The Rowanwood Curse (Hal Bishop Mysteries Book 1)

by Elizabeth O'Connell

  When Hal had finished, he sat up. “Andrew’s given a fair account of it. I wasn’t there when Anthony died, as he told you. I was in London—handling some of Anthony’s affairs, as it happens.” He laughed bitterly. “I had been there some weeks when I received a letter from Andrew, full of dire predictions regarding both Anthony and Helen—my wife—and of course I made arrangements to return at once. But I arrived too late.”

  He pressed a hand to his eye. “Just too late, in fact—I arrived the morning after Anthony’s death. The household was in an uproar—my wife pale and languishing in bed, my brother’s body lying in state, and his wife—do you know how Teresa greeted me?”

  I shook my head, and Hal simply watched him impassively.

  “She spat in my face,” he said. “Called me a devil and bade me get out—of my own home! She was hysterical, of course—half-mad with grief, and given to dramatics always. She had been an opera singer in her own country—and she was very attached to Anthony. For all her faults, I will give her that credit. She loved him.”

  “What persuaded her to leave?” Hal said.

  “She didn’t need persuading.” Sir Jasper ran a hand over his face. “I was the executor of the estate, and Marcus’s guardian—she couldn’t make me leave. Therefore, she left—and took my nephew with her. I sent him a regular allowance, but had neither seen nor heard from him in nineteen years before he returned last year.”

  “It must have been a shock to see him,” I said.

  “More than it should have been.” He looked out the window, face clouding over. “The estate is his, of course—he will become master of it on his next birthday, when he comes of age. But he has never shown the slightest interest in it—and no doubt his mother has not encouraged an interest. I suppose I had assumed all along that he would be one of those lords content to let others run their estate for them.”

  Hal rubbed his chin, smoke curling about his head. “So he came here unannounced, and having shown no previous interest? That did not strike you as noteworthy?”

  “It struck me as odd,” Sir Jasper said. “But as I say, the estate is his. Who am I to question his movements?”

  “And what of this romance with your daughter?”

  Sir Jasper shook his head. “They were infatuated with each other—already talking of marriage! But I forbade it, at least until they were both a bit older.”

  “Then you did not object to Cecilia marrying her cousin?” I said, surprised.

  “I admit I have my doubts regarding my nephew’s character—which have not been eased in the least by his sudden and inexplicable absence during my daughter’s illness—but I felt I could not forbid the marriage entirely.”

  “But you quarreled with her about it.”

  He sighed wearily. “Yes. My nephew, of course, told her of the quarrel between his father and myself—and she accused me of taking out my hatred of my brother on Marcus, and denying her happiness.”

  Hal drummed his fingers on the seat. “And thereafter she became ill. You see know how it is relevant? Why did you not tell us any of this before?”

  “Because it did not concern you,” Sir Jasper snapped, as the carriage came to a stop before the Hall. “And I do not wish to discuss it any further.”

  He alighted from the carriage, leaving Hal watching him with a sour expression on his face.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Sir Jasper retreated to his study upon entering the Hall, the better to avoid continuing the conversation that had begun in the aether-carriage. For our part, Hal and I adjourned to the library, where Hal paced before the fireplace, frowning and puffing out great clouds of smoke. The maid came in with the tea, and he bade her take it away, and asked for a new pot to be made with the tea Mrs. Ogham had given us.

  “You’re in a black mood,” I said, when the maid had scurried away with the teapot.

  “Why shouldn’t I be?” He flung himself down in a chair before the fire. “I have spent my morning engaged in industrial magic, which I detest, and have learned that my client has kept pertinent information from me.”

  “Do you think it has any bearing on our inquiry, though? It all happened so long ago.”

  His frown deepened. “As I told Sir Jasper, it may be relevant to motive, if nothing else. I don’t see why he should have kept it from us.”

  I looked away from him. The tale of Sir Jasper’s family tragedy had put me in mind of our own, and I could not help remembering the dark days just after Father’s death. Even when Hal had come to fetch me from school, he had told me only that Father had died, and left me to puzzle out the details on my own.

