A Scholar of Magics

by Caroline Stevermer

  “Are you sure?” Lambert hesitated. “Won’t he object at having a stranger join you?”

  “Let him object,” said Fell. “It was his idea to invite himself to lunch with me. He seemed to have the idea that we should meet somewhere posh and make an afternoon of it. Just because he has time for such frivolity doesn’t mean anyone else does. I insisted he come here. There’s nothing wrong with the food at this place, I’ll say that much.”

  “What time were you supposed to meet him?”

  “One o’clock.” Fell rose and clapped Lambert’s shoulder. “Come along. He’s far too polite to object to you. It’s only thanks to your interruption that I remembered the appointment at all.”

  Fell did not hurry down to meet his guest. Nevertheless, the nobleman was waiting patiently when they arrived.

  “My lord, allow me to present Mr. Samuel Lambert, our advisor on the Agincourt Project. Lambert, please let me present the Earl of Bridgewater,” said Fell. “Mr. Lambert will be joining us for lunch.”

  The Earl of Bridgewater was an imposing main. Well over six feet tall, clean limbed, with a mane of flowing hair that must have been raven black in his youth but was now brindled like a badger with white at his temples, the man could have played Merlin as easily as King Arthur. To Lambert, Bridgewater had all the elegance of the long-limbed aristocrats featured in the Illustrated London News. Sidney Paget himself could have drawn no more imposing a profile. Bridgewater’s eyes were benevolent yet piercingly clear, his long face kind.

  “Never mind the formalities,” said Bridgewater. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Lambert. Mr. Voysey speaks of you often. I’ve heard only praise for you and your extraordinary natural eye. You and your abilities make an invaluable contribution to the Agincourt Project.”

  Lambert stared. “You’ve heard of the Agincourt Project? I thought it was supposed to be a secret.”

  “So it is.” Bridgewater looked amused. “Perhaps I ought not to have mentioned it, even in relative privacy. Forgive me. I take a proprietary interest in the matter, as I have provided some of the resources, financial and otherwise, that Mr. Voysey required.”

  “You’re a backer?” said Lambert. “I didn’t know.”

  “How could you?” Bridgewater led them to the club dining room. Effortlessly, he caught the eye of the host, who showed them immediately to the best table in the room. Fell showed no sign of noticing that Bridgewater had taken the initiative from him. “I play the dilettante, after all. Nevertheless, when imperial duty calls, a man must answer.”

  “Imperial fudge,” said Fell. “Contrary to the opinion of the Vice Chancellor, the safety of the empire does not hang on the success of the project. A bit of luck for us all, given how many times the designers have changed their minds about the very nature of the thing. I’m sick of hearing that the project’s inspiration is simple patriotism, when in truth it is mere love of gadgetry.”

  “Do you often mock simple patriotism?” Bridgewater inquired stiffly.

  “Only when it wraps itself in the Union Jack and strikes dramatic attitudes for my benefit.”

  Accustomed to Fell’s brusque response to any form of interruption of his studies, Lambert watched Bridgewater’s reaction to Fell’s rudeness with interest. The momentary stiffness vanished and was replaced with smooth courtesy.

  “That was hardly my intention,” said Bridgewater gently.

  “No,” Fell agreed, “no need. That’s why we have the popular press, after all. Leave that sort of thing to the people who excel at it.”

  If anything, Bridgewater’s gentleness increased. “You’re in a tart mood this afternoon. Perhaps a good meal will mellow you.”

  They ordered and in due time the courses began to arrive. Bridgewater made pleasant conversation until they reached the end of the meal. Then, as he and Fell enjoyed their coffee and Lambert looked on wistfully, Bridgewater addressed Fell. “I hope you have given my offer your serious consideration. My library remains at your disposal. You are welcome to arrive when you please and to stay as long as it is convenient for you.”

  “You are hospitality personified,” said Fell, his mood visibly softened by the excellence of the meal he’d enjoyed. “I thank you, but I must decline. As fraught with distraction as Glasscastle can sometimes be, I do my best work there.”

