“We rescued each other,” Edward protested.
“Drina rescued you, and you know it,” Eleanor said in her most withering tone.
“Rescued by a princess!” Arthur said, envy in every syllable. “You lucky devil!”
“That will do,” I informed them. “Back to the nursery with you. At once!”
Most reluctantly, the sprigs from our family tree withdrew themselves. I might have felt a twinge of pity at their manifest reluctance if I hadn’t known perfectly well they would be scrying us the moment they returned to the nursery.
Colonel Winters folded his piece of paper away with a distinct air of relief. “I will summon the magicians. Thomas, I do beg your pardon.”
“Don’t be silly, Reggie.” Thomas clapped Colonel Winters on the shoulder. “You were only doing your duty. And I don’t envy you your orders, if you had to carry them out under these circumstances.” Thomas glanced meaningfully at Drina’s mother.
“She would come,” said Colonel Winters glumly. “Mr. and Mrs. Wrexton were firm in your defense, but she insisted.”
Drina’s mother, or perhaps I should say Her Grace, the Duchess of Kent, had gone back to embracing her daughter and comparing notes with her. “Indeed, when you were stolen from me, Mr. Conroy ordered me to pretend his daughter Victoria was the true princess.”
Drina’s disdain was beyond words. Her mother nodded in agreement. “Just so. She was enchanted to resemble you, but manners maketh man, and manners maketh princess, too. The king’s request that you and I join him in Cheltenham ruined the scheme, even though he had only met you once and long ago. Victoria Conroy could not fool him for an instant, the ill-bred chit.”
Drina’s eyes shone. “Mr. Conroy must be tried for treason, for indeed, he did most maliciously will bodily harm to be done to one of the king’s heirs apparent.”
I noted that Thomas was now regarding Drina with considerable respect. Clearly she found no difficulty in quoting verbatim the words of Colonel Winters’s writ for Thomas’s arrest.
Thomas said, “Wrexton? Between the pair of us, you and I may be able to turn the trick with Mr. Scarlet, but I don’t object to help from the military now that Reggie has offered it. Do you?”
“Indeed not.” Mr. Wrexton turned to me. “May we entrust the Duchess of Kent and her daughter to your further hospitality? I fear this interrogation may not be fit for ladies to witness.”
Aunt Elizabeth gave her husband a distinctly old-fashioned look. “Then I doubt it a fit matter for gentlemen, either, but I think we will muddle through somehow.”
Colonel Winters signaled for his magicians, and I led Drina and her mother back indoors, all the while wondering what on earth we were going to feed everyone. I would back our cook against the army any day, but heirs apparent are another matter entirely.
Thomas, Mr. Wrexton, and every wizard detailed to Colonel Winters’s command are downstairs even now. For what feels like the hundredth time, I sign off with the same promise: I shall write the moment Mr. Scarlet gives me news to relate.
Sincerely,
Kate
18 May 1828
Haliwar Tower
Dearest Kate,
You will no doubt be astonished by the superscription. You will be even more astonished—and pleased—to learn that not only will we be coming to Skeynes shortly to retrieve our offspring, but you will also be spared a visit from Aunt Charlotte. I am only sorry that I cannot add the news that you will soon be rid of Georgy as well. I cannot say, as yet, precisely when we can leave, as we have a good many papers to go over before the magicians of the Royal College arrive, but rest assured, we shall come the very minute they do. I expect to write in a few days with more exact details.
I am sure you are eager to know how all this has come about. It is, in a way, Aunt Charlotte’s doing, though she did not intend any of it in the least. She has declared herself so shaken by recent events that she proposes to leave at once for Bath to take the waters and to repair her shattered nerves.
Yesterday we followed Aunt Charlotte to Stockton. We arrived quite late in the afternoon, so there was not much time to ask after her. Nonetheless, James inquired at several inns, to no effect.
