by CE Murphy
Elsabeth, smiling, glanced at the mighty hearth in the library below. It was summer and she the only occupant of the library, so of course the fire was not lit. She thought that a pity: it would certainly burn the same wood, or very similar, to that which might be lit elsewhere in the manor. She turned a few pages back, reading a second time the manner of stretching her senses to discover whether other fires burned nearby, and felt the real heat of the kitchen fires almost overwhelming a smaller point of comfortable flame in a sitting room. Miss Archer and the Penneys would be there, perhaps; Elsa herself should give up her studies and go to see them, as she was unconscionably rude to have remained with the books for so long.
Instead, she allowed her eyes to close, and, imagining her relatives in the comfort of the Streyfield sitting room, thought she could indeed see them, cast in golden light from the fire. Mrs Penney sat beside Miss Archer, their hands entwined and Miss Archer alight with laughter over something; Mr Penney sat across from them with the benevolent expression of a fond father. Elsabeth felt a pang that they had no children of their own, but held on to the sweet image a moment longer. Miss Archer, laughter ending, glanced toward the fire, and all her pleasure turned to perfect surprise as a footstep fell on the library balcony.
Elsabeth, surrounded by rings of floating flames, shook off her reverie to look up into Mr Archer’s astonished face.
(50)
Elsabeth cried out in surprise and released the magic holding the light; in an instant, the library was impossibly dark, with the starlit windows only gradually achieving a grey relief against the blackness. Mr Archer was not so much as a shadow, the books which surrounded Elsabeth less even than that, and infinitely more precious. She dared not move for fear of knocking one aside and damaging it, and could not think what to say.
Mr Archer, so often unable to converse, proved quite able to in this instance; he spoke in a precisely controlled voice that seemed quite doom-ridden in the darkness. “There will be a moon tonight, but it has not yet risen, and I should hate for either of us to plunge from this balcony onto the marble three floors below. Miss Elsabeth, if you could restore the light...?”
“Yes, of course.” Elsabeth’s own voice, and her returning flame, both trembled, and she rose from her seat with a mixture of embarrassment and guilt. “Forgive me. I was startled, and I am not accustomed to maintaining such a magic in company. I...had no notion you were here, Mr Archer. I would not have stayed and risked offering you such discomfort if I had.”
“I have only just returned. Just this moment, in fact; I saw the lights in the library when I rode up, and came here straightaway, imagining I might find Persephone here.” Indeed, Elsabeth now saw that he wore riding clothes, and that his usually polished demeanour was somewhat dishevelled. Nor was her own much better, wrinkled and dirty-fingered as she was from settling in a corner and perusing ancient tomes. She saw Mr Archer observe her own status and imagined the corner of his mouth turned up in amusement as he continued: “Perhaps you will forgive me for my tone a moment earlier. I must confess to a...particular dislike...of heights; I have never been especially comfortable on this level of the library, and to find myself both at a height and in the dark...”
Elsabeth said, “Oh,” faintly, and then her amusement caught up to Archer’s. “Oh. I had rather assumed it was my blatant display of magic that had earned your censure. It is one thing, perhaps, to encourage its use to save a life, and another to find your library alight with it.”
Archer allowed himself the slow exhalation of a breath before speaking, and when he did, it was as a man engaged in idle and interesting conversation, rather than one at an ungainly height discussing a topic widely considered beyond the pale. “Indeed, those two purposes are very unalike, but its use for the one purpose has perhaps softened me to its possibilities in other areas. One disapproves of magic because that is what one does, and I confess my personal reasons for doing so may be twofold. Firstly, it is easy to disdain when one’s only experience with the art is through one such as David Hartnell. He did little enough with the gift that I knew him to have,” Archer said dismissively, “but knowing what manner of man he is, it was easy to imagine that all persons who commanded magic were equally reprobates; that is certainly the common view. But I have come to realise that magicians must be like any other men, or any other women: some must be good, and some bad. Certainly, Mrs Webber cannot be thought of as anything other than good, and you may be vexing, but there is no evil in you. So, I fear that, in the end, I find your lighting of the library intriguing rather than censorious.”
