A Scholar of Magics

by Caroline Stevermer

  The peace of the place sank in. Lambert gave himself up to it. With only the small scratch of Meredith’s pen to break the silence, it was easy to let questions and concerns fade as the angled light of sunset dimmed. Whoever Upton had been, whatever Upton had done, those hundreds and hundreds of books had not belonged to a man afraid of questions. The wear on the bindings attested to that.

  Lambert sat with Meredith until it was too dim to work without a light any longer. Meredith put his pen away, and said, “Time to go, I’m afraid.”

  “Yes. Thanks.”

  “I thought it would help.”

  “It did.”

  Meredith locked the room up again, returned the key, and the pair of them went their separate ways into the deepening twilight.

  In hall that night, Lambert found himself back in the neighborhood of Cromer and Palgrave’s thrice-weekly debate. Fortunately, it wasn’t a Bible night, as this time a guest joined Cromer and Palgrave for dinner. Louis Tobias was no older than Cromer or Palgrave were. He was as dark as Brailsford and as personable as Voysey.

  “We mustn’t overlook Colonel Cody,” Tobias was saying to Cromer as they took their seats.

  Buffalo. Bill Cody had been Kiowa Sam’s hero and the inspiration for his Wild West Show. The familiar name caught Lambert’s attention. He looked up with interest.

  “But the man’s quite mad,” said Cromer. “They say he sometimes takes a passenger along when he flies.”

  It took Lambert a moment to figure out the man Tobias referred to was not Colonel William Cody but Colonel Sam Cody. Sam Cody was yet another American to leave the Wild West for green Great Britain. He’d given up on his career as a cowboy showman, but had been making headlines as an aviator ever since. Necks didn’t get risked any more regularly than Sam Cody risked his.

  “Cody may have been the first, but these days he is not the only aviator to take up a passenger,” Tobias replied. “Far from it.”

  Lambert said, “When he leaves his aeroplane, Cody tethers it to something, just as if it were a horse. That’s what they say.”

  Tobias grinned at Lambert. “The man is an American, after all. One must make allowances.” He turned back to Cromer. “Remember, he was the only man flying a British plane even to finish the round-England race. He won the Michelin Cup, after all. We don’t count him out, even if Haldane did.”

  “Tobias has come all the way from the airfield at Farnborough to spy on us,” Cromer informed the table at large. To Tobias, he said, “I think I speak for everyone here when I say that we feel very honored by your presence, sir.”

  “He isn’t a spy,” Palgrave countered. “He’s gathering intelligence.”

  “A nice distinction.” Tobias looked amused.

  “Where better to gather intelligence than where the intelligent are gathered?” Cromer finished.

  “That’s the last time I let Lord Fyvie make my travel arrangements,” said Tobias amiably. “Next time it will be a sneak attack.”

  “By air?” asked Palgrave.

  “Certainly by air,” Tobias replied. “In the future it will be the only viable form of warfare, you’ll see.”

  “I can’t wait.” Palgrave looked gloomy. “It will be interesting to see which causes more damage, the objects the pilots drop overboard or the bits of equipment that fall off the aeroplane itself.”

  “Or possibly the impact of the aeroplane itself as it hits the ground,” said Cromer. “Seriously, what brings you here?”

  “Oh, espionage.” Tobias was wide-eyed with sincerity. “Everyone knows that you Glasscastle men have the inside track with the ministry budget. I’m just here to pick up a few pointers.”

  “The vital thing,” said Cromer, as he signaled for more wine, “is to keep the men with the money well oiled at all times. Hospitality, that’s the watchword. Hospitality, simple self-confidence, and remarkable visual acuity,” he added, with a nod toward Lambert.

  “And mental acuity,” said Palgrave. “That never hurts.”

  “Don’t forget pluck,” Lambert put in. As more claret arrived, he prepared to excuse himself from the table. There was very little in the world less interesting than watching other people get drunk.

  “And pluck,” Palgrave agreed. “Pluck is always good.”

  “And sheer animal cunning,” said Cromer. “That about sums it up, I think. Do you think you can remember all that?”

