A Hanging at Lotus Hall

by Corrina Lawson

  “I invoked Agni, the Hindu god of the sun. But it’s the concentration that matters, not the words. Perhaps one of your people’s prayers, something dear to your heart?”

  One of my people’s prayers? Joan nodded and closed her eyes. Yes, the Birkat Hachamah, the sun blessing, would absolutely be appropriate at this moment.

  “Blessed are you, Lord, our God, sovereign of the universe

  Who does the work of Creation…”

  Joan recited it several times. The Hebrew words filled her, much as the sun renewed her. The light reached inside her, warmth flowing to every limb, as her mage gift was refilled to bursting. Some rabbis preached against the mage gift, seeing it as the work of the unholy, but how could it be wrong to be blessed by the sun itself, for was not the sun and its light the work of God?

  A question for a Talmudic scholar, if Joan could find one willing to converse and not reject her outright.

  Joan sighed, her head stuffed to overflowing, and stepped off the portrait of the sun. Was she also glowing as the duchess had after her commune with the light? Certainly, Joan’s fatigue had been replaced by something approaching giddiness.

  If only her mother had known this kind of communion with power, if only she’d been trained and not constrained by her life. She might even be standing here, with Joan, instead of being buried, her fate sealed by her bitterness.

  But her mother had chosen to lash out in her pain, rather than attempt to heal.

  “How is this done?” Joan finally asked. “There must be more to this than simply standing under the glass in sunlight.”

  Vai—yes, Joan had finally decided to call her Vai—tucked her arm with Joan’s again and pointed to the top of the dome. “The dome is a special type of glass that magnifies the sun’s rays. Not as showy as some of our new steam technology, but it took as much skill to create and polish the glass as it did to build our special flying carriage or the mechanism that opens and closes the doors and the drapes.” A pause. “You took to it well.”

  She’d passed this test as well. “Thank you.”

  “Gregor has not been forthcoming about you, at least in the letters that reached me on my journey.”

  “He was being protective. I’ve been grieving,” Joan confessed, surprising herself.

  “So I read between the lines. I’m sorry for your losses.”

  The empathy in her words was evident. “I appreciate that.”

  “Gregor also wrote that you were an exceptional student, both gifted and clever.”

  “High praise, from him.” Not that he said as such out loud. Gregor the lover might be warm toward Joan, but Sherringford the teacher was a hard taskmaster on Miss Krieger.

  “His devotion to you was evident between the lines.”

  A mother fishing for details. Not for the world would Joan describe the relationship with the mother of her lover. But if Vai asked personal questions, perhaps Joan could do the same.

  “Did Gregor’s father teach you or did you know how to use your magic before he met you?”

  Vai smiled. “Jasper taught me how to harness my abilities but not how to worship the sun. The British believe they have a monopoly on knowledge. Foolish. I already knew how to be close to the many facets of God.” She sighed. “And, yet, when I first set eyes on Lotus Hall, I nearly fled back to India, intimidated beyond terror at the enormous task before me, with Jasper my only ally.”

  “I’m sure you handled it all well, better than I could.” Give her a seamstress shop, and she could rule it. But the scale of the dominion of Lotus Hall awed Joan.

  “You’d learn, Joan. If I may, you strike me as more yourself than I was when I married Jasper. I was too young to match him for several years.”

  Joan had wondered what this woman had thought of being plucked from India by a much older man and placed among the peers of England. Gregor said that this question had never occurred to him. Was all he saw of his mother the demigoddess? Perhaps she was seeing a vulnerable side to Vai that her son never did.

  Children could be so blind when it came to mothers.

  “It is hard to imagine you as ever being intimidated or overmatched for very long,” Joan said.

  “Everyone is afraid of something, even me, even my son.” She studied Joan. “You’ll do.”

  Joan smiled. “Will I?”

  “You’ve already impressed Henry, especially as proprietary as he is with that carriage. You’ll do fine with Nick and Jared, though that Jared has been testy lately. Too much pressure, I suppose. Now, my granddaughter, Lady Anne, is the one to avoid.”

