The footman released me so quickly that I went sprawling. I am not sure which of us was most startled: me, the footman, or Theodore. As I struggled to my feet, Kate pantomimed for me to faint. Her instinct for such things has always been excellent, so I complied at once.
I could hear—and feel—the continuing magical struggle between the Contessa and Thomas. The Contessa seemed to be getting the best of him; I could sense depths of power in her that she had scarcely begun to draw on, while Thomas was tired and hungry. So, naturally, I attempted to feed Thomas some of the unexpected extra power I had available.
The attempt was a grave mistake. I very nearly overset Thomas’s concentration entirely. I pulled back just in time, considered for a moment, and then tried, even harder than before, to feed extra power to the Contessa, instead.
This time, the effect was all I could have hoped for. The Contessa’s spell backfired, shaking her severely and allowing Thomas just the opening he needed. And then Theodore’s voice rang out once more: “Be quiet, all of you! Just stop it. Stop everything.”
Perforce, we all stopped. The sudden silence was astonishing and intense. I am not sure how long we might all have stood like waxworks if Theodore had not demanded that I speak to him.
Once I was allowed to speak, I persuaded Theodore to release Kate, James, Thomas, and Reardon from the effects of his command. I used the lingering residue of the powdered desk to unravel the spell the Contessa had begun weaving about the grove, then reabsorbed the remaining power. I did not think it wise to leave loose magic lying around, no matter how useless it might be to anyone save myself.
While I was busy with the magic, James used the ropes that had bound Thomas and me to tie up the two footmen. Just as he finished, there was a commotion in the bushes, and a moment later Eve-Marie appeared, being marched along by none other than Thomas’s valet-cum-bodyguard, Piers. She seemed most put out by her situation, and called Piers a great many vulgar names in the French language. At least, I assumed they were vulgar from the reactions James and Thomas had.
Theodore stared at them and opened his mouth to say something, and I held my hand up gently. “Mr. Daventer, please don’t say anything yet. It’s quite dangerous. The Contessa has … has cast a spell that makes everyone obey you, and you might cause all sorts of difficulties by saying the wrong thing by accident.”
Theodore’s eyes widened, and he nodded. Eve-Marie continued spitting incomprehensible French at the top of her lungs. I sighed. “Perhaps you could just tell Eve-Marie to be quiet and stand still,” I said.
“Eve-Marie, be quiet and stand still,” Theodore repeated, and she froze where she was. Piers gingerly let go of her arms, and she continued to stand as she had been told. Theodore’s eyes grew wider, and he looked at me. “I did that?”
“You did indeed,” I said. “But I don’t recommend that you continue. We don’t know yet how this spell is powered; you may be taking a year off your life every time you issue a command, or something similar. It would be wisest if you didn’t say anything at all until Lord Schofield or some other competent wizard has examined the spell. Perhaps even several competent wizards.”
This left us with the problem of what to do with Eve-Marie, Lord Mountjoy, and the Contessa. We did not have enough rope to tie them up the way we had the footmen, and it seemed most unwise to have Theodore issue more orders so as to get them to do what we wanted. Quite apart from the possibility of damaging Theodore himself, there was always the chance that some misphrasing would leave a loophole that the Contessa could use against us.
In the end we discovered that although they would not move of their own accord, they could be pushed or dragged along. So Piers took Eve-Marie, James hauled Lord Mountjoy, and Thomas shoved the Contessa down the path toward where James and Kate had left their coach. We had to leave the footmen, as neither Kate nor I was strong enough to make them move, and James and Thomas insisted on handling the more important prisoners themselves. Reardon came last, leading the goat.
When we reached the carriage, there was another argument, for even if James and Piers and Thomas all sat outside, there was not room for the rest of us—and neither James nor Thomas would allow Kate and me inside with the Contessa and Lord Mountjoy without, as they put it, some protection in case Theodore’s orders began to wear off. Yet no one wanted to be left behind.
