01 Sorcery and Cecelia

by Patricia C. Wrede

  "Tarleton," he said, nodding a greeting. "No doubt the servants neglected to inform you that I was from home."

  "He came with me, Sir Hilary," I said quickly.

  "Indeed. Do come out from behind the sofa, Miss Rushton," he said. "I cannot imagine why I find your presence in my library surprising, but I must confess I do. Perhaps you would be good enough to explain?"

  "Miss Rushton thought she had dropped her fan here," Mr. Tarleton said. "Your housekeeper was good enough to allow her to come in to look for it."

  Sir Hilary looked at him and snorted. "Naturally, you believed every word of her story."

  Mr. Tarleton raised both eyebrows. "I don't believe I thought much about it, one way or the other," he said.

  Sir Hilary gave him a sharp glance and turned to me. "And have you found your fan?"

  "No," I said with as much composure as I could manage. "I must have lost it in the maze. I do apologize for intruding like this, but I was very anxious to retrieve it. Oliver gave it to me for my last birthday, you see."

  "Indeed." Sir Hilary snorted again. Then he gave me a rather thin smile. "And how is Oliver these days?"

  "As caper-witted as ever," I said disgustedly. "He was in London for a few weeks, but he has now gone to visit friends, and though he wrote Papa not to expect him home soon, he neglected to furnish us with his direction."

  "Ah." Sir Hilary looked closely at me, and smiled again. "Dear me, I have been so long on the road that I am forgetting my manners. Allow me to invite you to join me for some refreshment."

  "I am afraid we must decline, Sir Hilary," Mr. Tarleton said. "My mother is expecting Miss Rushton to take tea with her, and we are already late."

  "Then, of course, you must go," Sir Hilary said. He moved aside from the doorway, and I was surprised at the relief I felt at being allowed to leave. Sir Hilary accompanied us to the front of the house, and I gave him a completely spurious description of the nonexistent fan, in case one of his servants should run across it. He asked after Papa and Aunt Elizabeth, and I congratulated him on his recent election to the Royal College of Wizards. A peculiar expression crossed his face when I mentioned that, but it was gone so quickly that I may have been mistaken, and he handed me up into the curricle with unimpaired courtesy. As we drove away, I saw the servants unloading trunks from Sir Hilary's traveling carriage.

  Neither James nor I said anything until we were well away from Bedrick Hall. I do not know about Mr. Tarleton, but I was thinking furiously. I know of no reason for Sir Hilary to return from London nearly a month before the end of the Season. I therefore have hopes that the ruse you played with Miranda has been successful, and he and she have had a strong difference of opinion, which has led to his departure. I do not wish to be overly confident in this opinion, however, for one can never tell with Sir Hilary.

  I had just reached this point in my deliberations when Mr. Tarleton broke the silence to say, "Perhaps I had better take you home."

  "I thought you wanted me to meet someone," I said, looking at him in surprise. His expression was one of concern, and I said without thinking, "Oh, you cannot think that I am overset by a mere encounter with Sir Hilary! It was startling, I must own, but—"

  "Forgive me, Miss Rushton," James interrupted, "but Sir Hilary is precisely what is worrying me. I don't believe he has given me a second thought until now, because Thomas's dislike of Miranda extends to avoiding all her connections, however remote. After finding me crawling about on the floor of his library, however, he can hardly fail to become suspicious."

  I considered this briefly, and decided that James was quite right. It is so provoking! For if Sir Hilary is going to be suspicious of me anyway, I could just as well have taken that book by Everard Tanistry, and perhaps learned something.

  "Well, I am exceedingly sorry," I said at last, "but I do not think it fair for you to blame me. It was, after all, an accident."

  "I am not blaming you," James said. "I'm trying to keep you from getting further involved."

  I did not pretend that I did not understand. "My cousin, who is my dearest friend, is engaged to your friend—" (I almost said, "Your odious friend," but I stopped myself in time) "—Thomas; my brother Oliver has been turned into a beech tree and has now disappeared; Miranda has tried twice to have me killed or injured because I am fond of Dorothea. Pray tell me how much further it is possible for me to become involved."

  He was silent for a time. "I don't like it," he said at last.

