The Rowanwood Curse (Hal Bishop Mysteries Book 1)

by Elizabeth O'Connell

  I wondered what he meant by that—whether he thought I would have been in the way, or made things worse, but I was afraid to ask. Hal leaned back against his pillows, smoking his pipe. After a moment, the tired lines on his face smoothed out and his color began to return to normal.

  “Well, that’s enough on the subject of Father,” he said. “As I say, the spirit meant that as a distraction—and it very nearly worked.”

  I thought there was a great deal more to be said on the subject of Father, but Hal had been pressed far enough for one night. I sighed, returning my thoughts to the case. “What sort of distraction?”

  Hal closed his eyes, blowing out a puff of smoke. “Sometimes a man dreams of being a wolf, and sometimes a wolf dreams of being a man.”

  I frowned at him. “But what does that mean?”

  “I don’t know.” He smiled around his pipe. “But there’s a clue in it—and if I can solve the riddle, I’ll be on my way to solving the case.”

  I looked down at my hands, chewing my lip for a moment in thought. “Hal, don’t you think it’s possible that it was just nonsense? Like Father . . . .”

  He sat up abruptly. “My God! You don’t let go of a subject when you have hold of it, do you? This has nothing to do with Father—it’s nothing like Father. How many times must I tell you?”

  I stared at him. “I only wondered—if the things Father said were nonsense, then why should Cecilia speak sense?”

  He ran a hand over his forehead and leaned back again, puffing furiously at his pipe. A dense cloud of smoke had gathered around his head before he spoke again. “Go back to bed, Jem. I need to think.”

  I left, taking the candle with me to my own room. When I had blown it out, I lay in the darkness, unable to return to sleep. The terrible scowl that had twisted Cecilia’s face haunted my mind, as did the look on Hal’s face when she had asked him the riddle about the king. I thought there must be something more to that—if it was only nonsense, why had Hal reacted so strongly? And why was he so certain that the riddle about the wolf was a clue?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  It was unwillingly that I dragged myself from bed the next morning; it had been very late when I finally fell asleep, and I was certain that no more than a few moments had passed between closing my eyes and the sunlight poking through the drapes. I splashed a bit of cold water on my face, hoping that I looked more alert than I felt, and made my way downstairs to breakfast.

  Sir Jasper and my brother were already seated at table when I arrived. Hal looked no better-rested than I felt; there were dark circles under his eyes and a sallow look to his face. He looked up when I entered, but said nothing. He had a general air of agitation, which puzzled me until I remembered: he had promised Sir Jasper that he would go to the mine today.

  Our host was absently poking at his breakfast. His mind was clearly elsewhere, but he did not seem especially perturbed. I thought the events of the previous night must have escaped his notice, and I wondered if Hal had mentioned them to him at all.

  “I’ve had magicians in already to take a look at the equipment, of course,” Sir Jasper said, as I took my seat. “But none of them could do anything about it, besides temporary fixes.”

  “What did they say was wrong with it?” I said, scooping up a forkful of eggs.

  Sir Jasper shook his head. “Not one of them could really say. It seems there’s some sort of counter-spell—something that’s interfering with the enchantments on the equipment. But to a man they were baffled by it—couldn’t make heads or tails of the spell itself.” He looked at Hal meaningfully. “I thought perhaps you might make better progress.”

  Hal stared moodily at his plate. “I did not come here to work on your mine.”

  “You’ve made that clear.” Sir Jasper sighed, rubbing his forehead. “And yet—I think what is happening at the mine and what has happened to my daughter must be connected.”

  “How so?” I said. I looked over at Hal—he had said something similar the night before, and I thought Sir Jasper’s words might provoke some reaction from him, but he remained as he was, arms folded over his chest, brooding over his plate.

  “To be perfectly frank, I’ve begun to suspect sabotage,” Sir Jasper said. “Some of the men have been unhappy with the pay for some time—then there are the farmers, who resent the mine. And I’ve no shortage of enemies in business. Any one of them might have placed a spell on my mine.”

