by M. J. Putney
CHAPTER 29
“The village is so much smaller now!” Rebecca exclaimed as she and the Rainfords walked down into Lackland. Her gaze on the parish church, St. Peter’s by the Sea, she said, “I suppose that’s not surprising, but it’s odd to see familiar features like the church tower and the harbor when so much else hasn’t been built yet.”
Rachel looked wistful. “So far, mirror travel has only been done for urgent reasons. It would be lovely if one could go through just to see another time.”
“Time tourism?” Rebecca shuddered. “You do not want to go through the mirror without a good reason!”
“So says everyone who has done it,” Mrs. Rainford observed. “I am content to learn from the experience of others and stay in my own time. Let’s stop by the church.” She paused. “Are you allowed to enter a Christian church, Rebecca?”
“Oh, yes, that’s not a problem.” Rebecca followed the Rainfords into the building. Beautiful stained-glass windows admitted jewel-toned shafts of light. In 1940, those windows had been taken down and removed to a place where they would be safe from Nazi bombs. But the church still radiated the peace of centuries of worship. Rebecca’s family synagogue in France had had a similar sense of peace.
“Mr. Andrews is probably in the vicarage unless he’s paying calls on parishioners,” Mrs. Rainford said as she led the girls out through a side door. A line of trees divided the churchyard from the sizable stone house next door.
As they took the irregular footpath that connected church to vicarage, Rebecca saw a young woman with a child in her arms sitting on a bench in the vicarage garden, her bleak gaze on the sea below.
Mrs. Rainford said, “That’s the vicar’s wife. Let’s say hello.” Raising her voice, she called, “Hello, Mary! Enjoying the sunshine?”
The young woman looked up. She was quite lovely, with a pale oval face, golden hair pulled back into a sober knot at her nape, and blue eyes reddened by tears. She did her best to smile. “Lily, Rachel, it’s good to see you.”
Tactfully ignoring the evidence of tears, Mrs. Rainford said, “Mary, this is Rebecca White, daughter of an old school friend of mine. She’s recovering from a bout of fever, so she’s visiting us to benefit by the fresh sea air.”
As Mary and Rebecca exchanged greetings, Mrs. Rainford bent over the child, who was perhaps eighteen months old and had golden curls, rosy cheeks, and a cherubic smile. “And how is my goddaughter today?” she cooed as she tickled the girl’s throat as if she were a kitten. “How is Miss Felicity?”
The girl giggled happily. “Aunt Lily! Ray-shell!” Her pronunciation left something to be desired, but she seemed like a happy baby.
“She’s so beautiful!” Rebecca exclaimed. “May I hold her?”
“If you wish. She’s getting heavy.”
Rebecca scooped up Felicity, making sure that her hand brushed that of Mary. Sadness, confusion, love, and longing for the kind husband she’d married who had now turned disdainfully from her.
Thinking the wife’s misery was surely related to the husband’s, Rebecca exchanged baby talk with Felicity for a bit before handing the child back. Then she and the Rainfords said farewell and headed into the house.
A young maid directed them to the vicar’s study. Mr. Andrews was at least fifteen years older than his wife, with a spare build and haunted eyes. As he stood and politely greeted his visitors, Rebecca thought, This man is in hell.
She could feel pain radiating from him, though she wasn’t sure of the cause. Needing to know more, Rebecca offered her hand when Mrs. Rainford introduced her. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Andrews. What a lovely church you have!”
He looked surprised that a young girl wanted to shake hands, but he cooperated. “I am but the steward of it,” he said, his face tightening. “It belongs to God.”
When their hands touched, she felt a rush of desperation that almost knocked her over. The church belongs to God and Lackland, and I am unworthy of either of them.
His faith was broken, she realized. But why?
She slid deeper into his mind and found herself in a dark morass of doubt and misery. And at the center was his wife. His beautiful wife, whom he loved desperately, and didn’t trust. The daughter he adored, but who wasn’t his.
