A Matter of Magic

by Patricia C. Wrede

“I don’t know what good it’ll do you,” Tom said in a gloomy tone. “Jemmy and Sam and the others knew what was up, and knowing didn’t help them none.”

  “Jemmy and Sam ain’t proper wizards from the Royal College,” Kim said. “I ain’t, neither, but Mairelon is. And Mairelon won’t take kindly to nobody messing with his ward. If Mannering knows anything about toffs, he’ll twig to that as soon as he finds out where I am. If he finds out at all.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” Tom said thoughtfully. “Mannering deals with toffs all the time, what with his business and all. He ain’t like Laverham, passing off sham gentility.”

  “It wasn’t no sham with Laverham,” Kim said. “He was born on the wrong side of the blanket, but he was a toff, sure enough.”

  “No! Laverham? You’re bamming me.”

  Thankful to have found a neutral topic to take Tom’s mind off fretting, Kim allowed herself to be drawn into gossip about old acquaintances. Tom reciprocated as well as he was able. Many of her former fellows were in Newgate Prison, “polishing the King’s iron with their eyebrows” as they looked out through the barred windows. Some had been transported; a few, like Laverham, had been hung. On the whole, it was a depressing catalog, and Kim was almost glad when time came to give Tom a final “Thank you” and slip away at last.

  The shadows on the streets and alleys seemed darker and more threatening as she made her way down Thread needle toward the Thames. Even at this hour, the street was not quite deserted, and she kept a wary eye on the bingo boy staggering from one public house to the next and the tired costermonger pushing his barrow home from Covent Garden.

  Mairelon’s carriage waited at the end of the street, just where she had left it. Hunch sat in the coachman’s seat, chewing on the ends of his mustache. When he saw Kim, his gloomy expression lightened in relief, and he thumped on the carriage roof. “She’s ’ere, Master Richard.”

  There was a muffled noise from inside, then Mairelon’s head poked out of the carriage window. “There you are, Kim! I was just about to come and fetch you.”

  “It hasn’t been that long,” Kim said. “Tom and I had things to talk about.”

  “You can tell me about it on the way home,” Mairelon said. He sounded somewhat disgruntled, and when Kim climbed into the carriage, she saw that he had changed into a workingman’s wrinkled shirt, vest, and breeches.

  He’s disappointed because he couldn’t go larking about the alleys, Kim thought, and shook her head. He ought to have better sense. She smiled suddenly, remembering her own eager response to the thought of a night out. Seems like neither of us is strong on good sense.

  “Well, what happened?” Mairelon said as the coach began to roll. “Did Correy just want to talk over old times?”

  “Not exactly,” Kim said. “Jack Stower’s loose, and Tom thinks he’s trying to make trouble.” She repeated what Tom had said about Mannering, his ambitions, and his apparent interest in Mairelon and Kim.

  When she finished, Mairelon rubbed his chin, frowning. “What else do you know about this Mannering fellow?”

  Kim shrugged. “He’s a moneylender. He never had much to do with the canting crew, that I heard, but he wasn’t above laying out a bit of the ready to folks like Laverham, that had some security to offer. It don’t—doesn’t—make sense that he’d want to take Laverham’s place. He’s more of a gent already than Laverham ever was.”

  “Perhaps he’s not interested in climbing the social ladder. Or perhaps he has . . . unusual methods in mind.” Mairelon smiled suddenly. “Perhaps I should drop in at his office one day soon.”

  “There ain’t no call for that,” Kim said, alarmed. “We got enough on our plates already, what with that cove poking around after that book and all. There’s no reason to go looking for trouble.”

  “Of course not,” Mairelon said, but the impish smile still hovered around the corners of his mouth. Kim resolved to have a talk with Hunch. Maybe the manservant could get some sense into Mairelon’s head, or at least keep him from going off half-cocked and stirring up a pot of problems. Maybe. Not that anyone seemed to be able to check Mairelon’s queer starts when he got the bit between his teeth.

  “I wish I hadn’t said anything about it at all,” Kim muttered as the coach drew up behind the townhouse.

  “What?” Mairelon said.

  “I said I wish I hadn’t told you about Mannering,” Kim repeated.

  “Why?” Mairelon studied her face for a moment. “You’re really worried about this, aren’t you?”