  "You don't have to," I said, feeling quite cross. "But I am involved. And if Sir Hilary finds out that you took me straight home, instead of to tea at Tarleton Hall as you told him, he is bound to become even more suspicious than he already is."

  "I suppose you are right," James said gloomily, and turned the horses toward Tarleton Hall. "How did you know your brother had been turned into a beech tree?" he said after a long pause.

  "Kate wrote me," I said.

  He looked at me sharply. "How much has she told you?"

  "How should I know?" I retorted. "If one does not know the whole, it is impossible to say how large a part of it one does know. And in any case, what Kate tells me is none of your affair."

  He relapsed into gloom, and we rode the remainder of the distance to Tarleton Hall in silence. In fact, he did not speak again until he escorted me into the pink saloon at Tarleton Hall. To my surprise, Mr. Wrexton was waiting in the saloon. (And he is not a "fusty, stuffed-up bore" in the slightest, Kate, even if I did meet him at the Reverend Fitz's.) He rose as I entered and bowed. "Miss Rushton! What a pleasant surprise."

  "Why, Mr. Wrexton!" I said, looking uncertainly at James from the corner of my eyes. "I had not thought to meet you here."

  "You know each other?" James said, frowning.

  "Mr. Wrexton was kind enough to call on Papa last Friday," I said.

  Mr. Wrexton was looking from me to Mr. Tarleton with a bemused expression. "My dear fellow! You can't mean that this is..."

  "The person who made that extremely interesting charm-bag I brought you, yes," James said.

  "Why on earth didn't you say so?" Mr. Wrexton asked mildly. "There would have been no need for this subterfuge; I could have called on Miss Rushton at home." He gave me a warm smile.

  "I am afraid that would not have served," I said regretfully, returning his smile. "At least, not if you wish to talk about my charm-bag. Aunt Elizabeth would never allow me to do anything so improper as to receive a gentleman unchaperoned, and Aunt Elizabeth has a strong aversion to anything that smacks of magic, however slightly. She would have shown you to the door as soon as you brought the subject up."

  "I see." Mr. Wrexton looked exceedingly thoughtful. "That does complicate matters. Well, now that you are here, won't you sit down and discuss it with me?"

  He offered me a chair, then took the one beside me, leaving James to sit on the other side of the tea table. I took a cup of tea, and we began chatting about charm-bags. Or rather, Mr. Wrexton asked me a great many questions, and I answered as well as I could. Mr. Wrexton, it seems, is a magician of some note, and has even worked with the Duke of Wellington. I suppose that is why Aunt Elizabeth took him in dislike. He specializes in complex and powerful spells, and claims to have been most impressed by my charm-bag.

  "Spells of that kind depend a great deal on the power and ability of the wizard," he told me. "Yours was quite remarkable; even after the bag had been opened, there was a significant magical residue. I wish I had had the chance to study it while it was intact."

  "I've made another," I said, and pulled it from my reticule. Mr. Wrexton did not seem surprised, but bent over it at once, turning it this way and that in his hands.

  "And the herbs?" he said at last.

  I told him the mixture I had used, and found myself explaining about the book I had taken from Sir Hilary's library. He nodded thoughtfully. "You have a great deal of talent, my dear," he said when I had finished. "It would be a shame for you to waste it. We must find some way of teachi
ng you."

  "Now, wait a minute, Wrexton!" Mr. Tarleton said. "You can't—"

  "I would like that very much, Mr. Wrexton," I said, smiling. "I have always been interested in magic."

  Mr. Tarleton was plainly furious, but he could hardly quarrel with me in Mr. Wrexton's presence. To avoid being shouted at on the way home, I accepted Mr. Wrexton's offer to drive me back to Rushton himself. We had a marvelous time, and he gave me a number of hints about charm-bags and spell casting in general. When we reached Rushton, I invited him in, which did not seem to please Aunt Elizabeth, though she thawed a little when Mr. Wrexton said that he had the intention of continuing on toward town, to visit the Reverend Fitzwilliam. He offered to escort her, should she wish to see the Reverend Fitz herself. Aunt Elizabeth declined, but she was quite in charity with him by the time he left.