The bones of the story revealed themselves in a jangle of pain. Mary had been abandoned after her young lover seduced her and ran off to join the army. Terrified, fearing she was pregnant and that her family would throw her out of the house, she’d gone to her vicar to ask for help and consolation.
Mr. Andrews had always admired Mary’s beauty and sweetness, but with the gentle distance of a pastor. As she cried in his arms, he saw her as a woman who was young and desperate. She needed a man to care for her, and he yearned for a loving companion to banish his loneliness.
Impulsively, he had offered marriage. Not only did he want to help her, but his given name was Joseph. Without being quite aware of it, he considered himself to be like the biblical Joseph, who had compassionately married the very young Mary to save her from condemnation and possible death when she discovered she was with child.
But while the Bible said that God was the father of Mary’s baby, Joseph Andrews was all too human. Not sure if she was with child, they married quickly so it wouldn’t be too obvious if the baby arrived early. For a handful of happy months, they shyly fell in love with each other.
But after Felicity was born, the vicar found himself studying the baby’s face, looking for features of the other man. Gradually he became consumed by jealousy and horrible visions of his wife with her lover. He no longer trusted Mary and was tormented by nightmares of her leaving him for another man.
Losing faith in her led to a loss of faith in himself and his God. All because human jealousy had warped his basic goodness.
The torrent of agonized emotions made Rebecca sway on her feet. The vicar frowned. “Are you all right, Miss White?”
She clung to his hand both for his support and because she needed time to try to reach into his damaged spirit. “I’m … just a little dizzy.”
Where should she begin to heal such deep pain? Working from instinct, she said, “Mrs. Rainford, Rachel, please leave the room. I must speak with Mr. Andrews.”
Surprised but obedient, they left the study while the vicar stared at Rebecca as if she were mad and possibly dangerous. “Do you have a problem you wish to discuss?”
Rebecca shook her head. “I have been brought here today to say that your wife loves you, and only you.” She poured healing light into him, trying to scour away his jealousy and doubts. “There is no other man in her heart. Give her the love she craves and deserves and there never will be.”
He yanked away from her, his face twisted with anguish. “How dare you say such things! Has my wife been complaining about me?”
“She said nothing to me, Mr. Andrews. I perceived the pain at the center of your marriage because I’m a mage and a healer of the mind.” She had not fully believed that until now. “You are a good man who has let baseless jealousy destroy what is best in your life. Forgive yourself, and your wife and your God will forgive you.”
He folded into his chair and buried his face in his hands as he began shaking with sobs. “I am no longer capable of forgiveness!” he said with despair. “I drown each day in darkness.”
She touched his shoulder so lightly that he was unaware of it and channeled more healing and hope. “Isn’t Jesus called the light of the world? Wasn’t he sent to earth to dispel darkness? As a vicar, surely you have helped others see that light. Be still, and allow the divine light to illuminate your soul.”
As she continued to send her healing, she recognized that this power she had been granted surely came from the divine. Though her faith was not the same as the vicar’s, both came from the same source and she was blessed to be able to transmit this healing to those in need. Silently she prayed that Mr. Andrews would find the peace that would allow love to be reborn in his spirit.
He bec
ame very still, and she sensed a shift in his energy. The darkness began to fade, taking his despair and self-hatred. She stepped back from him.
He raised his head and asked unevenly, “Are you an angel?”
She smiled and shook her head. “Only a mageling, Mr. Andrews, and a rather young and inexperienced one. But I am doing my best to learn how to channel healing from a higher power.”
“You have learned your lessons well, Miss White.” He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his eyes. “With your help, I have found my way back to my God and myself.”
“I am so very glad to hear that,” she said softly.
The vicar got to his feet. “Felicity,” he said hesitantly. “Is she my child? Or that other man’s?”
“Does it matter?” she asked quietly.
His face changed, the doubts smoothed away. “No. She is my beloved daughter no matter who sired her.” He smiled, and his face was transformed from what it was when she’d arrived. “Thank you, my dear child, for teaching me the true meaning of Christian acceptance and compassion.”