  “Tom doesn’t get all nattered over nothing. And he’s nattered about Mannering and Stower, right enough.”

  “I see.” Mairelon hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Very well. I won’t pursue the matter until we’ve dealt with our literary housebreaker, unless we get some further indication that pursuing it would be advisable. And I’ll speak to you beforehand.”

  “Fair enough,” Kim said, slightly dazed. He wouldn’t say it if he didn’t mean it. Don’t that beat everything?

  “Then if that’s settled, I suggest you turn your attention to sneaking inside without waking Aunt Agatha. I see no reason to precipitate another scene if we can avoid it.”

  “Right,” said Kim, and slid out of the carriage.

  7

  Kim woke late the following morning, to sunlight and the clatter of carriage wheels on the cobbles below her window. As she dressed, she considered what to do with the little heap of boy’s clothes in the corner of the wardrobe. If a housemaid found them, she’d report to Mrs. Lowe and there was sure to be a row. Finally, Kim stuffed them in a hatbox, tucking them around the hat as best she could, and shoved the box back onto the top shelf of her wardrobe. With luck, she could think of some excuse to give the box to Hunch later in the day, and he could dispose of the clothes without causing comment.

  Feeling unreasonably cheerful, Kim left her bedroom and started downstairs. Halfway down the first flight of stairs, she heard muffled thumps and shouts drifting up from the lower floors. She quickened her pace, wondering what was going on now. It couldn’t be the cracksman again, not in broad daylight.

  As she turned onto the last landing, she heard an unfamiliar feminine voice below shriek, “Darby! Close that door at once!”

  “He’s headed for the stairs!” a second voice cried. “Catch him!”

  An instant later, a small, yellow-brown monkey leaped onto the banister railing just in front of Kim and directed a high-pitched shriek of defiance at his pursuers. Kim, momentarily unnoticed, reached out and collected him in a firm hold. The monkey shrieked again, this time in surprise. Then, wrapping his long tail firmly around Kim’s wrist, he relieved himself on her skirt.

  “Don’t think you’re getting out of it that easily,” Kim told him. Maintaining her hold with some care, so as to be sure that she would neither hurt the monkey nor be bitten herself, she rounded the corner and looked down.

  The entry hall was full of people, boxes, and trunks. At the bottom of one of the piles of luggage, a large wicker cage lay on its side, its door open wide. Several disheveled footmen and an elderly, bright-eyed man in a coachman’s many-caped cloak were scrambling over boxes and trunks toward the stairs; in the far corner, one of the housemaids was having hysterics. In the center of the commotion stood a tiny doll of a woman, looking upward with anxious hazel eyes. Her brown hair, where it curled out from under an exceedingly elegant wide-brimmed hat, was liberally streaked with grey. When she saw the monkey in Kim’s arms, her worried expression broke into a cheerful smile that was the mirror of Mairelon’s.

  “Ah, you have captured Maximillian! Thank you very much. Would you be so kind as to bring him here and restore him to his cage? It is by far the simplest thing, when he is so nervous and upset. I am afraid he dislikes traveling.”

  Willingly, Kim made her way to the foot of the stairs and deposited the monkey in the wicker cage, which one of the footmen had hastily righted. The woman secured the latch with a small padlock and said to the fo
otman, “Now, take him up to the library, and be sure to put the cage in a corner where it will not be overturned again. I will bring him water and a bit of fruit presently, when he is more settled.” She turned to Kim. “You must be my son’s ward, Kim. I am so pleased to meet you at last. I am Lady Wendall.”

  Kim stared, her brain scrambling in several directions at once. Lady? Her son’s ward? This is Mairelon’s mother, and she’s a Lady Wendall? Feeling a strong sense of ill-usage, she belatedly bobbed a curtsey. Somebody ought to have warned me!

  As she straightened, she found herself being critically examined by the diminutive new arrival. “I thought so,” Lady Wendall said cryptically after a moment. “My dear, who has—”

  A door down the hall opened. “Whatever is going on?” Mrs. Lowe said as she came out into the hall, and then, in thunderstruck tones, “Elizabeth?”

  “Good morning, Agatha,” Lady Wendall said. “I should think that what is going on is obvious; the footmen are moving my trunks in.”

  “What . . . how . . . why wasn’t I informed?”