Could she douse the airborne flames without alarming her host, Elsabeth would have done so instantly to hide her astonishment. To hear Archer speak cautious approval of using magic lay beyond the bounds of expectation, and she struggled to enquire, “And the second reason, Mr Archer?”
The corner of Archer’s mouth twisted, almost enough to be imagined a smile. “My English heritage is quite beyond reproach, but I am of a quarter African blood. No one can doubt that magic is practiced in all reaches of Africa, as it is in the Americas and India and, I suppose, even in the Orient. My ancestors were not practitioners of any arcane arts, so far as I know, but my bloodlines are exotic enough to some that I should come under suspicion if I appeared in any way to condone that which is widely condemned. I have no wish to be pressed into service, and that is the most amiable end that a man of magic might reach.”
To this, Elsabeth could make no response; it was only the practise of manners that kept her from gaping at Archer’s confession. She was too accustomed to magic being mistrusted for its own sake; it had not occurred to her that Archer might have such deeply personal reasons for avoiding those who practiced it. Her silence drew out until Archer, convinced she would not speak, continued, “You have met my sister, then, I must assume? Or have you in some secret way learnt of our sorcerous library and slipped into Streyfield all unseen to study? What are you doing here, Miss Elsabeth? Forgive me,” he said again almost instantly. “It is Miss Dover now.”
“It is of no consequence,” Elsabeth replied faintly. “I am long accustomed to being Miss Elsabeth. I am touring with my aunt and uncle, and we happened upon Streyfield, and then your sister, and...I am afraid we have been pressed into staying overnight, sir. I assure you that we will vacate the premises at the earliest possible hour tomorrow; we do not mean to intrude. But,” Elsabeth could not help but add, despite fearing she sounded as petulant as Leopoldina could, “you were not expected back for a day or two yet.”
“My business concluded early, and I had the thought of surprising Persephone. I might have been wiser to stay over in a town when darkness fell, but the night was fine and I was not so very far from Streyfield; I could not resist riding home, although I left my coachman in comfortable surrounds for the night, and will expect him around mid-morning. My untimely and unwelcome arrival could not possibly force you to return to a common house for the sin of accepting Persephone’s invitation, nor put you to the trouble of going back and forth. You must stay, Miss... Dover. I should like to meet your aunt and uncle, and perhaps hear a little of what you are doing here.” This last word was accompanied by a gesture that indicated Elsabeth’s being in the library and the books she had removed for study, rather than her general presence at Streyfield. “Perhaps I might offer you assistance in carrying them to the tables below, so they will be convenient for you in the morning?”
This could not, Elsabeth concluded, be the same gentleman she was acquainted with. Her Mr Archer would regard the imposition of her family—her family, of all people!—to be an impossible burden; he could not sound so genuinely glad at the prospect of meeting them. Nothing in her experience of him suggested a willingness to be of use, much less of use in a scenario that would inconvenience him, and given his confession regarding heights, carrying awkwardly large books from the third floor of a library down a winding staircase could be nothing but an inconvenience. Nor could she imagine that he might willing
ly have her stay on to study; there was nothing for it than to think him a changeling, and Elsabeth glanced at the books around her with a wry curiosity as to whether one of them might have a spell to accomplish such a change of personality. Her grasp of magic did not allow for glamours or swaying of men’s minds, but she knew now her grasp of magic was so limited as to be nonexistent, and there were depths to be plumbed in the Streyfield library
Without knowing it, she had made up her mind, and spoke without guile: “I will allow you to help me, Mr Archer, if you would not object to me providing a certain fullness of light; those stairs are, I believe, tricky enough even if one has a head for heights and lacks an armful of books. As for staying on, perhaps that is a topic that should be broached later, with my Uncle Penney.”
“I cannot imagine that he does not bow to your rule,” Archer replied, but nodded acquiescence. “I would be grateful for the light, Miss Dover.” He did not crouch to collect books, though, until Elsabeth, lip caught between her teeth in concentration, extended her hands to send the fiery glow surrounding them into the æther. Flickers of flame lined the walkways and followed the curve of the stair banister down, until it seemed the whole of the library was lit by a central column of flame. Its light was both generous and soft, and Archer, curious beyond caution, cupped his palms beneath the nearest dart of fire. “There is no smoke. Miss Dover, I believe if Society properly understood certain aspects of magic, you should be eternally in demand at balls. Imagine enough light to see one another clearly in all corners of the room, without the heaviness of candle smoke or the threat of wax drippings.”
