“On the contrary,” Hal said, rubbing his chin. “It may turn out to be very relevant.”
Peter stood, running a hand through his hair. “Right. Well. I suppose I’d better get back to the mine.”
He left, and Hal took the seat he’d vacated, leaning back in the chair. He blew out a puff of smoke, tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair. I finished my tea and set the cup down, watching him.
After a long moment, he looked up. “Teresa—that was the name of Lord Marquardt’s wife, wasn’t it?”
I rubbed my head, trying to remember. Between the tea and Hal’s herb packet, my headache was all but gone and my arm was no longer shooting pain up to my shoulder; all I felt now was a deep sort of weariness, as though I could sleep for days. “I think so. Why?”
He shook his head. “These payments—if Sir Jasper was making them to his sister-in-law, it would fit with my theory.”
“Your theory?” I closed my eyes, leaning back against the sofa. “You have a theory?”
“Of course I do,” he said. “In fact, I believe we are closer than ever to solving this case.”
I sat up, biting my lip as the movement sent a spike of pain up my arm. “How? All we’ve learned is that there are two curses here, not one. And that Peter was in love with Cecilia, which we already knew.”
Hal stood up, putting his hands in his pockets, and began pacing. “Not at all. We had heard rumors that Peter was in love with her. Now I am satisfied that those rumors were fact—in which case he had no motive to curse her.”
I frowned at him. “But which would be a very good motive to curse her cousin.”
“Perhaps,” he said. “But the manner in which he appears to be cursed makes that unlikely.”
“What do you mean?”
He stopped, staring into the fireplace. “To be turned into a beast, when his father dreamed of being one—there’s a certain irony in that. It’s the sort of thing that the fair folk go in for—but Peter wouldn’t know about Cecilia’s uncle. So why would he curse him in that way?”
I ran a hand through my hair; it may have been how tired I felt, but I wasn’t following his reasoning. “Then what is your theory? And what do these payments have to do with it?”
“Marcus’s mother thought that Sir Jasper had driven her husband to suicide.” He rocked back on his heels, blowing out a puff of smoke. “Yet she left after the inquest, without another word, and has remained on the Continent thereafter. Her son returns, after nineteen years in which he has shown no interest in the estate nor had any communication with his uncle. And a few short months later, his cousin sickens and he disappears.”
“So you think that Sir Jasper was making these payments to his sister-in-law? Why?”
“To keep her away,” Hal said. “She could have caused a great deal of scandal for Sir Jasper. And I believe she was meant to keep her son away, as well—which would explain why Sir Jasper was so startled at his nephew’s reappearance.”
I shook my head. “I still don’t understand what connection this has to the curse.”
“Vengeance.” Hal turned around, a grim expression on his face. “As I said to Sir Jasper, it is a very powerful motivator—for both a son and a wife. Perhaps the payments simply weren’t enough.”
I stared at him, realization slowly dawning on me. “Then—you think Marcus cursed her?”
“It’s a theory.”
“But he was in love with her, too,” I said. “Why would he do that?”
Hal shrugged. “Perhaps he was in love with her. But perhaps he only pretended to be so.”
I swallowed, turning away from him and looking into the fire. I thought of Cecilia, trapped as she was in her state, and felt a chill go down my spine. If Marcus had truly cursed her, his vengeance was very terrible. “But that only answers for one curse—what about Marcus?”
“There is only one curse.” Hal began pacing again. “You remember what I told you? Every spell has a price.”
I looked up. “You mean—he was turned into a beast as the price for the curse?”
His brows knit together. “It would certainly be fitting—and as I say, that’s just the sort of thing the fair folk love.”
I ran a hand through my hair. “But that’s absurd. Even for vengeance—why would he cast a curse at such a price?”
“Very likely he did not know the price he would pay,” Hal said, his face darkening. “This is why it’s dangerous to deal with the fair folk—you never know what they might take from you.”
