The Magicians and Mrs. Quent

by Galen Beckett

  “The door will still be there when we are done speaking, I quite assure you,” Lord Rafferdy said.

  Abashedly, Rafferdy realized he had indeed been hovering at the door, one foot in the parlor and one foot out. He crossed the room and slouched into a chair—then leaped back out of it as if the seat had scalded him. He could not bear to be still.

  “I prefer to stand,” he said.

  “A standing man sees the dawn sooner, as the Murghese say.” Lord Rafferdy took a sip of brandy. “I was not much one for sitting myself when I was your age. I liked nothing more than to be on the move. I suppose that was why I decided to serve as an officer in the royal army. I wanted to travel, to see the Northern Realms, the Principalities—even the deserts of the southern empire. But that was years ago. These days, the only traveling I do is sitting in a chair like this, with a book open before me.”

  “You traveled here,” Rafferdy said.

  “So I did.”

  “Can I ask what brought you to the city despite the great discomfort and trouble I know it can only cause? Why have you come, sir?”

  “For the very same reason, I imagine, that you wish to leave.”

  Rafferdy frowned at his father. “I don’t understand.”

  Lord Rafferdy’s gaze went to the door. “I am told she is very pretty.”

  Rafferdy’s legs no longer seemed capable of bearing him. He sank back into the chair.

  “And I am given to understand her manner is excellent for one of her station,” Lord Rafferdy went on.

  For one of any station! Rafferdy wanted to say, but words were beyond him. How did his father know these things?

  “From everything I have heard from my cousin, it is easy to understand how a young man might be charmed.”

  So his question was answered. Lady Marsdel must have written to him, urging him to the city. Rafferdy gripped the arms of his chair. “What is it you are trying to tell me, sir?”

  Lord Rafferdy set down his glass, directing his solemn gaze toward his son. “Only what I have always told you—that your position in life confers many advantages, but also demands certain requirements. However, I did not come here to make a reprimand, if that’s what you fear. That a young man’s attentions should be captivated by a charming young woman is in no way out of the ordinary. And if her station is not exalted and her associations simple, that can serve only to make her own charms shine the brighter. Yet there comes a time when indulgence must be left behind and more-permanent commitments made. Nor is charm alone enough when considering such commitments. There are other ideas that must be considered, among them suitability, advantage, and duty to one’s family.”

  Rafferdy hardly knew how to act. His own feelings had been revealed to himself just minutes ago, and now he was being told to abandon them. “And what of duty to myself, to my own wishes? What if I say I am ready to make a commitment, however unsuitable and of little advantage to my family. Am I to suppose, then, you will disown me—that if I do not do as I am told, you will deprive me of my name and my fortune and make of me a pauper?”

  Lord Rafferdy shifted in his chair. “My own father made such threats to me once, the day I put on my regimental coat. He forbade me to serve in the army and told me if I did not remove the coat that he would remove me instead, that I would be a son to him no longer. His wrath was a terrible thing to behold. I saluted him and left Asterlane to lead my regiment.”

  Rafferdy was astonished. “You defied an order from your father?”

  “So I did.”

  “Then he did not do what he said he would?”

  “To whom would he have passed his estate, if not to me? I was his only son. As you are mine. All the same—even if you were not my only child—my hopes, my thoughts, my intentions still could not be so easily transferred to another. And if your behavior displeases me, is it not I who should be blamed? To punish you would prove nothing, save that I am not only a poor parent but also a smallish and spiteful man.”

  Rafferdy could not conceal his disbelief. “Then no matter what I choose, even if I should make a commitment to one whom you deem beneath me, you will not disown me?”

  “No, I will not. You will always be my son, and any wife you take my daughter.” His expression grew more somber yet. “However, just because I do not disown you does not mean that no one will. Others in society will not look favorably on such a match.”

  “I don’t care what they think,” Rafferdy said, and downed his brandy.

