Charles Bewitched (Leland Sisters)

by Doyle, Marissa

  “The train didn’t run away with you, then!” he called.

  “I know. Deucedly dull!” Charles took his proffered hand and gave it a hearty shake. “I hoped we’d at least run over a sheep. Where’s Perse? I thought she’d come along.”

  For just a moment, Lochinvar’s smile dimmed…or was it just a trick of the light as he bent to pick up Charles’s carpetbag? “She was out when it was time for me to leave,” he said. “Are those your trunks? I’ve brought Polly with the dog cart.”

  Charles went to pat Polly, one of Lord Northgalis’s carriage horses, and examined Lochinvar while he directed the porter’s loading of his trunks into the boot of the cart and tipped him generously. Something wasn't right, or he’d eat the first fifty pages of Henry I and the Charter of Liberties. Where had Persy gone? She knew he was arriving today—why, for his other holidays at home she’d come all the way to Mage’s Tutterow to greet him on his arrival. Strange.

  “She isn’t ill, is she?” he asked anxiously once they’d settled in the cart and clopped out of the tiny station yard.

  “What?”

  “Persy—is she ill?”

  “No, not at all,” Lochinvar said, then continued, more quietly, “At least, I don’t think she is. She’s been a little…off for a bit now.”

  Now that was even stranger. Persy and Lochinvar were not just married; they were married. If something were troubling Persy and she hadn’t told Lochinvar about it…that just didn’t seem possible. “Off how?” he asked.

  Lochinvar frowned at Polly’s rump. “It’s hard to put a finger on it. Not quite sad—she can still laugh at times. Distant, maybe. As if she’s not quite paying attention to everything around her. She’s taken to walking a lot, yet on some days she almost barricades herself in the house and refuses to even go into the garden. Certainly nothing like she’s ever been before.”

  “That doesn’t sound like her,” Charles agreed. Persy had never been particularly moody. Some of the fellows at school had horror stories about their sisters’ bad tempers and vapors, but neither Persy nor Pen had ever been that way. Hmm. Unless, perhaps, there was something of a very delicate nature bothering her, like a baby on the way…but he couldn’t figure out a way to ask Lochinvar that without extreme agonies of embarrassment. And besides, why would Persy be “almost sad” about a baby? She and Lochinvar had been married nearly five years now, and there had been no hints that they were going to present him with a niece or nephew, as Pen and Niall had.

  Lochinvar sighed. “I’m hoping that your being here will cheer her up,” he said. “I do know she was looking forward to it. If you could try to engage her—ask if she’ll work on magic with you, maybe—I’d be grateful. It might help pull her out of this cloud she’s in.”

  “Oh, I was going to do that anyway. I wonder how she is with early English history?” he added.

  “Some cramming to do over hols? I thought that bag of yours seemed suspiciously heavy.”

  “I swear that history books weigh twice as much as any other sort. And are twice as boring.” It was his turn to glower at Polly’s flanks.

  “I hope that you’ll be willing to do something other than just read all the time.” Lochinvar’s voice warmed into a teasing tone. “The entire stable is waiting for you, including his lordship.”

  “I should think so! How is Lord Chesterfield?” Charles asked eagerly. It had been months since he’d been on a horse. No stables for the students to keep horses at Eton.

  “As fine as ever, and looking forward to a few good rambles—” Lochinvar broke off, his attention drawn by something to the left of the road. Charles looked too: two or three plumes of smoke could be seen drifting up from a hollow some ways off.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Gypsies. At least, I assume it is—that’s where they often camp. Except that they usually aren’t here in the summer. Odd.” He fell silent, frowning again. “I don’t like Persy wandering around alone if they’re in the neighborhood. Not that we’ve ever had trouble with them, but still….”

  “Persy can take care of herself,” Charles reminded him. “She’s not just anyone, remember. And she’s not silly.”

