by M. J. Putney
Tory’s icy shock turned to hot fury. Controlling her voice with effort, she said brightly, “Lady Victoria Mansfield. Alas, I didn’t have the decency to stay away.”
Startled, the two women swung around to stare at her. Tory spent an instant thinking of the various ways she could justify their opinions of magelings before giving them her sweetest smile. “Don’t worry. Magic isn’t contagious.”
Head high, she swept past the women, glad that she hadn’t embarrassed her family by misbehaving.
But, oh, she’d been tempted!
CHAPTER 7
Tory tapped her foot to the music, thinking wistfully that this wasn’t what she’d imagined for her first ball back in the days when she’d thought herself normal. She’d dreamed of being presented to the beau monde in London. Her debut would have been held in the splendid ballroom of Fairmount House with her parents standing beside her.
Her ballgown would be both innocent and dazzling. The handsomest, most eligible young men in Britain would beg for dances. One or two would probably be inspired to offer marriage by the end of their dance, though Tory would cast her eyes down demurely and say something like, “Sir, you honor me, but this is so sudden!”
Unless that first dance was with Allarde. She might have been ready to accept him at the end of a single dance. She smiled to herself at the thought.
This Christmas country house ball in honor of Sarah and Roger did not match her dreams. There was less formality and half the people present were trying to ignore her existence without actually giving her the cut direct.
She didn’t have a dazzling new gown, either. With private defiance, she wore the pretty sprigged muslin with sapphire blue ribbons she had worn only once, on the fateful day that had sent her into exile. She’d thought the garment ruined, but Molly had fixed it up as good as new. The gown was very becoming, so why not wear it tonight?
Tory sat out the first two dances since her brother and Lord Roger were obliged to dance with Cecilia and Sarah and no one else asked. But Lord Roger partnered her for the third dance. He was an excellent dancer and he made her laugh.
Her brother appeared to claim her for the fourth dance. Large and blond, Geoffrey looked quite a bit like Sarah and not at all like Tory, but he’d always been an excellent brother. “May I have this dance, Lady Victoria?” he asked with a formal bow.
She curtsied in return. “It will be my pleasure, Lord Smithson.”
Formality ended as he led her to where a country dance was forming. “You’ve been holding up very well, Tory,” he said quietly. “I couldn’t blame you if you clawed some of these vicious tabbies.”
“It’s been a near thing,” she admitted. “But I didn’t want to embarrass my family any more than I already have.”
“I will never be ashamed of you.” The longways dance called for a line of men to face a line of women. As they took their positions, Geoffrey glanced at the door. “I’m expecting a few more guests. Ones you should enjoy.”
The music began and Tory concentrated on the dancing. Geoffrey had often been her partner when she was learning, so they danced well together. As they moved down the lines of dancers, she was pleased to see that the men didn’t shrink from taking her hand and whirling her around. They didn’t seem to think she was contagious.
The atmosphere eased enough that she was asked for the next dance by a male who wasn’t related to her. Her partner was a shy young fellow from the neighborhood, and not a very good dancer, but his gaze was admiring.
The dance was just ending when the door opened and Geoffrey’s late guests arrived. First was a tall, distinguished man of advanced years, but his back was straight and his gaze shrewd. On his arm was an elegant silver-haired woman. Behind walked …
Allarde! Tory was so startled that she tripped over her partner’s feet and almost pulled them both down. She apologized without taking her gaze from Allarde.
Seeing him unexpectedly made her freshly aware of his striking handsomeness. She’d first seen him playing ball with the other Lackland boys. His chiseled features and perfectly proportioned body were like a Greek sculptor portraying a great athlete, or even a god. But better because he radiated life and strength.
Sensing her regard, he turned. His face lit with the same surprise and pleasure Tory felt.
She recovered her wits enough to thank her partner for the dance. By the time she’d dismissed him, her brother was approaching, Allarde at his side. Geoffrey said, “Allarde was one of my fags at Eton, Tory. Now he’s at Lackland Abbey.”
