“You don’t really think old Everard Tanistry was fool enough to put everything he knew in that book he wrote, do you?” Sir Hilary said contemptuously. “Some of the real secrets were handed down in the family. It’s a pity Miranda wasn’t more like him, in a way. She’d have managed better. Fortunately, I don’t need her anymore.”
I hardly had time to wonder what had been happening in London before he turned away and walked toward the bag he had left on the ground beside James. He pulled out the ivory-handled knife and a little packet of herbs. He sprinkled some of the herbs over Oliver’s face and raised his hands. “Wait!” I said in desperation. “What did you mean about Miranda?”
Sir Hilary glanced back at me over his shoulder. “You’ve had enough explanations, my dear, and it’s nearly dawn. I prefer to get the…unpleasant portions of this business over with quickly, now that all the preliminaries have been taken care of.”
“Then it’s a shame you didn’t take better precautions against interruption,” said a voice from behind me.
Sir Hilary and I both turned, and now I know exactly why people are said to faint with relief, Kate. For Mr. Wrexton was standing just inside the door to the garden, and I was so glad to see him that my head swam. Aunt Elizabeth was right behind him, her eyes positively blazing with fury. “Wrexton!” Sir Hilary spat. “Where did you come from?”
“Waycross,” Mr. Wrexton said. His voice was very calm, but his eyes were hard and a little wary. “I’ve been there for weeks, but I took care to keep out of your way. Thomas Schofield asked me to keep an eye on that young gentleman lying at your feet, you see, and I thought it would be simpler if you didn’t know I was nearby.”
“How did you find me?” Sir Hilary demanded.
“I took the precaution of placing a locating spell on Cecy’s locket along with the protections,” Mr. Wrexton said. “As soon as Elizabeth discovered she was missing, she came to me, and the rest was easy.”
“It should have taken days, even for you, to figure out how to cross that portal!”
Mr. Wrexton smiled nastily. “You forget, Sir Hilary. Thomas worked on the equations. This was one of the first things he warned me about when he asked me to come out here to watch over the boy.”
“So.” Sir Hilary put his shoulders back slightly. “What do you plan to do, now that—” In the middle of the sentence, he threw up his hands and began shouting in Greek.
Mr. Wrexton began making hasty gestures of his own, and Aunt Elizabeth slipped out to stand muttering beside him. I backed away as far as I could. I could tell that there was a great deal of very powerful magic being flung about, and I had no idea if Sir Hilary’s invisible walls would keep it out. I tried to follow the spells for a moment, but Mr. Wrexton and Sir Hilary were going much too fast for me. Mr. Wrexton was frowning intently, and I began to worry. I knew that Mr. Wrexton was very good (he was with the Duke of Wellington, after all!), but Sir Hilary had stolen the magic from heaven only knows how many people, and Sir Hilary was on his home ground (in a manner of speaking).
I looked back at the battle. Aunt Elizabeth looked quite white, and Mr. Wrexton stepped in front of her. I could see beads of sweat on his forehead, though his muttering was as rapid as ever. Sir Hilary looked cool and supercilious, and his eyes were hard with triumph. It was clear that he, at least, was sure that he would win.
The idea that had been nagging at me earlier returned, and I tried desperately to shut out the sights and sounds of the wizardly battle and think. Suddenly it came to me. I turned my back on Sir Hilary and Mr. Wrexton and, facing James, I made the same gesture I had seen Sir Hilary use twice to let James talk.
James’s face came alive. Before he could say anything, I hissed urgently, “James! What is the Greek word for ‘release’?”
“Apheteon,” he said, and I saw comprehension in his eyes. “And hurry, Cecy.”
I swallowed and closed my eyes. Concentrating with everything I had, I made Sir Hilary’s gesture again and said, “Apheteon.”
My eyes flew open as I spoke. James stood up, picked up the chair, took two steps forward, and brought it down on Sir Hilary’s head. It connected with a most satisfactory crash, and Sir Hilary collapsed. At precisely the same instant, all of the candles went out, and a moment later I heard Oliver groan.