  “True,” Lochinvar said, but his eyes remained troubled. He didn’t seem inclined to chat more, so Charles gave himself over to enjoying the ride. The sky was cornflower blue, lightly covered with a lace veil of high, thin clouds. They had left the fields close to the village and had entered the wooded country around Galiswood, and a soft breeze fluttered the leaves of the tall trees, oak and elm and lime. He’d grown fond of living somewhat closer to civilization—Windsor was a bustling little town—but it was pleasant to rusticate now and again. The wind carried a scent of wildflowers, and off to their right among the trees he could see a pair of long grass-covered mounds in a clearing, dotted with tiny white star-like flowers.

  “I didn’t know you had barrows at Galiswood!” he exclaimed. Mage’s Tutterow was on the other side of Galiswood, and he’d never driven on this road. “My Latin master was going on about digging one up on his uncle’s land when he was at Oxford, looking for Roman treasure.”

  “Did he find any?”

  “He wouldn’t say.” Now, that might be an interesting way to spend a few afternoons. “Do you think we could—”

  “No,” Lochinvar said firmly. “For one thing, those aren’t on our land, though we do have several. For another…” he hesitated. “For another, the village folk wouldn’t like it.”

  “Why not?”

  “They’re superstitious. They won’t hear that they’re just ancient burial mounds full of not much more than maybe a few rusty utensils and a great deal of earth. They’re convinced they’re fairy forts or some such rubbish.”

  “Oh.” Charles looked back over his shoulder at the grassy mounds. “Do you think they are?”

  Lochinvar shrugged. “No. At least, I’ve never seen a fairy near one. I doubt there are any left in this part of the country, if there ever were. Unless you assume that fairies were actually the original Britons, driven into hiding when the Romans came.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.” Maybe he’d ask Persy. She might know. Ally hadn’t ever said much about the fairy folk, apart from that they could be dangerous and she preferred not to have anything to do with that old, perilous branch of magic. Hmmph. Now, if he had to study history, why couldn’t it be about old magic instead of old kings and laws?

  “Oh, it’s you,” said Lorrie Allardyce, opening the door to Persy’s sitting room at Charles’s knock. “Down from Eton, are you?”

  “Yes, Miss Allardyce.” It still felt funny to call someone who wasn’t Ally Miss Allardyce, even though Ally had been gone for years and Lorrie had been Persy’s maid since before she married Lochinvar. “My sister isn’t back from her walk yet, is she?” He peered hopefully past her head—he now topped her by several inches—looking for Perse.

  “No,” Lorrie said shortly, then sighed. “I’m sorry. No, she hasn’t returned yet. I did remind her that you’d be arriving this afternoon, so I don’t know why she’s—” She folded her lips for a moment. “Come in, and I’ll ring for tea for you. You’d probably like some right now.”

  So long as the tea included a liberal plate of cakes and sandwiches to go with it, he would. “Thank you.”

  He followed Lorrie into the room and sat down in one of the chairs by the window. Lorrie rang the bell and spoke to the footman who answered it, then sat down in the chair opposite him and took up a piece of mending she’d evidently dropped when he knocked. “And how is school, Mr. Leland?”

  “Er, fine, thank you.” Charles hesitated then said, all in a rush, “Do you know what’s wrong with Persy? Lochinvar was just telling me he’s worried about her and that she hasn’t been herself lately.”

  Lorrie glanced down at the torn lace flounce in her lap. “Look at this,” she said, holding it up for him to examine. “I spend more time doing repairs like this than anything else. Lady Seton is constantly
wandering the woods and coming back with her clothes torn to shreds, but when I ask her how it happened she can’t seem to remember. She even came home missing a shoe the day before yesterday. I swear, it looks almost as if she’s fleeing something, tearing her skirts as she runs.”

  That did not sound like Persy at all. She and Pen had liked to run around out-of-doors as much as anyone—but that had been when they were small, not now that they were grown women. And the fact that she couldn’t remember—maybe she was fibbing to put Lorrie off for some reason…but why? “Lochinvar says that sometimes she doesn’t go out—that she stays in the house.”

  Lorrie nodded. “That too—in fact, she won’t even go near a window on those days—but not as often for the few days. She says—oh, it’s foolishness, but on those days she says that if she can be strong and ignore the calls long enough, that maybe they’ll change their mind and let her go.”