  “I should think you would understand it very well,” I said quietly.

  Hal frowned at me through the smoke from his pipe. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Father, of course,” I said, exasperated. “You won’t even speak to me about him, much less a stranger.”

  Hal leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes and rubbing a hand over his forehead. “I did not hire a stranger to break a curse. If Sir Jasper wishes me to find the truth, then he must expect some discomfort.”

  I swallowed a sigh; if Hal didn’t want to talk about Father, I couldn’t make him. I turned my thoughts back to the case. “But what can Lord Marquardt’s death have to do with Cecilia’s curse? She wasn’t even born yet when he died.”

  “A man dreams of being a wolf.” Hal drummed his fingers upon the arm of his chair. “Why should she say that, and her uncle having dreamed of walking at night as a beast? There must be something to it.”

  The maid brought the tea in. The bitter licorice scent of it filled the library, and I gladly took a cup of it. I had almost got used to the taste by then, and I had been building a headache since our return to the Hall.

  “Mightn’t it be a distraction?” I stirred a lump of sugar into my tea. “In that case, you would be chasing a shadow.”

  “Perhaps.” Hal pinched the bridge of his nose. “But it’s something to follow, at any rate.”

  “And how do you propose we should do that?”

  He stood, resuming his pacing before the fireplace, stalking about the library like a restless cat. “We must speak to Mr. Gilley again. I must see if he has followed my advice—if he has, and it has worked, then I think we are close to a turning point in this mystery of ours.”

  When we had finished our tea, we recovered our coats and once again began the long walk down to Gilley’s farm. It was overcast and cold, and I drew my coat tightly about me to ward off the chill. The walk was very silent; Hal puffed at his pipe, smoke curling about his head, and I knew that he was deep in thought over the mystery of the beast. I was in a melancholy sort of mood myself—the memories Sir Jasper’s story had raised floated about my mind, producing a muted feeling of remembered grief.

  I was glad when we reached the farm. Mr. Gilley was near the barn, and spotted us as we came up the path, his ruddy face breaking into a grin as he waved and shouted at us.

  “Well, Mr. Bishop, your little trick seems to have done it,” he said when we reached him.

  Hal smiled around his pipe. “Then I can take it you weren’t troubled by the beast last night?”

  “Nay.” The old farmer took off his cap and wiped his brow. “We heard him howling—and I came out here with my rifle, just to be sure—but though I could see him stalking around the field, he never got near the sheep—couldn’t get past the smoke, seemed like.”

  “You saw the creature?” I said.

  “I did.” He shook his head. “Not that I got a good look, mind—just saw his shadow. But I can tell you this—he was bigger than any dog I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

  “Bigger than a mastiff?” Hal said mildly.

  The farmer rubbed his chin. “I can’t be certain—but as I say, I’ve never seen a dog so large. Might be it isn’t a dog at all.”

  “Might be,” Hal said. “But never mind, Mr. Gilley—I’m grateful to you.”

  “Grateful?” Mr. Gilley’s eyebrows
shot up. “What for? It was you that gave me good advice.”

  “And you followed it.” Hal gave Mr. Gilley a half-smile. “I meant to test a theory, and it has been tested. Now I know more about this creature than I did before. Therefore, I am grateful.”

  “Well, you’re more than welcome,” said Mr. Gilley, looking bemused. “But I think it was you that did the favor. If you want to test any more theories I’d be glad to help.”

  Hal rubbed his chin, looking out over the fields. “There is one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Don’t burn the monkshood tonight.”

  Mr. Gilley stared at him. “But I’ve just told you it worked!”

  “Precisely.” Hal blew out a ring of smoke. “Now I know that this creature is a product of magic, and I should like to get a better look at it.”

  Mr. Gilley took off his cap and scratched his head. “I don’t like it, Mr. Bishop. What’s to stop that beast from attacking my sheep again?”

  “We will be waiting for it,” Hal said. “You with your rifle, and I with my magic. Between us, I think we can keep the sheep from harm.”

