Half a Soul

by Olivia Atwater

“Your business surely must wait,” Lady Carroway told Elias, with a narrow-eyed gaze.

  “Nonsense!” This interjection came from the head of the table, where Lord Carroway currently sat. He got to his feet and crossed towards Elias. “I have told Chalmers that the Lord Sorcier is always welcome in our home, dear,” Lord Carroway addressed his wife. “He has done our family enough service that he should never be treated as a stranger.”

  Elias bowed his head slightly towards the viscount in acknowledgement. “I will surely wear out that welcome any day now,” he said. “But if you are mad enough to accept me, then I shall not protest.”

  Lord Carroway chucked warmly at this and clasped Elias by the arm. “Come, come. Have a seat at the table, magician.”

  Elias shook his head. “I am in the middle of business,” he said. “I require Albert’s help—”

  “But you have that look about you,” Lord Carroway observed. “You have had your head in your books and forgotten to eat, haven’t you? Lady Carroway would have my head if you left without something in your stomach.”

  Albert’s mother narrowed her eyes at that. She had surely been meaning to protest that they hadn’t set a place at the table, that they hadn’t prepared for an extra guest, that it was all a terrible inconvenience upon her—but she didn’t dare to contradict her husband in mixed company. Rather, she stayed silent, unwilling to voice her sentiments one way or another.

  “Please have a seat, by all means,” Lord Carroway said. “Once we’ve eaten, perhaps you and Albert may retire to a study. Chalmers! Go tell someone to set an extra place at the table for the Lord Sorcier.”

  Elias arched a weary brow. “As you wish, Lord Carroway,” he said. “But I would beg you put me next to Albert, so I may at least begin discussion with him.”

  “Alas,” Lord Carroway said. “I would have had you next to me, to hear more of your miserable politics.” The viscount’s broad smile suggested that he did not think anything miserable of Elias at all, which Dora found quite fascinating. “But yes. If I am stealing you from your work, I suppose that you may sit where you will.”

  This meant, of course, that Elias would be much closer to Lady Carroway’s side of the table—a circumstance which did not seem to delight the hostess. As Elias turned to search out Albert with his eyes, however, he saw for the first time that Dora was present. Their eyes met, and Dora thought for just a moment that she saw the Lord Sorcier’s lips twitch in something dangerously close to a smile.

  “Well!” Elias said. “How convenient. Two French linguists at once. I will sit between you then, and solicit two opinions at once.”

  Lady Carroway could not possibly have looked more miserable at this turn of events. She looked towards Albert, silently begging her son to say something. But Albert seemed only too delighted to oblige; he rose up to his feet and moved his chair further down to make room.

  One of the servants returned to set Elias’ seat; no sooner had the magician settled himself than he glanced towards Dora. “Miss Ettings,” he greeted her. “How fine you look this evening. The dress does seem familiar though, doesn’t it?”

  Dora smiled at him. From anyone else, the comment would have been an insult—and surely, most of their company must have interpreted it as such. But since Elias had scoured the dress of colour himself, she suspected it was a friendly rejoinder instead. “Lord Sorcier,” she acknowledged him. “I fear you do not look so fine yourself; one suspects you have not slept enough. And your clothing also seems familiar. One suspects that you have slept in it.”

  Elias laughed. There was an odd delight to it that Dora had not heard before. “I am not fit to spar with you tonight,” he said. “I am so tired that I will be at a handicap. But I think I will enjoy being thoroughly bested.”

  “You speak as though I have never bested you before,” Dora said mildly. “I suppose I will concede to your weariness and pretend that you have ever had a victory, my lord.”

  Albert laughed now too. “Why, now we have dinner and a show,” he said. “Brilliant. I am of a mind for a bet. Does anyone dare lay odds on the Lord Sorcier, in his currently weakened state?”

  “Albert!” Lady Carroway scolded him. “I swear, I do not know who raised you! It cannot have been me.”

  “You raised him perfectly fine, Lady Carroway,” Elias informed her. “I fear it was France, and possibly myself, which then corrupted him.”

