Magic and Manners (An Austen Chronicle Book 1)

by CE Murphy

  “I’ll go,” Sophia said, and, with a brief smile at Elsabeth’s grateful acknowledgement, disappeared through the crowd with as much ease as Archer had.

  “No,” said Webber as Mr Penney moved as if to take Rosamund from his arms. “I have her safely, sir, and I think she should be as little disturbed as possible. Only clear a path that I may carry her to the door.” This he did with such tenderness that Elsabeth was touched by it, and obliged to fight away tears when Rosamund opened her eyes once and smiled in bewildered astonishment to see her dear Mr Webber so close at hand.

  “There will not be room enough in the carriage for the entire party.” Archer strode to meet them as they approached the door. “Julia, I must ask you and Miss Enton to remain here with me a little while so that Miss Dover can ride as comfortably as possible. Miss Elsabeth, you will join Webber and your sister. Mr and Mrs Penney—”

  “We will call our own carriage,” Mr Penney replied with dignity. “I hope it would not be too much for us to come to your home, Mr Webber. Rosamund is as dear to us as a daughter.”

  “Of course you must. I would have nothing else. Ah, Miss Enton—”

  Sophia arrived burdened by furs and followed by Miss Derrington, whose agitation at Rosamund’s state was nearly as great as Elsabeth’s own. In her wake came Lady Beatrice, and in hers, the young gentleman Annabel had danced with earlier. He put himself forward with a confident diffidence, saying, “My uncle is Dr Swift, of whom you may have heard; he is considered a premier physician in London. Let me send him to you, if it might be of any assistance.”

  Archer’s face lit with approval. “I have commanded the services of another, but we would be grateful for your uncle’s expertise. If there is any extraordinary cost, Webber, I shall undertake it myself.”

  “Do not be absurd.” Webber spoke in more clipped tones than Elsabeth had known were at his disposal. “Miss Elsabeth, if you will help me with the furs—”

  Within moments, they had bundled Rosamund so well that there was no part of her save her nose exposed to the air; even so, Webber remarked on her lightness, and carried her swiftly to the carriage. Elsabeth ran behind him, forgetting her own wraps in her haste, and was astonished to feel Archer’s hand on her arm before she climbed into the carriage.

  First, he settled a cloak around her shoulders, then, as he fastened it beneath her chin when her trembling hands could not, he said, “You can warm the inside of that carriage more quickly and efficiently than any other mortal might in this moment. Do not fear exposure, nor Robert’s opinions. I will speak to him if I must, although,” he said, with a glance into the carriage, where Webber held Rosamund as if she was both fragile and precious, “I think it will not be necessary. Do what you must for your sister’s health.”

  He boosted her into the carriage, closed the door, and, with a thump on its side, they were away, leaving Elsabeth staring through the window at him in numb astonishment.

  “She is so cold,” Webber reported grimly. “Even through the furs, I can feel her tremble. I am not enough to warm her.” “Mr Webber,” Elsabeth whispered. “Mr Webber, I can warm her. I—I only ask that you do not cry out, do not condemn me or my sister for what I must reveal to do so.” Twice she fumbled the window-shade before successfully drawing it down, whilst Webber protested he could never condemn anyone who might drive the cold from Rosamund’s bones.

  “It will not harm you,” Elsabeth said, still in a whisper, and called the fire that had always come so naturally to her.

  The carriage lit with warmth and beauty as flame wreathed her hands. Elsabeth remained very still for a few long seconds, cowering with anticipation of Webber’s disgust, but he was beyond such emotion: he flinched back at first, then registered amazement before surging forward a few inches to hold Rosamund out to Elsabeth’s fire. “The furs—”

  “Nothing will burn that I do not wish it to.” Elsabeth knelt in the middle of the carriage, holding her hands as close to Rosamund’s breast as she dared. Flame, even flame that would only burn what Elsa wanted it to, was insufficient: it could not wrap around Rosamund’s skin and press warmth in, could not heat her core that her extremities might know warmth again. For the thousandth time in her life, Elsabeth cursed the limitations of her magic: surely, there must be some way to shape it in more useful ways, but all she could do was hold fire to her sister’s skin and hope for the best.