  “I think so,” Tobias said. “The operative concept being self-confidence to the point of self-delusion and far, far beyond.”

  “Well put,” Palgrave said. “But then, if half what I’ve heard about foolhardy aviators is true, that’s your stock in trade, isn’t it?”

  Tobias seemed to find no fault in that statement, nor in the remainder of the evening’s hospitality. When Lambert left them, the three were lingering at the table, highly entertained by their own wit.

  Jane drove away from the great gate intent on her errands. She had to purchase a bottle of India ink, replenish the petrol in the Minotaur’s tank, and return the Minotaur to its safe berth in the Brailsford carriage house. To Jane’s dismay, once home she learned that Amy had invited a few of her friends to tea to meet Jane. Jane’s impromptu sojourn in Nether Petherton had lasted too long. By the time Jane returned, the last of the guests had departed.

  Such was Amy’s agitation, her back hairpins were coming loose. “Did I say a word yesterday when you joined Robert for luncheon in hall without sending a message here? I did not.”

  “I apologize.” Jane was meekness itself. “That was very rude of me.”

  Amy nodded with such vigor that a hairpin fell to the floor behind her. “Do I say a word when you take Robert to the railway station, a fifteen-minute journey at the very most, and then simply disappear with his motor car? I do not.”

  “I’m sorry. There’s no excuse—”

  Amy sprang another hairpin. “Do you have any idea how embarrassing your inconsiderate behavior is? What will I tell my friends?”

  “Please apologize to them on my behalf.” Jane had a shrewd idea that Amy’s friends had found talking about her misbehavior more entertaining than they would have found talking to her, but she was careful to keep that thought to herself. “Do, please, tell me you accept my apology.”

  Amy relented before her coiffure came undone completely. In an effort to make amends, Jane helped Amy count linens.

  “It’s good of you to help with this,” Amy told Jane. “I find it’s wonderfully soothing, making sure that all the sets of sheets are in order, and all the tablecloths are put away properly.”

  “Soothing, indeed.” Soporific was the word Jane would have chosen.

  “Table napkins, on the other hand, are always a trial. I can’t think what happens to them. One would think they were made of lint, the way they go to the laundry and never return.” Amy counted out another dozen. “I know it’s silly to be worried that Robert hasn’t sent a wire yet. He can’t have been there long, after all. For all I know, he may have sent one hours ago and it hasn’t yet been delivered. Only I spilled the salt today, and that’s never a good omen.”

  Jane folded and unfolded, counted, recounted, and sympathized with Amy until it was time for bed. It was pleasant enough work and by the time they were finished, their hair and clothes were scented with lavender from the sachets they’d handled. To Jane, the smell of lavender and clean linen seemed the very scent of domestic peace. She felt a pang of unaccustomed envy for the serenity Amy and Robert had achieved in the house they shared. There might be more appeal to such companionship than she’d suspected.

  Did lavender grow in Wyoming? Jane dismissed the thought with a private chuckle. That was the sort of thing Amy would want to know.

  That night, long after the rest of the Brailsford household was asleep, Jane sat writing letters at the desk in her room. When midnight struck, she put her work aside. On the blotter she centered a dinner plate she’d borrowed from downstairs, Royal Worcester patterned with flowers and bu
tterflies within a wide band of blue within a narrow band of gold.

  Murmuring softly but distinctly, Jane opened the new bottle of India ink and poured the contents carefully onto the plate until it was full to the band of blue. For a few moments, the glossy darkness reflected her face and part of the brass fixture of the gas light overhead. Then the reflection vanished and there was nothing before her but matte blackness. At the very edge of Jane’s perception, she felt the steady discord of Glasscastle’s bounds, too close for comfort even halfway across town. With determination, she focused on the absolute darkness, filtering out the interference of the bounds as a distraction she could not afford.

  “Jane?” Faris’s words were in Jane’s inner ear, an interior voice, bodiless, small and remote as letters printed on a page.

  Jane pitched her voice just above a whisper. “Were we far enough from Glasscastle? Could you hear us?”

