Sorcery & Cecelia

by Patricia C. Wrede

  And no more would she say.

  Please write to tell me the very instant you receive this letter. Your illness worries me very much.

  Love,

  Kate

  P.S. You will not attend Sir Hilary’s party now, of course, but I send with this letter a dress length of amber taffeta. It was ordered for me but the modiste never cut it out. I hope there is enough fabric to provide a dress for you, despite your greater height. Perhaps when all this is over, you will be able to wear it in happier circumstances.

  3 July 1817

  Rushton Manor, Essex

  Dearest Kate,

  I am so sorry that my last letter worried you; I did not intend that it should. It was very foolish of me to have added that last paragraph, but I was not thinking too clearly at the time.

  Thanks to Mr. Wrexton, I am quite well now, and very glad to know that my efforts with the chocolate pot were not ineffective. I am beginning to think it a pity that you have promised to jilt Thomas at the end of the Season; he appears to need someone around with more wit than he has. It is a good thing his Mother has returned. Between the two of you, you may be able to bring him to his senses.

  Also, I must thank you for the amber taffeta you sent with your letter. I am taking it to Mrs. Hobart this afternoon to choose some ribbons and have it made up for Sir Hilary’s party on Saturday. For I must tell you, Kate, that we will be going to it after all. The invitation card arrived this morning. This is not so unlikely as you may think, for Aunt Elizabeth has apologized to Sir Hilary for her behavior. It is exceedingly provoking of her, for she seems to think she has misjudged him, and while it is quite true that it was not Sir Hilary who was teaching me magic, it is also true that Sir Hilary has been doing things which are far worse.

  I had better explain how all this has come about. After I wrote you last Friday, Papa came up to my room to see me. Aunt Elizabeth had told him the whole story (as she knows it) of the incident at Sir Hilary’s, with particular emphasis on the wicked magic that Sir Hilary was supposedly teaching me. Papa had come to hear my side.

  I was feeling very tired, and was lying on the daybed in the satin dressing gown that Aunt Charlotte gave me last year (blue, of course, but the embroidery is so pretty that I do not care). Papa stopped short, frowning, when he saw me, and said anxiously, “Cecilia, are you unwell?”

  “I am not feeling quite the thing, Papa,” I admitted.

  “I came to find out what was behind the tale your aunt brought me,” he said, “but I can return some other time if you would rather not discuss it now.”

  “It is quite all right, Papa; I am only a little tired,” I said. I was more than just a little tired, but I had decided that I would much rather explain things to Papa then, no matter how much effort it took. I knew that if I let him leave, I would spend the rest of the day worrying about whether he was fretting, which would not have been at all restful.

  “Very well, if you are sure, Cecy.” Papa pulled one of the chairs over beside the daybed and sat down. He looked at me very gravely. “Your aunt says that you have been letting Sir Hilary Bedrick teach you magic, against her express wishes,” he said. “Is this true, Cecy?”

  “No, Papa,” I said. “At least—I have been learning magic, but not from Sir Hilary. And Aunt Elizabeth never actually said I was forbidden to do so. Though I must admit that I knew she would not like it,” I added conscientiously.

  “Elizabeth says you were carrying a book—,” Papa started, and he looked so sorrowful that I had to interrupt before he finished.

  “Epicyclical Elaborations of Sorcery by Everard Tanistry,” I said. “And it is a perfectly dreadful book, and I quite understand why she was upset, at least—How did Aunt Elizabeth know how horrid it was?”

  “What were you doing with it, Cecy?” Papa asked. His expression had gone very stiff when I said the name of the book, but he relaxed just a little as soon as I said that it was perfectly dreadful. “Who gave it to you?”

  “No one gave it to me, Papa,” I said. I raised my chin and looked at him. “I fooled Sir Hilary’s servants into sending it over along with some of the books you asked for last week. I had seen it in Sir Hilary’s library, and I wanted to look at it because—Papa, will you promise not to tell Aunt Elizabeth?”

  “Cecy—”

  “Please, Papa! She’ll write to Aunt Charlotte, and Kate will be in dreadful trouble, and she does not deserve it.”