  “That is a thing that is easy to say, I think, but not so easy to bear. I see a rather large heap of letters and invitations on the desk there, but you could expect that stack to dwindle until it was gone. Be assured that most, if not all, of the society you have enjoyed will turn its back upon you.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said, though a bit less certainly now. “I was going to decline those invitations anyway. I find those affairs boring.”

  “Then perhaps it will not be so ill for you. But remember that it is not only you who will be divided from society. Even as she is beneath the circles you moved in, she will be above those that were once her own. Every day she will be forced to suffer that isolation. Or, when in public, to bear the looks, the whispers, the coldness that others, out of disdain, are so able to project. Would you have her endure that for your own satisfaction?”

  Rafferdy slumped back into the chair. A moment ago he had felt a kind of jubilant defiance. He had thought himself brave to flirt with the idea of defying his father. Yet his only consideration had been what he wanted for himself and what he feared his father would do. Never for a moment had he thought about what she might want, or what would be best for her. No, it had not been out of bravery he had thought to defy his father.

  He set down his glass and held his hand to his brow.

  “I think you understand,” Lord Rafferdy said.

  “Perfectly,” Rafferdy said with a grimace. “You need deprive me of nothing, for society will do your work for you. How excellent it must be to take nothing yet receive everything you wish.”

  He had flung the words at his father, intending them to induce anger. Instead, his father’s expression was one of sorrow.

  “If you think I take pleasure in this, you are mistaken. Why should I not want to see you happily situated? It is yet my hope you will be, with one who is both charming and suitable. Regardless, it is not merely for society’s sake that society’s approval must be sought. There are other reasons why one should not draw unwanted attention to oneself.”

  These words struck through the grim fog that clouded Rafferdy’s brain. He looked up at his father. “What do you mean?”

  Lord Rafferdy glanced toward the window. “I was surprised you never asked me at Asterlane,” he said at last.

  “Asked you what?”

  He turned his gaze back toward his son. “Why I have decided to enclose my lands.”

  “I thought you were…” Rafferdy shook his head. “But it doesn’t matter. Now you are putting up walls, and you are like every other lord.”

  “Just so. For were I to follow my own wishes—as you would follow yours—and not enclose my lands, I must necessarily bear the scrutiny and attention of others. They would wonder why I chose not to do as they did; indeed, they would see it as a criticism of their own decisions. Their only choice would be to repudiate their actions or repudiate me—and the latter is far easier done than the former. However, even as you must not be separated from your society, I must not be separated from mine. A man who is like his peers can move freely among them, and there is work to be done—work that cannot be performed under the watchful eye of suspicion.”

  Rafferdy sat up in his chair. “What sort of work do you mean?” A strange feeling came over him, at once curious and dreading. “What business is it you do for the Crown?”

  “How often in the past I have wished you would ask me that question!” Lord Rafferdy said with regret. “Yet now that you have shown interest, I find I cannot be forthcoming with
you. But I will, when the time is right. Until then, I will say only that there is much to do, that serious matters lie before us—indeed, before all of Altania. All the more reason why it is better not to distance ourselves from society by our actions, not to separate us from those who might help us—or those who might…” He shook his head.

  “Who might what?” Rafferdy said, his sense of dread sharpening.

  But Lord Rafferdy said only, “Fashion and the expectations of others are not the only reasons I have chosen to enclose my lands around Asterlane. Soon there may be other needs for the safety of walls.”

  “I don’t understand. What other needs?”

  His father glanced again at the heap of letters and invitations on the table. “You have dwelled all your life in a world populated with light and music and the pleasurable company of others. Nor have I been so anxious as you perhaps think to remove you from such an existence. Yet have you never asked yourself what lies beyond the circle of illumination in which you dwell, out in the coldness, in the silence?”

  “Never,” Rafferdy said. “What can there be beyond what we know? For if we do not know it, it cannot exist. And if I want to hear stories of better worlds than this one, I’ll go to a church and listen to the prattle of priests.”