I turned back to the fireplace, a hollow feeling in my stomach. “But even if that’s what happened—how do you break it?”
He went and sat back down in his chair, a deep line creasing his forehead. “Yes. Even if my theory is correct, it’s only half the question. For the rest, we must know what spirit holds the contract for this spell.”
“But why?” I chewed my lip. “What can you do with that?”
“Negotiate,” Hal said. “Make a new contract.”
I snapped my head up. “But that’s—Hal, you can’t make a bargain like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because—because it’s dangerous,” I said, staring at him incredulously. “What would you even offer it?”
“That depends on the spirit,” he said, tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair. “And the curse. Fairies are great sticklers for a contract—they will follow it even to their own detriment. But they can’t help bargaining—if I make a counter-offer, and it’s accepted, that voids the old contract, and breaks the curse.”
I rubbed my forehead—the headache was coming back, but I didn’t think it had anything to do with magic. I had been so caught up in the question of who had cast the curse that I had forgotten even to think of the spirit—and I’d no idea that breaking the curse would be so complicated. A thought occurred to me that made my mouth go dry. “Hal—what if the spirit doesn’t take the counter-offer?”
He looked away from me. “Well, then the curse wouldn’t be broken.”
There was a long silence then, Hal staring broodingly at the fireplace. I fidgeted with my sling, feeling the bone-deep weariness wash over me again. “How do we find the spirit?”
“We wait,” he said. “And I don’t think we will be waiting very long.”
“Wait for what?”
“An opportunity,” he said, refilling his pipe. He leaned back against the chair and folded his hands over his stomach, closing his eyes.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I left my brother to his thoughts, and went upstairs to my room. I had several thoughts of my own, but they were so many and so confused that it made my head throb trying to make any sense of them. In the end, I simply lay down on my bed, intending to take a short rest.
I was more tired than I thought I’d been, for the next thing I knew, Reeves woke me by announcing that dinner would be served in half an hour. I sat up, blinking in the dimness of my room, and went downstairs to the library, where Hal was waiting. He had not moved from the chair where I had left him; the room was hazy with tobacco smoke. He opened his eyes as I came into the room.
“Feeling better?”
I sat down on the sofa, flexing the fingers of my injured arm. “No worse, at any rate. Have you been here this whole time?”
“I had a great deal to think about.” He sat up, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I suppose Sir Jasper will be returning for dinner.”
I could see that he wasn’t looking forward to meeting our employer, and I couldn’t blame him. “What are you going to tell him?”
He frowned. “I’ll think of something. I don’t want to say anything about his nephew at this point—it’s only a theory, and I still don’t know what to do about the curse. I don’t want Sir Jasper doing anything impulsive on incomplete information.”
I nodded, pulling at my sling. “He’s going to ask—about the creature, I mean. At the very least, he’ll want to know where we were last night.”
He blew out a breat
h. “I know.”
There was the sound of a heavy door opening, and then the familiar thudding sound of Sir Jasper’s footsteps in the passageway. I felt my shoulders tense, and Hal’s face went still, as though he was listening. The footsteps passed the door to the library, and he ran a hand over his forehead.
“Speak of the devil,” he said, laughing a little ruefully.
The door to the library swung open, startling both of us—but it was only Reeves, announcing that dinner was served. We followed him into the dining room, where Sir Jasper sat, plucking at the table cloth. He did not look angry; far from it, in fact—his shoulders stooped, and he looked wearier than I felt. He looked up as we entered, and his heavy brows knit together when he saw my arm.
“What happened?” He ran a hand through his hair. “Where did you go yesterday?”
Hal sat down, unfolding a napkin over his lap, and gave Sir Jasper a short account of our adventure at the Gilley farm—omitting, I noted, any reference to the eye color of the beast. When he had finished, Sir Jasper folded his arms over his chest, frowning down at the table.
“Then you are convinced this creature is a thing of magic?”
I rubbed my arm, remembering again the feeling of dark magic that had twisted around me. Hal glanced over at me, his brow furrowed.