  “Heard and saw.” Faris sounded tired. “He’s right. Blast him.”

  “Mending the rift didn’t mend the rift? That hardly seems fair.” The news took away most of Jane’s pride and pleasure in the success of her spell casting. “What’s wrong with the way you did it?”

  There was a pause, as if Faris were selecting her words with great care. Then the answer came. “Sand in an oyster. If you wait too long, take the grain of sand away, the pearl is still there.”

  “But the sand is gone? For good?”

  “Oh, yes. That’s taken care of. The trouble is, even if Fell can stay out of the wardenship, I don’t think there’s any way the rest of us can do anything about the pearl.”

  “What about Fell? Can he mend the distortion by himself?”

  “Doubt it. Still. He’s far more aware of it than the rest of us were. That’s something. All that power he isn’t using, since he isn’t letting himself yield to the wardenship, ought to be compounding like interest. He should be able to put it to good use when at last he sees fit.”

  “What shall I tell him?” Jane could feel the spell yield within her as her concentration waned. “Any message?”

  “Keep trying.” The fatigue in Faris’s response was unmistakable. As the strength of the communication began to fade, the ink on the plate began to dry from the edge inward, until, as the center dried completely, the final word trailed off into silence.

  Jane glared at the dried, blackened plate as she rubbed her aching temples. “Thank you for the depth of your wisdom,” she muttered to no one. “I’m so glad you’re the warden and I’m just here to help count the linen.” Without much hope of salvaging the Royal Worcester plate, she put it in her washbasin and poured water over it. The ink might soak off. Given enough time. Otherwise, she’d just have to buy Robert and Amy another to replace it. Amy would probably forgive her for the act of domestic vandalism eventually.

  Jane went to bed with a headache.

  5

  “Then down the lawns I ran with headlong haste

  Through paths and turnings often trod by day”

  The next morning, as soon as it was decently possible to pay a call, Lambert visited the Brailsford household. He found that Mrs. Robert Brailsford was indisposed again. Miss Jane Brailsford received him in the morning room, a good sunny spot, and offered him tea. She looked fine in white linen with a filmy bit of lace for a collar, too demure to burst a soap bubble.

  “Amy isn’t downstairs yet.” Jane handed Lambert a cup of tea mercifully unsullied by milk, sugar, or stray tea leaves. “Shall I ring for something more substantial? With Amy’s excellent cook, you never know your luck. There might even be muffins.”

  Lambert sat back and put his cards on the table. “I only came to tell you that we seem to have imagined the man in the bowler hat.”

  “Did we?” Jane was intrigued. “How completely irresponsible of us. Tell me.”

  Happy to have such a good listener, Lambert related the gatekeeper’s account, concluding with his own further investigations. “I thought there had to be some misunderstanding, so I went back and talked to Tilney again. Made him good and cross with me for doubting him. Then I questioned two other people he said were in the vicinity at the time. Fellows of Glasscastle are steadfast witnesses. I’ve never met people so sure of themselves in my whole life. Neither of them saw the man in the bowler hat either. Nobody did.”

  “How provoking.” Jane seemed to be thinking hard.

  “Yup. Even if one of the witnesses does remember something later, all three have already sworn up and down that no one went through the gate at that hour of the day but us. Once they issue an opinion, no one at Glasscastle likes to change it without a full-scale debate.”

  Jane looked irritated. “What does your Mr. Fell think of all this?”

  Lambert grimaced. “Oh, Fell thinks I ought to question everyone at Glasscastle. In alphabetical order. Possibly by height. He likes it when I leave him alone. Which I have done to the best of my ability. When I tried to ask about it after dinner last night, he pretended he was deaf. Then he pretended he was asleep. A neat trick, as he was smoking a cheroot at the time.”

  Jane looked sympathetic. “How hard Mr. Fell works. Do you think he’d care to go for another outing in Robin’s motor car? It might help clear his thoughts.”

  “You could ask him.”