Luckily, just before the argument became heated, we heard the rattle of another vehicle approaching rapidly. It was an extremely elegant light coach, making good time even over the rough ground. The coachman pulled up just in time, and the doors flew open, disgorging two gentlemen and a lady in a brocade-trimmed spencer and a full-skirted walking dress.
The first gentleman made a rapid assessment of us all, then bowed to Kate. “Milady Schofield!” he said. “The Signora Montgomery’s complements, and we are here to provide any assistance you may require. Though it appears you have matters well in hand.”
“Transportation,” James said. “And a lockup for these three.” He glared at the Contessa, Eve-Marie, and Lord Mountjoy.
“There are also two footmen tied up in the clearing back there,” I said, indicating the direction. I had no idea who these people were, but Kate and James seemed prepared to accept them, and that was good enough for me. “And if any of you are wizards, it might be as well for you to examine the place carefully. I think we disposed of most of the Contessa’s spell, but it would be best to make certain.”
“I should like a shave,” Thomas said around an immense yawn. “And someone should take a look at young Daventer here, and see if there’s a way he can be made safe to talk again.” Theodore gave him a grateful look.
“We should all like to go somewhere to rest,” Kate said firmly. “Somewhere close by.”
Which was what we did. Our reinforcements arranged everything with great efficiency, and within half an hour we were installed in a local villa. I suspect that they turned several people out of their bedchambers to make room for us, but at the time I was past caring. The moment I saw the feather bed, I collapsed onto it and did not stir again for many hours.
By the time I awoke, matters were well in hand. James had been up talking to Mrs. Montgomery’s friends for some time—apparently, a career as A.D.C. to the Iron Duke accustoms one to peculiar hours and little sleep—and had even been to the Contessa’s palazzo to retrieve the stolen regalia. The wizards had spent hours examining Theodore Daventer, and had succeeded in reducing the effect of the Contessa’s warped imperial ritual; no longer was everyone forced to obey him instantly. Despite their best efforts, however, the wizards had been unable to cancel the effect of the ritual entirely with the resources at their disposal, and recommended an immediate return to Rome.
The carriage ride from Nemi to Rome took considerably longer than the one we had made from Rome to Nemi, but it was far more comfortable, and gave all of us time to hear one another’s stories. I was most impressed by Kate’s daring and determination, and I assured her that she had my retroactive and permanent permission to search every one of my belongings for anything useful whenever I happened to have been abducted.
When we reached Rome, we handed the Contessa and Eve-Marie over to the Roman authorities, together with the stolen regalia. I was not altogether sanguine about this, as I was not sure that the Roman authorities were capable of dealing with so powerful and unscrupulous a wizard, but Kate’s friends assured us that she would be properly guarded.
“The Conte da Monteferro and the Signor Sette will see to it,” one of them told us as the Contessa and her henchmen were hustled away. “You will not know them, but they are excellent wizards, and friends of the Signora Montgomery.” He winked and pantomimed knitting. “It is not possible that the Contessa will be let go after abducting two English citizens.”
With that settled, we moved on to the English ambassador. Lord Sutton was every bit as stuffy as Kate’s account of him made him sound, but once Thomas and James finally managed to convince him of the Contessa�
��s crimes, he readily agreed to make the strongest possible representations to those same Roman authorities regarding the eventual punishment of the Contessa. He also took temporary custody of Lord Mountjoy and Theodore.
“The Duke of Wellington will want to speak with them both,” James warned him. “I have already sent him an account of the entire matter, by the fastest ship I could find.”
“You are on terms with His Grace?” Lord Sutton said uncertainly.
“I was A.D.C. to him during the war,” James said, managing to look extremely military despite wearing an ordinary, somewhat rumpled morning coat that he had not changed in two days. “It was at his request that we looked into this affair. I expect you will be hearing from him shortly.”
“Very well, Mr. Tarleton,” Lord Sutton said. “I shall hold these two until then.”
