A Hanging at Lotus Hall

by Corrina Lawson

  Moriarty cleared his throat. “What Mr. Cooper is saying is that if this act fails, resentment will grow. Your tinkering with it is delaying it, and delay could be fatal.”

  “‘Tinkering?’ You were the teacher who taught me to consider all the angles of a problem. This proposed act must get it right, Mr. Moriarty.”

  “We must get this done, Your Grace. We don’t want the appalling violence on the continent to happen here.”

  Moriarty referred to the anarchists and their attacks on various noble and royal families. That included the assassination of Tsar Alexander II over a decade ago. “Fatal,” Moriarty had called delay, out of fear of similar assassinations on British soil.

  “You believe I will be blown up soon, sir?” the duke asked. “I have more faith in my country than you do, apparently. We cannot legalize all mages and hope they’ll behave themselves. The education of the children, yes, but that is controlled. What about the rest? The Reform Act, as now written, would give them free rein. They might even swell the rolls of the anarchists that you’re so worried about.”

  Yet education did not equal morality. Someone educated and trained had tried to kill Joan, just today.

  “All due respect, Your Grace, that’s a theoretical worry. I’ve seen so much real damage caused by our country’s refusal to see all its citizens as having value,” Cooper said. “You underestimate people. Common people are not children.”

  Since Joan was one of those mages operating technically illegally, she was more on Moriarty and Cooper’s side. But her mother’s misuse of her gift also pointed to the dangers of allowing mages to operate as they pleased. Of course, the current laws wouldn’t stop any of the nobility from using their mage gift to, say, poison someone magically using a disguised gift.

  The duke focused on Joan and, for the first time, she felt the power contained within him. He’d hidden it, but he might well be Moriarty’s match. She held his gaze.

  “Miss Krieger, Gregor, is Mr. Moriarty right? Do I have a full-scale revolt on my hands simply because I insist on a licensing program and board review of all mages before they can use their talent legally?”

  Did he expect her to assuage his fears, or did he desire the truth? No matter. He’d get truth.

  “If you’re asking me, from my situation, if I’d resent a licensing program and a board review, I would say it depends on who is doing the licensing and who is on the board. I doubt I, for instance, would receive a proper hearing from an all-male board. And female mages are currently specifically excluded. Why is that?”

  Across the table, Gregor smiled at her. She caught Reg covering a grin with his napkin. At the foot of the table, Edward Dale merely raised an eyebrow, a familial gesture that reminded her of Gregor most of all.

  She agreed with Moriarty: class resentment would grow into violence, and soon. First, there was the problem with angry, untrained mages, like her mother, losing control. She knew by the fact that someone had helped her mother with the golem spell that there were those already using the mage gift for evil.

  But there was also the building resentment among people with little access to the benefits of mage ability and who only saw the rich get richer while they could not better their lives.

  Men hated living on the scraps of gods. Hell, she hated crumbs. So down the gods might come.

  “Well,” the duke echoed. “I did say to speak freely. But you’ve had training, Miss Krieger. All I’m essentially asking is that all those in your position do the same.”

  “Except for the women,” Vai cut in.

  Jared’s eyes crinkled. “I see I’m outnumbered in my own home.”

  Edward Dale snorted at the comment. Vai shot him a stern look.

  “Perhaps that should tell you something, Jared,” Vai returned.

  An uneasy silence settled.

  “The devil’s in the details,” Gregor finally said. “I agree with Mr. Moriarty that London is uneasy. Passage of the law may appease the Commons and allow others who might misuse their gift to come forward for training. Delay may cause these mages to turn to other, more violent, means.”

  “As Miss Krieger’s mother did?” the duke snapped and turned his gaze on her again.

  “Jared.” The current duchess spoke for the first time.

  Everyone had spoken up now, save Edward Dale and Milverton. Dale sat with his chin on his elbow, taking in the conversation but showing no signs of joining it. Milverton, as was his wont, was waiting for the right moment to speak.

  “I’ll answer that question.” Joan’s face flushed. “When women are forgotten or misused, that’s what happens. Your Grace, if you want to stop others from doing what my mother did, then don’t shut out women from training.”