  “She is warmer,” Webber whispered in awe as the carriage drew to a halt at the doors of his town house. “She trembles less. Miss Elsabeth, you have wrought a miracle.”

  “It is not a miracle unless she heals. Quickly, into the house. The warmest room, no matter which it might be, because I do not dare call such power where others might see.”

  “But you should be able to,” Webber replied with sudden ferocity. “You may have saved Rosamund’s life, and there can never be any shame in any power that could offer such hope! Now open the door, and I will be as swift as I can be.”

  The door opened without Elsabeth’s assistance, a footman standing beyond with an expression of such worry that tears sprang to Elsabeth’s eyes again. She followed Webber at a run, grateful that the magnificent front door swung open without hesitation. It closed as quickly, too, and the butler—Peters, Elsabeth was surprised to see; she knew him from Newsbury, but had not known he travelled with Webber—sprang ahead of them to open a parlour door.

  Heat swept out in a wave that flushed Elsabeth’s cheeks in an instant. Webber never stopped, rushing Rosamund to the fire’s side, but Elsabeth turned to gaze at the butler in grateful astonishment. “How did you know?”

  Real concern shone in the butler’s eyes. “Nothing travels faster than gossip, Miss. Word came from below-stairs at Lady Derrington’s ball that Miss Dover had taken ill, and I knew Mr Webber would bring her here if he could. There’s tea ready, if you think it may be of help.”

  “Please,” Elsabeth whispered. “And soup, perhaps, or eggs mashed with cracker. Something simple and fortifying. She has been strangely unwell, and I know not what else to offer. But the doctor will be here soon.”

  “I’ll show him in when he arrives,” Peters promised. “Go to your sister now, Miss. I’ll take care of the rest.”

  There could be no possibility of sufficiently expressing her gratitude. Elsabeth smiled, hoping to convey some aspect of it, then followed Mr Webber into the heat-infused parlour.

  He knelt beside Rosamund, whom he had laid on a chaise that had been pulled directly in front of the fire. She had awakened, and smiled in soft bemusement at him, then brightened in confusion as Elsabeth hurried in. “Elsabeth, I had the most peculiar dream. I dreamed I was floating on a bed of fire, but it did not burn, only warmed me. And now I have awakened and it seems to be rather true, although I cannot imagine how that can be. Were we not just at the ball?”

  Weakness collapsed Elsabeth’s knees and she caught herself on the chaise’s back with a shaking laugh. “You fainted, my dear sister, and Mr Webber has quite come to your rescue. Are you cold?”

  “No,” Rosamund responded dreamily. “Nor am I too warm, although I can see that you and Mr Webber are both shining with perspiration and imagine I should be as well. Elsabeth, I feel quite detached. Am I flying?”

  Webber exchanged a concerned glance with Elsabeth, who knelt and took Rosamund’s hand beneath the heaps of fur that swathed her. “No, but you are not well. Peters is fetching egg mash and tea; that will help you to feel more at one with yourself.”

  “Oh, that sounds lovely. How kind he is. How kind everyone is! Mr Webber, I am terribly sorry for having caused so much trouble. I had no notion I felt so poorly. Although I am not certain that I feel poorly at all. I feel quite as though I could fly.” Rosamund unwound herself from the furs, her wrist turning gracefully and leading her arm upward like a feather caught in the wind, and rose with it until she sat upright and reached toward the ceiling. “It is the most delightful feeling, Elsabeth. You must try it. I should like to fly, I think. I
should fly up to the cornices and inspect them for dust! Not that I would ever find dust in such a fine house as Mr Webber’s, or report upon it if I did. That would surely be the height of rudeness. Am I talking nonsense, Elsabeth? I feel as though I may be talking nonsense.”

  “I think you are feverish,” Elsabeth replied uncertainly. “Do not worry. The doctor will be here soon.”

  Rosamund allowed her hand to drop and turned to Elsabeth with eyes enlarged by surprise. “The doctor? But I thought you said Peters would be here with egg mash! Elsabeth, is Peters a doctor? Mr Webber, I did not know you kept a doctor as your butler! How extraordinary! How could a man of such learning come to be one of the serving class? Where is Peters? I should like to ask him directly.”