Despite his agreement, I do not think Lord Sutton really believed James until the Duke of Wellington’s response arrived a week and a half later by the same route James’s letter had taken (at a gallop from Paris to Toulon, by fast ship from Toulon to Rome). His Grace had clearly begun applying his superior knowledge of tactics to his “new battlefield,” for he did not merely send a letter; he sent a Special Envoy with a stack of memoranda and a set of credentials that must have taken up half a trunk.
The Envoy’s first action was to take charge of Lord Mountjoy and Theodore, much to Lord Sutton’s relief. (I understand they will be returning to France with him, and from there to England, where arrangements have already been made for Theodore to be examined by an emergency gathering of the Royal College of Wizards.) His second was to extract the stolen regalia from the Roman authorities in some manner unknown to me and then to give it to Thomas for temporary safekeeping; and his third was to ask each of us to write out an account of the entire matter for the benefit of the authorities at home.
I have done as he asked, to the best of my ability and recollection. I do hope that no one will be too hard on young Mr. Daventer. As can be seen from my account, I am convinced that he was in no way willingly involved in the Contessa’s plots and, in fact, was the intended victim of one of them. It is not his fault that he is now in some sense the True Emperor of All Europe, and he has certainly not evinced the slightest desire to rule anyone.
Written this eleventh day of December, 1817, by Mrs. James Tarleton, Rome, Italy
From the commonplace book of Lady Schofìeld
28 November 1817
Rome
At our lodging off the Piazza di Spagna
If I have anything to say in the matter, and I fully expect to, I will not ever spend another night away from Thomas. It is all very well to be reunited after such turmoil. I don’t expect anything short of Heaven to measure up to the joy of getting him back again. But I will not willingly experience even such a splendid reunion if it means we must be separated first. Well, not unless the separation is for an extremely good reason.
As I was fully distracted by Thomas, I’m afraid I paid very little attention to the disposal of Mountjoy, the Contessa, and Eve-Marie. I do know that Piers helped Reardon milk the goat. It was base ingratitude on the nanny goat’s part not to submit gracefully to this act of kindness. Yet goats are nothing if not ungrateful. It put up a stiff resistance, but between Piers and Reardon, they contrived to squeeze out enough milk to alleviate the nanny’s discomfort. When they finished, it twisted away and they let it go with every sign of relief. On all three parts.
Thomas, Cecy, and James dealt with the most urgent demands of our situation, ably relieved by the wizards Mrs. Montgomery dispatched to our aid. Before long, we were in the carriage again—far more comfortably than when we had villains to deal with—this time headed I knew not where. James, fortunately, did. The night we spent at the Villa delle Colombe near Nemi was not uncomfortable. Indeed, I could have slept sitting up. Probably with my eyes open. For all I know, I might have done so.
Alors! That’s what Walker said when we returned and Reardon told her of all our doings. Well, first she said something else, something I suspect is a bit too rude to record here. But the feeling in her voice summed things up exactly. Alors, indeed.
Our journey here from Nemi was blessedly uneventful. Mrs. Montgomery’s wizards seem to have matters well in hand. Their adroit questioning has established that it was Eve-Marie, dissembling even in her grammar, who wrote the letter that lured Sir Hilary Bedrick to his doom. She was X, and she met Sir Hilary with the henchmen who carried out her will. So when Cecy wondered why Mr. Reardon and Mr. Lennox were so quick to assume Sir Hilary’s murderer must have been a man, she had the stray thread of the matter. We just didn’t have enough information to allow us to follow that thread.
Mr. Strangle’s murder has been laid at the Contessa’s door. Indeed, a stab in the back seems to be quite her style, given her plans for Theodore.
It is a great relief to be done with all these murders.
When we returned to our lodgings here, it was to find all was well under Walker’s expert command. A day of peace and quiet and a few creature comforts sufficed to renew our sense of interest in the outside world, and this morning I felt curious enough to ask for any letters that have arrived in the past few days.
There were two, one from Lady Sylvia and one from Aunt Charlotte. If I have learned nothing else from Thomas, I now know that it is sometimes beneficial to take the sweet before the sour, so I read Lady Sylvia’s first.