  “The invitation stands. If you change your mind, merely notify me.” Bridgewater turned to Lambert. “My mission has failed. If you can prevail upon your friend to accept my invitation to visit, I’ll be in your debt. Gentlemen, thank you for your time.” Bridgewater took his leave.

  As Lambert and Fell left the dining room, Lambert marveled. “Yes, you’re the dutiful one, aren’t you? You do your best work at Glasscastle. So why did you light out for London without a word to anybody?”

  “I did, didn’t I? Didn’t I?” For a moment, an apology seemed to tremble on Fell’s lips. “No, wait. I must have left a note or you wouldn’t have known I was here.”

  “You didn’t.” Lambert told him about the newspaper’s society column.

  “What on earth possessed you to read rubbish like that? You have too much time on your hands. I should speak to Voysey about accelerating the tests.” Fell’s eyes brightened at the thought.

  “If you think it’s rubbish, why do you take that newspaper? Lucky I did read it. I was ready to report you as a missing person.”

  Fell’s brows went up. “You’re right. It was lucky. You’d have found it most embarrassing, had you reported me missing. You don’t care much for embarrassment. I’ve noticed that.”

  “Nobody does. What brought you here anyway?”

  “I came up to hear Bridgewater address the Royal Society. I had one or two questions to ask him afterward. For some odd reason, he thinks I should stay with him for a fortnight at his ancestral seat. His invitation was very flattering. It was all I could do to think of a reason to refuse.”

  “Why should you refuse?” Lambert asked. “I’m glad you didn’t just disappear for a fortnight without a word to anyone, but why shouldn’t you if you felt like it?”

  Fell looked disapproving. “I didn’t feel like it. He’s the sort who thinks it’s all very well that the sun never sets on the British Empire, but if we put our minds to it, we could do better. Always detecting fresh menace from overseas, going on about the threat posed by the Pan-Germanic party. As if the Pan-Britannic party isn’t just as bad. He makes me tired. More than that, I can’t spend a fortnight away from my work. Nor do I dare to leave you to the tender mercies of those fellows you keep company with. What has Meredith had you doing while I was away? Throwing harpoons?”

  “As for your work, you have a bit more of it on your hands. You need to sort out the mess in your study.” Lambert gave Fell a quick summary of the incident of the man in the bowler hat, including the plans he’d given to Brailsford.

  “By Jove.” Fell thought for a moment. “Wait here while I fetch my things. We’re leaving at once.”

  “For Glasscastle?” Lambert asked.

  “Didn’t I say? Of course we’re going to Glasscastle. I won’t be five minutes.”

  Lambert was as lucky with trains on his return as he’d been that morning. He and Fell not only caught an express, they had a compartment to themselves.

  “There’s nothing extraordinary about that,” said Fell, when Lambert remarked upon it. “Even if the train were full, I can always get a compartment to myself when I want it.”

  “You can, can you?” Lambert doubted it. “How? Do you show your credentials to the conductor when you board?”

  “Hardly. No, if the train looks like filling up, I merely make a point to smile and nod as I beckon strangers to join me. I’ve discovered that people will go to considerable lengths to avoid me.”

  “I’m not surprised.” Lambert had purchased a selection of newspapers to read on the journey. He opened one at random. From an inside page, the name Bridgewater leaped out at him. “I see your friend Bridgewater has been named a pa
tron of the Royal Hospital.”

  Fell looked up from a scholarly journal. “He’s not my friend. A man in Bridgewater’s position doesn’t have friends.”

  Lambert snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course he does.”

  “He doesn’t. Not unless he made them before he inherited his title. I suppose that might explain why men of Bridgewater’s station are so often sentimental about their school days.” Fell brushed at a fleck of soot on his cuff. “When he was a schoolboy, Bridgewater made discreet inquiries about admission to Glasscastle. He was told he’d have to take his chances like anyone else. This put him off, apparently. He never did apply.”

  Lambert frowned. “How could Glasscastle have turned a man like that away? If anyone ever had the right background, Bridgewater has.”