  So I am to have magic lessons, at least I will if I can contrive a means of keeping it from Aunt Elizabeth. I also intend to return to Sir Hilary's library and get a better look at that book by Everard Tanistry, though that will have to wait a little. It would never do to arouse his suspicions (always assuming they are not already aroused) by being discovered a second time going through his library.

  1 June

  Your letter arrived yesterday, and I am glad to hear that you are feeling better. I am enclosing a spare charm-bag for you, just in case. (A wetting won't hurt it; the only thing that will break the spell is opening the bag.) Oh, and I have asked Mr. Wrexton, in as general a sort of way as possible and without being too specific about names, just what might have made the stains on the Marquis's handkerchief turn violet when you washed it. He said he couldn't tell without actually looking at it, but that the color violet usually indicates safety or defense when it turns up in this kind of way. So the handkerchief may actually be doing you, or the Marquis, some good. It is a great relief to me to think so; I hope you have it safe.

  Aunt Elizabeth and I paid a call on the Reverend Fitzwilliam yesterday. The Reverend Fitz does not recall having been at school with anyone named Strangle, and, in fact, became almost distressed in his efforts to recall the name. I said that I must have been mistaken in my understanding of what you had written me, and very likely you had only meant that Mr. Strangle was at some other school at the same time, or at Brasenose just after the Reverend Fitz. I do not, of course, think anything of the kind, but there are times when it is necessary to employ a polite fiction. Particularly with the Reverend Fitz. Whatever the explanation, I thought you should know about Mr. Strangle.

  Mr. Wrexton arrived barely fifteen minutes after we did, bringing a bottle of wine he had apparently promised Reverend Fitzwilliam on Wednesday. We spent a pleasant half hour in innocuous discussion before Aunt Elizabeth insisted that we leave. I have begun to wonder whether she suspects that Mr. Wrexton is a wizard, though how she could have discovered that is beyond me. It would explain her apparent distaste for his company.

  I have heard nothing from Robert, but I did not really expect to have any news from him this soon. I am, in fact, rather grateful. It has occurred to me that even if Robert does obtain Mr. Griscomb's consent to marry Dorothea, Miranda would have no compunction about feeding him poisoned chocolate or making one of his cravats strangle him. I am very sorry this did not occur to me before I sent him off looking for Mr. Griscomb; still, something must be done about Miranda in any case. We cannot allow her to continue wandering around enchanting marquises, turning people into beech trees, frightening horses, and leaving ribbons about to strangle people. This simply means that we must deal with her a little sooner.

  I shall make up a charm-bag for Robert, in case he finds Mr. Griscomb and announces his engagement before Miranda has been dealt with, and one for Dorothea as well. I will send them with my next letter. It will take me a little while to get them finished, as I do not dare work on them in Aunt Elizabeth's presence. I will also ask Mr. Wrexton's opinion, in a very general sort of way, of what can be done about particularly unscrupulous and powerful wizards. In the meantime, perhaps you could tell Dorothea that Robert has been quite moped since she left. I am sure she will let this slip to Miranda, which will give Miranda the impression that Robert is still in Rushton.

  Georgy is being a goose, as usual. Oliver would be far more likely to lecture her at great length on the impropriety of her conduct than to absent himself from Town as a punishment.

  Word has got round that Sir Hilary is back in residence, by the way, and Aunt Elizabeth has reluctantly agreed that we must pay a formal call sometime this week. It is fortunate that she has so strong a sense of duty, for otherwise I am sure she would refuse to visit a practicing wizard. She was stiff enough with him before he was ever admitted to the Royal College.

  Your new dresses sound wonderful; you will have to model them all for me when you return from London. Take the greatest care of yourself, and if any notion occurs to you of how to deal with Miranda or Sir Hilary, write me at once!

  Your faithful, Cecy

  4 June 1817

  11 Berkeley Square, London

  Dearest Cecy,

  I have given Dorothea your message about Robert. Dorothea had a most singular message for me—but let me start with your news. Far better for Sir Hilary to have suspicions of you than to have certain knowledge you are in a conspiracy against him when he catches you absconding with another of his books. What can such a volume tell us to match the risk you would run? After all, the important thing is that its existence confirms the sorcerous background of the Tanistry family.