  Vai rolled her eyes, coming down to earth, a doting grandmother rather than a demigoddess.

  “How so?” Joan asked. Lady Anne. She must be Jared’s daughter, as Nicholas was unmarried.

  “Anne is already asking when the wedding is and if she can be in the ceremony. She seems to believe you’d design the most delightful gowns for everyone. But then, she’s nine, just the right age for girls to dream about weddings.”

  “Yes.” Joan had stopped dreaming about hers. It would never be the kind of wedding her cousins had had. She suspected no one would dance the Horah at her reception. If she even wanted to be married.

  Vai seemed to do quite well without a husband, traveling to India on her own. Had she been as forward before her husband’s death?

  Vai narrowed her eyes.

  “I feared my son might be taking advantage of you. After all, he is both your teacher and the son of a peer to the realm, even if he tries to deny that. An intimidating combination.” A pause. “Not to mention that he is used to getting his own way to the point of assuming that’s the natural order of things.”

  An insightful woman. “He can still be difficult, yes.”

  “Which may explain why you are not married yet.”

  “I would hope you’d empathize with my reluctance to put myself formally under anyone’s power, Your Grace.” A pause. “Even if that person is your son.”

  “They do say the strongest steel is forged in just the right application of fire.” The dowager duchess sighed. “But sometimes too much tempering can crack the blade. I hope you find a way past your trials, Joan, and the path you truly desire.”

  Joan thought of her mother, reduced to ashes by the backlash of a magic that she’d tried, and failed, to control. “I hope so as well.”

  Her mother still haunted her. One of the dangling threads of her past was the hope that she’d find whoever had helped Rachel Krieger with the spells to create the golem. But with her mother’s papers destroyed, that had proven difficult, even impossible. She might never have answers.

  “Good. We Sherringfords need all the allies we can get,” Vai said.

  “How so? Your family wants for nothing.”

  “All families have flaws. Don’t let wealth blind you to that.” The dowager sighed. “Jared seems a more stolid man than his father, but once he finds a cause, he digs in, like Jasper did. And his current cause is to ensure the Mage Reform Act covers every contingency. He’s placed all his prestige on getting what he wants into the law. One walks softly around him these days.”

  “Does my situation with Gregor impact that?” Joan asked, remembering Moriarty’s veiled threats. What part did the offer to teach female mages play in his visit to Lotus Hall? Would he attempt to convince the duke that she must be sanctioned and under control or the scandal would blow back on the family?

  Would Joan’s death help or hurt the duke? If it helped, it might explain the attack this morning.

  Vai snorted, a most unladylike noise, and Joan liked her the better for it.

  “Gregor has always done things his own way, much to his family’s frustration. Much to my own frustration,” she confessed. “To be blunt, he comes out looking quite nicely from your relationship. As far as society is concerned, he is the one with a gifted and beautiful Jewess as his supposed mistress.”

  Joan said nothing, fighting a blush.

  “Jared owes you, you know. You
brought us Milverton as an ally, and his contacts have helped Jared tremendously in seeing a new perspective on the Reform Bill.”

  “Thank you,” Joan said. “Since we are being blunt, why you did not request Gregor’s help on your quest in India or let him know sooner that you had returned?”

  “It was for me to do,” Vai said quietly. “I would not have raised his hopes.”

  “You thought you might find your late husband, then, not simply word of him?”

  “You travel the shortest distance between two points, Joan. No wonder you enjoy sparring with my son.” Vai stared at the dome and the sun overhead. “I refused to have any hopes, but perhaps I had the sliver of a dream about finding Jasper. But in any case, I had to know more of the story. I was beyond lucky to find Edward, though sometimes I wonder if he believes it was lucky to be found.”

  Death always brought regret. “Your letter mentioned Mr. Dale was not the same as he once was.”

  “He was once gregarious and open, while Jasper was more intense and demanding. Now Mr. Dale is more thoughtful, as could be expected, given his ordeal, but…” Vai sighed. “Hopefully, being home with his family will do him good.”