  “It is not of better worlds that I speak,” Lord Rafferdy said, looking at him now. “And the darkness is not so empty as you imagine. Think of attending a party at night, in a house brightly lit with candles. If we happen to glance out the window, we cannot see into the darkness or know what lies outside. Yet any out there in the dark can see inside to us.”

  Rafferdy could not fathom what these words meant. All the same, the hair on the back of his neck prickled, and once again he found he could not bear to sit still. He rose from the chair.

  “Are you leaving, then?” his father asked.

  Without even thinking of it, Rafferdy had moved to the door. Once again the urge came over him to rush out, to go as fast as possible to Whitward Street and present himself at her door. All his life he had indulged his every desire, but without any real satisfaction. It had all been whim, a craving for diversion no different than a hungering for food or a thirst for drink: base instincts, and meaningless. But to be with her—it was the first thing in his life he had ever truly wanted.

  For a long moment Rafferdy gazed through the door. He breathed out, and could not help thinking it was some better part of him that was expelled with the air from his lungs. Then he turned around and crossed the room to his father.

  “You said it is time to address my future, sir.”

  Lord Rafferdy looked up at him and nodded.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  IVY’S HOMECOMING WAS a joyful occasion. Her mother and sisters had quit Fairhall Street after that first night, once it was certain Ivy was out of danger. While notes had been frequently sent back and forth, they had not seen one another since that parting, and so there was much to tell on both sides. For Mrs. Lockwell’s part, a quarter month’s worth of exclamations had to be compressed into a short space. Ivy bore it all lightly, with many smiles; she could not remember a time when she had been so happy.

  Rose was unusually talkative upon Ivy’s arrival home. The wisteria was blooming, she said; she must show Ivy the queerest insect she had discovered in the garden, if it could be found again. There was a crack in the window on the second landing that caught the light in the most amazing way when the sun was setting. She had counted all the steps in the house again and was certain there was exactly one more than before.

  “Do you think the house is growing taller?” Rose asked, her eyes going wide.

  “Well, it is a magician’s house,” Ivy said.

  Upon which Rose immediately began climbing the staircase to make her count again.

  Lily forwent the melancholy air she had been affecting of late, Ivy was grateful to notice, and even played several songs on the pianoforte that did not require a minor key. After that she modeled an array of new ribbons and bonnets. Ivy gave each one dutiful appreciation and decided to worry later about the damage any purchases made in her absence had done to the household ledger.

  “We must make a party,” Lily proclaimed. “Even if it’s just us, it will be a jolly affair. Mrs. Murch will make cakes. You can read from a play if you like—something dramatic. Rose can wear one of my new ribbons, while I will do a dance for us.” She whirled around, ribbons fluttering.

  Lily’s idea was met with enthusiasm by all the denizens of the house. Even Mr. Lockwell seemed to come more to life with Ivy’s homecoming. According to Mrs. Lockwell, he had refused to leave the attic since Ivy’s departure. However, he allowed Ivy to lead him to his room, where Wilbern dressed him; and when she took his hand and guided him down to the parlor, he did not resist, though it had been years since he had descended from the uppermost floors.

  Mrs. Lockwell came into the parlor, and when she saw him sitting there she stopped, tears springing to her eyes. Ivy thought she had made a mistake, that she should return Mr. Lockwell to his room; only then her mother brushed her cheeks and brought her husband a cake. She sat by him, feeding him little morsels and telling him all manner of foolish things—how she wanted to change the drapery, and put paper on the walls, and bring in more light—such as he used to listen to indulgently.

  Lily danced, while Rose sat on the edge of the sofa, hardly daring to move for fear of disturbing the ribbons in her hair. Ivy, finding she had quite an appetite, ate several of the cakes herself. She thought to bring another to her father, but as she turned she saw that, while the rest of them were engaged, Mrs. Lockwell had taken his hand. She stroked it as she spoke to him in soft tones, the opposite of her normal utterances. Perhaps it was just the fading light catching his eyes, but it seemed he watched her, his face serene.