  “I see. Very well, Cecelia, I will not tell your aunt—either of your aunts—why you wanted to look at that particular book.”

  “Thank you, Papa. It was like this—,” and I explained to him about Miranda. Not the whole story, of course; just that you and I had discovered that Dorothea’s Stepmama had been Miranda Tanistry before her marriage, that she did not seem to be a particularly pleasant person, that we thought she was a sorceress of some kind, and that you have told me that she has a strong dislike for Thomas. All of which is quite true, even if it is nothing like the whole.

  “And when I saw the name Tanistry on a book in Sir Hilary’s library, I thought perhaps it might have been written by a relative of hers,” I finished. “And I thought that I might find out something that would be useful for Kate to know about her family if I looked at Sir Hilary’s book closely.”

  “I see,” Papa said again. “And did you?”

  “Well, only that if she is related to the man who wrote that book, then her whole family is a great deal more wicked than I had thought,” I said. “Do you know what that book is about, Papa?”

  “Yes,” he said, and smiled at me. “That is precisely why I was worried when Elizabeth told me you had been studying it.”

  “You mean Aunt Elizabeth thought I was trying to learn those dreadful spells for—Well, that is the outside of enough!” I said indignantly. “Just because she dislikes magic, she thinks everyone who uses it must be wicked! Even if it’s me!”

  Papa laughed, then sobered and shook his head. “Try not to judge your aunt too harshly, Cecy,” he said. “She has more reason than you know to dislike Sir Hilary. I think it was that, as much as the magic, that made her react so strongly.”

  “Why does Aunt Elizabeth hate magicians so?” I asked. “I have wanted to learn about magic forever, and she will not even let me talk about it!”

  Papa sighed. “Cecy—” He paused, and shook his head again. “Your aunt does not hate magicians,” he said deliberately. “She is an excellent magician in her own right, or she was once.”

  “Aunt Elizabeth is a magician?” I said incredulously. “But…”

  Papa nodded, and began to explain. When she was younger, Aunt Elizabeth was apparently not only a magician, but an extremely good one. She became engaged to a man named William Camden, who was also a wizard. Papa says he was very devoted to his craft, which is where the trouble started. For the more magic he learned, the more he wanted to learn. This is not necessarily a bad thing, Papa was careful to explain, but in this case the results were quite tragic. William Camden became obsessed with magic and neglected all his other duties (including Aunt Elizabeth).

  Finally, he went to Sir Hilary Bedrick for tutoring (Sir Hilary apparently has quite a name for training up young wizards). But William was still dissatisfied with his progress, and tried to hurry things up by studying some of Sir Hilary’s magic tomes on his own. He was killed experimenting with one of the more sinister spells. (Papa would not be too specific about exactly what William was trying to accomplish. From this I conclude that it was something truly dreadful, for Papa does not usually pay much attention to whether his tales are suitable for females.)

  Papa says that this is the real reason why Aunt Elizabeth does not like magic, magicians, or Sir Hilary Bedrick. She gave up her own practice when William died, despite Papa’s urging her to continue. I think perhaps she felt she ought to have done something to keep William from blowing himself up (or whatever it was), and gave up her magic out of guilt.

  “Well, I am very sorry for Aunt
Elizabeth,” I said. “And I understand a little better why she was so upset with Sir Hilary. I suppose I can even see why she doesn’t want me to learn magic. But Papa, I like magic, and Mr. Wrexton says I am very good at it.”

  “Mr. Wrexton? Is that who you’ve been getting your lessons from?” Papa said.

  “Yes, and he doesn’t know anything about that dreadful Tanistry book,” I said. “He’s only had time to teach me about charm-bags and animation spells.”

  “You don’t need to reassure me about Michael Wrexton’s principles,” Papa said. He looked at me closely, and sighed. “You really want this, don’t you, Cecy? Very well, then; I’ll speak to your aunt. But no more investigations in Sir Hilary’s library. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, Papa,” I said. “And thank you!”

  I ought to have been quite elated by all this, but when Papa left I was too tired to write you with my good news and the astonishing story of Aunt Elizabeth. I do not know what I will say to Patience Everslee when next I see her, for she has always maintained that Aunt Elizabeth suffered a grave disappointment in her youth, and I have always told her that it was most unlikely. And now Patience has turned out to be quite right. It is most annoying.