  “I told them not to disturb your breakfast.” Lady Wendall nodded at the footmen, then favored Mrs. Lowe with a charming smile. “Speaking of breakfast, I am positively famished; these early hours are not what I am accustomed to. Do join me, and we shall talk while we eat.”

  With that, Lady Wendall swept past Mrs. Lowe into the dining room. Mrs. Lowe pursed her lips as if she had bitten into a bad orange, glared at the footmen, and went after Lady Wendall. Kim hesitated; they might not want her to join them. But neither of them had said anything, and the temptation was irresistible. She followed them in.

  Lady Wendall had gone straight to the sideboard and was shaking her head over the dishes as she lifted the covers. Mrs. Lowe watched for a moment, her face a politely frozen mask, then took her seat. As she picked up her fork, she saw Kim in the doorway, and her eyebrows twitched together. “Whatever have you done to your dress, Kim?”

  “It was the monkey,” Kim said.

  “Monkey?” Mrs. Lowe blinked, for once at a complete loss.

  “Yes, and quite unpleasant for you, I’m sure,” Lady Wendall said, turning toward the table with her hands full of loaded dishes. “Use one of the napkins to clean it off for the time being.”

  “She can’t sit down to breakfast like that!” Mrs. Lowe protested as Kim set to work with the cloth. “She must go and change at once.”

  “I’m sure Kim is just as hungry as I am,” Lady Wendall said with a smile. “It wouldn’t be kind to make her wait. Unless you’d rather change first, Kim? We can all wait for you, if you’d prefer.”

  Kim shrugged. “It’s no matter to me.” Having food at all had always been far more important to her than the condition of the clothes she wore to eat it. She set the napkin on a side chair and began filling her plate.

  “The stain will set and ruin the dress,” Mrs. Lowe said.

  “So much the better,” Lady Wendall responded with unimpaired calm. “It’s not a good color for her at all, and I intend to have it disposed of as soon as possible.”

  Mrs. Lowe stared, and her chin lifted. “Disposed of?” she said in ominous tones.

  Lady Wendall nodded. “Unless you’re particularly fond of it, Kim. It’s well enough to wear about the house in Kent, but not for your first Season in London.”

  “It is entirely appropriate for a girl in her situation,” Mrs. Lowe said firmly.

  “I didn’t say it was inappropriate,” Lady Wendall said gently. “I said it was unbecoming. And Kim will want to look her best during her come-out.”

  “Elizabeth, I do hope you are not going to encourage Richard in this notion he has taken of having the girl presented.”

  Kim’s half-formed protest stuck in her throat. She wasn’t going to have a come-out, she’d settled that with Mairelon, but she couldn’t quite say so if it meant agreeing with Mrs. Lowe in public. She coughed, trying to clear away the obstruction, but before she could find a good way to phrase her comment, the door opened and Mairelon entered.

  “Good morning, Mother,” he said. “I thought it must be you when I heard the commotion in the hall, and I was sure of it when I found a monkey in the library. Why a monkey, of all things?”

  “Yes, isn’t he charming?” Lady Wendall said. “Pahari Singh sent him to me. Actually, he sent three of them, but I’m afraid the other two didn’t survive the voyage from India.”

  “Three monkeys?” Mrs. Lowe said.

  “Who is Pahari Singh, and why on earth would he send you one monkey, let alone three?” Mairelon demanded.

  “He was a good friend of your father’s, from his days in India, though that, of course, was before you and Andrew were born. He was in London a few years ago on business, and he made a point of renewing the acquaintance.”

  “That explains who he is,” Mairelon said, “but not why he should choose to send you a batch of monkeys.”

  “I believe he wanted to make sure I would have more than one serving,” Lady Wendall replied. “Though his note was not exactly specific on the subject.”

  “Serving?” Mrs. Lowe said faintly. She set her fork carefully beside her unfinished breakfast. “Elizabeth . . .”

  Mairelon looked at Lady Wendall with considerable misgiving. “Mother, are you saying that Mr. Singh sent you this creature as a . . . an addition to your dinner menu?”

  “In a way. Monkey brains are considered a delicacy in India, and—”

  “You’re going to eat a monkey brain?” Kim broke in, thoroughly taken aback.