  The farmer scratched his head again, knitting his brows together. “I don’t like it,” he repeated. “I’m grateful to you, and all, Mr. Bishop, but it’s my livelihood. I’ve a family to feed, you know.”

  “He said the beast came down to the fields last night, Hal,” I said. “Why can’t we just wait for it here, without leaving the sheep exposed?”

  Hal frowned around his pipe. “Because it will smell the monkshood from a distance, and now it knows that the sheep are protected. It will not try again—but if it sees that the field has been left unguarded . . . .”

  “You may be right,” Mr. Gilley said. “But still . . . .”

  “I am right,” Hal said. “Mr. Gilley, there is a girl’s life at stake here. I am sure her father would be more than pleased to compensate you for any sheep you might lose in the endeavor to save her.”

  “I don’t know about that.” Mr. Gilley spat on the ground. “He’s close with his money, that one.”

  Hal sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Then I will compensate you from my fee. This is a matter of life and death.”

  The farmer folded his arms over his chest, and looked at the ground for a long moment. “All right,” he said, finally. “All right. You were right before. I’ll trust you to keep your word, even if you are a magician.”

  The hour being late, Mr. Gilley invited us to take dinner with his family. He led us to a stone farmhouse, where we were greeted by his wife, a stout dark-browed woman with ruddy cheeks, and a large assortment of children ranging from a sturdy boy of twelve to a tiny dark-browed baby. Mr. Gilley introduced each of them with pride.

  “Only missing Sally,” he said. “She’s up at the big house.”

  The children watched us owlishly, curiosity in their big dark eyes, but Mrs. Gilley glowered up at us from beneath her heavy brows.

  “I don’t care for magicians,” she said, poking at the fireplace. “The whole lot, meddling in what they don’t understand. It’s dangerous.”

  Hal shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “I can’t disagree with you. Magic is certainly a force to be reckoned with.”

  “Aye.” Mrs. Gilley stood up, wiping her face with her apron. “And it’s us that’s left to do the reckoning, after you’ve done your fancy spells.”

  “Now, Mother,” said Mr. Gilley, laughing uncomfortably. “This is the man that told me how to save our sheep. He’s a good sort.”

  “If you say so.” Mrs. Gilley gave us a final baleful glare before gathering her daughters and retreating to the kitchen.

  Mr. Gilley settled himself down in an armchair, shaking his head. “Never mind Hattie. She’s a woman of strong opinions.”

  “Your wife is wise to be wary of magic,” Hal said. “I could find it in me to wish that more members of my profession shared her view.”

  Mr. Gilley blinked at him. “Well, I can’t say I disagree with her. Seems to me that magic has made more problems than it’s solved, at least where I’m concerned.”

  I stood closer to the fire, warming my hands. “Have you had any particular trouble with magic?”

  “Aside of the mine, and this creature?” Mr. Gilley shook his head. “But there’s always been stories about it—my nan had some that would curl your toes. Stories about the old fairies, you know.”

  Mrs. Gilley’s reception may have left much to be desired, but her cooking more than made up for it. I had not even realized how hungry I was until I smelled the plate of food laid in front of me, and I tucked into it ravenously.

  This seemed to win Mrs. Gilley’s approval. “That’s it, lad. A young person should enjoy his food,” she said, beaming at me.

  I did enjoy it, and I was sorry when the meal was finished, and Mr. Gilley led us out to the barn. I remembered the sickly feeling that had lingered about the sheep, and fancied that it still hung about the barn. The idea of meeting the beast who carried that magic filled me with a sort of cold dread, and I shivered, drawing my coat closer around me.

  Mr. Gilley retrieved his rifle and two lanterns. Hal took the lanterns and set them down on a workbench, drawing a piece of chalk from his pocket. With a few deft strokes he drew a fire spell on each of them, then laid his hands down on the seal he had made, and the lanterns lit of their own accord.

  “It’s a simple spell, and won’t amount to much,” he said, handing one of the lanterns to me. “But if you find yourself facing the beast, you can at least fling some fire at him—it may frighten him off.”