Tory offered her hand and Allarde bowed over it. “I have seen Lord Allarde in the Lackland playing fields,” she said demurely. “There are viewing holes in the fence that divides the schools. One of the favorite occupations of the girls is watching the boys. Lord Allarde is much admired.”
Her brother laughed. “Human nature in action. I must go speak to his parents, but I wanted you two to get acquainted.”
When her brother moved away, Tory said mischievously, “I assume you won’t be afraid to dance with me for fear my magic is contagious, Lord Allarde.”
Laughing, he proffered his arm. “Indeed not. May I have the next dance, Lady Victoria?”
She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. “It would be my great pleasure, sir.” Though both of them used formal manners as if they’d just been introduced, under the surface they bubbled with delight.
Allarde led her to a quiet corner of the ballroom. “This is wonderful! As we drove over here, I thought how unfortunate it was that I’d be in your brother’s house when you weren’t.”
“My sister moved her wedding here so I could attend,” Tory explained. “I didn’t receive her letter until you’d left the school. I never expected to see you, though. I thought your family seat was in Worcestershire?”
“It is, but Layton Place is right on the county border. Kemperton Hall is only a few miles away. Closer if you ride cross country.” The musicians struck up a tune for the next dance. They joined a square of four couples that was forming.
“We can’t really talk here,” Allarde said under his breath. “On the day after Boxing Day, can I take you on a ride to Kemperton Hall? I’d like you to see the estate.”
“I’d love that.” As she took her place beside him in the square, she said with a smile, “The dance after this is the supper dance.”
“Then I shall claim that, too,” he murmured, his gray eyes warm.
It wasn’t like the first ball that Tory had expected. It was much, much better.
CHAPTER 8
Christmas Day was dark and damp and cold. Cynthia lay on her back and stared gloomily at the crack in the ceiling. Her bedroom was dim in the pearl-grayness of an overcast winter afternoon, and a biting wind from the channel rattled the windowpanes. She should rise and put more coal on the fire, or at least pull a blanket over herself, but she felt too dismal.
This was her third Christmas at Lackland, and the worst. There were only a handful of girls left in the school, none of them friends. The first day after the school emptied out, she’d arrived in the refectory for breakfast and moved to join the table where all the other students were.
As soon as she touched a chair, the other girls had stood en masse, pivoted sharply, and moved to another table so smoothly that they must have planned it in advance. Cynthia gasped, humiliated. If only Tory had stayed! Everyone liked Tory. If she’d been with Cynthia, no one would have moved away.
That night, she took Tory’s stupid steamed pudding and carried it down into the Labyrinth. She’d hoped that some of the Irregulars might be there. Even magelings from the village whom she hardly knew would be better than nothing. Among the Irregulars, she was respected for what she’d done on the other side of Merlin’s mirror.
But the hall and maze of passages were empty and echoed like a tomb. She left the pudding on a table with a note offering it to anyone who wanted it, and good riddance. The stupid pudding would probably still be there when everyone returned fro
m holiday. Christmas puddings not only had the shape, size, and density of cannonballs, they were almost as durable.
Even without being heated, she had to admit the stupid pudding smelled very good, with tantalizing hints of spice and dried fruit and fine brandy. But Christmas puddings weren’t meant to be eaten alone, and there was no way Cynthia would share it with the awful girls who’d given her the cut direct.
There wasn’t much to do at Lackland over the holidays. The only teacher left on the girls’ side was horrid Miss Macklin. Cynthia took a book to the refectory so she could read during her solitary meals. The only volume she could find was a beastly collection of sermons, but at least it gave her something to pretend to read.
She whiled away her days with embroidery and walking the spacious grounds. Once she stood on the edge of the cliff and watched the crashing waves of the English Channel below. Would anyone miss her if she fell? Tory would have the whole room to herself, so she’d probably be happy.