I stood where I was, as I felt rather weak about the knees and was not at all sure I could walk without falling over. James stared down at Sir Hilary with a positively vicious expression on his face. Then he turned, and a moment later I was caught up in his arms. It was remarkably comfortable and reassuring, and after all we had been through I did not care a jot whether Aunt Elizabeth gave me a lecture on propriety later. Then James bent over and kissed me. I do not think it would be quite accurate to describe that as “comfortable and reassuring,” but I assure you I had no objection whatever. In fact, I cooperated as well as I was able (which was not very much, as James was holding me tightly enough to make it seem that he wished to squeeze all the breath from my body. This made it rather difficult for me to render him much assistance in kissing me.).
An unfortunately short time later (or so it seemed to me), James pulled his head away. “Why are you stopping?” I asked somewhat hazily.
James chuckled, and I felt it in my bones. “Because if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be able to ask you to marry me,” he said. “Will you, my love?”
“Oh, yes, James,” I said, and kissed him. This time I was able to do rather better at aiding him, which was very satisfying for both of us.
“Marry you!” said Oliver’s disapproving voice from behind me. “I should dashed well think she’ll have to, if this is the way you’ve been carrying on. What do you mean by getting up to such tricks while I’m away, Cecy?”
James and I fell apart, though he kept a hand in mine to steady me. “Don’t be a prig, Oliver,” I said. “Of course I’m going to marry James, but not for such a stupid reason as that!”
Mr. Wrexton and Aunt Elizabeth were muttering over Sir Hilary’s unconscious form. Oliver looked at them with disapproval and started to say something. “Don’t interrupt them!” I said quickly.
Oliver scowled at me, and Mr. Wrexton looked up. “It’s quite all right, Cecelia; we’re finished here.” He smiled warmly at Aunt Elizabeth. “Thank you for your help, Elizabeth. I will have to take him up to London at once and let the Royal College know the sort of thing he’s been up to. I expect they’ll be very severe with him.”
“What do you think they’ll do to him?” I asked.
“I would say that they’re sure to strip him of his powers. Beyond that, I’m not certain.”
“Don’t leave before I’ve had a chance to talk to you, Wrexton,” James said in a grim voice. “You ought to know the whole of what that cur was planning.”
Mr. Wrexton nodded and looked at Aunt Elizabeth again. “I won’t be gone more than a week,” he said. “And you know how to reach me if you should happen to need me.”
“Of course, Michael,” she said softly. “Hurry back.”
“You may be sure of it,” Mr. Wrexton said. He took her hand and kissed it, and Aunt Elizabeth blushed.
There is very little more to tell. James drove me back to Rushton Manor; Aunt Elizabeth and Oliver followed in Mr. Wrexton’s carriage. Mr. Wrexton stayed behind to seal up Sir Hilary’s garden and to remove Sir Hilary to a safer place. I spent the rest of the day in bed (Aunt Elizabeth did not even suggest that I go to church!), and am now quite recovered. Oliver, too, seems none the worse for his experience. He read me a dreadful scold when he discovered that I had had the temerity to ride Thunder, but I was too happy to care, and Aunt Elizabeth shooed him away very quickly.
James spoke to Papa as soon as we reached home, and Papa sent the announcement of our engagement to the Gazette this morning. Actually, he sent two announcements, for Aunt Elizabeth is to marry Mr. Wrexton. I am very pleased by this news, for I think they suit almost as well as James and I. You will understand when you meet Mr. Wrexton.
I can hardly wait to see what Aunt Charlotte makes of it all!
I have asked James whether he would object to a double wedding with you and Thomas, and he seemed quite receptive to the idea. I do not wish to steal your thunder, however, so if either you or Thomas has any objection to this suggestion, do tell me at once. Papa and Aunt Elizabeth are bringing me to Town next week to have my bride-clothes made, and I can hardly contain my excitement. We shall have such a lot to talk about! For letters, no matter how satisfactory, can bear no comparison to seeing you face-to-face, and I am absolutely wild to meet your Thomas. From what you and James have told me, I feel as if I know him already.
Do let me know about the wedding, and don’t forget to tell me about Aunt Charlotte. She’ll probably turn purple.
Your ecstatically happy,
Cecy
17 July 1817
Schofìeld House, London
Dear Cecy,
Thomas says he might have known James would display his usual masterly grasp of tactics (I believe this is his way of saying that he is jealous of James for getting to hit Sir Hilary), and that he wishes you both very happy. You know I am delighted—I shall tell you so next week. It doesn’t seem possible that you haven’t even seen 11 Berkeley Square yet, let alone met Thomas.