She didn’t bother to explain the irony of that.
“Will … will Mary forgive me?” he asked.
A touch of sternness entered Rebecca’s voice. “I believe so, but don’t ever give her a reason to regret that she has.”
“I won’t. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must go to my wife.” Face serene, he bowed, then left the room.
Rebecca followed him out of the study. Mrs. Rainford and Rachel stared at the vicar in amazement as he passed them with a brief nod and left the drawing room at a near run.
A few moments later, they saw him through the window as he emerged into the garden. He went to his wife and took her hands, talking earnestly. The words couldn’t be heard, but she swiftly rose and moved into his arms, tears of happiness on her face.
Mrs. Rainford drew a shaken breath. “I think this is too private for us to see. Come along, girls, it’s time to resume our walk into town.”
Rebecca and Rachel followed her from the house. When they were on the street and no one was in earshot, Rachel asked, “What was the problem?”
Rebecca shook her head. “That’s private, too.”
“Wise girl,” Mrs. Rainford said. “But it’s fair to conclude that you were able to sense and adjust the vicar’s mind and emotions?”
Shivering from burning so much healing magic, Rebecca drew her shawl around her. “So it seems.”
“Well done!” Mrs. Rainford took her arm and hearth witchery warmth flowed through Rebecca. “So your next case will be Napoleon Bonaparte, first consul of France and aspiring ruler of the world.”
CHAPTER 30
Merlin’s Mirror seethed invisibly, the energy waiting hungrily for the Irregulars to travel through it. “This is madness, you know,” Tory murmured to Allarde as they waited in the chamber for everyone to gather for the journey to France.
His smile quirked. “Indeed it is, but no one came up with a better plan.”
Allarde’s arm was around her, which calmed her nerves as she studied her troops. Rebecca, their novice, was pale but determined as she stayed close to Nick. This mission rested on her abilities, which was a huge burden for a girl who hadn’t even known that magic existed a month before.
Cynthia’s illusion magic was also vital. Her usual brash confidence strained, she was leaning back against Jack, who had his arms linked loosely around her waist. Even Elspeth, generally an island of calm, looked tense.
Seven people was a large party, but every one of them was essential. Allarde was the only one of the boys who spoke fluent French. Jack was an experienced driver, so he’d handle the carriage, and Nick was their finder. Tory was the best at mirror travel, as well as blending and enhancing magic. And they certainly didn’t want to go into danger without their healer, Elspeth.
“If this doesn’t work, at least we’ll go down in good company,” Tory said, trying to sound jaunty.
“We’ve gone into danger before and come out unscathed,” Jack said. When Elspeth arched her brows, he grinned. “Well, a little scathed, but we all made it home and our missions were a success.”
“Somehow it’s worse this time.” Tory’s nails were biting into her palms. “Hitler wasn’t quite real to me. Not the way Napoleon is.”
“Napoleon is the monster of our own age,” Jack agreed. “Which is why he bloody well needs to stay on his own side of the Channel!”
Miss Wheaton, Mr. Stephens, and Lily Rainford entered the mirror chamber, their faces serious. The three adults had been working the wards, but they were taking a brief break to see the Irregular raiding party off.
Besides the regular ward mages like Mr. Stephens and Miss Wheaton, other British mages were adding what power they could spare to help maintain the magical protections. Many of the Irregulars came to the Labyrinth at night to contribute so that the chief ward mages could rest and avoid burning out.
Nonetheless, Tory could sense the magic fraying. Originally the wards had felt like an invisible wall of protection stretching from earth to sky. Now the magic shivered like a tattered, gossamer veil that could fail at any time under the fierce hammering of the French mage corps.
If the wards failed, how long would it be before the French launched their main invasion of Britain?
Not long. Not long at all.
Mr. Stephens said, “With Tory’s help at enhancement, I’ve prepared a new set of stealth stones.”