  “Aha.” The duke nodded, as if in agreement with her now. “See, Miss Krieger, you’re like me. You want to tinker with the current draft of the Mage Reform Act too. Yet I’m guessing Mr. Moriarty would object to your ‘tinkering’ as much as he does mine.”

  “I would object, yes. Adding women would be a non-starter and have us laughed out of Parliament.”

  “I’m glad we’re the subject of so much mirth, Mr. Moriarty,” Vai said.

  Nick snorted and then muffled a chuckle with his napkin. At the end of the table, Dale dropped his casual pose, his gaze now concentrated on Vai.

  “Not mirth, never, Your Grace,” Moriarty replied. “It’s a practical matter.” He turned back to Jared. “Your Grace, if you withdraw your proposed revisions, the bill will pass swiftly. Wait for another chance to add your safeguards.”

  “There may not be another chance,” the duke said.

  “All the more reason to get at least this much passed,” Moriarty returned.

  “I see.” The duke set his hands on the table. “You all know how dangerous the gift can be in the hands of the untrained. If my ‘tinkering’ fails and people are killed, as I fear, the religious groups that claim that the mage talent is a gift of the devil will be emboldened. Then where will we be?”

  “But the uproar will be after education has already begun. We’ll have to go forward, not back, and the mages will see the government as their savior. More than that…”

  Moriarty paused, a professor’s trick, obviously waiting to see if he had everyone’s full attention. Silence reigned for a few seconds. Everyone seemed to concentrate on the professor, save Dale, who continued to watch Vai.

  “…but more than that, the anarchists see the entire system as corrupt and want it destroyed utterly, a revolution soaked with the blood of everyone with a ‘lord’ in their name. They see these new magical powers not as wonders gifted to our nobility to preserve the British Empire but as another means of their oppression. If they’re not mages, they fear being irrelevant or virtual slaves to power. If they’re mages, they wonder why they can’t reap the rewards. Push people into a corner that’s when they are the most dangerous, milords and ladies. Let’s give them hope. For their children, at least.”

  “A pretty speech,” Nick said.

  “Woman can be dangerous too,” Vai broke in. “Nonstarter or not, we cannot forget about half the population.” Once again, the dowager duchess exchanged a silent glance with Dale. What was going on between that pair?

  “We’ll get there, though I realize that delay is galling,” Nick said. “Patience, Mother, patience, Miss Krieger. I’m with Mr. Moriarty, Jared. We need to get something on the books and add more later.”

  “Et tu, Nick?” the duke muttered.

  “So how long must we wait?” Vai rolled her eyes.

  Joan’s adoration of her increased tenfold.

  “We’ve waited too long already,” Joan added.

  “The suffragettes will have their day yet,” Moriarty said. “And the Metaphysical Society can do some things in the meantime for the ladies.”

  “You ask me, you’re all playing with fire by telling mages what they can and can’t do,” Reg broke in. “In America, a mage can do what they want, assuming they don’t break any
of the laws we already have.”

  “Including oppressing your people, Mr. Benedict,” the duke replied.

  “And what makes you think my people can’t be mages? There’s a reason the Union won the Civil War, and it sure wasn’t because of the righteous wrath of God. It was us.” Reg tapped his chest.

  Knowledge of the mage gift had only been a decade old when the American Civil War broke out, but still, some mages had fought. On both sides. But Reg’s people had had the most to fight for.

  Oh. Reg had just implied the mage gift ran in his family. Maybe now she’d get an answer to whether he was one.

  “A few of my uncles fought with magic. I’m proud of them,” Reg continued. “America does have problems, still. Whites are still scared of my people’s mages. But they damn well better get used to it or there might be another Civil War.”

  The American had bite under his easygoing nature, Joan thought.

  Moriarty focused on Reg. “May I ask if you’re a mage as well, sir?”

  The professor had picked up on the implication in Reg’s words as fast as Joan had.

  Reg narrowed his eyes. “Personal question, isn’t it? And I had heard the English are so polite.”