  “And you think that whoever cursed your daughter is also sabotaging your mine?” Hal said, finally looking up. “Do you have any reason to believe so?”

  “Well, no.” Sir Jasper’s brow creased. “But the equipment began failing at around the same time she became ill—that was enough for you to suspect a connection with the sheep. Why not the mine?”

  “Why not, indeed?” Hal sighed heavily. “You are probably right—as I say myself, pure coincidence is quite rare. But it is quite strange—both this connection with the mine and with the sheep farmers.”

  “I do not see that it is so strange,” Sir Jasper said. “I have made an enemy—not so uncommon in my business—and he wishes to see me destroyed entirely.”

  “Hm.” Hal pulled his pipe out of his pocket. “But to strike at your mine—this seems to spring from a mercenary motive. One who would see you gone from the industry. To strike at your daughter—this speaks of a personal animus.”

  “Unless the personal animus also sprang from the mine.” Sir Jasper plucked at his napkin. “I gave some thought to our conversation yesterday—if the counter-spell on the mine is connected to Cecilia, then I think you have no better suspect than the family of the girl who died last winter.”

  “Perhaps.” Hal blew out a puff of smoke. “But that still leaves this business with the sheep farmers—and the beast.”

  The lines of Sir Jasper’s forehead deepened. “I am not certain that isn’t so much superstition at work—though I’ll take your word for it that some magic touched those sheep. But we’ll come no closer to the truth sitting here.”

  He stood, directing us to meet him at the carriage when we had finished our breakfast. When he had left, I turned to Hal, puzzled by his sudden change in attitude regarding the mine.

  “I thought you were interested in the connection between Cecilia and the mine,” I said. “You certainly didn’t put up much of a protest yesterday when Sir Jasper asked you to take a look at it.”

  Hal frowned around his pipe. “I am interested in the connection between Cecilia and the mine. I am not interested in the mine for its own sake. I’m not certain that Sir Jasper makes the distinction.”

  I pushed the now-congealed eggs around my plate. “Well, if you don’t want to look at the enchantments at the mine, why didn’t you just tell him so?”

  He sighed, giving me one of his patient looks. “If I’m to understand the connection between Cecilia and what’s happening at the mine, then I must go to the mine, don’t you agree?”

  I looked at him doubtfully. “I suppose so.”

  “Well, then.” He blew out a cloud of smoke. “If I’m to visit the mine, I must do it on Sir Jasper’s terms. However disagreeable I may find them.”

  With that, we departed the dining room to find Sir Jasper waiting for us at the aether-carriage. He beamed at us as we approached the carriage and patted it, with the air of a proud father. “You’ll have ridden here in it from the station, I suppose. But it really is a thing of beauty. And the only one for miles about.”

  I nodded appreciatively. “Very modern.”

  Hal’s dyspeptic frown deepened, and he stalked around to the other side of the carriage. Sir Jasper watched him with a puzzled expression before turning to me.

  “Your brother is rather odd,” he said. “Does he—is he certain that he knows what he’s doing?”

  The question startled me more than it should have; I myself found my brother’s behavior puzzling on a regular basis. From Sir Jasper’s perspective, it must have seemed downright strange. Here was Hal
, the son of the most gifted industrial magician of our age, going on about folk magic and displaying open disgust for his own father’s greatest work. But between fraternal loyalty and the need to reassure our host, I could not express my own doubts.

  “Of course he does,” I said stoutly.

  Sir Jasper shook his head. “I must say he is certainly not what I expected.”

  “Hal’s always been . . . .” I shifted my feet uncomfortably, searching for the right word. “Eccentric. But Father said that was because he was a true genius. He always said Hal would be a great magician.”

  “Well, I hope he was right about him.” Sir Jasper turned and fixed his sharp blue gaze on me. “And what did your father say about you?”

  I stared at him a moment; I was used to explaining Hal, but it was rare to be asked about myself. “I don’t suppose he ever gave it much thought,” I said, then realized how that must have sounded. “I mean—he was already ill when I went to school. He never really had the chance to judge my ability.”