Dear Kate,
Thank you for your graceful letter of thanks for the shawl you like so much. I am only sorry that I am not the proper recipient of your gratitude. The parcel arrived for you here and I forwarded it unopened. I suppose those black chamber people are up to their tricks again, reading foreign mail. If you do not know who sent you the shawl, I urge the utmost caution. Let Thomas have a good look at it before you wear it again. If necessary, burn it.
Lady Sylvia had signed with her usual flourish, and the rest of the sheet was taken up with her customary postscripts, some of them longer than the body of the letter itself.
I was glad Reardon had put the rose-colored shawl safely out of my reach the moment we returned to our lodging. I would be sorry to burn it, but if we could not find out who had sent it and why, it would probably be best.
Next I opened Aunt Charlotte’s letter, forwarded from Paris.
Dear Kate,
I thought I had taught you the rudiments of courtesy, but once again I perceive I was mistaken. If you recall the elements of etiquette, you will remember it is customary to thank one who bestows a gift. I suppose the shawl I sent you is not fine enough for the most honorable the Marchioness of Schofield. I feared as much. Do not discard it lightly, I pray you, for I have had Elizabeth put one of her best spells on it. Who wears that shawl will have her eyes opened to the true merit of those around her. I would have done the charm myself, but I think you have more confidence in your Aunt Elizabeth than in me. It mattered more to me that the spell protect you than that you value the gift properly.
It occurs to me the gift may have gone astray, and that is why you never thanked me for it. I send this note to the same address to be forwarded to you, wherever you are on your journeying. If you receive it, you must have received the shawl itself. Let your conscience be your guide, Kate, but know that ingratitude breeds ingratitude.
Your loving aunt,
Charlotte
It goes without saying that Aunt Charlotte’s letter vexed me greatly. But it was with mixed feelings that I retrieved the shawl from exile in its drawer. Had I known Aunt Charlotte was the giver, I would have received the gift with wariness that had nothing to do with any charm she asked Aunt Elizabeth to cast upon it. I had not known. I had assumed that a gift so thoughtfully chosen must be from Lady Sylvia, so I had loved it on her account. My affection toward the shawl should hardly change now that I know who the giver truly is. Though it comes from Aunt Charlotte, it is still the perfect color, the perfect texture.
As I put the shawl on, I could
not help but wonder if the spell had played any part in my adventures. Had I been a little braver with Aunt Elizabeth’s spell to clear my eyes? Had it been Aunt Charlotte’s intent to brace me up, to stiffen my spine? Or had it been Aunt Charlotte herself who stiffened me, who taught me how to play the dragon when a dragon was who one needed to be? Or was it just me?
It seems strange that I can show more courage on a goat’s behalf than on my own. It doesn’t seem a bit strange that I can show more courage on Thomas’s behalf than my own.
I suppose, somewhere down deep inside, everyone has her own goat. We know it when we see it.
I’ll ask Thomas to inspect the spell on the shawl again when he returns, but I won’t tell him why unless he asks. Once he knows Aunt Charlotte gave it to me, this will always be “Aunt Charlotte’s shawl” to him. I think I shall keep my own counsel on this matter, at least for a little while.
Soon it will be time to dress for dinner. If I start writing now, I can have my letter of apology to Aunt Charlotte written, sanded, and sealed by the time Reardon comes to help me change.
11 December 1817
Rome
At our lodging off the Piazza di Spagna
All the stolen regalia has now been tenderly gathered up and stowed in a trunk, a case of all one’s eggs going into one sturdy basket. I found the spectacle of the regalia, set out in the parlor as if they were so many ordinary household objects, quite astonishing.
Thomas gave us all a chance to examine them closely, then James and I looked on as Thomas and Cecy prepared to stow each item safely. The robe, the Sainte Ampoule, the sword, the ring—individually they spoke of the romance of history and the battering of time, but together they made a breathtaking assembly. I tried not to think what Theodore must have looked like wearing them. They could do him no more credit than his bedsheet had.
The Grand Tour Page 33
