But he held the brandy glass like a gentleman born; he ate and drank like one too. In all the time Alexandre had employed him, he’d never said much about his past, and Alexandre had never pressed him.
“Why’d you pick me, Alf?” he asked, finally.
“B’cause ye ain’t stupid, guv,” Alf replied promptly. “Ye might not be’s serious ’bout magic as me old master, but ye ain’t stupid. An’ Oi reckoned ’ventually the not bein’ serious ’ud wear off.”
“I think it just did,” Alexandre said slowly.
Alf nodded. “Thought so. Ye had that look when ye started on that book. Fact is, yer smarter’n my old master, Oi reckon. Don’t drink too much, don’t fiddle around with drugs, careful usin’ magic when ye gamble, careful ’bout how ye live so ye don’t get attention fer yerself. An’ if somethin’ needs t’be done quiet, well, thet’s what ye got me fer.”
Alexandre smiled to himself. He was careful. In fact, that, more than the low rent, was the reason he was living here on the north side of Battersea. Things that would be noticed and noted in a genteel, middle-class neighborhood would be ignored here. He could probably have women parading in and out of here every day at every hour of the day and no one would notice.
And as for the rest . . . well, the basement came with the ground floor flat. He and Alf had carefully sealed up all the windows so that you could light a thousand lamps down there and not a glimmer would show outside. And in the basement was a covered opening that led directly to the sewers—an opening large enough to drop almost anything down into it. And once something was down there, it wouldn’t be seen again until it ended up in the Thames.
“Penny fer yer thoughts, guv,” Alf said.
“I was just thinking that if this Book proves genuine . . . you and I could not be more perfectly situated to take advantage of it,” Alexandre replied. And smiled. Alf smiled back.
“Fancy a bit of a skirt?” he suggested.
“I’m torn, Alf. I’m torn. I’m itching to get back to The Book—”
“Don’t, not arter dark,” Alf advised, and held up a finger. “Ye don’t wanta make no mistakes, not if this book’s what ye think it is.” He held up a second. “An’ if it is what ye think it is . . . daylight’s some pertection ’gainst accidentally callin’ somethin’.”
“Those are both good points.” He pondered a moment. “Yes, I think I could do with a little bedsport.” He put down the brandy glass, went to the small safe in the wall behind a picture of a dead pheasant, and unlocked it, extracting a couple of banknotes.
“Here you are, Alf,” he said, handing the valet the money then locking the safe. “You know what I like.”
“’Deedy do, guv,” Alf said genially. Then his voice took on a tone of warning. “An . . . lissen. Don’t go back to that book t’night. Lookit one uv yer pitcher books t’get in the mood. Oi got a feelin’ ’bout that book. Oi got a feelin’ it’s the gen-u-wine article. But that jest makes it dangerous.”
Alexandre raised an eyebrow at the valet. He had never, in all the time he’d employed Alf, heard him speak this way.
But that was all the more reason to pay attention, now that he had.
“Very well, Alf. I will take your advice,” he promised. Alf got up, donned his jacket, and went in search of his coat.
When the flat door closed behind him, Alexandre suddenly felt it. The lure. The siren call. The Book wanted him to work on it.
But Alexandre was determined to prove that Alf was right. He was smart, and the fact that he felt this inexplicable pull to do what was quite difficult work, even after a full day of it, only proved that Alf knew what he was talking about.
“You might as well give up for tonight,” he called into the study, not feeling in the least foolish about talking to a book. “I’m taking Alf’s advice. I’m not working on you except during daylight hours. You’ll just have to wait.”
Was it his imagination, or did he feel a faint sense of . . . disappointment?
It was not his imagination that the tugging on him to go into the study lessened. It didn’t stop . . . but it did lessen.
Smiling a little, he turned to the preparations for more carnal pursuits. That had been a good idea, too. No man was capable of thinking of a Book, no matter how important, with a naked girl under him.