  “The plight of the second son.” Sir Jasper smiled ruefully. “Never mind. I’m certain you also inherited some of your father’s talent.”

  The driver came around and opened the door for us, and we were soon on our way. The ride to the mine was short but uncomfortable; Hal’s irritation with the whole business surrounded him like a blanket, as thick as the smoke that poured from his pipe, and he stared moodily out the window.

  For his part, Sir Jasper made no better a companion. His mind was elsewhere, as it had been for the entire morning. He was preoccupied about the mine—that much was clear; and he was plainly beginning to doubt his wisdom in bringing Hal in to consult on his daughter’s case. He watched my brother skeptically as we traveled down the hill and toward the village.

  “One might believe that you had no interest in seeing the mine at all,” he said at last.

  “One might be correct.” Hal did not turn away from the window. “Or at least, correct in surmising that my interest in the mine is limited to what it can tell me of your daughter’s curse.”

  Sir Jasper’s brows knit together. “And yet you have all the time in the world to putter away on the sheep farms and talk to that old woman—all while my daughter lies dying.”

  This brought Hal’s attention back from the window. “As I say, I am not in the habit of wasting my time. I went both to the sheep farmer and Mrs. Ogham because I believed I might find some useful information—and in both cases I was proved correct. Now I am doing the same with your mine.”

  “And yet you cannot explain to me what you have found nor what conclusions you have drawn from it.” Sir Jasper ran a hand through his hair. “I am endeavoring to have patience with your methods, but you are making it difficult.”

  “When I have a conclusion, you shall know about it,” Hal said. “But to say anything before I have gathered all useful information would simply be to speculate—and that would profit no one.”

  “Yes. You have said that.” Sir Jasper clasped his hands together. “Well, I am telling you—I believe there is useful information at my mine.”

  Hal raised an eyebrow. “I will say only this: I do not appreciate being tricked. If this is a ploy to get me to fix your machines, or aid you in developing some industrial process . . . .”

  Sir Jasper cut him off with a furious glare. “I am a businessman, sir, but not a miser. I have hired you to save my daughter. Whatever I ask you to do, it is toward that end. Do not doubt me on that point. You have asked me to trust in your methods—well, I must ask you to trust my motives.”

  Hal had enough good sense to look chastised. “I will take you at your word for it. You must forgive me. On the subject of industrial magic, I am . . . biased, I suppose.”

  This seemed to mollify Sir Jasper; at any rate, he did not see fit to press the issue. The mine soon loomed up ahead of us, belching its cloud of dark smoke and ash into the grey sky. Workers scuttled across the yard, pushing barrows and carrying pickaxes. Several of them turned to look as the carriage entered the yard, the coal-black dust on their faces making their eyes stand out starkly. I felt at once the thrumming pull of industrial magic, sending the blood singing through my veins—but underneath, as always, the sick, creeping feeling of the dark magic twisting around my spine. I fancied that I could feel the stare of the mine workers burning into the carriage as we passed, the weight of their resentment pressing against it.

  I rubbed at my forehead, pushing the thoughts from my mind. Hal refilled his pipe, his face neutral, though I knew that he too must be feeling the effects of the magic. He lit the pipe and leaned back against the seat, breathing the smoke in deeply and releasing it through his nose.

  The familiar smell of the pipe smoke was a comfort, pushing back the creeping feel of the dark magic beneath the mine.

  The aether-carriage stopped before a large building, and we followed Sir Jasper up to the top floor, where he had his office. There was a large window in the back of the office that overlooked the rail line that ran through the mine yard, where the coal was loaded onto train cars and carried away to Manchester, London, and other cities. From here, Sir Jasper could watch the heart of his mine; he was at the very center of his operation.

  As we entered the room, I realized there was a young man seated at a small desk opposite the window. He looked up as we came in, his hair disheveled and ink staining one of his sleeves. His rather harried expression transformed into a look of surprise as he saw first Sir Jasper, and then Hal and I following him.

  “Good day, Peter,” Sir Jasper said, taking off his coat and handing it over to the young man. “All well here?”

