“Mr. Dale?” Joan asked. “Sherpas?”
“Edward Dale. My father’s boon companion since childhood. They went to school together. I always called him ‘Uncle.’” He sighed. “The rumor was that they were half-brothers, as my grandfather seemed to believe it his duty to spread his mage gift among his tenants.” Gregor winced. “But proprieties demanded that Dale’s parentage not be explored fully, despite the resemblance between him and my father.”
Proprieties that would keep Edward Dale from being called a bastard. But that hadn’t prevented Gregor’s grandfather from taking advantage of his tenants.
“This is good news, then? You like Dale well?”
“It’s excellent. Dale is a good man. A large personality in his own right but quieter than my father. He was a painter. Is a painter.”
“By why has he not come back to England before? Why let it be assumed he was dead? Why hide in a community of…Sherpas, the letter said?”
“Sherpas. Natives of Nepal who live on the land around Everest, and far better mountain climbers than English adventurers. They know well the strength of the mountains. They tend not to take idiotic risks, as the English do.”
Idiotic. He condemned his father in that word.
Gregor began reading again.
Mr. Dale had suffered from the thin air in the Dead Zone on the last expedition and lost part of his memory. When he came back to himself, he was weak and generally unwell, and, he finally admitted, racked with guilt for being the only survivor in their party after the avalanche. I tried to absolve him of this guilt. Jasper’s loss was no one’s fault but his own.
The word “own” was underlined three times.
“My mother thought my father a bit mad for wanting to climb the mountain,” Gregor said.
“Such a feat seems to have little practical value,” Joan said.
“Indeed.”
I finally convinced Mr. Dale that he had family in England that cared for him, especially his daughter, Phyllis. He relented and journeyed with me back to England, though in secret. I wanted no questions. His mind wanders sometimes still. He’s not the same man he once was.
We arrived only five days ago at Lotus Hall.
I need you here, Gregor.
First, it’s an emotional business, and you cut well to the heart of those. I called for Miss Krieger because she is not only your partner on your cases, but likely she can provide support to you at this happy but emotional time.
Second, your brother Jared has brought in several guests and I’m uncertain of all their motives, especially this close to Mr. Dale’s return. There are undercurrents in this house I dislike. As always, the Sherringfords are in the middle of things. Now is the time to return to your family.
Love,
Ma.
“Who are these guests that your mother worries about?” Joan asked. Ones that were powerful enough to worry this formidable woman, apparently.
“Political, likely, though she does not name them.” Gregor scowled. “Jared’s been opposed to portions of the Mage Reform Act that will legalize all mages. Wants provisions about proper training and testing and whatnot. Where he stands now, I’m not certain, but his support carries weight in the House of Lords and his vote will bring others with him. He’s using that to make certain the act is exactly what he wants.”
“Your brother likes control,” Joan noted. “Like you,” she teased.
He laughed, as she’d hoped he would.
“True enough. And now I must ponder not only what my mother said but how she said it.”
“And whether it’s connected to the attack this morning?” she asked. “Could one of these guests have sent the teapot?”
“Possible,” Gregor allowed. “But unlikely. That teapot could not be made in a day, not with the personalized engravings you described.”
“You’ll have to track the silversmith, then.”
He nodded. “Garth will see to that. He’ll set loose my informants. I hope to have a lead in a day or two.” He clasped her hand. “I’ll protect you.”
She snorted. “I can protect myself, as I did this morning. I’m more leery of running the gauntlet of guests who wish me harm at Lotus Hall.”
“Indeed. It might not be safe for either of us.”
With that, he lapsed into another of his brooding silences, staring out the window. Those, she never minded. It was his way of thinking through a problem. His mind must be roiling with emotion just now, between the attack that had nearly killed her, his mother’s secrets, and this news of Edward Dale’s survival.
An uneasy homecoming awaited him, to understate it.
In the silence, the carriage provided the smoothest ride through London and its surrounding environs that she’d ever experienced. No jerky forward motions, just the sound of the tires over cobblestones. With Henry intent on the road, she sat shoulder-to-shoulder with Gregor, wondering where his mind had gone.
Jasper Sherringford had been reported dead when Gregor had only been nineteen, over ten years ago. Young to lose a parent, and a parent who cast a large shadow, at that. She knew well how that felt.
And yet, for that entire decade, Edward Dale had hidden with the Sherpas of Nepal. There had to be more to this story than Gregor’s mother would commit to a letter. Something that had pushed someone into sending a cursed teapot to her home? It seemed too much coincidence for the two not to be related. The faster they arrived, the sooner they would have those answers.
This carriage needed to fly.
She leaned forward and peered over Henry’s shoulder at several whirling dials to the left of the wheel. Speed and distance measures, perhaps? She tapped at the window to speak to him. Henry used a lever on the driver’s side door to lower the glass. That almost distracted her from her original question.
“Are those dials taking readings from the wheels?” she asked Henry.
“That’s right, milady! Good t’have too. Sometimes this lovely goes so fast it takes extra time to brake. This way, I have warning.”
“Ah.”