  Lady Wendall gave a regretful sigh. “Not any time soon, I am afraid. I simply couldn’t bear to have Maximillian slaughtered. It will just have to wait until the next time I visit India.”

  “Thank goodness for that,” Mairelon said. “You know, monkeys are filthy creatures. You’re lucky he doesn’t have lice. Or fleas.”

  “Oh, he had both, when he arrived,” Lady Wendall said imperturbably. “I had him bathed, naturally.”

  “I should hope so,” Mrs. Lowe put in. She appeared to have recovered her equanimity, though she had not yet returned to her breakfast. “That does not explain, however, why you have chosen to introduce him into this household.”

  “Well, Lord Wendall couldn’t very well take Maximillian to Suffolk with him, and I couldn’t very well leave him in Russell Square with the renovations going on. So of course I brought him with me.”

  “Renovations?” Mairelon frowned. “Mother . . .”

  “Renovations?” Mrs. Lowe stared. “Elizabeth, do you mean to say that you intend to stay here for the entire Season?”

  “Yes, of course,” Lady Wendall said. “Lord Wendall and Andrew are going to be in Suffolk discussing canals for the greater part of it, so Andrew offered to let me use the townhouse. He did warn me that Richard and Kim—and you, of course, Agatha—would be here, and I was of two minds about it until I heard that Richard was planning to give Kim a formal come-out.”

  “And when did you hear that?” Mrs. Lowe said, with a look at Mairelon that would have set fire to a heap of coal.

  “Yesterday, at Lady Weydon’s saloon,” Lady Wendall replied. “Sally Jersey told me; she had it from someone who had been having tea with Richard. And I can already see that I was quite right to come.” She turned to Mairelon. “Really, Richard, I thought you’d have had better sense. You’ve got her rigged out like a greengrocer’s daughter.”

  “Kim’s clothes are entirely suitable for her situation,” Mrs. Lowe said, bristling.

  Kim shifted uncomfortably. “It’s not slap up to the nines, but neither am I.”

  “Nonsense,” Mairelon said. “You look perfectly all right to me.”

  “That is precisely the problem,” Lady Wendall told him. “Why on earth didn’t you ask your friend Mademoiselle D’Auber to help you? If there’s one thing the French know how to do, it’s dress.”

  “She offered,” Mairelon admitted, looking a little guilty, “but we didn’t have time before
Kim and I went down to Kent, and since we’ve been back, there have been other things. . . .”

  “Well, you had better send her a note today,” Lady Wendall said. “I shall be occupied in going through Kim’s clothes, to see which of them are suitable, and in engaging an abigail for her.”

  Mrs. Lowe frowned. “Surely one of the housemaids will do well enough.”

  “I don’t want an abigail,” Kim said. “And—”

  “I don’t blame you in the least,” Lady Wendall told her, “but an abigail you must have if we are to launch you into Society.” She studied Kim for a moment, her expression disconcertingly like Mairelon’s when he was concentrating all his attention on something. “Someone young and flexible, I think, who will know when to make allowances for the eccentricities of wizards.”

  “Kim is hardly eccentric, Mother,” Mairelon said.

  “Nor is she the only wizard in this household,” Lady Wendall replied. “Though if you can think of a more socially acceptable description of her background than ‘eccentric,’ I will be delighted.”

  “I am relieved to see that you are aware of the problem,” Mrs. Lowe said stiffly.

  “Perhaps Renée can recommend a suitable abigail,” Lady Wendall went on. “You must remember to ask her when you speak to her about Kim’s clothes.”

  “Mairelon—” Kim said, feeling desperate. The whole conversation was getting out of hand. If one of them didn’t say something soon, she was going to find herself presented whether she wanted to be or not. And Mairelon had promised to speak with Mrs. Lowe about it. . . .

  But Mairelon’s face had the peculiar expression he wore when he had just had an idea, and he was oblivious to anything else. “Renée. Of course; I should have thought of that myself. You haven’t anything planned this morning, have you, Kim? Good; finish your breakfast, and we’ll go see Renée.”

  “I’m finished,” Kim said. “But—”

  “Change your clothes first,” Mrs. Lowe said. “You positively cannot be seen on the street like that.”

  Lady Wendall nodded. “Just what I have been saying. I’ll send a note to Madame Chandelaine this afternoon; there’s no better dressmaker in London.”