5
“I HAVE had many occasions to be grateful that Lord Alderscroft is our patron,” Sarah said to Nan, as they rolled through the suburbs of London on their way to the Harton School. “But I have to say that I am more grateful than usual today.” She snuggled in her cape and thick, warm lap robe, and felt the gentle warmth from the brick in the foot warmer permeating her boots.
On the bench seat across from her, Suki knelt, little nose pressed up against the window with interest. There was a great deal to see, and she drank in every bit of it. It was only two days to Christmas, and London was still covered in snow, but the snow had not put any damper on Christmas spirits. Shop windows had all been decorated to at least some extent for the holiday. There seemed to be carolers of various sorts at nearly every corner, from the Salvation Army brass bands to ordinary buskers turning their hands to festal music in hopes of pennies falling into their hats. Entire blocks had been decorated by the joint efforts of shopkeepers or residents, with wreaths on the lampposts, on the front doors, and on front gates.
They had been picked up at the door of their lodging by Lord A’s private carriage. There had been luxurious quilted lap robes waiting for them and hot bricks in cast-iron foot heaters on the floor. The top of the carriage was piled high with presents for the children of the school—not individual presents, but things they could share. If past gifts were anything to go by, there would probably be a flood of new recruits to the blue and red armies of tin soldiers, additions to the wardrobes of the school dolls, possibly a new rocking horse or two (since Dobbin and Blackie, the current horses, were getting a bit shabby, loose in the joints, and in need of an overhaul), but other than that, Nan and Sarah would be as surprised as the children would be. These presents, by Lord A’s decree, were to be opened today, after supper, at the Christmas Party. That way there would be new things to occupy the youngsters until Christmas Day and the opening of their own personal presents. The Christmas Party brought together such “old students” as still lived in London with the “current crop,” and was a good chance for the youngsters to meet with adults who shared their psychical talents.
“I wouldn’t miss the party for the world, but I was not looking forward to the journey we usually make to the school in this weather,” Nan agreed, glanced out the window at the snow, and shivered. “Agansing is the only one of all of us who is rejoicing at this cold.”
She couldn’t help but think of how she’d have fared if she was still on the street. Winter was the killing season for the poor, the season when even such a small thing as a hot potato and a blanket sometimes meant the difference between life and death. She often felt guilty that she was doing so little for the enormous problem out there in the shambles, but . . . she and Sarah only had so much money and so much time, and the problem was so . . . vast. We do what we can, she reminded herself. And we remind people like Alderscroft, who have fortunes, that they can do more.
“Cor, look!” Suki exclaimed, pointing. She and Sarah craned their necks to see there was a winter bridal procession coming out of a church, the bride wrapped in a white velvet cloak, with a white velvet dress, carrying a bouquet of holly, the rest of the wedding party in their very best gear. “Oi ain’t niver seen a widdin’ afore!” She pressed her nose even harder against the window, trying to take it all in before they got out of sight.
Neville and Grey poked their heads out of their sable muffs at her exclamation, but on discovering there was nothing that interested either of them, they pulled their heads back in again, leaving nothing but their black beaks showing. The muffs were in their carriers for e
xtra safety in case of jounces or accident, but in this weather it was unlikely either of them would stir from the warmth of those shelters. Grey could not take the cold, and even though Neville could, he made it very clear he didn’t want to.
Suki was afire with excitement and anticipation. She was about to see her schoolmates again after a vacation of a week, and to a little girl her age, a week was nearly a century. There were going to be presents involved, and a feast of all the foreign foods she had come to enjoy—biryani, and chole bhature, rajma and pani puri, tandoori chicken and rogan josh, naan and gajar halwa. The children at the Harton School, created for the children of expatriate parents, had mostly been born in India, and had been raised on native foods. Isabella Harton understood very well how “food” meant “comfort and home,” and her Indian cooks served the kinds of spiced things most English boarding schools would look upon with horror. No bread-and-butter and milky tea for these children; they got the things they were used to. Suki, having come from the streets, would eat anything that didn’t run away fast enough to escape, and had taken to the spicy fare with relish. When she stayed on the holidays with Nan and Sarah, she ate what they ate, and what they ate were the solid—sometimes stolid—plain English dishes Mrs. Horace cooked. She never complained, but Nan knew for a fact she got tired of such plain food after having had her palate educated in the spices of India.