We discovered the reason this morning, when Walker had the happy idea of asking the stableman about hired carriages and recent arrivals. Aunt Charlotte had, it seems, arrived two days before in a hired coach and driven straight to the home of one of her acquaintances, a Mrs. Pentworthy. (I had no notion that Aunt Charlotte had any acquaintances in so unfashionable a place as Stockton, but I cannot say that I am astonished. If there is one thing for which Aunt Charlotte has a positive gift, it is collecting acquaintances. I said as much to James, who remarked that the reason Aunt Charlotte has a multitude of acquaintances is that as soon as they begin to know her well enough to become friends, they find some excuse to cut the connection. I am afraid that dear James is still extremely put out with Aunt Charlotte.)
At Mrs. Pentworthy’s home, Aunt Charlotte bullied her way into a night’s lodging and then had a terrific argument with the coachman over the agreed-upon hire. So put out was the coachman by this penny-pinching behavior that he flatly refused to remain, and returned to Leeds. Aunt Charlotte had spent the next day visiting every coach-for-hire in town, but after the way she treated the man from Leeds, none of them would take her up without receiving payment in advance. This she refused to do, and returned to her friend’s lodgings last night in high dudgeon.
We set off at once in the expectation of finding her still at Mrs. Pentworthy’s home. When we arrived, we discovered it was no such thing.
“Oh, she’ll be so distressed that you didn’t come before she left,” Mrs. Pentworthy told James when he explained whom we had come to see. “Not that she wasn’t terribly distressed already, poor thing. Some family matter, I take it.” She looked at James and me with a bright, birdlike inquisitiveness, as if she hoped we would drop a few more crumbs of information for her to snap up.
As I had been quite expecting any crony of Aunt Charlotte’s to be as fond of gossip as she, I ignored her hints and said, “She has gone out, then?”
“On some urgent errand,” Mrs. Pentworthy said, nodding. “I loaned her my coach and driver.”
I saw a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes and knew at once how it was. However closemouthed Aunt Charlotte had been about her business, the coachman must learn her destination, at the least, and might well overhear something of even more interest. Whatever he discovered, Mrs. Pentworthy would learn in good time once he returned.
“When do you expect her return?” James asked.
“Oh, not before evening,” Mrs. Pentworthy assured us. “I heard her tell the coachman she wished to visit Haliwar Tower, and that is a good way up the river.”
“Thank you for your kindness,” I told her. She pressed us to stay, but James invented a business engagement and extracted us before she could tie us down with teacups and conversation.
Once we were safely away, James’s expression turned grim. “Cecelia, I do not wish to say anything invidious about your aunt, but—”
“It is quite all right,” I assured him. “You cannot say anything that I have not said myself already at least a dozen times.”
James snorted. “I believe I could manage one or two things.”
“Well, perhaps, if you use the sort of vulgar language that is permitted to gentlemen but not to ladies,” I allowed. “But I think that is taking unfair advantage.”
He laughed, as I meant him to, and I went on, “I have been thinking, James, and really, this is the best thing that could have happened.”
James looked at me as if I had run mad. “It is?”
“Yes, for it gives us just the excuse we need to visit Haliwar Tower again without arousing suspicion,” I said. “Aunt Charlotte is sure to arrive before us, and if she is not in a passion when she gets there, I am sure the Webbs will put her into one very shortly And after a few minutes spent dealing with Aunt Cha
rlotte in a passion, they will not be at all surprised that we came to fetch her away.”
“What a wonderful idea,” James said in the tones of someone who thinks it quite the opposite. “So instead of the Webbs dealing with your aunt, you wish us to do so? How will that help? We’ll have our hands full of your aunt on this visit, and the Webbs aren’t likely to allow us another.”
“You haven’t seen Aunt Charlotte in one of her tremendous takings,” I said. “I think it quite likely that she will work herself into a sick headache by the time she is calmed down. I am sure she will need to lie quietly for a little before she is composed enough to make the return journey. In fact, I shall insist upon it.”
“What about the transformation spell?” James asked. “Haliwar is built around a stone circle, and I have no desire to watch you turn into a terrier.”
I noticed that he said nothing about Aunt Charlotte, who is certainly as much of a magician as I am, but I chose not to remark on it. Instead, I said, “Nothing happened the last time we were there, and the Webbs live in the tower. If they are the ones who have been using the ley lines—and I don’t see who else it could be—they must have a protective spell on the tower to keep the transformation from affecting wizards. If you insist, though, I will find some excuse to ask for a room in one of the wings.”