“Best hold on when we get going—she drives smooth and quick,” Henry said.
She glanced at Gregor. “Did milord here have anything to do with those oh-so-efficient measurement dials?”
Henry smiled. “Yes, Miss Krieger. He linked them to the wheels by way of a piston system.”
“And that impressed my family enough for the duke to claim the carriage for himself.” Gregor dismissed the annoyance with a wave. “But that is just as well. It’s not suited to my work in London.”
“When will I see it fly?” she asked Henry.
He laughed. “Soon as we’re clear of the buildings and traffic of London, if that’s agreeable to ye? It’ll take some effort on your part.”
“That’s fine.” But what had he meant by her effort? “Gregor?”
“Let’s just say your power will come into play. If you’re willing and able, after this morning’s exertions.”
Joan pointed to the shift rod in the backseat. “What is that and is it related to whether I’m ‘agreeable’ or not?”
Gregor opened his eyes. “The secret of speed for this carriage.” A pause. “And a test.”
“For me or for you?”
“Excellent question. Both. Me for my judgment in being with you, and you for yourself.” He grimaced. “That stick shift is designed to add speed to the carriage by channeling mage power to the under-carriage. Enough power that, once we have an open road, it will make the carriage skim above the ground.”
“I will fly this carriage?”
“My mother was counting on it, which may be part of the reason she requested your presence. She never has only one or two reasons for her actions. It’s usually three or four.”
No wonder Gregor kept things close. Had he ever been able to keep secrets from his mother?
“Go ahead, take off your glove and brush the knob with your fingertips,” Gregor continued. “Tell me what you sense.”
She tugged off one white glove and hesitated. “Could it be another trap, like the teapot?”
Gregor frowned. “Unlikely but…not impossible. You’re right to be wary. But if it is a trap, we should spring it now, before someone else does.”
Because Gregor was there, to provide support, as he had with the teapot. “You’ll be able to cancel out a trap in time?”
“Yes.” He nodded. “But again, it’s your choice whether to risk that or not.”
As much as she trusted him, she’d rather avoid another attack. “Why not use your power on it now, to be safe?” she asked.
He frowned. “If I do, I will cancel out the rod altogether, destroying the carriage’s ability to fly. And it may well also destroy all clues concerning the tampering, as happened to the teapot.”
“Ah.” Quite a challenge, with her nerves still shaky from the morning. “I’ll do it. But please explain a little more how this works.”
“In essence, the shaft channels mage power into the air in the tires. That allows the wheels to float above the ground.”
Her eyes widened. “How high does it go?”
He smiled. “Anywhere from one to ten feet, depending on the power and skill of the mage. The magical energy in the tires pushes back against the ground and allows the carriage to speed along without dealing with any ruts, mud, snow or other obstacles. However, powering the carriage requires serious magical exertion. So, you see, even if it’s not a trap, it’ll drain your power, which might not be wise after this morning.”
She did see. If she could fly the carriage, she’d prove the strength of her mage abilities to Gregor’s family. But in doing so, she would arrive drained and tired, less able to protect herself and more vulnerable for whatever lay ahead.
Always given they were not attacked again.
“How fast we arrive will tell your mother much about the limits of my abilities.”
“And it will also test if I’ll let you risk yourself.” He clucked his tongue against his teeth. “You’ve been attacked and nearly killed, Mr. Dale is back mysteriously from the dead, and my mother wants to play games.”
“She could hardly know about the teapot, unless you think she sent it?”
“No,” he said, emphatically.
“So, then. Mothers always want to know about the company their children keep.” Though her own mother had been indifferent, possibly too lost in her own bitterness. Gregor never sounded bitter about his mother. His father, sometimes, yes.
A hollow echo sounded from below. They were passing over London Bridge, though the morning fog hid the Thames.
Gregor shrugged. “The choice is yours, love.”
So be it. Joan set her hand over the knob and let those unseen bits of magic weld her palm tight to the smooth wood. She fought a flinch, allowing the spell to do its work, braced for another attack.
“Prepare for mage speed, Henry,” Gregor called to the chauffeur.
“Very good, milord!”
It seemed she’d made Henry happy. At least she would make a decent first impression on one resident of Lotus Hall.
She closed her eyes, felt her power swirl, and tightened her focus to her palm as the exit point. Marshaling so much magic always reminded her of that tight, almost sick, feeling in the pit of her stomach that came whenever she sat down at a sewing machine to create something new.
Magic was another way to create, less subtle, but just as satisfying.
She released the build-up into her hand. The knob sucked it up, greedy, and her senses followed the power passing into the undercarriage. The shaft clicked, now frozen in place. No sign of an attack. Her shoulders relaxed until the carriage jolted upward so fast that she almost lost hold of the knob.
Gregor steadied her. The carriage lurched left with a swoosh.
“Well done, love,” Gregor whispered.
She felt the pull of the knob still, a light but continual tug on her energy. She could let go if she wanted, which allayed her fears. No traps here.
“You’ve put us higher than usual, that you have, ma’am, about seven feet up,” Henry called. “But don’t you worry about steering. That’s my job. I’ll get you there safe and sound. Right quick with this boost too.”