  “His family. Then he is…?” Joan ventured.

  Vai frowned, as if just realizing she’d given away a secret, but then smiled and focused on the question. “Edward is Jasper’s brother, yes.” She scowled. “Foul word, bastard, as it puts the burden on the child, not the parent. Jasper’s father was not a careful man.”

  “You like Mr. Dale,” Joan guessed.

  “I always did. As an outsider to society, he understood me instantly. Even if he were not Jasper’s brother, he’d still be family. And Edward has a daughter here too. Phyllis. You’ll meet her, she’s Anne’s governess.”

  “She’s at Lotus Hall in service rather than as family?” Joan raised an eyebrow.

  “Blunt, again, Joan? Yes, she is paid to be Anne’s governess. We would have given her a yearly family stipend, as Jasper would have if he had lived, but Phyllis said she wanted to do useful work. She and Anne are only eight years apart in age. They get on well. Once Anne goes off to school, I’m determined to fund what Phyllis wants to do with the rest of her life. Painting, I think, like her father.”

  Did Phyllis have the same view of this familial relationship? Were the world slightly different, Phyllis Dale would be the lady of the hall. “Miss Dale sounds like an interesting person, then.”

  “She is.” Vai smoothed her skirt, perhaps taking time to consider her next words. “But her choice is not one you’d have made.”

  “I have found much value in working for myself, not reliant on anyone.”

  “Ah.” Her face closed up, the duchess, not a friend, once more. “As have we all, in our way. That is good for you, if not for my son.”

  Joan wanted to hug Vai for her understanding. Instead, she decided to trust her completely.

  “Vai, is anyone in this house my enemy?”

  “That is a loaded question. I should say no, but I expect you’re about to tell me why the answer might be yes.”

  Joan poured out the story of the teapot’s spell. It felt less like the recital of facts she’d given Gregor and more like a confession. Vai’s eyebrows knit together as Joan finished the story. It was an expression so like Gregor’s that Joan almost smiled.

  “Joan.” Vai gripped her forearm “I’m appalled but also impressed with your quick actions. Gregor will no doubt make his own inquiries, if he hasn’t already.” Vai scowled. “But this is my home and I’ll make my own inquiries here. To think…” She shook her head. “The teapot. That was a design no doubt ordered weeks ago. That is the place to start. I’ll check the household account and see who ordered it.”

  “Please be careful, Your Grace,” Joan cautioned.

  “Careful? The one who did this needs to be cautious, not me.” Her eyes flashed with a quick burst of mage power.

  For the first time in forever, Joan had apparently made a female friend and ally.

  Chapter 6

  Once they arrived back in the foyer, a maid appeared, summoned by some unseen signal. There was no sign of Gregor. Likely still with Edward Dale.

  “Dinner will be served at five p.m., Joan,” Vai said. “Lateness isn’t tolerated in this house by our duke.” She rolled her eyes.

  The maid covered a smile with her hand. Vai caught it and smiled at her.

  “Agnes will show you to your rooms and answer any questions while you dress.”

  “Aye, Your Grace, of course,” Agnes said.

  Vai excused herself with an imperious air at odds with her more playful nature, leaving Joan and the maid in her wake. Woe unto those who dared her wrath, Joan thought. And if she’d chosen this maid specifically for Joan, there must be a reason.

  “Hello, Agnes,” she said.

  The maid curtsied, perfectly. Joan could detect no stitches in the seams of her uniform, which was made of fine cotton. Not only had the Sherringfords taken care to provide well-made uniforms for their staff, they’d also given them time to repair them neatly.

  “Good morning, milady,” Agnes said. “If you’ll follow me?”

  “It’s simply Miss Krieger.”

  The maid smiled, a little tentative. “Forgive me, Miss Krieger, but anyone who catches Lord Gregor’s eye and is approved of by Her Grace cannot be simple.”

  Joan laughed. Yes, Vai had chosen Agnes specifically for her.