  A cold finger seemed to brush the back of his neck. “What do you think she means? Who’s calling her? Does Lochinvar know she said that?”

  “I don’t know.” Lorrie looked unhappy. “I haven’t told Lord Seton, but maybe I should. And as for whom she thinks is calling—”

  “Lochinvar did say the gypsies were around Galiswood right now. You don’t think…” Charles trailed into hopeful silence, but she shook her head.

  “It makes no sense. Why should the gypsies be calling her, or it be so difficult for her to ignore them if they were? No, there’s something else. Someone else. I just fear that—”

  There was a scratching at the door, and the footman came in bearing a large tea tray. He set it down on the table between them. Lorrie thanked him and poured Charles a cup of tea, put in the milk and three spoonfuls of sugar he liked—good on her for remembering!—and handed it to him. He took a polite sip, then put it down and dove into the plate of sandwiches on the tray. Oh, deviled ham and egg-and-anchovy—first rate! No fussy watercress or cucumber for him. Lord Northgalis’s cook knew what she was doing, all right.

  “You said you’re afraid of something,” he prompted her a few sandwiches later. “What?”

  Lorrie had poured herself some tea but sat staring unseeing into her cup. She stirred and looked up at him. “I fear that sometime—next month or week, or tomorrow—she won’t be able to run fast enough and they’ll catch her. And then—”

  “Who will?”

  “Whom do you think? You’ve seen the barrows near this house. As soon as I came here with your sister, I knew they were around, watching. Haven’t you felt them?”

  This time an entire handful of cold fingers seemed to grasp his neck. “You mean…the Fair Folk?”

  “You don’t have to whisper. It’s not like they’re hiding in the woodwork,” Lorrie said. “You can even say their name, except that ‘the Fair Folk’ isn’t what they call themselves. You’ve lived here all your life—haven’t you ever seen them?”

  “Then they really do live in the barrows? No, I haven’t seen them—there aren’t any near Mage’s Tutterow. How do you know about them?”

  She sighed impatiently. Charles felt somewhat comforted—that was more like the Lorrie Allardyce he knew. “I grew up surrounded by books on magic, remember? Of course I know about the fairies. I’ve read a great deal about them. They—I—they’re a very interesting topic of study.”

  For some reason, her cheeks had grown pink, Charles noticed. He thought about asking her why, but there were more important matters at hand. “So are they ancient Britons, like Lochinvar said some people think?” he asked.

  Lorrie’s eyes darkened. “Oh, no. They’re not human. Not remotely. I’m surprised they don’t live near your family’s home—the magic in the stones should draw them, even though there hadn’t been any Leland witches for a long time till your sisters—”

  “And me,” Charles added. After all, he had magic too.

  “And you, though I can’t say I was impressed by your spell-casting last time you were home on holiday.”

  He ignored her. “So what do they want with Persy?”

  She hesitated and looked at him for a moment, as if deciding what she should say. “I don’t know for sure, but I might guess,” she finally said.

  Oh, honestly. Why wouldn’t she just tell him instead of making him drag it out of her this way? Were all females this difficult? “What?”

  She looked down at her cup again. “The fairies aren’t entirely of this world,” she said to it. “But they aren’t entirely not part of it, either. You know how they sometimes steal humans away, don’t you? The reason they do that is—is because adding a strain of human blood to their race strengthens them—makes it easier for them to keep their grip on this world. Sometimes they take human children and raise them as their own…but sometimes they take strong young women for…you know.” She kept her eyes averted. “The fact that she’s a witch makes her even more attractive to them. A human with magical abilities? Who would make a better bride for a fairy?”

  He frowned. “But she’s already married! They can’t do that!”

  “Let’s hope they don’t,” Lorrie said with a shiver.

  Charles looked at the half-eaten sandwich he still held and set it down on his plate, then got up from his chair and started to pace. It felt good to move. “Have you talked to Persy about any of this?” he demanded.

