In the time it takes a wood pigeon to alight on a nearby branch and cease its flapping, the normality of the March morning is restored. The wind disappears. Birds take up singing once more. The wolves, puzzled, lope off to find shade. The keeper inquires after Bram’s health and, once reassured, returns Lilith’s hat to her. Lilith takes it from him and swiftly works a spell of forgetting on the keeper and the startled onlookers. She may well have been recognized, and it would not do for gossip to spread and the incident to be reported in the newspapers. She and Bram hurry down the winding path away from the scene.
Bram pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and wraps it around his bleeding hand. He puts his arm around Lilith’s shoulders partly to protect her, and partly because he fears his legs might just give way beneath him without her support. They find a bench at the far side of a picnic area. It is still sufficiently early in the day so that the place is empty, so that they will not be overheard. He sits down heavily, his hair falling in his face, willing his racing heart to steady itself once more. Beside him Lilith tenderly takes his wounded hand and examines the bite.
“It’s nothing, really. I’ll have Jane find me some iodine when we return to the house. What was that … thing trying to do?”
“To hurt you. To frighten you. To warn me.”
“He certainly succeeded on the first two counts.”
“Oh, Bram, forgive me, it’s my fault. We are so far from the cemetery, or my home, and in a public place, in daytime … I never imagined Willoughby would be so bold, so reckless as to harm you here. I should have realized…”
“But, from what I recall, you told me the spirits are stronger at nighttime. That they cannot do a great deal alone, other than haunt and scare people, unless…”
“Unless they are being manipulated or assisted by someone in the Land of Day. Which is precisely what must have been taking place. The Sentinel was very close. I could feel him, as soon as he began to work through the Dark Spirit he revealed his presence.”
“He was here? In the crowd?”
“Possibly. Or at least, here in the gardens.”
“And he is here still?” Bram asks, looking about the flower beds and shrubbery, trying to imagine evil lurking unseen somewhere even now.
“He is not spellcasting or communing with a spirit, so he will be easily able to mask his presence.”
“Good Lord, Lilith, he could be anywhere. He could be anyone.”
“He could.”
They fall silent for a while, before Bram shakes his head. “I need to walk. I can’t sit still.”
“Do you feel quite well?”
“My heart is leaping, but don’t worry. I’m perfectly well.”
“Your poor hand,” she says, kissing his bandaged fingers gently.
“My left, fortunately, not my painting hand. It will heal soon enough.”
Lilith moves forward and slips her arms around his waist, leaning against his warm, strong chest, putting her ear against his heart so that she might listen to its uneven rhythm. It is a gesture of such affection, such intimacy, here in the open, in this public place, that Bram feels tears sting his eyes. He blinks them away and turns to enfold her in his arms.
“Perhaps we should run away to a wild place,” he says, contriving a smile. “Somewhere far away where no one knows us. Where we can just be Bram and Lilith, the disheveled painter and his beautiful muse.”
“That would be wonderful,” she agrees, but in the way a person does when they are entering into a fantasy, a dream, rather than putting a plan into action.
Bram steals a chaste kiss, meaning only to be tender, but she takes his face in her hands and holds him, returning his kiss with a passion that shocks him.
“Come away with me,” she says.
“You have a tropical island in mind?”
“No, but I could take you to Radnor Hall.”
“What?”
“To our estate in Radnorshire. I’m serious, my darling. Why not? There is nothing wrong with organizing a weekend party.”
“Oh? And who else would you invite? I can’t wait to hear who you think would find me suitable company. Keep in mind I’ve never shot anything and I cut a very poor figure on a horse. Nor have I ever attempted to pass myself off as a witch.”
She shakes her head, laughing. “No one. That’s the beauty of it. I wouldn’t invite anyone else. There would just be you and me.”
“And a modest crowd of servants.”
“We only keep a small staff there while we are up in London, which is most of the time now. Mama prefers it here. I think she mainly tolerated the place for Father, and for us when we were children. She will not go there if she does not have to. Oh, Bram, do let’s go! Even for a week. I think we would be safer there.”
“Spirits can’t travel?”
“They can, but whoever it is who is controlling this one would not know we were going until it is too late. A Sentinel must use a train or car like the rest of us. And if he were to follow us, he would not get within two miles of the house. The estate is large. We would be safer there, at least for a while. We could be just the two of us. Together.”
He tries to take in the full implications of what she is telling him. The idea of having her to himself, day and night, is too marvelous to contemplate.
“But, we would have to come home … I shouldn’t … compromise you, Lilith.”
“Bram, look at me.” She places her hands firmly on his shoulders, and her words are level and serious. “I am a grown woman. I can make up my own mind. I love you. I want to take you to Radnor Hall. After … after what has just happened … well, I refuse to think beyond that. If you don’t want to…”
“I do!” He laughs.
“Then it’s decided. I’ll make the necessary arrangements. We can catch the train to Ludlow.”
“And when we are there, will you tell me more? About what it is you do. I know how much it means to you, the coven, I want to understand. Will you tell me?”
“I will. I will tell you so much your head will spin and you will become bored of the very idea of witches and who they are and what they look like and how to spot them.” She laughs, and is then quickly serious again. “We cannot risk things going on as they are, Bram. I have to find other ways to protect you. And I have to think about how I am to confront the Sentinels. Time away, with you, is what I need.”
“When?” he wants to know, completely caught up in the idea now, pulling her tighter to him. “When is this wonderful, marvelous, incredible thing to happen?”