“I assure you I am not studying in order to become the lighting fixture at a soirée, Mr Archer.”
Archer chuckled and released the flame he held. “Of course not. It was a preposterous thought, and not worthy of you.” He crouched then and collected more books than Elsabeth could have carried in two journeys, leaving her able to collect a few extras that had thus far remained on the shelves.
Within a few minutes, they were arranged on several of the tables, and Archer held a look of satisfaction that turned to fresh amusement when he noticed a serving tray with cold tea and untouched scones. “Miss Dover, do not tell me you have denied Cook the opportunity to feed you. You will break the woman’s heart, and she will in turn break our teeth on hardtack in the morning.”
“I had a very fine luncheon with your sister,” Elsabeth protested, although, upon the reminder, she could not help but recall that the luncheon had been many, many hours earlier, and that she had partaken of nothing since. Indeed, a headache awakened at the realisation, and, without consideration, she stepped forward to warm the teapot in both hands and pour herself a cup.
“Would you like some?”
Mr Archer, with an air of caution, accepted, sipped, and expressed surprise. “I would not have thought it would be so good reheated.”
“There is rarely a cold teapot at Oakden,” Elsabeth admitted. “One becomes accustomed to strongly brewed tea, as it is often left to sit rather than made anew.”
“I cannot help but think that yours is a more extraordinary family than I was once inclined to give them credit for,” Mr Archer began, but before he could go further, a familiar voice cried out, “No, I am certain I saw her; it is not a fit of madness, but magic, I am sure of it!” and Miss Persephone Archer burst into the library with Mrs and Mr Penney in her wake. “Miss Elsabeth!” cried Persephone, “did I not just see you within the fi—Gerry!”
In an instant, Persephone had flown across the room to be caught in Mr Archer’s arms; the Penneys, entering at a more subdued pace, stopped just within the door to gaze in astonishment from the Archers to the staircase-column of flame to Elsabeth, and then between each of those three things with no especial ability to fixate on any one of them. “Gerry,” cried Miss Archer again, merrily this time, “what are you doing here? You are early! And you have found Miss Elsabeth! I have shown her the books, Gerry; was that right of me? Say it was right of me. It was right of me! Look what she has done; would it not be splendid to see every room so lit? And did I not see you in the sitting-room fireplace, Elsabeth? I know that I did!”
Elsabeth, thinking of the gold-cast realism that she had envisioned the sitting room with, replied, “I did not mean for you to, but I think it possible that you did. But no, you could not have: to scry with æther fire to ordinary fire is of the utmost difficulty, and only the rarest of Prometheans might do so.”
“You cannot think you are other than the rarest and best of all possible creatures!” Persephone said warmly. “I have no doubt that you are a Promethean of first order, and I will not be told that I did not see you. Oh, Gerry, these are the Penneys, Miss Elsabeth’s dear aunt and uncle. I have insisted they stay; you must not cast them out.”
“Even if I was of a mind to, and I am not, I could never go against your express wishes,” Archer assured his sister, whose skin was not so dark that she could not blush prettily even in the fire-light, and who declared herself satisfied as the Penneys were re-introduced to Archer, who assured them that he did, of course, recall their first meeting the night Rosamund had fallen ill.
“Your library has taught Elsabeth this trick?” Mrs Penney wondered to Mr Archer, who could no more contain an expression of satisfaction than could Persephone. He conceded that it had, and spoke briefly of the library’s varying collections, the jewel of which could be considered the very volumes Elsabeth had taken from the shelves.
“Jewel,” Elsabeth could not help but echo. “You have said you are only just becoming acquainted with the idea that magic might be less distasteful than you thought, Mr Archer; how might this collection be the jewel, then?”
“It was in my grandfather Archer’s eyes,” Archer replied, “and there are many who regard the rare or exotic in their collections as jewels, even if they themselves are not inherently taken with those things.”