  Aunt Elizabeth came in in the afternoon and gave me back my supplies for making charm-bags. She made it quite clear that she disapproved of the entire matter, and said that as Papa had explained the true circumstances she had written Sir Hilary Bedrick a most apologetic letter. (It is quite provoking, for I could not tell her that Sir Hilary was just as bad as she had thought without bringing in Thomas and Miranda and everything! So now she thinks she has misjudged Sir Hilary, and that is why we are to go to the party after all.) She gave me a sharp look and added there was no reason for me to mope about when I had got my way again. I told her I was not moping, I was really very tired. I do not think she believed me then, but when I spent the rest of that day and most of the next sleeping, she was forced to change her mind.

  Saturday morning I was still just as tired as I had been the previous day. Having so recently recovered from a bad cold yourself, Kate, you will understand why I was determined not to spend another day staring at the same four walls. It was not as if I were truly ill, for I promise you I was not—I did not even have the headache. I was only tired. And as there have been mornings in the past when I was very tired (the day after Aunt Elizabeth found us in the Twelve-Acre Field at one in the morning, struggling with the goat, for instance), and as I had previously been able to continue my ordinary activities in spite of my tiredness, I decided to do the same that day.

  My resolution did not carry me very far. To be precise, I managed to dress and make my way down to the sofa in the library. I was quite put out, though I must admit that it was a great relief not to be in my bedchamber any longer. Papa came to find me a little later, looking worried, so I pretended to be absorbed in a novel and did my utmost to appear just as usual. He seemed somewhat reassured when he left, and I collapsed gratefully back onto the sofa. It is a great strain to have to reassure people that one is perfectly well when all one really wishes is to be left alone to sleep.

  I was not, however, left alone for long. A few minutes after Papa left, Danvers tapped at the library door to inform me that James Tarleton had called. “He asked for you expressly, Miss,” Danvers said, and there was a note of disapproval in his voice. I am told that butlers do not generally approve of occurrences that are out of the ordinary, and Danvers has always been the most correct of butlers.

  “Show him in here,” I said, struggling to a sitting position. “And have someone bring in a tea tray. Oh, and I believe Aunt Elizabeth has gone down to inspect the herb garden; send someone to inform her of Mr. Tarleton’s arrival.” I was very pleased with myself for thinking of this last, for the longer it was before Aunt Elizabeth learned that James had called, the more time I would have to speak with him alone. The herb garden was the farthest place I could think of that also sounded entirely reasonable.

  Danvers unbent a little at this evidence that things were not going to be completely irregular, and a moment later he brought Mr. Tarleton into the library. James looked a trifle pale and very worried indeed. I felt a stab of guilt. I really ought to have made more of a push to let him know about the chocolate pot, so that he would not have kept fretting over Thomas. As the door closed behind him, he came swiftly across the room toward me. “Cecelia! What is the matter with you?”

  “There is nothing whatever the matter with me, Mr. Tarleton,” I said. “I am a little tired, that is all.”

  He pulled a chair up beside the sofa and sat down. His eyes never left my face, which made me feel very odd. “Gammon,” he said bluntly. “You’re pale as a ghost. I was afraid there was something wrong when you missed your ride three days running.”

  “I tell you, I am quite all right!” I said. “And if you must inquire about my health, do so later. Aunt Elizabeth will be here at any moment, and I must tell you about Thomas before she arrives.”

  “Devil take Thomas!” James said vehemently. “I should never have dragged you into his affairs.”

  “You did no such thing,” I said. “If anyone did, it was Kate.” This did not appear to mollify him, so I hurried on. “I have had a letter from her. Thomas has sent you a nonsensical message that he can manage things perfectly well alone, and you are not to trouble yourself. Kate says he was looking very tired and unwell, and she thinks he is a gudgeon to tell you such a thing, but he did say it. But it is quite all right because—”

  Aunt Elizabeth and the tea tray arrived simultaneously at just that moment. I sighed in frustration as James rose to greet her, for I had wished very much to discuss matters openly with him. However, there was nothing I could do about it, so I set myself to make polite conversation, and to work in bits of important information as best I could.