  “I will. Wait while I write him a note. If Mr. Fell doesn’t want a jaunt in the motor, bring him to tea instead. I must speak with him today, and the sooner the better.” Jane rang for the maid and sent for paper and ink. While Lambert finished his tea, she dashed off a brief letter of invitation, blotted her signature carefully, and folded the paper as soon as the ink was dry. “Do make sure he knows I need to speak with him today, please. It’s very important to me.”

  Lambert put the letter in the breast pocket of his jacket. “You don’t wish to come back with me? You could question the gatekeeper yourself, if you wanted.” The young lady who talks, Tilney had called Jane. Well, it night serve Tilney right to have a little of that talk headed his way.

  “I’d rather see Mr. Fell outside the confines of his college,” Jane replied. She looked at him through her lashes. “I am sure you learned more from the gatekeeper than I would.”

  “You being a mere female and all, of course.” Lambert didn’t even try to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “Cut it out, will you?”

  Jane laughed. “Are my languishing glances too much for you, Mr. Lambert? That’s odd. You seem invulnerable to my charms. One might even say impervious.”

  “I’m supposed to stay away from stimulants, remember? Save your feminine wiles for the rest of the world. You don’t need ’em on me. You win. I’m buffaloed.”

  “What does that mean? Something to do with your Wild West Show? Buffaloed.” Jane tried the word out as if she were tasting it. “Buffaloed.”

  “You’ve bamboozled me, that’s what it means.”

  “Me? Bamboozled you?” Jane shook her head. “On the contrary. You’re the one doing the bamboozling, Mr. Lambert. You’re gallant when it suits you to be, and gauche only when you decide to disarm the opposition.”

  “While you, Miss Brailsford, consider every man in the world fair game for your femme fatale act. I don’t blame you, I guess. Too bad you don’t have the run of Glasscastle just because you’re a girl. If it makes you feel better to make a monkey out of every man who lets you, fine. Just don’t waste it on me. You may look like you’re made out of spun sugar, but if the way you drive a car is anything to go by, you’re about as fragile as a piece of boiled leather. Your brother says you’re fanciful. From what I’ve seen, you’re about as fanciful as a pint of vinegar.”

  “Who put the bamboo in this bamboozle?” Jane was staring at him, her amusement plain. “What could I possibly have said to give you the impression I want to have the run of Glasscastle? To get up at some unearthly hour of the morning and sing myself hoarse for the greater good of the community? To eat gruel at two meals out of three? No, thank you.”

  “Doesn’t it bother you t
o be shut out? To be let in only on sufferance, and then to be forced to walk only where walking is allowed, and only when your presence is permitted?” Lambert broke off, abashed by the force of his words. He hadn’t meant to give away so much.

  Jane eyed him narrowly. “No, it doesn’t bother me. Not particularly. But I think it bothers you. It must bother you very much.”

  “Me? Doesn’t bother me a bit. I know the rules.” Lambert put his half-empty cup down. “It’s a privilege for me just to be here in Glasscastle. Until I came here, it never dawned on me that there were such places. Places where magic is taught, same as if it were needlepoint or chemistry.”

  “Those are novel parallels to draw. How did you think people learned it?” asked Jane.

  Lambert shrugged. “The first time I ever saw true magic done, I figured it was just something a man was born with. I never associated it with education.”

  Jane looked intrigued. “What sort of magic was it?”

  “I don’t know a name for it. I was in Paris with the show. Sometimes Kiowa Bob would issue a challenge to a cavalry regiment to see if any of their men could ride one of our horses. The broncos, I mean. The horses that buck.” Lambert checked to see if Jane was following him.

  “I understand,” said Jane.

  “Very seldom was there a cavalry-trained rider who could. Fine riders, one and all. It was a matter of experience, you see. It’s one thing to learn that kind of riding over time. To pick it up in one try, when there’s a wager on the line, and with all your friends watching you—well, it isn’t easy.”

  “I can imagine.”

  Lambert went on. “This particular occasion, the cavalry officers brought one of their horses out, a bald-faced roan. It’s strange how often a bald-faced horse will turn out hard to handle. The French cavalry officers challenged any of our bronc riders to try to stay on him. Three of our best riders tried him and they all but broke their necks.”