  “You have admitted it yourself,” Lady Carroway muttered, just low enough that Dora heard her and no one else.

  “Put some food in your mouth, Elias, before my mother strangles you,” Albert told him cheerfully. “I’d rather you not perish beneath this roof with an empty belly. It would reflect badly on our hospitality, I’m sure.”

  Elias seemed only too content to oblige—now that he had taken a bit of soup, he had clearly realised just how famished he was. Dora frowned at him worriedly. Certainly, such exhaustion couldn’t be good for his health, and there were far more normal diseases to be caught than just the plague itself.

  “Doesn’t Mrs Dun feed you?” Dora asked him, when he’d finished the last dregs of the soup course.

  Elias waved his hand at her as though she were a gnat. “That woman has eighteen children to feed,” he said. “I’m not one of them, and I don’t intend to be.”

  Lady Carroway frowned at that. “Mrs Dun?” she asked. “Surely not the same Mrs Dun that runs our orphanage?”

  Albert coughed gently. Elias blinked, and then coloured. Dora found herself fascinated by the obvious blush of embarrassment on his face. She smiled suddenly.

  “The Lord Sorcier donates a great deal of money to Mrs Dun’s orphanage,” Dora informed the viscountess. “I imagine that he sees her quite often, as a consequence.”

  Elias shot Dora a piteous, betrayed sort of look.

  “Does he?” Lady Carroway asked, narrowing her eyes at Elias. “How fascinating. One might have expected such a relevant topic to come up at dinner before now.”

  “I am not so often at dinner here,” Elias said stiffly. But now the very tips of his ears were red now too, and he seemed unable to look the viscountess in the eyes.

  “The Lord Sorcier is very fond of children,” Dora added. “One of Mrs Dun’s charges told me that he performs magic tricks for the orphanage when he visits.”

  Lady Carroway’s eyes gleamed now with a mixture of triumph and fresh affection, and Dora knew that this information had mended whatever brief injury Elias’ apparent courtship had caused to the lady’s regard for him. “How charming. I seem to recall that our anonymous donor came forward not long after Albert asked to add three more children to the orphanage.”

  “I have been looking into historical curses!” Elias snapped at Dora, as though to cut the subject short. His ears were still red. “Le Joyau wrote a treatise on the subject, and I am far too tired to translate it on my own.”

  “You rarely translate anything yourself, even when you’re fully awake,” Albert observed wryly.

  “I will be happy to take a look at the treatise after dinner, of course,” Dora said pleasantly.

  “You will stay seated until the main course comes, naturally,” Lady Carroway said to Elias. The transformation in her behaviour was so sudden and magical that it might have been alchemy. “I have always said you do not take good enough care of yourself. You really must find yourself a wife, before you run yourself into the ground.”

  Elias pressed his face into his hands. “I far preferred it when you were upset with me, Lady Carroway,” he said bluntly. “Your anger is at least more distant and less nosy than your affection.”

  Lady Carroway smiled brilliantly. “Then I am able to indulge my affection and my irritation all at once. How pleasing!” She gestured towards a footman, who headed over towards her. “Please, get the Lord Sorcier a glass of wine.”

  Elias lifted his face from his hands and glared at the viscountess. Inspiration flickered in his tired mind, however, and he suddenly turned to Dora. “Miss E
ttings,” he said. “Have you plans to attend any more balls? I normally avoid them, but I shall endeavour to make my way to at least one if you will promise me a dance.”

  Dora blinked at him. She had been readying some witty insult to level his way—but the unexpected pleasantry rocked her back in her seat. Her mind blanked, and she found herself searching vainly for a proper reply as his hazy golden eyes focussed intently upon her.

  What is this? Dora wondered. The distant, fluttering feeling had returned to her stomach, now redoubled in strength. It was a lantern warmth, mixed with confusion and just a hint of nervousness. She was not even certain whether it was entirely a pleasant feeling... but perhaps it was?

  Elias was still looking at her, and she somehow did not want him to look away.

