as deadly as boogeymen, and a blasted sight less interesting. Besides, I don’t see you upstairs folding your petticoats.”
“I’ve been with his lairdship for many years,” said Mrs. Baldwin stiffly, “and with his family for longer, and they’ve always treated us very well indeed. There’s such a thing as loyalty. But I don’t think any of this horror is some sort of seaside attraction.”
“She’s right, you know,” said Mina, looking at Polly and Emily. “We were lucky this time.”
“And you’ll have fixed the…protections…by next time, his lordship said,” Polly shot back. “So it’s even odds, isn’t it?”
“What about you?” Mina asked Emily, giving up on convincing Polly.
The younger girl looked down and bit her lip. “I don’t know,” she said finally. “I’d miss it here, that’s sure, and I don’t know as another place would be better—um, other than the creatures, that is. But—”
“How old are you, lass?” Mrs. Baldwin asked.
“Fifteen.”
“And have you family about?”
“My father, in Leyton.”
“Then you’ll go and see him for a month. I’ve no doubt he’ll be glad to see you, wi’ your wages and all. You’ll come back after, if you’d like. One way or another, we’ll know a good deal more by then.”
“Oh—” Emily looked up, her face caught between delight and reluctance. “I’m not sure I should—”
“I am,” said Mrs. Baldwin. “And if I go to his lairdship, he’ll be too. We’ll not have a child here at a time like this. I’d not sleep at nights if we did. Go and pack your things.” She sent Emily on her way with a firm pat on the back, and turned to Mina and Polly. “Well, then. There’s the three of us, it seems.”
“Unless Miss Seymour wants to go,” said Polly.
“I don’t,” said Mina, which was more or less accurate. She was past being dismayed by that thought now.
“No, I thought you wouldn’t,” said Polly. “But you’re not one of them, are you? Not properly—you’re from Bethnal Green. I’ve heard from your letters.”
“And they don’t breed many magicians there. At least not that I know of,” Mina agreed. “I just sort of fell into things here.”
“You’ll have to fall into a few more,” said Mrs. Baldwin. “You’ve been a help with the chores already, but we’ll all have to take on more—”
“—and so will the gentlemen,” Mina said firmly. “Or at least S—Lord MacAlasdair. I don’t know if we can convince his brother, especially as Master Colin’s got a broken arm. But if one of them doesn’t come and work down here, they can send out for their meals and pay for it. With that and the four of us, we’ll survive.”
Then she remembered the manes reaching for her and the gashes in the pantry door, and wished she’d come up with another way to phrase things.
Thirty-five
Two days later, Colin
was sitting up and talking. Stephen joked that it would take more than a demon to keep him silent for long. His arm was healing slowly, though, almost as slowly as a purely mortal man’s would have. Stephen, as part of his share of the household work, brought trays up to his brother’s room, though Colin said he would have preferred someone more attractive and less related. Because of the broken arm, Stephen let that remark pass.
He had his own tea with Colin as well, keeping his brother company and trying to figure out the next steps of the conflict with Ward.
“If he doesn’t live in the Brick Lane place,” said Stephen, “he’ll at least have left a few traces there, perhaps. Though I’d need to find a way in, and one that wouldn’t get the bastard’s attention.”
“The first is easy enough,” Colin said around bites of muffin. “Find whoever owns the building and persuade him to let you borrow the master key. They’re bound to have one. And if the building’s in Brick Lane, a tenner should do it. Maybe a bit more if the gentleman seems inclined to ask questions.”
“From the sound of it, you’ve done this before,” said Stephen.
Colin shrugged with one shoulder, which made him look even more indolent than usual. “Not under these circumstances. A friend had some letters he wanted back, and I volunteered, being the generous—”
“If you say ‘paragon of virtue,’ I’ll pour the tea out into your lap.”
“I thought I’d go with ‘warmhearted soul,’ as a matter of fact. Variety and whatnot. And if you’re just going to toy with that kipper, you may as well give it to a man who appreciates good food. It must be Mrs. Baldwin’s day to cook.”
“Polly’s, I think,” said Stephen.
“Really? The girl’s a wonder. You do have a talent for discovering staff.”
“Makes up for my lack of choice in relations.” Stephen smiled quickly, then settled down to consider Colin’s suggestion. Discovering a building’s owner wouldn’t present any great difficulty, only wading through a bit of bureaucracy and perhaps providing enough money to grease any particularly stubborn wheels. “And if we can’t,” he thought aloud, “or if Ward turns out to own the place—”
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