  Nick snickered. For some reason, anger flashed across the duke’s face. Joan sighed. Still no answer to the damned question.

  Moriarty had the grace to look ashamed. “Apologies, Mr. Benedict. I’m more used to being the teacher and demanding answers than I realized.”

  “I can tell,” Reg said.

  Oh, Joan liked him. She hoped he hadn’t been the one who’d tried to kill her.

  Gregor cleared his throat, demanding attention. “In all this debate, you haven’t mentioned a problem caused by the Metaphysical Society itself, Your Grace, Mr. Moriarty, Mr. Cooper.”

  “What exactly do you mean by that, Lord Gregor?” Cooper said, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

  For the first time, Dale concentrated on Gregor. Interesting. Would Dale ever speak, or was that now his way?

  “Your mage sniffer, Colonel Moran, is exacerbating tensions in London, Mr. Moriarty,” Gregor said. “He’s become a bogeyman.”

  Oh, so they were going there? Joan set down her utensils and rolled her shoulders, ready for the fight to continue. She wondered if all meals with the Sherringfords were as…stimulating.

  “Colonel Moran is a good man doing a difficult job,” Cooper said. “He helps the police with crimes committed by magic.”

  “Moran is doing his job so well, ready to jump at any shadow of talent, that resentment is growing against the Metaphysical Society,” Gregor countered.

  Moriarty sniffed. “I find that hard to believe.”

  “Facts do not require belief, Mr. Moriarty. They simply exist,” Gregor said. “There are people missing from London that Moran said were ‘trouble’ without corroborating evidence. People locked up without trial and without hope of one, for the simple offense of possessing the mage gift or suspicion of possessing it.” Gregor’s shoulders stiffened. “I ask you, who’s a larger danger to the public peace? Untrained mages or Moran himself? Londoners are asking themselves the same question and coming up with Moran as the answer.”

  Joan let the silence grow before she broke in.

  “The colonel arrested me briefly last year, as I’m sure you’re aware, Mr. Cooper, Mr. Moriarty. With no evidence.”

  “Ah, but you were freed, yes?” Moriarty said.

  How dare he dismiss that ordeal so easily. “Only because Sir August, a friend of my father’s, appealed to authorities higher than Moran. For which he has my everlasting gratitude, but not everyone has such a champion.”

  “My pleasure, always, Miss Krieger.” Milverton finally entered the conversation, obviously glad to be included in her approval.

  Joan appreciated Milverton now that he wasn’t trying to force her into marriage. He tended to see through pretense to the person beneath. Not to mention he was a mage sniffer, like Moran, except he was on their side. She hoped.

  He could not have set the spell on the teapot, as he could only sense magic, not use it. But, she mused, he could have hired someone to set the spell on it. But why would he? If she asked him if Benedict were a mage, would Milverton provide a truthful answer?

  “Moran is working with Scotland Yard but answering to other masters. That includes you, Mr. Moriarty, and let’s not pretend otherwise,” Gregor said.

  “Moran is only supposed to be working with the police to prevent magical misuse. This is the first I’ve heard of him going beyond that,” Moriarty said.

  “I doubt that,” Joan snapped.

  Cooper’s fork clattered against his plate. “Now see here, Miss Krieger, I—”

  “Enough. My brother usually has a reason for his statements,” the duke broke in. “And Miss Krieger is a guest who should receive every courtesy.”

  Bully for the duke, Joan thought.

  “Are you accusing the Metaphysical Society of helping Moran in ‘losing’ these missing people?” the duchess asked in a most formal tone.

  “That is not yet provable in a court of law, my dear sister,” Gregor answered in the same formal tone.

  “You see?” Cooper sneered. “He maligns us without evidence.”

  Gregor ignored him. “It’s a pattern I’ve been tracking, Jared, Victoria. People in power need to know what Moran’s doing.” Gregor paused. “Other than those who support Moran’s witch hunt, I mean.”

  Gregor had not said he was gathering evidence about Moran’s actions. Another thing he’d “forgotten” to tell Joan. It was relevant, damn him. If Moran knew Gregor was investigating him, he might have retaliated. Moran could have been behind the attack on her this morning. And Gregor hadn’t mentioned this possibility either until just now.