  “Vanessa and I are going to Lady Cushing’s ball,” Dora said. “But I will save no dances for you, my lord, on the supposition that you will not show up. If you happen to venture into the jaws of high society after all, then I suppose I shall reward your unusual sociability with any two dances you like.”

  Elias smiled grimly. “The lady misjudges my determination,” he said. But Dora saw that he had halfway directed the comment towards Lady Carroway, and she realised belatedly that the entire exchange had been meant simply to infuriate Albert’s mother once again.

  The flutterings turned ever more nervous, and Dora decided finally that they were not a pleasant feeling, after all.

  Lady Carroway had a slight frown upon her face now. But though Elias had clearly baited her, the expression was more uncertain than frustrated. Albert’s mother glanced towards Dora, who dropped her eyes to her half-finished soup.

  “Do you know,” Lady Carroway said slowly. “I believe I have been deceived, Lord Sorcier.” Her eyes flickered to Albert’s silver right arm. “You are so very good at being temporarily unpleasant... somehow, you managed to convince me to forget what a generous, loyal man you can be, even with such a perfect physical reminder before me.”

  Elias shook his head. “I am unpleasant because I loathe expensive, superficial things, Lady Carroway,” he said. “I assure you, it is not some intricate plan to deceive people. I have often thought I would be better served if I could keep my frustrations to myself.” He gestured towards the table. “Everything I see here tempts me to bitterness. All of you—through only so much fault of your own—see only a normal dinner spread. Do you know what I see? Truly?”

  Lady Carroway leaned forward slightly, now with genuine interest on her face. “Tell me, please,” she said.

  “You don’t want to hear this,” Albert warned his mother quietly. There was a resignation on his features that suggested he did not expect the conversation to go well.

  “I do,” Lady Carroway said. “Spare me no pleasantries, Lord Sorcier. My son is used to your sharp tongue, and Miss Ettings seems inured enough to its bite. This time, I will endure, and you may speak your mind.”

  “As you wish,” Elias said. “I am sure I will remind you of your graciousness forthwith, Lady Carroway.” He met her eyes directly. “When I look upon this table, I see all the people who might have starved to set it. I see a lavish meal painstakingly prepared by an entire staff, when half such lavishness would not have materially harmed anyone.”

  His fingers curled in front of him, and his jaw clenched. “Meanwhile, there are so many starving in the workhouses as we speak. Some children, innocent of wrongdoing. Some soldiers, just like your son—men who had no money or connections waiting for them when they came home, and no Lord Sorcier to mend their broken limbs. Their blood kept all these very fine tables safe from Napoleon... and now that they are home, it has earned them not one scrap of bread, nor even the consideration of being allowed polite discussion over dinner.”

  Lady Carroway did not respond to this immediately. Her face was so carefully composed that Dora could not eke out the slightest hint of what she might be thinking.

  “Father has always supported your causes in the House of Lords,” Albert said quietly. “And there are many charitable cases, just like Mrs Dun’s orphanage.” It sounded like a rote response—an attempt at reasonable comfort which might have sometimes yielded fruit.

  “No one gives what they could, Albert!” Elias hissed. “Everyone gives what they please—and certainly not without plenty of self-congratulations for their miserly gestures. With one hand, they raise grain tariffs, muster soldiers, and create the workhouses. With the other, they deign to save a few poor souls from the very hell they made. This country is mad. It’s rotten. It’s unthinkable, and none of you can see it.” He shook his head and shoved to his feet. There was a wild, frenetic despair in his manner that certainly had not been helped by his exhaustion. “I cannot eat a fine meal while some poor girl lays dying. It is not in me. But I suppose it is in you.”

  Albert’s eyes widened. Dora saw a hint of real injury in his expression, and she thought this time that Elias must have gone further than he had ever gone before. The Lord Sorcier stormed for the door, his steps haunted by that horrible cloud of fury and self-loathing.

  The other side of the table stared in their direction, shocked by the display. Auntie Frances shook her head in terrible disapproval, and sniffed at Lord Carroway. Vanessa shot Dora a bewildered look.

  A silence fell upon the foot of the table, where Albert and Lady Carroway sat with Dora.