  “True. But the Fellows of Glasscastle couldn’t guarantee it in advance and Bridgewater refused to risk rejection. This came as a great relief to the Fellows on the admission committee at the time. It seems his great-grandfather had displayed an uncomfortable amount of initiative as a student here. A case of enthusiasm outrunning discretion, I gather. Given the way talent sometimes runs in a family, they were glad to avoid the potential awkwardness of a similar situation with Bridgewater. Fortunately, he has kept up his family’s tradition of generous support to the university.”

  “If Bridgewater never went to Glasscastle, why is he interested in the place?”

  “I can’t imagine. Unless Bridgewater was piqued that Glasscastle did not immediately fall at his feet in gratitude for his slightest attention. I’m sure it is the only institution that hasn’t. A unique and refreshing experience for him. Bridgewater is the sort of man who relishes a challenge. Given his resources, he doesn’t find many.” Fell returned to his journal article.

  Lambert went back to reading the newspapers. The Board of Trade had proposed a bill to make wireless installation compulsory on oceangoing steamers. The British-Atlantic project, which would connect every continent by wireless, had announced a new receiving and transmitting station to be built in Shropshire. The American news was dominated by a spirited criticism of President Taft and his proposal to nullify parts of the Hay-Pauncefote Treaty. American efforts to curtail English shipping through the Panama Canal were misguided at best and inflammatory at worst. If Taft’s government did not understand its folly, it must be made to understand.

  Lambert sighed and turned the page.

  When they descended at Glasscastle, the five o’clock train to London was steaming in at the opposite platform.

  On their way up from the platform, Jane Brailsford and her brother hailed them. They met in the center of the walkway and exclaimed at the coincidence.

  “Fell, good to see you.” Robert Brailsford addressed Fell a bit formally, then turned to his sister. “Jane, may I present Nicholas Fell, Master of Arts and Fellow of Glasscastle. Fell, allow me to present my sister, Miss Jane Brailsford.”

  Lambert wondered what Jane would make of Nicholas Fell. Fell’s one distinguished feature was his voice, deep and musical. To the uninformed observer, Fell was easily overlooked. His usual expression was one of faint apology, replaced only at rare moments with one of interest keen to the point of intimidation. He was only an inch or two taller than Jane, his build, his coloring, and even his neatly clipped mustache all average. If Jane treated Fell the way she had Porteous, Lambert didn’t want to miss a moment of it.

  “Has Lambert told you about the disturbance in your study?” Robert asked Fell.

  “He came all the way up to town to fetch me.” Fell tugged at his mustache. “I’ll be interested to see the result.”

  “I wish I’d known you’d be back.” Robert eyed the outbound train with some anxiety.

  “Robin is going to Shropshire,” Jane explained. “Amy was indisposed, so I’m putting him on his train.”

  “Nothing serious, I hope?” Lambert asked.

  “Not at all,” said Brailsford.

  “She will feel better later,” Jane added.

  “Jane fancies herself my chauffeur,” Brailsford said. “It’s absurd. I’m sound in wind and limb—perfectly capable of getting myself to the train and back again without assistance.”

  “With bag and baggage? Ridiculous, when you have me to drive you.”

  Brailsford was firm. “It’s my motor car, Jane. Just remember that. After all, you promised me.”

  Jane’s manner was patient as she repeated terms with which she was evidently well versed. “No speeding and no detours, just drive straight back home.”

  “And don’t sound the horn,” Brailsford added.

  “I remember, I remember.”

  “While you’re remembering, bear in mind that it is a proper car and not one of your Bantams. No wedging it into spaces too small.”

  “I’ll insist on a wide berth,” Jane promised.

  Fell eyed Jane with disbelief. “You drive a motor car?”

  “One of the things I’ve come home to do is buy one of my own,” Jane confided.

  “I must go. No need to come with me to the platform, Jane.” Robert kissed his sister’s cheek and departed.

  Jane asked, “May I offer you gentlemen a ride in from the railway station? It’s rather a long walk back to the university gate from here. I’ll just wave Robin off first.”

  “That’s very kind of you,” said Lambert.

  “Please, it would be my pleasure. This is the first time Robin has trusted me with his Minotaur. It’s enormous. I’ll put you in the back and play chauffeur.”