  They were going to talk. Tonight.

  “Moran’s gone beyond the law, if what you say is true, Gregor. Obviously, an injustice was done to you, Miss Krieger,” Moriarty said, nodding to her, “but your circumstances were somewhat unique. It’s the pattern I doubt. People disappear in London all the time, for many reasons.”

  “So they do,” Gregor agreed, but there was a threat to that statement.

  “Isn’t Moran a graduate of Isca, Mr. Moriarty?” Vai interjected. “What did your school teach him?”

  Oh, neat salvo, Joan thought.

  “Moran’s important in school annals because he discovered the mage-sniffing talent, not because he had much of a gift himself. The mage talent he possess is negligible, really, which caused him problems initially.” Cooper answered for his headmaster. “However, he discovered he could sense when players were about to use their gifts, which provided an advantage. Looking for mage-sniffers is now part of the standard examination that new students undergo.”

  Joan glanced at Milverton. Milverton shrugged. She interpreted that to mean he’d kept his mage-sniffing gifts a secret from the Metaphysical Society. Intelligent of him.

  “The staff considered it a good day when Moran graduated and received a military commission. He was a bull-headed oaf, that’s true,” Moriarty said. “I could agree to look into this.”

  “I’ll speak to the head of Scotland Yard about Moran,” the duke said, now decisive. “Perhaps you, Mr. Moriarty, will agree to approach Scotland Yard with me?”

  “Of course,” Moriarty said. “But we should discuss the specifics. Perhaps those details could also include a discussion of your full support for the Mage Reform Act?”

  “I did not bring this injustice to your attention for it to be part of political bargaining.” Gregor cut off the question. “It’s in your power to stop it, gentlemen. Do so. Now.”

  “Gregor.” The duke’s fork clattered onto his plate. “We cannot barge into London on your say-so.”

  “Why not? So many peers do,” Gregor parried.

  The duke’s face reddened. Joan tensed. Victoria curled her hand around her husband’s forearm.

  Quiet reigned as the main course was removed for dessert,
giving everyone time to either collect their wits or calm down. Gregor had nicely thrown a wrench into the political argument, hadn’t he?

  Joan glanced around the table. Milverton, as his habit, eyed everyone else. Vai’s gaze swept over the whole dinner party, assessing, no doubt. The duke and duchess spoke to each other in whispers. Moriarty and Cooper exchanged glances, perhaps uncertain what to say next.

  Nick and Reg Benedict exchanged a shrug that could mean everything, while Edward Dale still concentrated his attention on Vai. The man was certainly fixated on the dowager duchess.

  “Seems your time in London’s grubby corners is paying off, Greg,” Nick drawled as he sipped his tea over dessert. “You finally helped Jared and Moriarty agree on something.”

  “Yes,” Gregor replied in the same drawling tone, “but the work in ‘grubby corners’ benefits my clients first. This affects people, Nick.”

  “Heaven forbid you admit doing something that helps the family,” the duke cut in, with the same tone.

  These three must have had the worst rows growing up, Joan decided.

  “Enough! I did not return home to witness petty squabbling.” Mr. Dale stood, casting off his idle air. “I’d have thought you three might have drawn closer in the last decade, with having to support each other.” He glared, one by one, at the brothers with a sharpness that belied his frail looks. “Instead, I find you bickering like children.”

  Joan had been glancing at Vai as Mr. Dale spoke and caught the dowager duchess chopping her hand, signaling Dale to be silent.

  Why? Surely the brothers wouldn’t be that insulted at a man they must consider an elder? Still, the gesture showed the closeness between Vai and the older man.

  “If you were that concerned about us, Mr. Dale, perhaps you ought to have stopped our father from mounting his last, stupid expedition to Everest,” Nick challenged, adding more insult to his statement.

  His words might well have been a whip cracked across the table. Everyone at the table snapped to attention.

  Mr. Dale thumped his cane, a thud into the shocked silence. “Oh no you don’t, Nick. Your father made mistakes, many of them. But you’re a man now. Take responsibility for yourself.”