Turning away, she reminded herself that Napoleon loomed on the far side of the channel like a great hungry beast, making plans to invade England. If the little tyrant tried, he’d have to get past her. In her present mood, she could destroy any number of stupid tyrants.
Occasionally she considered leaving the school through the Labyrinth, but where would she go from there? Lackland village was small, and none of the Irregulars who lived there were particular friends.
There was Jack Rainford. She’d worked with him very closely in the weather brigade because they were by far the strongest weather mages, but he was the most annoying boy. Still, they were friends, more or less. She’d never had a boy for a friend.
Christmas Day began with a long, boring service in the chapel, where Cynthia had a whole pew to herself. Then a decent midday dinner, for which she had little appetite. Now all the other girls were gathered in one of their bedrooms to have a party. They’d discussed within Cynthia’s hearing all the cakes and sweetmeats they’d share, along with good sherry and brandy.
She hoped they all choked on their stupid hazelnuts!
The room was so dark she could barely see the crack in the ceiling. Shivering from the chill, she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She’d never studied hearth witchery because it was vulgar, but she was cold enough to reconsider.
She concentrated on the coals in the tiny fireplace, imagining them burning hotter and brighter. The coals brightened faintly, but not enough to warm the room. She’d have to replenish the coal.
As she added a shovelful of coals, someone tapped at the door. She ignored it. Probably one of those stupid girls had decided to practice some Christian charity because it was a holiday. Well, Cynthia didn’t need any of them.
The door swung open. Catching the motion from the corner of her eye, she glanced over. Good heavens, a man! She scrambled to her feet, wondering wildly what spells she might use to drive him off.
The newcomer stepped forward into the room. Jack Rainford, tall and broad-shouldered in a heavy cloak, his fair hair catching the firelight. As disgustingly handsome as always. “What are you doing here!” she exclaimed. “Boys aren’t allowed in the girls’ school! Not ever!”
He gave his usual infuriating Jack Rainford grin. “There’s no one around to notice or care.” He opened his hand to show a small, water-polished pebble. “I brought a stealth stone so no one would see me, but I didn’t need it. Your reputation is safe.”
“I care! Get out of my room right now!”
“I’ll leave,” he said with a wicked smile. “But you’re coming with me.”
“You have lost your mind,” she said with conviction. “Your grasp on sanity was always weak, and now you’ve descended into sheer madness. Why would I want to leave the school with you?”
“To have a nice Christmas dinner in good company,” he said. “We should get to my house about the time the goose is done.”
“I’ve already had Christmas dinner,” she snapped. “It was served to the students from both schools, and it was the best meal the abbey serves all year.”
His brows arched. “That’s not saying much.”
Too true. Voice starchy, she said, “I can’t accept an invitation from a man.”
“The invitation is from my mother. I am but her emissary.” He gave her a warm, almost irresistible smile. “I guarantee that our dinner will be much better than what you had here. We’ll end with that splendid plum pudding you left in the Labyrinth.”
She frowned. “Why were you in the Labyrinth when there were no classes?”
“I like to check every few days to see if Nick Rainford has sent a message. His life is a lot more interesting than mine.” Jack looked a little envious. Leave it to a stupid boy to think it was “interesting” to be in the middle of a catastrophic war!
Jack frowned. “I’m getting worried. There hasn’t been a message from Nick in over a fortnight. One can’t help but wonder…”
Cynthia shuddered as she remembered the menacing roar of the heavy guns as the Nazis and Allies pounded away at each other. Lackland was right on the Straits of Dover and could easily be bombed from horrible airplanes or pounded by artillery. Her imagination produced a ghastly vision of a Nazi bomb smashing into the Rainford home. The whole family could be dead.
She really liked the Rainfords, even though they were commoners. Mrs. Rainford and Polly had been very welcoming, and Nick was less annoying than Jack. “I’m sure he and his family are fine,” she said, trying to convince herself. “He’s probably just too busy to walk out to the abbey.”
“Probably you’re right,” Jack said. “But if there’s no message from him in another fortnight, I may go through the mirror to find out if they’re all right.”