If they’d been making the trip without the convenience of the carriage, they’d have gotten up in the dark, gotten a hansom to the station, and taken the train, to be picked up with some of the other former schoolchildren in the school cart. It would have been very cold, and they wouldn’t have wanted to expose the birds to all the jostling, the curious, and of course, the cold itself. But with Lord A supplying his lovely carriage, they could travel in great comfort and the birds could come along too.
Sarah had brought a book to read aloud in case Suki got bored. She should have known better, Nan thought with amusement. Suki never got bored. If they were in any kind of conveyance, Suki found endless entertainment in the streets at this time of year. If there had been nothing going on, she would make up stories about the people or things they were passing by.
So Sarah silently read the book to herself, and Nan listened to Suki’s excited running commentary, and in a much shorter time than if they had been going by train, the carriage was pulling in through the gates of what once had been Lord Alderscroft’s manor, and now was the home of the Harton School.
The children had been waiting for them, because, of course, they already knew there were presents coming; they swarmed the carriage, and the coachman, laughing until he cried, got the presents down off the top and into their hands to be carried away. Suki got carried off with the horde, one of the (few) school servants got their overnight bags to take to their rooms, and Memsa’b appropriated Nan and Sarah and the birds. In no time at all they were enjoying hot tea and cakes in Memsa’b’s cozy little sitting room.
“Well, you certainly uncovered a pretty piece of work in that poor child you rescued from the asylum,” were the first words she said as soon as they were all settled and the birds had bits of cake of their own, in saucers on the floor.
“Is Amelia a problem?” Sarah asked, looking anxious.
“No—yes—well, not a problem because of who she is, but rather what she is.” Memsa’b shook her head. “She’s a very powerful . . . whatever. I am not yet certain if she is a clairvoyant or a precognitive. Or both! And absolutely no control, poor thing.” She frowned. “A year in the care of that meddling quack and she would have been mad.”
Memsa’b Harton was not a pretty woman, and never had been—but she was striking, with very defined and sculpted features, a long and graceful neck and a pair of wonderful gray eyes. Her dark hair, put up in a heavy chignon, was liberally streaked with silver now, but she seemed to Nan not to have lost a bit of her energy and vigor. Just now she wore an expression of concern.
“Has she had any more visions since she came to you?” Nan asked.
“One. And I have asked Alderscroft to have one of his London agents pursue details on the other visions. You see, that doctor she was with was not as careful about exact details as he could have been. He only made certain that there was no way in which she could have learned of the murders by some ordinary means; he did not trouble himself to find out if she had seen the murders during their commission, or before. This is why I am not certain if she is clairvoyant or precognitive. Actually I am just as glad he was so careless; he might have worked harder to force her to see things that he could have profited by.” Memsa’b sighed. “I haven’t told her that her initial visions might be precognitive, and I probably won’t. The poor child would blame herself for not preventing them. But I digress. She had another of those visions of a London in ruins, inhabited by monsters.”
The fire popped and crackled as Nan and Sarah both considered that. The birds stopped eating for a moment, then flew up to the back of the sofa and sat watching and listening.
“And you don’t think this is just her mind supplying her with a metaphor for the reality of the dark side of the city,” Sarah stated.
“No, I don’t,” Memsa’b replied. “I think it’s a warning. I’m just not sure how literal a warning it is. I would have thought that if London were likely to be taken over by monsters, more clairvoyants than just Amelia would be sounding the alarm. I’d like to consult with Alderscroft about this as soon as possible; this seems more of a task for a magician than one of us, if what she saw is any indication.” She sipped her tea. “The trouble is, I would think that if there were a magician working in London who was powerful enough to make that come to pass, Alderscroft would already know about him.”