As they spoke, Mrs Penney, admiringly, opened the nearest book to examine its pages, and, after a moment, laughed. “How to transform grain to bread without grinding; how to take the taint from spoilt meat. Have I happened upon a grimoire or a cookery book, Mr Archer? Though I must say if these are matters which magic might address, surely we might be better off pursuing them rather than the making of war.”
She concluded this observation into a perfect silence, and looked up with some surprise. Mr Penney smiled fondly at her, as he often did, but astonishment was writ large upon the faces of the other three, and none more so than on Elsabeth’s, who asked, “You can read that, Aunt Felicity?”
Taken somewhat aback, Mrs Penney glanced from each of the startled trio back to the book before fixating on Elsabeth again. “Of course. Should I be unable to?”
“Neither Persephone nor myself can,” Archer replied. “Forgive me, Mrs Penney, but were you once Miss Dover?”
“I was,” began Mrs Penney, and Elsabeth could not help crying out, “You do have the gift, Aunt Felicity! These books are ensorcelled, only to be read by those who might use them! Perhaps your natural talent is subtle, but it can be quickened through study! Aunt Felicity, you shall have your wish at last!”
Mrs Penney folded her hands before her stomach and smiled briefly at Elsabeth. “I fear it is far too late for that, Elsabeth, but...could she be right, Mr Archer? Might I have the ability to learn magic?” No sooner than the words passed her lips did she move her hands to cover her mouth, though more confusion than guilt crossed her features. “To speak so openly and easily of such a thing...forgive me; it is beyond my experience or imagination, even if...”
As one, they looked to Elsabeth’s column of flame, still gently lighting and warming the library. “It is beyond all of us,” Archer said thoughtfully, “but we may verge on extraordinary times. Do not look to me to verify what your niece has said, Mrs Penney; I think we all know that she does not require a man to confirm her certainty in her knowledge, and if she had not the knowledge before arriving at Streyfield, she has gained it fro
m my sister, not myself.”
“What Mr Archer means to say,” Elsabeth said with dry amusement, “is that I am right, and if you can read those words, Aunt, you can learn to harness your natural talent. Uncle Robert, if you would open a book and try to read...?”
Mr Penney paused with his fingertips above the nearest book. “I should like to see your face, Elsabeth, if it proves I can read the words within. I wonder which of us it would surprise more, or if it would merely disprove your thesis.”
“I believe I would feel very left out,” Persephone announced. “To be so surrounded by sorcery and unable to read, much less work, a lick of it myself; that should be quite sad.”
“Society would disagree,” Mr Penney replied, and opened the book at hand. He turned a page, then several, and finally to the end of the book before chuckling. “Spider-crawls, nothing more. Twisting shapes that look no more like written language to me than a child’s scribbles might. And yet you can read them, Elsabeth? And you, Mrs Penney? How curious.” He closed that book and investigated another, chuckling again as he drew Mrs Penney closer and requested that she tease words out of the tangled web he saw.
She read a few words, then paused. “This is a spell, Mr Penney, and it requires no components save the voice and will of the caster. I think perhaps I should not continue.”
“Why? What will it do?”
“Cause every hen within a mile to produce an egg by morning.” Mrs Penney closed the book firmly, though interest lit a fire in Elsabeth’s breast.
“What a useful spell that could be for Ruth! Think of how helpful it might be for her parishioners, particularly in winter months when food grows thin! I must have that spell, Aunt Felicity!”
“You shall have them all,” Mr Archer said with grave solemnity. “But, Miss Dover, I might suggest that you have been here—all day?” This was asked to the others, who nodded, and his attention returned to Elsabeth. “All day. And while I do not pretend to understand the source of your magic, I am certain it cannot go unfed, and thus neither should its practitioner. Mr Penney,” he said, now addressing that worthy, “I know my sister has pressed you to stay overnight and that Miss Dover would have you leave in the morning, the better to not disturb the unexpectedly returned master of the house. But, as that master, I should like very much for you to stay; the grounds are excellent for both hunting and fishing, so we might entertain ourselves while these remarkable ladies are given over to studies that I think not a ball could divert them from. Will you stay on a day or two, to satisfy myself, my sister and your female relations?”