“I see,” James said. “I shall leave it in your capable hands.”
We set off for Haliwar without delay and made good time on the road. I spent most of the trip casting every magical ward and protection spell I could remember on James and me, just in case. The last spell, just before we arrived at the tower, was the advanced ley-line detection spell that Mr. Skelly had demonstrated just before he was turned into a terrier. I confess to being motivated primarily by curiosity, rather than forethought. The last time we were at Haliwar, my ley-detecting spells went fuzzy and blurred the moment I passed into the courtyard, and I wanted to see if Mr. Skelly’s spell would be likewise affected.
It was, but this time I could see why. When we drove through the gate into the courtyard of Haliwar Tower, I felt the ley line spreading out, like a stream flowing into a pond. The whole courtyard was awash in ley power, much more strongly than it had been on our previous visit. The power spread out from Haliwar Tower to the outer wall, and the ley line poured in and mingled with it until I could not tell which was which.
I did not have much time for magical contemplation, however, as we were immediately confronted by the spectacle of Aunt Charlotte haranguing the Webbs. An old-fashioned brougham, which I took to be Mrs. Pentworthy’s coach, stood nearby. Its coachman made no pretense of indifference; indeed, it was a good thing his horses were placid cobs, so little attention did he pay them.
James and I descended from the coach, and James told our coachman loudly to walk the horses outside the gate, as we did not expect to be long. We could all hear quite easily what Aunt Charlotte was saying—“And I’ll have no more of this roundaboution! Where is my nephew-by-marriage? Where is His Grace?”
“Gone off about his own business, I should think,” James said in a carrying voice.
Everyone turned in surprise; they had all been so caught up with Aunt Charlotte that they had not noticed our arrival. Aunt Charlotte paled, then reddened. Before she could start in on us, I said as affably as I could, “Dear Aunt Charlotte! Are you still searching for the Duke of Waltham? What a pity your letters missed us. We might have saved you a good deal of time and effort.”
Aunt Charlotte’s eyes narrowed. “You know where he is?”
“No,” I replied, “but we were here when he took himself off, and I do assure you, Aunt, that the Webbs know no more than we of his current whereabouts.”
An expression of consternation crossed Aunt Charlotte’s face, but she rallied quickly. “And how is it that you are so certain of that?” she demanded.
I smiled sweetly. “We were here when he left. Did you not know? The Webbs were kind enough to invite us all to a house party.”
“And you came?” Aunt Charlotte’s tone of horror drew a frown from James, but she went on, oblivious. “At this time of year? To an obscure manor house in the north country to visit a pair of … of … .” Words failed her, or perhaps some remnant of good behavior held her back (though I admit that with Aunt Charlotte, this is altogether unlikely), and she flapped a hand in the direction of the Webbs.
“Do forgive Aunt Charlotte,” I said even more sweetly to the Webbs. “She is very excitable, and I fear that she is inclined to be old-fashioned in her notions.”
“Old-fashioned?” Aunt Charlotte was nearly incoherent with rage, but at least now she was raging at me, rather than at the Webbs. Mr. Webb looked slightly stunned; I think he had not yet adjusted to the turn of events. His sister was more awake on that head. She was watching me closely, as if trying to fathom what I was about.
Abruptly, Aunt Charlotte stopped. With visible effort, she pulled herself together. In a voice still shaking with suppressed anger, she said, “I despair of you, Cecelia. To forgo the Season is bad enough, but to bury yourself in the north, in places that are not even watering holes, is foolish beyond measure. Especially when your behavior is so outlandish! Do not think the news of it will not reach London. You will not keep your position in Society long if you associate with Cits and foreigners in such free and easy fashion!”
“Aunt Charlotte—,” I said, but by this time she was impossible to stop.
“I have heard all about it!” she raged. “Riding those infernal machines and poking into heathen ruins; taking strange dogs and foreign men into your very household! If James were not with you, you would be ruined, married or not!”