Mr. Wrexton has been in London for two days. After he conveyed Sir Hilary to the Royal College, he came to inform us that Sir Hilary is to be stripped of his magic (and his membership in the College) and exiled to the continent. Once he delivered this very welcome news, he remained to consult with Lady Sylvia about the effect the double focus had on Thomas’s health in general and magic in particular. After twenty minutes spent scrutinizing Thomas from top to toe, they dismissed him, so he came to Berkeley Square to listen to me practice the spinet. Really, when inclined, he can sulk amazingly. Oliver simply isn’t in it.
Lady Sylvia and Thomas spent all afternoon yesterday asking me questions and conducting peculiar tests with items Lady Sylvia brought in on a tea tray. They have agreed on the verdict, apparently, but neither could be persuaded to tell me what it is. I should warn you that ever since her conversation with Mr. Wrexton, Lady Sylvia has been most anxious to meet you.
Thomas has no objection to a double wedding (nor do I, of course), provided you are willing to have a very hasty one. Thomas intends us to accompany Lady Sylvia when she returns to Paris, which she means to do as soon as possible. From there he wishes to go on to several cities he thinks I ought to see. (Among other things, he insists he will perish if he cannot take me to Venice and watch me fall into a canal.) These schemes of his for a rapid departure to the continent date from Sunday, when he called for me in Berkeley Square.
When he arrived, Aunt Charlotte was at her very worst. She was reading out religious tracts to me in an effort to bring me to a proper sense of shame concerning my behavior at Carlton House. (Not walking home or waltzing in Berkeley Square, mind you—consorting with Lady Sylvia’s friends.)
His arrival put a stop to that. After a very civil greeting to Aunt Charlotte and Georgy, he said, “I thought I would see if you cared to drive in the park with me, Kate. We could see if the ducks have returned to their pond after your rude invasion of their quarters.”
“Kate cannot go out today,” Aunt Charlotte said. “It will certainly rain later.”
Thomas appeared to be considering several alternative remarks, but he said nothing.
Abruptly it seemed to me to be a great shame that I should miss even one of Thomas’s remarks because of Aunt Charlotte and her ridiculous notions. So I said, “Nonsense, Aunt Charlotte. I shall go out. And if it rains, the ducks won’t care.”
Aunt Charlotte stared aghast as I prepared to depart. Then, spacing her words as carefully as if I were the half-wit Thomas has so often accused me of being, she said, “You cannot go. I have not given you leave to go.”
“I am going, Aunt Charlotte,” I replied calmly. “I don’t see why you insist on making my last few days in this house as uncomfortable as possible, but I recommend you find some other diversion to occupy you when I am married and gone. Perhaps you should read a few tracts to Georgy—don’t you think she ought to know how improper it is for young ladies to dance on the Sabbath? The Grenvilles will have dancing after supper tonight, won’t they, Georgy?” Georgina looked daggers at me.
“And perhaps you should remind Georgy that Michael Aubrey is only a second son,” I continued unscrupulously.
Aunt Charlotte’s voice dropped into trembling disbelief. “Katherine Talgarth, do you presume to tell me how to look after Georgina?”
“Well, yes, Aunt Charlotte, I must. Particularly since she’s learned to play silver loo and shows every sign of turning into as reckless a gamester as Grandfather, despite your chaperonage.”
“Kate!” Georgy sprang up with a shriek. “You beastly sneak! Cut line!”
“And you’ve let her pick up the most dreadful sporting cant, Aunt Charlotte,” I added. “Another thing you should know—that goat of Squire Bryant’s? Well, it was all Georgy’s idea—she said it would be pointless to confess after you and Aunt Elizabeth had already punished Cecy and me anyway.”
Georgy and Aunt Charlotte advanced on me, shouting in counterpoint until the prisms of the chandelier chimed softly overhead. “And moreover,” I informed Aunt Charlotte, “Papa always referred to you as ‘that interfering harpy.’ ”
Georgina blanched and Aunt Charlotte stiffened, speechless. I felt Thomas grip my arm. “Come away, Kate. Come tell me all about Squire Bryant’s goat, before you give your aunt an apoplexy.”