  That Mr. Wrexton says you have an aptitude for magic surprises me very little—remember when Georgy and I tried to charm away her freckles with morning dew? Then you tried, with the very same dew, and they faded completely. To this day, Georgy has never had another. Which just shows you.

  The Marquis's handkerchief is perfectly safe. I put it into the second charm-bag you sent for me, on the grounds that it could be anyone's handkerchief, but it is my blood.

  Dorothea called this afternoon, and I gave her the carefully edited news you sent regarding Robert. She was delighted by the mere sound of his name, and we discussed his virtues at great length, I thought, considering how few of them he possesses. After perhaps half an hour spent listing his excellences, Dorothea gave a little start. Then she plumped her reticule down on the tea table and began rummaging about in it. After a moment, she very gingerly brought out a small parcel, about the size of a teacup, done up in a crumpled bit of striped paper and a quite ordinary bit of string.

  "I almost forgot," she said, putting it into my hand. "This is for you. Thomas sent it."

  She informed me that he'd given it to her that morning when he took her out driving in the park. "He knew I would call here this afternoon, for I told him so yesterday. We were talking about you and I said you would be at Countess Lieven's tonight. That was when he asked me to go driving with him."

  "You were talking about me?" I said. "Why?"

  "Well, it is only natural, isn't it?" replied Dorothea. "After all, he is betrothed to you."

  I regarded Dorothea with wonder. I never thought anyone could be sillier than Georgina, but Dorothea shows every sign of it. "And he gave you this to give to me?" I asked. She nodded.

  I scrutinized the little parcel cautiously, half suspecting it to be some piece of Miranda's handiwork. But the paper was the green and white striped sort that Gunther's uses to wrap up boxes of bonbons and the string displayed signs of much previous use. I felt quite certain Miranda would do things a bit more elaborately.

  "Aren't you going to open it?" asked Dorothea.

  I undid the string and opened the paper. Inside there was a seashell, quite a pretty one in its way, but nothing extraordinary. I examined the wrapper minutely. There was no sign of any message. I turned the seashell over and over, but it was precisely what it seemed—a seashell. Finally, with a little sigh, I handed the shell to Dorothea.

  "How very provoking of him," she said. "He told me it was something of great imp
ortance." Idly, she put the shell to her ear. "I can't even hear the sea in it."

  I took the shell from her and put it to my own ear. She was correct. For a long moment, I could hear nothing from the shell. Then, quite as plainly as if he were standing behind me, I heard Thomas speak.

  "Kate," he said, "if you mean to go to Countess Lieven's tonight, I beg you, do not. With matters as they stand now, I can manage things by myself, but I cannot protect you and handle wizards, too. Please use your common sense for once and stay at home. I will tell you when it is safe to return to Society."

  There was another moment of silence, then the hushing sound proper to seashells began.

  "Why, how queer and white you look, Kate," said Dorothea. "Are you feeling ill again?"

  "No, no," I said. "Here, listen to it now. What do you hear?"

  "Why, the sea," she said. "I can't think why Thomas thought it was so important. It is quite an ordinary seashell."

  "I shall have to ask him about it tonight at Countess Lieven's," I said, and poured us each another cup of tea.

  So, Cecy, in a few minutes I must begin to dress. I am a little late because I wanted to write to you on receipt of your letter—I shall write again directly I am back this evening— and because I took the time, after Dorothea's departure, to use the heel of my slipper to reduce that seashell to small bits. This act of wanton destruction has made me feel a little better, and I am looking forward to this evening very much. Perhaps I will be able to use the same technique on my lord, the Marquis of Schofield's skull.

  Later

  I shall add a few lines to this letter before I send it off just to say what a satisfactory evening it was. There must be some fiery element in the air of London, for I never liked an atmosphere of discord at home. Yet, at Countess Lieven's tonight, there was discord aplenty and it merely sharpened my enjoyment. The guests were split in two groups—some were whispering about Dorothea and her string of admirers, some about Georgy. (Apparently, Georgy's friendship for Dorothea excites comment.) It added an element of enjoyment for me, when Georgy and I greeted Dorothea, to know our friendliness with her displeased so many onlookers.