  This is actually quite bad, Dora thought dimly. Elias is losing his mind. He will drive off his only allies this way.

  She stood up from the table herself. “Lady Carroway,” Dora said slowly. “I fear I require a chaperone. I would consider myself deeply in your debt if you would accompany me while I tell the Lord Sorcier what a fool he has made of himself.”

  Lady Carroway considered her with that carefully neutral expression. At first, Dora thought she might decline—such a request was terribly improper, especially given that the lady was still obliged to act as hostess. But the viscountess stood up a moment later and inclined her head. “You may have to catch him, Miss Ettings,” she observed.

  Dora nodded, and started towards the door with determination.

  It wasn’t hard to figure out where Elias was headed. He had gone directly for the front door, sweeping past the butler in a dark mood. Dora headed out after him in her slippers, with a hard determination in her own stride. To her credit, Lady Carroway kept up, ignoring the slight drizzle of rain that covered the street.

  As it turned out, they did not have very far to go at all.

  Just out of sight of the stairs to the front door, Elias had leaned himself back against the wall of the house, breathing hard. He had his hands in his hair, and there was such a look on his face that Dora suspected he had realised, on some level, the extent of his decline.

  In that light mist of rain, with his white-blond hair pinned to his face and his golden eyes ragged, he looked far less lordly and dangerous and far more... lost.

  “You need food and sleep,” Dora told him promptly, as she approached. “And a dose of good sense—but food and sleep supply the latter, I am told.”

  Elias looked up at her sharply. He tensed his shoulders, and Dora saw the danger in his manner. She had cornered him, just when he thought himself safe to drown in misery. His eyes flickered to the viscountess behind her, and then back again. “I do not wish to speak with you, Miss Ettings,” he said coldly. But there was a tremor in his voice, and it did not do much for his authority.

  “Everyone does things sometimes which they do not wish to do,” Dora told him evenly. “Even magicians.” She closed much of the distance between them, standing very straight so that she could look him in the eyes. “I am not angry with you. You know that I am not.”

  Elias sucked in a breath. She saw him struggle for a long moment with his own irrational emotions. “...I believe you,” he said finally. It was only the thinnest of acknowledgements, but it was something.

  “You are angry, of course,” Dora said. “And I think you have good reason. But you are
also not in control of yourself—and you have said things now which I suspect you will regret.”

  Dora searched her thin array of emotion, trying to find some understanding which made sense. The idea that Elias was angry enough to lash out at Albert seemed incredible. She had seen the circumstances of their friendship! It was so very clear how much they loved one another.

  ...but I love Vanessa too, Dora realised. And she has disappointed me all the same. I was so grieved, and she did not share the depths of that grief. Perhaps I might have also been angry with her, if I were capable of such a thing.

  Dora reached out to touch his shoulder very carefully. “You have not many friends, Elias,” she said slowly. “I may be wrong. In fact, I am most likely wrong. But I think that you are grieving. And if you trusted your friends enough to show that grief, instead of turning it to anger, you would not now be outside in the rain.”

  Elias stared at her. As Dora considered his face, she became convinced that there were tears there.

  “Oh, bother,” Dora sighed. “I am about to flout propriety, Lady Carroway. Do be kind to me, please.”

  She wrapped her arms around the magician tightly—and felt him crumble away against her.

  Elias was not light; Dora found herself buckling more than a little bit beneath his weight. But she bore up as best she could, as he pressed his face into her shoulder and sobbed.

  The awkwardness of the situation was not lost on Dora. She could not help but notice it in her usual, detached way. But there was also a profound relief in the breaking of his anger that she thought had affected them all. After a moment’s hesitation, Lady Carroway stepped forward to press a hand to Dora’s shoulders, helping to keep her upright—though the viscountess did not quite dare to touch Elias himself.

  Many minutes later, Elias managed a hoarse, terrified whisper. “I am going to fail again,” he said. “There is never anything that I can do. And the world will go on, just as it always has. There will be people at fine dinners, pretending... believing that nothing is wrong.” The wretched, lonely grief that Dora had suspected was now absolutely obvious in his manner.