Appalled, Cynthia asked, “Could you travel there without Tory’s help?”
“Nick made it back here on his own. I think I could manage the return journey. Probably.” Dismissing the topic, he said, “Come along now. The goose is waiting.”
“Why would I want a second Christmas dinner?” Except that she did. She’d been too miserable to eat much, and she’d finished Tory’s shortbread days ago.
“Because the abbey is a flat bore over the holidays. Another day or two and you’ll be kicking the walls.” He grinned. “In a very ladylike way, of course. My mother thinks that since you provided the pudding, you should share in it.”
“Lady Fairmount sent the pudding, and Tory left it for me when she got an unexpected invitation to her brother’s house. I couldn’t eat that great thing so I left it to the Labyrinth. I thought the Irregulars would share it after the holidays.”
“Well, I took the pudding home. I promise that a Rainford Christmas dinner will be far more amusing than sulking here in a cold room.”
“I’m not sulking!” Cynthia scowled, privately admitting that he was right. This was such a ghastly holiday that even joining a family of commoners sounded good. Jack’s younger sister, Rachel, was pleasant, and his mother seemed nice.
A thought struck her. “Your mother is the best hearth witch around, isn’t she? Could she show me how to keep this room warm in spite of the suppression spell?”
“She could probably teach you a few tricks,” Jack said. “Rachel is good, but she hasn’t anything like Mum’s experience.”
“Very well, I’ll join you for dinner,” she said ungraciously.
He beamed, and she realized he hadn’t been as confident about persuading her as he’d pretended. “Then grab a cloak and come along. It’s cold out there.”
She gave a horrified thought to her appearance. She was wearing her plainest gown, and her hair fell in slatternly tangles around her shoulders. “I’m not going out to dinner even in a farmhouse dressed like this!” she exclaimed. “Go wait in the corridor until I change.”
He rolled his eyes. “You look fine as you are. If you must change, do it quickly. I’m hungry.”
“Out!” she ordered. “And no peeking!”
Smiling, he ambled from
the room while Cynthia considered what to wear. She was tempted to change slowly just to irritate Jack, but she was hungry, too.
She didn’t have any choice, actually. Her most fashionable garments needed the assistance of a maid, and all the servants had been given a half day off because it was Christmas.
After her visit to 1940, Cynthia had reluctantly conceded that Tory was right about having clothes that could be put on without assistance. A letter to her father’s secretary had produced two gowns that were easy to wear, if not very fashionable. The garments had arrived after most students left for the holiday. She was wearing the plainer gown now since none of the other girls would help her dress.
The second new dress was a little prettier, so it would have to do. She certainly couldn’t ask Jack Rainford to fasten the back of her gown.
The fabric was a shade of blue that enhanced her eyes and there was a rich band of embroidery on the hem and bodice. Though too simple for a dinner with her own kind, it would do for a farmhouse. She donned it quickly, ran a brush through her hair and pinned it up, then put on her heaviest cloak and a warm bonnet.
Jack was lounging in the corridor, juggling small mage lights. Like the other members of the weather brigade, his power had increased during their marathon of magical work. “You didn’t take quite as long as I expected.” He tossed her one of the lights. “Most girls need more time to pretty themselves up than you do.”
“Is that a compliment?” she asked suspiciously as they headed toward the stairs.
“I guess it is,” he said thoughtfully. “Even when you worked endless hours and looked like something the cat dragged in, you looked like a pretty cat.”
She was tempted to hiss like a cat, but settled for tossing her head as she led the way downstairs.
As Jack said, the abbey was so quiet that stealth stones weren’t needed. They used the tunnel in the cellar of the refectory to enter the Labyrinth. It was a relief to move out of the abbey’s suppression spell.
The Labyrinth felt a lot less empty with Jack at her side. Say what one would about his social status and appalling sense of humor, Cynthia grudgingly admitted that he did have presence. When Jack was around, he was impossible to ignore.