  Fortunately, Aunt Elizabeth began by asking what we had been discussing when she arrived. “We were talking about Kate,” I said quickly. “Do you know that Mr. Tarleton is a friend of her fiancé, the Marquis of Schofield?”

  “I was not aware of that, Mr. Tarleton,” Aunt Elizabeth said. “The Marquis spends so little time at his estates here that it had not occurred to me that he had any local acquaintance.”

  “We served together in Spain,” Mr. Tarleton said. “We were both staff officers. The Duke of Wellington found our abilities complementary, so we shared a number of assignments and became very well acquainted.”

  “Have you ever met the Marquis’s Mama, Lady Sylvia?” I said. “Kate writes that she has come to London quite unexpectedly.”

  James gave me a sidelong look that told me he understood. Aunt Elizabeth sniffed. “Kate is the only one who would find it unexpected,” she said. “Of course Lady Sylvia wishes to inspect her future daughter-in-law.”

  We chatted for a few moments about the various balls and events that you have attended during the Season, and the people you have met. James appears to know a great many of them, and was able to answer most of Aunt Elizabeth’s questions concerning their appearance, manners, and respectability. (She is not, apparently, completely satisfied with Aunt Charlotte’s account, and needless to say I have not shown her your letters.)

  Finally I saw an opportunity, and I said in a cross tone, “And I do wish you had let me go to London with Kate, Aunt Elizabeth.”

  “You know quite well why you were not allowed to have a Season this year, Cecy,” Aunt Elizabeth said. “And after the way you have behaved this week, I cannot be sorry for that decision.”

  “Surely you are being rather severe, Ma’am,” Mr. Tarleton said. I could see a little frown line between his eyebrows, but his tone was perfectly civil.

  “It was an accident,” I said mendaciously. “I did not mean to break Sir Hilary’s chocolate pot.”

  James stiffened. Aunt Elizabeth did not notice; she was too busy being relieved that I was not going to bring up the subject of my magic lessons. “It was extremely careless of you, Cecy,�
� she said repressively.

  “I am afraid I do not understand,” James said cautiously. “Miss Rushton broke Sir Hilary’s chocolate pot?”

  “Into a million pieces,” I said. “It was so unfortunate! Aunt Elizabeth and I had called on Sir Hilary on Tuesday, you see, and I was pouring myself a cup of chocolate when I thought I heard something. I am afraid I jumped and dropped the chocolate pot. Sir Hilary was most annoyed, and I cannot say I blame him. It was such a lovely blue, even if it did not match the rest of Sir Hilary’s tea things.”

  James stared at me, aghast. I smiled reassuringly, wishing again that Aunt Elizabeth had waited even a few minutes longer to arrive. For I could see that he was angry with me for what I had done, and with Aunt Elizabeth present there was no way that I could explain to James why breaking Thomas’s chocolate pot was necessary. A wave of tiredness swept over me and I swayed, spilling a little of my tea into my saucer.

  Aunt Elizabeth, of course, noticed at once. “Cecy, dear, do take care,” she said reprovingly.

  “I am sorry, Aunt Elizabeth,” I said. “I am afraid I have the headache.”

  “Then you must go upstairs and lie down,” Aunt Elizabeth said. “I am sure Mr. Tarleton will excuse you.”

  I rose a little shakily. James was still frowning at me, but I tried to smile. “I am very sorry to run off like this, Mr. Tarleton,” I said. “Do forgive me.”

  He said nothing, and my heart sank. I took a firm hold on the arm of the sofa and dropped a curtsey. “If you see Mr. Wrexton,” I said, “would you be so kind as to tell him I am not feeling quite the thing? I was engaged to go driving with him this afternoon, and I would not like him to make the trip for nothing.”

  Aunt Elizabeth stiffened at the impropriety of this request, but I was watching James. All the expression washed out of his face when I mentioned Mr. Wrexton’s name. “I will be happy to do you the favor,” he said in a toneless voice. “Your servant, Miss Rushton.”