He moved among the Irregulars, distributing the smooth, water-polished pebbles. “Instead of keeping you out of physical sight, these should make you less visible to the French war mages. Rebecca, I have one of the regular stones for you as well. They don’t make you invisible, but they make it less likely that you’ll be noticed. People won’t look in your direction.”
Tory hoped he was right about the new stones. She did not want a French war mage crashing down on them in the middle of their mission. The thought of Colonel Levaux gave her chills. They’d caught him unaware before. That wasn’t likely to happen a second time.
“Thank you,” Rebecca said as she examined the stones with interest, testing the magic with her fingertips. “The more stealth, the better.”
After a round of hugs, the adults stepped back as Tory said, “Time to form up. Nick, you take the far end with Rebecca next to you.”
Knapsacks were slung over shoulders and hands were clasped as Tory positioned her friends. When she took hold of Allarde’s hand, she could feel the individual pulses of power coming from each link in the chain.
When they were ready, Tory said reassuringly, “Remember that this isn’t going to be a particularly difficult transit. Is everyone ready to go?”
Nods all around.
“Godspeed,” Mrs. Rainford said softly. “You can do this. I know you can.”
Wondering whether that was foretelling or motherly hope, Tory raised her free hand to the mirror. “Next stop, France!”
She concentrated on their destination. She and Nick had located a mirror portal that was close to Boulogne, probably only a few miles from the town.
Unfortunately, they knew nothing else about the site, so this was another leap of faith. Mirror, mirror, take us safely through.
The mirror shimmered into visibility, the power pounding through her. Then the portal turned to infinite black and once more they tumbled into the heart of chaos.
* * *
Tory felt a cool draft on her face and a gritty surface under her knees. Allarde’s hand was locked in hers. Whimpers and a muttered, “I will never get used to this!” from her friends.
“Is everyone all right?” Tory asked. “Countdown! Allarde?”
“I’m fine,” he replied.
“Elspeth here,” came next.
“Jack here, with Cynthia growling energetically in my ear,” he said with amusement in his voice. “It’s rather romantic, actually.” His comment produced a chorus of chuckles, even from Cynthia.
“You were right, this wasn’t as
bad as traveling from 1940,” Rebecca said, her voice uneven. “But not fun.”
“We’re all here,” Nick said. “Wherever here is.”
“A cave, I think. The French seem to like them for mirror portals.” Tory created a mage light. “Merciful heavens, what is that?” she gasped, scrambling backward as she saw a huge beast looming over her.
More mage lights came on, and the increased illumination showed a rough stone wall with a huge painted image of a creature rather like an elephant. More pictures of different beasts were revealed in a mesmerizing display. The walls of this chamber were covered with the paintings, as if they’d landed in the middle of a herd of wild animals.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Tory said in a hushed voice.
“Neither have I,” Allarde said. “But I suspect the paintings may be why the portal is here. Feel the earth magic in this cave!”
Elspeth skimmed her fingertips over the image of a strangely shaped giant bull. “These paintings are incredibly ancient. I can’t even guess how old they are, or who painted them.”
“I wonder if this place was used as a shrine.” Allarde flattened his palms on a bare section of wall as he savored the energy.
“We need to rest after the mirror passage,” Elspeth said. “Let’s spend the rest of the night here so we can absorb more of this lovely power.”
Everyone liked that idea, so they found spots to sleep in. All of them carried more clothing than usual, so the knapsacks made good pillows. They’d also brought long cloaks, which substituted for blankets. Cynthia warmed the air in the chamber so it was comfortable enough that no one would spend the night with chattering teeth.
Cynthia and Jack cuddled up in one corner of the cave, while Rebecca stayed close to Elspeth in another corner. Apparently Rebecca and Nick weren’t yet a couple, so he stretched out beneath the image of the hairy elephant.
Even though there was no real privacy, Tory was happy to spend another night with Allarde. She stretched out beside him, drained by the effort of coming through the mirror. “You’re more comfortable than the best mattress in England,” she murmured as they settled together spoon fashion.