  Peter took the coat and hung it up on a peg by the door. He looked to be about my brother’s age, perhaps a bit younger, with dark hair and clear grey eyes. He frowned as he turned back to Sir Jasper. “The furnace is playing up again. Sykes had a look at it, but he says he can’t do anything with it.”

  Sir Jasper went and stood by the window, looking down over the mine. “The same trouble as before?”

  “No, sir.” Peter frowned, folding his arms over his chest. “Now it’s flaring up. Sykes says he’s afraid of fire if it keeps up.”

  Sir Jasper did not turn from the window. “You understand what that means, Mr. Bishop? If there’s a fire in the mineshaft, what do you suppose will happen to my workers?”

  Hal rocked back on his heels, thrusting his hands in his pockets. The pipe was sending up large puffs of smoke. “Nothing good, I imagine. Is this the trouble you wanted me to look at?”

  Sir Jasper nodded curtly, then turned and gestured to Peter. “This is Mr. Soames, my secretary. Peter, these men are magicians. I’ve asked them to have a look around the mine. Take them down to the furnace, would you? And let me know how they get on.”

  “Certainly.” Peter turned to lead the way out of the office, shrugging on his coat.

  We left Sir Jasper standing at the window, overlooking the mine. He looked different, standing in that office, than he had in the Hall. He seemed taller—as though some weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Though his concern about the mine was evident, it was not the same desperate fear that haunted him when he spoke of his daughter. I thought I understood why he spent so much of his time at the mine now.

  “Aren’t you coming, Jem?” Hal’s impatient voice brought me out of my thoughts, and I hurried out to the stairwell where he and Peter Soames waited for me.

  Hal introduced us, and Peter’s eyes widened. “I heard him say Bishop—but you mightn’t be Charles Bishop’s sons?”

  Hal’s face soured as quickly as milk in vinegar, and he turned away abruptly, feet clattering down the stairs.

  Peter turned back to me, a bemused look on his face. “Have I said something wrong?”

  “No.” I pushed my hands into my pockets, hunching my shoulders against the cold. “Hal’s just—he’s taken Father’s death rather hard, that’s all.”

  “Oh, I see.” Peter thumped his forehead with the heel
of his hand. “How stupid of me—I forgot how recent it was. I’ve been fascinated by your father’s work for so long—I simply forgot all common courtesy.”

  I looked after my brother, now a full flight ahead of us on the stairs. “Never mind. Hal could use a few lessons in common courtesy himself.”

  Peter laughed, making his own way down the steps. “Still, it was rather rude of me. They must have been close, for him to take it so badly.”

  “I suppose so,” I said, following him down. “He worked with Father for years, after all.”

  “And you?” Peter’s breath sent clouds of steam into the chilly air. “Did you ever work with your father, I mean? You seem rather young.”

  I grimaced, remembering Sir Jasper’s words when we left the Hall—the plight of the second son. “No, I was at school when he became ill—I never had the chance to work with him.”

  Peter seemed to realize that he had put his foot in it again, and changed the subject to the mine itself. By the time we’d reached the bottom of the stairs, I knew that the mine had been founded just before Sir Jasper’s father had died, and that it was the first mining operation in England to make use of industrial magic, and that Sir Jasper was the first mine owner in England to have a doctor on-call at the mining site.

  “You must admire Sir Jasper very much,” I said, as we stepped out of the building.

  “I do,” Peter said, gravely. “You see, my own father died when I was very young—scarcely more than a baby. But Sir Jasper has been like a second father to me—he has been my benefactor as well as my employer.”

  That puzzled me—why should Sir Jasper take an interest in this young man? The cook had seemed to think that there was something between Peter and Cecilia—if Sir Jasper thought of Peter as his protégé, that would make a certain amount of sense. But I had no chance to follow the conversation any further, for by this point we had caught up to Hal.

  He stood outside the building like some baleful sentry, a cloud of smoke and steam billowing about his face. He had his eyes closed, but opened them at our approach. “Well, lead on. We might as well see what the trouble is with this furnace.”