  Agnes led her up a staircase on the left side of the foyer but then they quickly slipped into a maze of corridors and, finally, up yet another fine staircase, one that overlooked the foyer from on high. There was a similar staircase mirrored on the other side and, Joan assumed, a similar maze of rooms.

  “Guest quarters are in the east wing?” Joan asked.

  “Exactly right, miss. The men’s rooms are two floors above, while the women’s rooms will be on this second floor.”

  “What’s on the third floor?”

  “Sitting rooms, a library, and a small dining room, where our guests can take meals if the family isn’t in residence.”

  “Ah.” Joan ran a fingertip over the balcony. The pulse of magic, so strong in the entranceway, was more muted the higher they went. That made Joan guess the…batteries? baffles?…that held the magic were below the first floor, perhaps in the basement, out of sight.

  They turned left at the end of the open balcony, passed several rooms with closed doors, and, finally, Agnes unlocked a door of dark brown wood and gestured Joan inside.

  “I hope it’s to your liking, miss,” Agnes said.

  Joan had expected one room, with perhaps a connecting one to a lavatory. Clearly, she should have aimed higher. The outer room where they stood was a classic sitting room, with a couch that sat under a floor-to-ceiling window, with the velvet curtains opened to let in the light. The paint on the walls, a soft blue just one shade less dark than the curtains, gave the room a warm but dramatic feel. In the open door between them, Joan saw her familiar, battered trunk, sitting just below the footboard of a bed decorated with a richly made quilt of yet another shade of blue.

  Her trunk did not belong in Lotus Hall. Perhaps she was also a mundane thing among finery. But she’d stood before the sun.

  You are no more mundane than anyone else here, Joan told herself.

  “It’s lovely.” She strode to the window, raised her hand to the afternoon light, and felt another trickle of power. Perhaps the glass on this window too had been altered to magnify the sun’s rays.

  Joan wandered into the bedroom and opened a giant wardrobe. Something clicked. She jumped back, gathering her shields. Fear gripped her, curling her insides.

  Out rolled an automated system of hangers. Looked harmless enough. But so had the teapot.

  She touched the first hanger, braced for an attack.

  No magic.

  “What is this?” she called out to Agnes.

  “You mean the autoclothe?” Agnes swept in. “At least, that�
�s what His Grace named it. It’s to allow easy view of all your dresses, miss.”

  “I can see that now.”

  Oh, she wanted one of these. What a perfect way to display clothing. The mechanism inside moved the clothing into the light without having to unhook and move them from the wardrobe. She wondered that Gregor never mentioned such a thing before, but perhaps it was routine for him.

  Agnes demonstrated the autoclothe, showing Joan how the gears of the wardrobe moved the hangers to display each piece of clothing in turn. “That is, once I’ve hung them for you, miss.”

  Joan could do it herself but thought perhaps it would be an insult to Agnes. And it would give her time to gather her wits. She laid out the dresses from her trunk that she wanted for the next few days, especially the formal ones. Years of dressmaking, plus her newfound wealth, ensured she would look the part of a lady. She placed her own special designs, those with fewer flourishes and an accompanying ease of movement, in a separate pile.

  Wearing her special creations to the meal with Gregor’s family might be viewed as an insult, especially since Gregor described his brother as stolid. However, now Vai hinted at the duke’s uncertain temper. Best to fit in, at least tonight, so she could study everyone, rather than draw their attention.

  After all, one of them might be a potential killer. One learned more about people by listening. Most of the time.

  Agnes, with efficiency, hung the clothing.

  “Agnes, can I ask you some questions about the house? It would ease my mind to be more familiar with it.” And the maid would provide a valued perspective.

  She bobbed her head. “Of course, miss.”

  “Who’s in residence from the family?”

  “Oh, that’s an easy question. There’s His Grace, the duke; his wife the current duchess; the dowager duchess, whom you’ve met; Lord Nicholas, the duke’s next oldest brother; Lady Anne and her governess, Miss Phyllis Dale; and now Lord Gregor. Oh, and Mr. Dale’s been given rooms on the family side as well, since his return.”

  “Is that usual?” Joan asked.