  Lorrie shook her head and looked unhappy. “You haven’t seen her—it’s gotten almost impossible to talk to her the last few days. It’s like she’s not entirely here—like she’s listening to something no one else can hear. And…well, I’m just her maid, aren’t I? It’s not like I can just bring things up like this with her.”

  “Why not? You were her friend first.”

  “Not really. I may have met her a few times before I came to your house pretending to be her new maid while we were looking for my sister, but it’s not as if we’d truly been friends. It was very kind of her to let me stay on, and being a lady’s maid has been more interesting than spending my days dusting the books and sweeping the floor in my father’s shop—at least for a while—but I don’t...oh, never mind that now.” She made an impatient gesture.

  Charles went to the door. “Well, I think we need to talk to Persy. As soon as she gets in from her walk.” It was a good thing he’d arrived, wasn’t it? Someone had to take charge here.

  “Where are you going?” Lorrie suddenly looked tired, as if she’d been running against a strong wind.

  “To go read about a lot of dead kings till my sister gets back.” He paused, then returned and took the plate of sandwiches. As his tutor was fond of saying, waste not, want not.

  Chapter Three

  Except that Persy still hadn’t come home hours later, when it was nearly time to dress for dinner. Charles had taken History and Policy of the Norman and Angevin Kings, as it was the shortest book in his pile, and the sandwiches down to a sunny spot on the lawn at the front of the house so that he could keep an eye out for her as he read. But as the shadows lengthened he did less reading and more watching, until the crunch of a horse’s hooves on the gravel drive made him abandon his book altogether to see who was coming.

  Or rather, going. It was Lochinvar, on Lord Chesterfield, on his way from the stables. Charles jumped up. “Out for a ride?” he called as he hurried toward him.

  Lochinvar waved. “Just a quick one before dinner,” he replied cheerfully. But when Charles reached him, his expression was anything but cheerful. “I’m going out to look for Persy,” he said in a low voice. “She’s never been out this late before, and I’m worried she might have fallen and twisted her ankle. Don’t say anything—I don’t want to worry the staff unnecessarily.”

  Charles thought of Lorrie’s furrowed brow. “They’re already worried, some of them. Do you want me to come too? It’ll only take them a minute to saddle someone for me.”

  Lochinvar shook his head. “Thank you, but I don’t think it’s necessary. I’m sure I’ll be back with her inside a half-hour.” He smiled in a way th
at Charles guessed was probably supposed to be reassuring, and set Lord Chesterfield into a trot down the drive.

  Charles watched him for a few minutes, frowning. If Persy had been walking in the woods, wouldn’t it make more sense to look for her on foot? If she had fallen and hurt herself, it would easy enough to run back to the house for help. He crammed Norman and Angevin Kings into his pocket and headed for the woods at the edge of the South Lawn, where the trees grew thickly enough that Lochinvar wouldn’t be able to ride through them.

  Under the trees, dusk had already started to fall. Charles plunged among them for few dozen yards then stood still for a moment to let his eyes accustom themselves to the shadowy woods. The fresh westerly breeze that had kept him comfortable in the afternoon sun scarcely penetrated here, and only a faint rustling of leaves from above broke the dim silence. Charles cleared his throat.

  “Persy?” he called.

  One of the shadows moved. He drew his breath in sharply...and then the shadow resolved itself into a dark-haired boy, smaller than he—maybe ten or eleven. Charles sighed noisily. “I say, you startled me! Have you seen—”

  The boy stared back at Charles for the space of a breath, then turned and ran.

  “Hey!” Charles lit after him. What was wrong with him? Was he afraid of being told off for trespassing? “It’s all right! You don’t have to run—I only want to speak with you.”

  The boy continued to dodge trees, darting from side to side like a frightened rabbit. Charles kept up, though it wasn’t always easy to avoid the undergrowth obscured by shadows. “Please—I need your help!”

  The boy slowed slightly, as if trying to decide what to do…and then, abruptly, fell on his face. Charles caught up to him a few seconds later and saw the tree root that had tripped the lad. “Here,” he said kindly, holding out his hand. “Are you all right?”