  At last Lily wilted into a chair, while Ivy and Rose applauded with vigor; Mrs. Lockwell did the same, coming over to join them. On impulse Ivy took her mother’s hands, then gazed at her sisters and at Mr. Lockwell, and her heart swelled inside her.

  “I missed you all,” she said. “I missed you all so much while I was gone. I never want to leave again. I can’t bear the thought of it. I have spent more time away than should be allowed in a lifetime.”

  Mrs. Lockwell patted Ivy’s cheek. “There, you are a good daughter, Ivoleyn. I am sure you believe you speak the truth. But I don’t doubt you will be of a different mind soon when a handsome man comes to take you away from us. It is we who shall miss you then.”

  “But I cannot imagine what you speak of,” Ivy said with a laugh. “I can expect no such occurrence, I am sure.”

  “Well, you should expect it,” Mrs. Lockwell said. “For I am a good judge of such things, and I am certain I am not mistaken when I say that Mr. Rafferdy means to propose to you.”

  Ivy was astonished. “I am sure you can have no direct knowledge of such a thing,” she said, a bit breathless of a sudden. “Do not mistake a kindly manner and a genuine concern at the well-being of an acquaintance—of a friend, I might even go so far as to say—for something more than it is.”

  However, Mrs. Lockwell would not hear any argument on the subject. “Think what you wish, Ivoleyn, but you will see I am right soon enough. There is no gulf too great for true affection to bridge. One day—before this month is out, I should think—a carriage will arrive at our house, and Mr. Rafferdy inside it. And when that day comes, you will see that you are not, after all, so very sorry to leave us. Now,” she exclaimed, “let us continue our party!”

  They did, eating more, and dancing more, and playing a game of blindman’s bluff, which gave them much amusement until Rose, unable to catch them despite the small size of the parlor, began to weep behind the blindfold. But her tears were mingled with laughter as Ivy and Lily went to her and took the scarf from her eyes, and she said, “There, I have found you both, after all.” For which they embraced her.

  It grew late. Mrs. Lockwell was nodding in her chair. Cassity had gone home, and
Mrs. Murch and Wilbern had retired downstairs.

  “See to your mother,” she told her sisters, “and I will take Father to his room.”

  Ivy clasped Mr. Lockwell’s hand and led him up the stairs. However, it was dark, and Ivy was forced to leave her father on the third landing and retreat downstairs for a candle.

  “So, you have returned at last from your wanderings,” he said as she came back up the stairs. His voice was solemn but with a keen note of interest to it. She had not heard him speak so clearly since he fell ill.

  “I wasn’t wandering,” she said at last, thinking he had been addressing her. “I only went to get a candle.”

  He did not respond to her words, and as she drew near she saw he was not facing her but rather stood at the window looking out, his face tilted upward. She stood beside him and followed his gaze. Between two gables was a wedge of night sky. There, amid a handful of familiar stars, shone an interloper: a dull, ruddy spark. She had never seen it before yet knew it all the same; it could only be the new celestial body she had read about, the one that had been detected recently.

  According to the reports, the new object in the sky had grown steadily brighter, but Ivy had not known it had become visible without the aid of ocular lenses. What its nature was, men of science were still debating, but most supposed it to be some kind of comet, despite its lack of a tail. While the stars around it danced and glittered, the new object in the sky emitted a dim but unwavering glow.

  “What do you see, Father?” she asked, but he did not answer her. Instead, his hands moved before him, tracing circles and twisting about in an intricate dance whose purpose—if indeed it had one—was beyond her fathoming.

  She set down the candle and put her hands over his, stilling them. “Come, Father,” she said, and he followed her to his room. Outside, the red stranger watched from the sky.

  THAT HER MOTHER could be right concerning Mr. Rafferdy’s intentions was impossible. Each time Ivy considered it over those next days, the idea appeared only more absurd.