“Thank you, Henry.” She’d intended to sound calm but instead her voice came out high and breathy. She looked out the window. They were even with the second floor of the houses they passed.
“Amazing.” She tilted her head and grinned at Gregor. “We’re truly flying.”
“I’m always flying when I’m with you,” he whispered back.
As the countryside came into clearer view, Henry turned off the main road to what he called “the short way” around. Joan gasped as it became clear there was no bridge over the river they were fast approaching.
She held tight to Gregor’s shoulder. “We can fly over water?”
“Mind you, the carriage can only do this when the river is calm,” Gregor said. “The surface must be relatively flat for the magic to affect it.”
“We got lucky today,” Henry agreed. “Using the bridge upstream would have meant an extra twenty minutes. This might break the record for the quickest trip yet. Lord Nicholas will be jealous.”
Gregor snorted. “My middle brother,” he explained to Joan. “He is competitive.”
They moved smoother over the water than on land. Levitating.
“I imagine you’re the first Jew to float over water for some time,” Gregor said.
“Hah!” And it was her turn to snort.
Henry announced that they’d reached the opposite shore. Joan allowed herself a quick grin of victory, but it was short-lived. Her energy was waning.
As Henry turned onto the proper road, she closed her eyes and sagged against Gregor, spent.
“Down to earth now, Henry.” Gregor pried her fingers from the knob. The tug on her palm gave way and she cradled her hand against her chest.
The carriage settled to the ground and the wheels rolled over stone once more.
She breathed in and out to center herself and regain her equilibrium, exactly as Gregor had taught her.
“I believe Nick is going to have to cede his speed record to a girl,” he said.
“A woman,” she said.
“Indeed. But how much did that tax you?”
Too much, she thought, given this morning. “We’ll find out, won’t we, when we arrive.”
The carriage settled to what seemed a snail’s pace but what was probably a normal traveling speed and climbed the final hill to Lotus Hall.
Majestic oaks lined the winding path up to the ancestral home of the Dukes of Bennington. The now-barren branches threw sinister shadows over the carriage, reminding Joan of Shakespeare’s “bare ruin’d choirs.”
They reached the top of the hill and Lotus Hall came into sight.
Once upon a time, a Norman castle had occupied this hill. Only a few scattered stones remained of it. Before them now stood an Elizabethan-era mansion with a grand main hall and two massive wings on either side. Joan sucked in a breath as the immense size of it became clear.
“Oh, aye, she’s a beauty, isn’t she?” Henry supplied.
“You could fit a whole village in there. How many people reside at Lotus Hall?”
Gregor answered. “Family? Only a few, though there are usually some guests about, as now. However, there are approximately a hundred resident staff, footmen, maids, cooks, and general housekeeping staff. The groundskeepers live in the village, while Henry and two other drivers live in quarters in the converted stables.”
Joan breathed out, slowly. She’d always wanted to walk into a front door like this, like she belonged, but she’d not thought of such an enormous front door. “You could stampede elephants through that entrance!”
“Please don’t mention that to Nick. He might take you seriously,” Gregor drawled.
“How does one go about maintaining such a massive home?” she asked.
“My mother, ah, redecorated ab
out twelve years ago and that helped. But if not for our mage coal, the upkeep would ruin the family.”
“Are those the ‘extensive renovations’ that the papers spoke of back then?” she asked.
“Fleet Street had a lot to say about that, yes, most of it incorrect,” Gregor said.
The newspapers had contained a not-so-veiled criticism of a foreigner being allowed to change a historic residence. Krieger & Sims’ customers had gossiped about it during their fittings too, with opinions ranging from “Who does that women think she is?” to “A duchess should be allowed to renovate her own residence,” to “Thank God, they added proper heat to that drafty place.”
“Did the publicity affect your mother?” Joan asked.
“No, she’s never paid attention to such things. My father hated any insult to her, however. She stopped him from battering down the doors of several papers in Fleet Street, but just barely.”
“He loved her.”
A curt nod. “Yes.”
Had the duchess hoped her journey to India would result in finding her husband alive, rather than his friend and alleged half-brother? In her place, Joan might have held out hope, especially since the bodies had never been found.
Gregor straightened, assuming the mask he wore in public. “Be on guard, please. I’m not sure what we face.”
She nodded. “Families always seem dangerous to me.”
“And have you spoken to your father lately?”
Gregor asked about her father so he would not have to talk about his family.
“Our last conversation ended with my father refusing to take ‘blood’ money from me,” she said. “And he’s reversed his opinion on my marrying outside the faith. Now, with his mind fully his own again, he refuses to consider sanctioning any marriage to a goyim, as he calls you. Or else he objects to my not being a virgin. Those two complaints seemed entangled, so I’m not certain which he deems worse. In any case, I must live with him and marry a man of his choosing, to become right with our people and God.” Joan felt her stomach clench again, this time with sadness. “I thought we might become close after all that’s happened, but he’s digging a trench between us. I begin to see why my mother was so desperate to escape his control.”
A Hanging at Lotus Hall Page 5