“I am,” he said. “The beast is undoubtedly under a curse.”
The frown deepened on Sir Jasper’s face. “And you believe this to be connected with my daughter’s illness in some fashion.”
I shifted uncomfortably in my chair, and looked at Hal. Sir Jasper was getting very close to the heart of the matter concerning this creature, and I didn’t know how long my brother could put him off.
Hal leaned back in his chair and began tapping his fingers on the arm, frowning around his pipe. “Yes. The magic is too similar to conclude otherwise.”
Sir Jasper ran a hand through his hair, sighing wearily. “Don’t make me drag it out of you, man. What is the connection? I have no ties with these farmers—why should this creature beset them?”
There was a long silence; Hal closed his eyes and folded his arms over his chest, puffing great clouds of smoke in the air. Sir Jasper watched him, his expression becoming more impatient, until finally he raised his eyebrows, putting his hands out, palm up.
“Well?”
Hal opened his eyes. “I am working on a theory—but I do not yet know enough to proceed. There is another piece of information I need.”
“Then you shall have it,” Sir Jasper said. “What is it that you require?”
Hal turned to Sir Jasper, raising an eyebrow. “Even if it concerns your family history?”
Sir Jasper was spared from an immediate reply by the arrival of the food. It looked perfectly ordinary and even appetizing, yet the smell of it made my stomach turn. Hal and Sir Jasper both tucked into their plates without hesitation, and I frowned at my plate, wondering why I had no appetite for it.
“Not hungry?” Hal’s tone was neutral, but the line between his eyes had returned.
I took a fork and began scooping up potatoes. “Just tired, that’s all.”
He looked at me skeptically, but did not press the issue. He turned back to Sir Jasper, putting one hand out, palm-up, in imitation of Sir Jasper’s own impatient gesture. “Well? Will you answer any question I may ask?”
Sir Jasper laid down his fork; his heavy brows drew together. “I am aware that you believe I have kept relevant information from you—indeed, I entertained the thought last evening that you had abandoned the case entirely.”
Hal’s eyebrows went up. “I am not in the habit of abandoning a job once I have committed to it.”
“I see that now,” Sir Jasper said. He looked again at my arm, running a hand over his face. “You must believe me: I never considered that my old quarrel with my brother—dead these nineteen years—could have any bearing on this illness of my daughter’s. If I had so believed, I would have gladly told you of it.”
“Hm.” Hal rubbed his chin. “Then perhaps you will answer this question for me: what was his wife’s maiden name?”
Sir Jasper stared at him blankly for a moment. “Whose wife?”
Hal frowned at him, tapping his fingers impatiently on the arm of his chair. “Your brother’s, naturally.”
“Oh, of course.” Sir Jasper shook his head, as if to clear it. “Genelli, I believe.”
“She had no middle name?”
“None of which I was aware.” His tone was clipped. “Was that your only question?”
“Yes, and you have answered it.” Hal smiled around his pipe, but there was a strained quality to his smile. “Though I confess it was not the answer I had hoped for.”
Sir Jasper frowned at him, plainly confused, but I understood. If the initials did not correspond to those of Lady Marquardt, then the question of to whom Sir Jasper had been making these payments remained. For a moment, I wondered whether Hal would question Sir Jasper further on that point; I hoped he wouldn’t, for Peter would undoubtedly be in very serious trouble should Sir Jasper learn what he had told us.
But Hal simply shook his head. “I had hoped that this question would answer another, but—alas, it appears to be unrelated.”
“Regardless, I have answered your question,” Sir Jasper said. “Now, what is your theory?”
“The last piece of information I require, you cannot provide.” Hal blew out a ring of smoke. “Indeed, no human can. But you may be certain that I believe I am very near to understanding this spell on your daughter.”
“I am certain you believe so.” Sir Jasper ran a hand through his hair. “But I am entirely in the dark—you cannot blame me for being frustrated.”