  “What if it doesn’t?” I took the lantern from him. It felt warm in my hand, and there was a faint smell of sulfur—the traces of the fire elemental he had bound to it.

  “Then it will serve as an alert to myself and Mr. Gilley.” He smiled around his pipe. “Don’t worry, Jem.”

  I scowled. “I’m not worried. I just want to be prepared.”

  Mr. Gilley led us out to the bye, where the sheep lay dotting the field in slumbering piles of gray and white. Hal decided that it was better to split up, so that we could be certain to cover more ground. I was to stay with Mr. Gilley, and patrol the eastern edge of the bye, while he would cover the western edge on his own.

  I watched him walk away, that same feeling of dread in my chest. The feeling of the magic did still linger in the bye, and gave me a sickly shiver up my spine. I lifted the lantern higher, focusing on the warmth and light of its spell, and followed Mr. Gilley out to the edge of the field. He found a rock to sit upon and rest his rifle against, while I stood with one hand in my pocket and the other holding the lantern high, staring out into the darkness for the beast.

  Mr. Gilley drew a flask from his pocket and took a long draft, smacking his lips appreciatively. He held it out to me, and I took a drink from it, feeling the sharp burn of the whisky down my throat before it settled into a pleasant warmth in my chest.

  “Can’t beat that on a cold night, eh, lad?” Mr. Gilley chuckled as I handed the flask back to him.

  “Certainly it does keep one warm,” I said, managing a faint smile. The wind had picked up, howling across the moors, and it had a sharp bite to it. I tucked my free hand back into my pocket.

  “It’ll snow tonight,” Mr. Gilley said. “The air smells of it.”

  We waited there, for how long I don’t know. It was long enough that my face began to ache with the cold, and my feet began to lose feeling. Mr. Gilley sat half-dozing on the rock, his flask reappearing periodically.

  “Maybe this beast won’t show at all tonight,” he said. “Maybe that trick of your brother’s frightened it away for good.”

  “Perhaps,” I said, but even as I spoke, I heard a low, baleful howl. My back went stiff and all the hair on the back of my neck stood up. I peered out into the darkness, holding the lantern higher, but saw nothing.

  Beside me, Mr. Gilley took up his rifle and stood, all traces of his drowsines
s vanished. He clutched the rifle tightly with both hands, his eyes wide. The howling sounded again, nearer this time, and I felt the slithering of dark magic along the sinews of my back. I turned, lantern raised, and went perfectly still.

  There before me stood a shadow, black as ink, silhouetted even against the night sky. It had the shape of a dog, but it stood taller than a man. Against the blackness of its coat, its white teeth gleamed wetly, a low growl reverberating from its throat. But above all else, what struck me frozen with terror were its eyes. They glowed malevolently out of the shadow, twin flames of bright blue, burning with a destructive fury.

  I raised the lantern, with some half-formed thought of using the fire spell on it to drive the creature away, but the magic that surrounded the beast wound about me and the lantern, curling around my spine. The lantern flickered twice and went out, choked into darkness by the spell that made the beast. In the darkness, the only thing I could see were those glowing eyes.

  “Look out!” Mr. Gilley shouted, but I was frozen to the spot. The beast gave one final warning growl, then sprang.

  I had just enough time to throw my arm in front of my face before the great bulk of the beast rammed into me, knocking me to the ground and forcing the air from my lungs. Its teeth sank into the flesh of my arm, sending a burning pain up to my shoulder. I heard a gunshot, and another, but the beast stayed where it was, jaw locked on my arm, blazing blue eyes fixed on my face. Between the twisting of the dark magic about my lungs and the weight of the creature on my chest, I could not draw a breath, could not call for help.

  There was a sudden shouting, and a burst of light from one corner of my vision; I felt a rush of warmth against my face. The beast yelped, and turned to face this new threat. I turned my head, and saw a rush of flame. The beast howled furiously, but leapt from my chest and disappeared into the darkness. The rushing flame died down to a single point of light—the lantern my brother carried.