“If these visions are anything to go by, perhaps it’s a case of someone who is all right now, but who is going to go to the bad, or himself go insane, or something of the sort,” Nan said after a moment. She frowned. “I don’t know how we would identify someone like that. Not without knowing who it might be. . . .”
“I don’t know how we would stop someone like that,” Memsa’b said frankly. “Although if it came to that, psychical talents might be more effective than magical ones. The miscreant would not know we had them, would not be prepared for them, and would not know how to defend against them.”
“But we wouldn’t know how to defend against magic, either,” Nan pointed out.
“True. And yet . . . so far, you girls have done very well in dealing with magicians.” Memsa’b gave them approving smiles, then sobered again. “Well, the first thing to do is contact Alderscroft and consult with him directly. I never thought I would say I find Christmas tiresome, but it is tiresome that he is tied down with all the to-do of the season and can’t come when I call!” Memsa’b sniffed theatrically, and Nan laughed.
“So I suppose you’re not concerned this is an imminent danger?” Sarah asked.
“I think if we were, the two precognitive students I have would be having nightmares.” Memsa’b put down her teacup. “Although . . . Nan, do you think you and Sarah might be able to stir up your old friend by going out in the conservatory and calling him? I won’t ask you to trudge out into the grounds in this weather, and the conservatory is as good as any place outdoors, only near at hand.”
“I think we’d be fools not to try,” Nan replied, setting her cup aside, and rising. “He was the only thing that stood between England and disaster when Alderscroft himself was corrupted by that wretched woman; I should at least warn him there may be something in the wind, if he doesn’t already know.” She made a face. “That’s the disadvantage of living in the city; it’s very difficult to contact him.”
“I have my talisman,” Sarah said, and looked at the birds as she rose. “You two keep Memsa’b company, and don’t get into mischief while we’re gone.”
Neville looked affronted; Grey laughed.
“I’ll take that as saying tha
t you’ll be good, so don’t start poking your beaks into things you shouldn’t get into,” Sarah replied, then fished Puck’s talisman out of her reticule, and she and Nan headed across the manor to the conservatory.
There were two parts to the conservatory, as there were in many manor houses that could afford to keep such things heated in the winter. The larger part supplied some flowers and out-of-season fruits to the kitchen; once the School took over, the flowers had been replaced by herbs, and the fruits had been joined by vegetables. The smaller part, in this case, had been designed as a sort of pocket wilderness; short of going out into the wilder parts of the grounds—which was impractical without saddling up a couple of the working horses and riding there—this would be the best place to try and summon Puck.
They held hands with the talisman between them, and began reciting lines from A Midsummer Night’s Dream, which seemed to be the most reliable way to get his attention.
This time, however, he was either involved with something elsewhere, didn’t want to venture so close to a human habitation, or was not inclined to answer. They waited a good fifteen minutes after speaking the line that gave Puck his cue to enter, and nothing happened.
They looked at each other. “Well...bother,” Sarah sighed.
Nan shrugged. “There’s another way, you know. We can ask John or Mary to pass on word that we’d like to speak to him via their Elementals. We can always meet him at Hampton Court Palace.”
“Or possibly Kensington Garden or Kew Garden. That might be wild enough.” Sarah sighed. “I would like to have talked to him now, though. If there is something in the wind . . . something bad enough to ruin London . . . I don’t know how we’d ever be able to do anything about it.”
“You and I wouldn’t, not alone, because we don’t have to do this alone,” Nan reminded her. “We have Alderscroft’s White Lodge. We have Memsa’b’s circle of psychical friends and students. And we have—oh!” She made a fist and struck her forehead with it. “I am a complete idiot. Beatrice!”
A Scandal in Battersea Page 8