  Webber’s concern turned to alarm, a sentiment Elsabeth shared vigourously. “Peters is not the doctor, Rosamund. Peters will be here soon. So, too, will the doctor. They are separate, do you see?”

  “Oh, of course! What a relief, Elsabeth. How silly of me to imagine Peters could be the doctor. I have become as silly as Leopoldina. Oh, dear. Do not tell her I said such a dreadful thing, Elsa: promise me you will not.”

  “Of course I won’t. Here is Peters,” Elsabeth added with relief. “A few bites of egg mash will see you sorted, Rosa. Oh, and he has put butter in it; thank you, Peters, this will be splendid. Rosamund, here, let me feed you a bite.”

  Rosamund obediently parted her lips for a spoonful of egg mash, then swallowed it with an expression of uncertainty. “No. No, I do not believe this is right. This is heavy and I am quite light, Elsa. This will sit in my belly like a lump, and I do not wish to be a lump. Perhaps later I will try it, but now I prefer to fly.”

  “Give us a moment,” Webber instructed Peters. The butler departed, promising again to bring the doctor as soon as he arrived. Elsa, feeling close to tears, pled with Rosamund to eat a little more, but Rosamund refused to even speak, instead pressing her lips together and shaking her head like a child afraid someone would slip a bite into her mouth if she did not stand fast against it.

  The doctor arrived before she could be convinced to try another bite, and shooed both Elsabeth and Webber to the far side of the room. Elsa refused to go farther, and Webber could not in conscience leave her, so together they huddled, watching the doctor check Rosa’s pulse, her eyes, her tongue after assuring her he had no interest in forcing her to eat, and straining to hear as he carried on a long and quiet conversation with her. In the end, she accepted a small phial of drink from him, and almost at once sank into a boneless sleep.

  Only then did the doctor approach Elsabeth and Webber with the practical air of a man confident in his abilities. “You are the patient’s sister? I must ask you a question that you won’t like to answer.”

  “If it concerns my sister’s health, there is nothing I will not tell you.”

  “You may prefer for this gentleman to not participate in the conversation.”

  “I am the lady’s affianced,” Webber said with such determination that Elsabeth looked at him and he blushed.

  “Then it most certainly affects you as well. Miss—”

  “Elsabeth Dover.”

  “Miss Elsabeth, let me be plain. Is your sister afflicted with magical ability?”

  Elsabeth’s lips parted, then sealed again as she looked a second time at Webber. She had made her secret known, and it was accepted that a family touched by magic was tainted with it through and through. Still, to confess it aloud before the man who had just claimed himself affianced to Rosamund—

  “It will make no difference to me,” Webber said softly. “Surely, I already know the answer.”

  “As do I,” the doctor said as bluntly as before. “I was a battlefield doctor for many years, and I certainly know when magic has been stoppered up. She must use it, Miss Elsabeth, or it will kill her.”

  For the second time, Elsabeth’s knees weakened, and this time, without Webber’s intervention, she would have fallen. He helped her to a nearby chair, where Elsa sat a moment before breathing deeply and nodding her preparedness. “Go on.”

  The doctor showed the kind of matter-of-fact sympathy that might be expected from a man who had seen battle, but did not soften his approach in any way. “Judging from her condition, I would say she has never been much accustomed to exerting her power and that she has not used it at all in the past six-month or more. Magic is an unforgiving gift, Miss Elsabeth. If it is not released, it builds, and then it begins to sicken the blood. She will have seemed feverish these past two months, although eating and sleeping well, yes? That is the first sign of poisoning. The next is what she is undergoing now, a physical collapse and outlandish impulses. It takes each magician differently—has she a natural talent?”

  “Ice,” Elsabeth whispered, thinking of the incident that had driven the Dovers from London in her youngest years. “She could make ice, even as a child, although...I cannot recall the last time she indulged in it.”