“But James has been with me,” I said calmly. “You are seriously overset, Aunt Charlotte, or you would think better of what you are saying.”
“Perhaps your aunt would like to lie down in a quiet chamber for a little?” Adella Webb suggested, a little too smoothly.
“Adella!” Her brother’s horrified whisper carried much farther than he intended. She gave him a look that I could not interpret and made a little gesture, and his eyes widened. Then he nodded and said, “Yes, er, if you would like to rest a little, Miss Rushton, I am sure—”
“I do not require rest!” Aunt Charlotte screeched. “I require my nephew-by-marriage the Duke of Waltham!”
“He isn’t here, Aunt,” I said firmly. “He hasn’t been here for weeks. When you have had a chance to rest, you will—”
I stopped in midsentence. The pool of ley energy in the courtyard, which had been calm and still, was stirring. In the distance, I heard the long whistle of the steam engine.
Aunt Charlotte had started complaining again, which effectively covered my lapse in speech. I looked around. The stirring became an eddy, then a whirlpool, and I realized it was centered on Mr. Webb. “James!” I shrieked, not altogether coherently. “Stop him!”
Fortunately, James knows quite well when to act first and ask questions later. He saw where I was looking, took three steps forward, and milled Mr. Ramsey Webb down.
The swirling ley energy paused. Aunt Charlotte cried out, just as if she had never before seen one gentleman strike another (I stretch the point slightly, I admit; it is not, perhaps, strictly correct to refer to my brother Oliver and his friends as “gentlemen.” But then, I do not think it is strictly correct to apply the term to Ramsey Webb, either).
“Idiot!” snarled Adella Webb. I could not readily tell whom she was addressing—James or her brother. She made a gesture, and the swirl of ley energy shifted and recentered itself on her. It began spinning once more, pulling away from the courtyard walls into a tight funnel that surrounded her and her alone.
Mr. Webb regained his feet and lunged at James. Aunt Charlotte shrieked again, in counterpoint with the approaching whistle of the train. “Aunt Charlotte, ward yourself! “I shouted, and activated every warding spell I had cast on James and me.
I was barely in time. The ley energy swept out from Adella Webb a
nd nearly knocked me off my feet. It did knock James off his (or perhaps it was Mr. Webb’s lucky punch). I staggered. Adella threw open the main door of Haliwar Tower. “Inside!” she cried to her brother.
I thought she meant the pair of them to dodge inside and bar the door, and I scrambled to my feet in hopes of preventing them. As I did, Ramsey Webb grabbed James’s coat and swung him through the open door. Or at least, that is what he tried to do. James is not a small man, and Mr. Webb is neither oversized nor well-muscled. If James had been properly on his feet, I do not think Mr. Webb could have budged him. As it was, James lurched toward the door but caught himself on the threshold.
Adella Webb made an angry, exasperated noise and plunged forward. She rammed into James, shoving him through the doorway and into the tower—and her momentum carried her inside along with him.
For a long instant, nothing seemed to happen. Then I felt the ley energy shift—and Adella Webb shrank in on herself. A moment later, a pug dog stood where she had been.
“Adella!” Ramsey Webb cried in horror. As he lunged forward, the ley energy shifted again—and began to stretch away from the entrance to the courtyard. I knew what that must mean: The steam engine that pulled the coal train had reached the ley line, and was towing it along the railway as it passed.
Ramsey Webb seemed unaware of the shift in the ley energy. He ran toward the tower, pulling at the power as he went. I think he was trying to restore the spell that had protected everyone inside from the transformation spell, but perhaps he was trying to restore his sister directly.
The ley energy stretched, and stretched further, as the steam engine pulled on one end and Ramsey Webb pulled on the other. And then, just as he reached the doorway, the ley line snapped like a child’s bootlace that has been drawn too tightly.
“Snapped” is of course not entirely accurate when one is speaking of a river of magical power, but it is as near as I can come. Magic surged into the courtyard as what was left of that end of overstretched ley line pulled back. It surged through Ramsey Webb and into Haliwar Tower, and then back out again. The tower shook, as it had during that last night James and I spent there, and slowly began to collapse.
The Mislaid Magician Page 22