  Brailsford’s train pulled out as Jane waved and Fell and Lambert watched in amiable silence. When the train had gone, Fell said pensively, “I suppose you might mean chauffeuse.”

  “Trust me,” Jane replied, “if I had meant chauffeuse, I’d have said chauffeuse. But if it will make you more inclined to accept my offer, consider me to have said chauffeuse.”

  Fell asked, “You won’t drive fast, will you?”

  “Define fast,” Jane said.

  Fell said, “By Jove, Lambert, you’ve fallen among Amazons. I suppose we have no alternative. Polite refusal would imply a lack of confidence in her skills. Hardly courteous behavior, that. I’ve had enough of issuing polite refusals lately.”

  Stowed in the backseat with the light baggage, both Lambert and Fell watched with interest as Jane negotiated with a sturdy youth to have the crank at the front of her brother’s vehicle turned vigorously. The motor caught with a roar. Dexterously she manipulated the levers and pedals that allowed her to pull smoothly out of the station.

  Once she had eased the Minotaur into the flow of traffic, Jane drove with complete aplomb. She contrived to miss, albeit narrowly at times, pedestrians, bicyclists, cabs, carts, draymen, and other motor cars. Even during the long holiday between terms, there was enough traffic to make the drive a sporting challenge. So novel was the rate of speed, so fascinating was the spectacle, it took Lambert several moments to notice that Jane had missed the turning for the road back to Glasscastle.

  “I’m afraid we’re headed for Ilchester,” Lambert called over the racket of their passage. “Glasscastle is the other way.”

  “There’s a first-rate coaching inn at Nether Petherton,” said Jane. “By the time we get there, they will be serving dinner. I’m told they do a very nice steak pie.” Clear of the town, the road was almost empty. Jane picked up speed. “Part of the route follows a Roman road, nice and straight, so with luck I’ll be able to open her up a bit too.”

  “But you promised your brother there would be no speeding and you would go straight back.” Lambert couldn’t help the edge in his voice. He sounded downright plaintive. It was embarrassing. Lambert reminded himself that the speed probably wouldn’t bother him if he were the one at the wheel. As it was, he had to fight the urge to shut his eyes until it was over.

  “I know. Disgraceful, isn’t it?” Jane spared enough of her attention from the road ahead to look back and give Lambert a reassuring smile. “Once we reach N
ether Petherton, I have a message for Mr. Fell. It is of paramount importance.”

  Lambert had to raise his voice to be sure he was heard over the roar of the motor car and the wind slicing past them. “Can it be more important than your promise to your brother?”

  “I also promised Amy I’d be home in time for tea. I think that promise is doomed to go overboard too.” Jane’s tone turned serious. “I’ve promised something else, to someone else, and it takes precedence over everything.”

  Lambert had been driven in motor cars before, but seldom over such abruptly rolling terrain, and never at so great a speed. When Jane drove up an incline, she did so with such abandon that the ascent continued for a split second after they reached the crest. The sensation this created in the pit of Lambert’s stomach convinced him he would have no interest in dinner whatsoever.

  Fell said, “Do you realize, Miss Brailsford, that the route you’ve proposed to Nether Petherton will take you along the Roman road at a time of day when the sun shines directly into your eyes? You may not be able to achieve the velocity you desire without sacrificing safety.”

  In his reading, Lambert had once or twice encountered the term glee. He had never seen it firsthand until he saw Jane Brailsford’s expression as she glanced back to reassure them. “Oh, that will be no trouble at all. I have tinted goggles.”

  The Roman road was all that Fell had warned it would be. Jane pulled her green goggles into place and forged along pitilessly. “Robin says she’ll do thirty-five at top speed,” she announced, “but I think we can do a good deal better than that.”

  Lambert closed his eyes. The sunlight made red flashes against his lids. If Jane said anything more to him, it was lost in the rising noise of the engine. There was nothing else in the world but wind tearing at Lambert’s hair and clothing, and regret tearing at his heart. Why hadn’t he insisted on walking back to Glasscastle from the station?