  “Had she, this feverish desire for flight would never have materialised. It is not uncommon; it seems that we earth-bound creatures are endlessly captivated with the thought of flight, and when sorcery goes unused, it very often unconsciously manifests itself as the power to fly. Miss Elsabeth, you need to understand me: if she doesn’t use her magic, she will one day soon find herself in flight, and will be in paroxsyms of delight until the moment that the power she has neglected burns itself out and she falls to her death.”

  “This is common?” Webber asked in horror. “How can it not be generally known?”

  The doctor’s affectation of sympathy slid toward disdain. “Because magic isn’t accepted in the upper classes, sir. The more appalling families would prefer their afflicted children to die rather than face the embarrassment of having a magician in the family. The less appalling find some way to keep their talents quiet—perhaps by retiring to the country, or emigrating to America—but they have no resources to tell them of the danger repressing their magic can put them in. You seem robust, Miss Elsabeth; either you’re not talented or you’re more inclined to use your magic. Whichever it is, if anyone else in your family shares the power, you must inform them of what I’ve told you, for their own sakes.”

  “But Rosamund,” Elsa whispered. “Will she recover?”

  “If I were you, the moment she awakens—and she will in a few hours; I’ve given her a dose of laudanum to keep her from flying away—I would put her to work making ice sculptures. She has a great deal of magic that needs to be burned up before she’s out of danger, but if she’ll embrace her talent instead of denying it, then yes, she ought to recover.”

  “Then I will set the drapes on fire to force her to it, if necessary.”

  The doctor laughed. “An unusual display of sororal affection. Please call on me again if you require my services, but for now, I’ll show myself out. Good night.” He departed with the same brisk efficiency he had shown throughout his visit, leaving Webber to fall into a chair and exchange a long and weary look with Elsabeth.

  “What shall we tell people?” he asked after some time. “It cannot be consumption, or she would not be expected to recover; it cannot be magic until after we are married, or my sisters will never allow the union.”

  “A fever,” Elsabeth said slowly. “Nothing more or less. Mr Webber, your intentions...?”

  “I intend to marry her,” Webber replied with soft ferocity. “I was a fool and allowed myself to be swayed on the topic once before, and now I have come dreadfully close to losing her forever. If your sister will have me, Miss Elsabeth, I will marry her, and damn the consequences.”

  (44)

  Some little while later, Elsabeth, smiling with both relief and anticipated joy on Rosamund’s behalf, left the parlour to find an agitated gathering all but pressed to its door. Archers, Derrington, Penneys, Webbers, and Entons alike had not taken themselves to the sensible location of another sitting room, but instead milled in concern around the hallway, partaking in brandy and pies as they
waited for news. Almost as one, they descended upon Elsabeth, their questions clamouring against the ceiling and walls, until she was forced to raise her hands and bring the sound down.

  “Rosamund will recover,” she announced happily. “It has been a very bad fever, and she will need time with little interference in which to heal, but she will recover. She’s sleeping now, and will, I think, until morning, at which time she will begin the regime set out by the doctor. I must thank you all, all, for your assistance tonight; I do not know what I would have done without you. And I am very sorry for the disruption to your evening.”

  “Where is my brother?” enquired Miss Webber.

  Elsabeth glanced behind herself at the parlour. “We did not think Rosamund should be left alone; he is within, and Peters has joined them. I will take his place and send him out at once. I only wanted to express my gratitude before returning to Rosa’s side.”

  “Is she well enough that I may sit with you?” Sophia asked. “I cannot bear to leave you alone if you might have company. Rosamund is as much a sister to me as you, Elsa, and I wish to do something.”

  “I would be so glad of your company,” Elsabeth confessed, and in a little time, Webber was without and Sophia, Elsabeth and the sleeping Rosamund within. Under the crackle of the fire, Elsabeth confessed what had truly transpired to the one soul whom she could, and was met with genuine distress on Sophia’s part.

  “But, Ruth!” was her first concern, and then, with usual insight, “No wonder you and Dina are the strongest of the sisters. You are discreet but inclined to dabble, and Dina...”

  “Is Dina,” Elsabeth agreed ruefully. “Do not worry about Ruth; she is proving more than able to care for herself in all ways necessary. Oh, Sophia, I am weary, and yet I dare not leave Rosamund.”

  “I will have the fires in my own room stoked, and you and she can sleep there.”