So we went driving in the park. I shall spend the next week at Schofield House with Lady Sylvia, since I have, in Thomas’s words, “made Berkeley Square too hot to hold me.” He adds that you have a fortnight to get here before, double ring or single, he brings me up before a clergyman and marries me. He is set upon flying the country for the continent. Typically, he has decided (without consulting anyone’s wishes but his own) to make our wedding trip into a peculiar sort of Grand Tour. I hope you don’t mind too greatly. I don’t mind at all. In fact, I’m looking forward to it very much. (Not the canal, though.)
Love,
Kate
Afterword
CAROLINE
I DON’T KNOW WHO invented the Letter Game (which I have heard called Persona Letters, or even Ghost Letters) but Ellen Kushner introduced it to me. I believe it originated as an acting exercise, one character writing a letter “in persona” to another.
The game has no rules, except that the players must never reveal their idea of the plot to one another. It helps to imply in the first letter why the two characters must write to each other and not meet in person.
The Letter Games I’ve played previously were usually a matter of two or three letters each, spaced about a month apart, during summer vacation. When it was time to return to school, we abandoned our characters in mid-intrigue, usually on the verge of a duel, a crime, or a coup d’état. Our letters were long on gossip and short on plot, but they provided good clean fun for the cost of a postage stamp.
PAT
Caroline first mentioned the Letter Game over the tea table, appropriately enough, in April of 1986. I was among the fascinated listeners who pumped her for more information, more directions, more details. I was intrigued by the possibilities and anxious to try it, so I badgered Caroline into agreeing to play, with the provision that I write the first letter. I dashed home at the end of the afternoon, full of enthusiasm.
As the opener of the letter exchange, I was responsible for choosing a setting, as well as for defining my own character. I decided on England just after the Napoleonic Wars, in an alternate universe in which magic really worked, just to spice things up a little. I knew Caroline shared my interest in both subjects, and I figured we would have a lot of fun working out a more detailed background as we went along. Little did I know what was in store!
CAROLINE
For the first few letters, things went quite c
almly, with Pat writing as Cecelia and me writing as Kate, both of us having fun making up alternate history. Then, about the time Oliver disappeared at Vauxhall, I started to get a little obsessed with the game. A letter every few weeks wasn’t enough anymore. Luckily, Pat felt the same way. We began to exchange letters more frequently. Although we still didn’t reveal plot details, we met for lunch once a week and found ourselves discussing the characters as though they were members of our families. We were caught in a perfect balance between the desire to show off for each other and the desire to know how the story would come out. The day I knew this particular Letter Game had a life of its own was the day I came home to discover the latest letter from Cecelia tucked under my door. Written on the back was, “Don’t be too amazed. I sent it by one of the footmen.”
So the summer went, with Pat and me exchanging letters at every opportunity and driving our friends to the screaming point with gossip about the characters. (Never about the plot, I hasten to add.) I began to break china. Pat began to say things like, “We simply must do something!” without realizing it. We had fun.
The Letter Game ended around Labor Day. Pat and I took one entire Saturday to go through the letters and pull out loose ends that distracted from the story as it finally turned out. We sent the results off and we got lucky. We were able to publish the Game. But we didn’t play the Letter Game to publish it. We played because it was fun.
PAT
Caroline is entirely correct in saying we did not discuss plot with each other. In the interest of complete disclosure, however, I must confess that we did, to some extent, discuss timing. Specifically, sometime around the middle of August I asked her, “How many more letters is it going to take you to get rid of Miranda? I need to know so I can get rid of Sir Hilary pretty much at the same time.” She thought for a while and said, “Two or three, at most.” And she did. And that was the extent of the mutual planning we did.
When Caroline and I finally sat down with Kate and Cecy’s collected correspondence, we weren’t quite sure what we had (aside from a lot of fun). I don’t remember which of us was first to stare at the untidy heap of paper and say, “This is a book.” Looking at the letters with the sapient eyes of authors, rather than simply as correspondents, we could see places where the timing of events was wrong, important occurrences that were never explained, minor characters who had suddenly become important, and plot threads that had never gone anywhere. We set out to fix these problems.
Sorcery & Cecelia Page 24