“Nor do I,” Hal said. “I understand your frustration quite well—better than you know.”
Sir Jasper regarded him silently for a moment, a strange, unreadable expression on his face. He plucked at a dinner roll, tearing it into tiny pieces that he scattered on his plate.
“I went up to see her last night,” he said at last. “She is—it is worse, I believe. She scarcely seemed to know me. I am afraid . . . .”
He broke off abruptly, laying his head in his hands. I felt a sharp pang of sympathy for the man, who was entirely dependent upon us—two strangers who could scarcely explain our movements to him—to save his only child. Hal watched him with a troubled expression.
“I will break this curse,” he said quietly. “I will save your daughter. That is what I set out to do, and I will do it—at whatever cost.”
There was something about his tone that left a hollow feeling in my chest—something final and definite, that filled me with the same quiet dread I had felt when he’d spoken of Father. It had quite the opposite effect on Sir Jasper, however—after a moment, he sat up, running a hand over his face, and looked at my brother steadily.
“Very well,” he said, finally. “What do you propose to do next?”
Hal looked down at his plate, folding his arms. He was silent for a moment, smoke rising lazily from the bowl of his pipe. Sir Jasper watched him, but the impatience was gone; he simply waited for my brother to speak.
After a moment, Hal looked up. “First, I need to see the girl. If her condition has truly worsened, then we may proceed to the next step.”
Sir Jasper frowned. “The next step? What do you mean?”
“The spirit.” Hal said, with a grave expression. “I must learn who the spirit is that holds her contract. Now, I warn you, this part of the process will be very difficult for you.”
“Difficult?” Sir Jasper snorted. “Mr. Bishop, if you imagine that anything could be more difficult than watching my daughter waste away . . . .”
“It will be worse,” Hal said bluntly, cutting him off. “You will not understand it. But you must trust that I know what I am about.”
Sir Jasper was silent for a long moment, plucking at the bread on his plate. “Very well,” he said again, without looking up. “She is dying anyway—and no
doctor has been of any use to me. You seem quite certain that you can help her. I will leave you to it.”
He stood. “You will excuse me if I do not join you. I am—I am quite tired. Reeves will take you to her, when you are ready.”
There was a melancholy air about him as he strode from the room, his broad shoulders bowed and dark head bent. I watched him walk away, sympathy twisting in my stomach. I knew too well what it was like to watch someone die a wasting death, without knowing the cause.
When he had left the room, I turned to Hal. “Why can’t we tell him about your theory? It seems rather hard on him to keep him in the dark like this.”
“Because it is only a theory,” Hal said wearily. “I can’t risk what he might do with it.”
“You keep saying it would be a risk.” I frowned down at my plate of cold potatoes, poking at them with my fork. “What risk could there be? The poor man is beside himself—it only seems right to give him what hope we can.”
“Hope can be very dangerous.” Hal leaned back, looking up at the ceiling. “Information even more so. Tell me—what do you think Sir Jasper would do if we told him that his nephew was the beast, and had cursed his daughter?”
I blinked; I had not considered it. “I suppose—I suppose he might try to find the beast himself.”
“He might.” Hal looked at me. “He might try to kill it—he might be injured, as you were, or even killed.”
“That’s true,” I said.
“Or he might kill the creature, if he were very lucky.” Hal refilled his pipe. “And suppose he did that—and then we learned that Marcus had not cast the curse after all. Suppose we learned that Marcus was a victim himself.”
I chewed my lip. “But you seem certain that he wasn’t.”
“I am certain of nothing,” Hal said. “I have only a theory, which cannot be confirmed until I have all the pieces of this puzzle. I have no intention of sending Sir Jasper out to be maimed or killed, at worst, or making himself into a murderer, at best, with nothing but a theory. And do not forget—we are not here merely to make an accusation. We are here to break a spell.”
The Rowanwood Curse (Hal Bishop Mysteries Book 1) Page 12