“Two weeks from now,” she says. “After the Anstruthers’ ball.”
“After the ball,” he echoes, smiling, and they stand there, embracing, listening to the strange cries of creatures from faraway lands who don’t belong but who have discovered a way of going on in the curious world in which they find themselves.
* * *
Later, alone in his bed that now seems unpleasantly empty without Lilith next to him, Bram chases sleep unsuccessfully. The idea of a week away with her, out of London, spared the interference of her mother or the many friends she has in the city who would, no doubt, be happy to tell Louis of his fiancée’s interest in another man. It is beginning to worry Bram that she has not yet broken off the engagement. She has told him she is looking for the right moment, that she wants her brother home, that she has to find a reason and that it should not be Bram, that she wants to find a time that will not upset coven business. These last two bother him most. Surely, if they are to have a future together, she should tell Louis that she loves someone else, that she loves Bram. Is she ashamed of him, after all, despite the fact that she repeatedly tells him this is not the case? And what if her loyalty to the coven weakens her resolve to follow her heart? Louis is a witch, too, she has explained. They share, then, a very special bond.
One which I cannot hope to match.
He turns over, pulling the inadequate cover up to his chin. The cold is not helping in his quest for sleep. He decide
s he must have a hot drink and clambers out of bed, fumbling in the darkness for matches. He lights an oil lamp and then sees the kettle is empty. Cursing silently, he pushes his already socked feet into his shoes and heads for the kitchen. He descends the creaking flights of stairs as quietly as he can, mindful of the fact that it must be well past midnight and Jane would not thank him for waking any of the children. The house is silent and still, but when he reaches the hall he is surprised to hear low voices coming from Mangan’s studio. He can make out the gruff tones of the artist himself, but does not recognize the second speaker.
Who would be calling at such a time? There is surely not sufficient light to view any artwork.
Curiosity overcomes him. He sets his lamp down on the bottom stair and walks carefully along the hallway to the doorless gap that leads through to the studio. He does not enter, but waits in the dusty shadows, listening. Peering through the gloom he can make out two figures, both seated by a surprisingly lively fire in the hearth, which gives off the only illumination. In the dancing light Bram sees Mangan, a glass of brandy in his hand, nodding as his visitor speaks. This second figure is short and broad and has a voice with a smile in it.
“My dear Mangan,” he says, “I agree with you entirely upon this matter, but I am at a loss to know what else we can do.”
“She is a strong-headed girl,” Mangan points out. “She will not be easily restricted in her movements. Nor should she be. We must allow her to govern herself, surely.”
“Indeed, but, well, she is young. She may not wish to admit to herself how much danger she is in. Morningstar’s safety must be our main consideration.”
Morningstar? Lilith’s coven name! Why would this man know it? Why would he be discussing her position as Head Witch like this? Unless … unless he, too, is a witch!
Bram feels his blood pounding against his temples as realization dawns.
Unless both he and Mangan are witches!
The thought is so astonishing that he stumbles, barely managing to prevent himself from falling into the room. He flattens himself back against the wall, hardly daring to breathe. If the two men have heard anything they give no sign of having done so beyond a short pause in their conversation. Bram waits until they are settled to talking again, noting that they have moved away from the subject of Lilith, before tiptoeing back along the hallway, taking up his lamp, and hurrying as silently as he is able back up the staircase, his hands trembling as he grips the banister. Once back in his room he slumps into the armchair, his head in his hands, struggling to make sense of it all.
He acknowledges to himself now how flimsy was his grip on reason and good sense when Lilith confessed to being a witch. It was as if he could accept anything from her, anything about her, because of his love for her, because he knows he would do anything not to lose her love. And talk of Louis and the coven, well, it was just that, to him. Talk. Something strange and fantastic that happened elsewhere, to other people. But now, finding out that Mangan, too, was a part of her coven, the discovery seemed to break whatever hold he had on what is real and what is make-believe.
Mangan! All this time in the same house as him and I never suspected anything, never saw anything different in him beyond artistic eccentricity. And his visitor, who is he? And who else is a witch? Am I surrounded by people who secretly cast spells and summon the dead? Is Jane a witch, too? Is Gudrun? My God, how will I ever know? How will I ever be certain of anything again?
17.
My bedroom resembles a shipwreck, with garments, shoes, stoles, and suchlike strewn over every surface. Iago is thoroughly put out by all the excitement and fuss and is sitting on a green velvet chair in a bad temper, his tail thrashing from side to side. He refuses to be persuaded to change his mood, and is all out of purrs. It would, no doubt, be chaotic enough if it were only I getting ready for the ball, but with Charlotte here, too, excitement and fluster have been raised to levels beyond the endurance of any self-respecting cat.
“Oh, Lilith.” Charlotte stands in front of the looking glass turning this way and that to better view the dress she is trying on, “I am not sure this is right. Is it right? Alice, what do you think? Is this the right dress? Oh, my goodness, the first ball in an absolute age, and I am incapable of choosing what to wear. Lilith, I blame you entirely. You look so divine in that gown, I shall pale beside you.” She slumps down on the bed. “I may as well go in that ghastly creation my mother found for me. It will make no difference. I shall be a wallflower the entire evening.”
Laughing, I throw a small cushion at her. “Really, Charlotte, you should know better than to fish for compliments here. Alice is far too busy to waste time flattering you, Iago can only growl at the moment, and I refuse to enter into the delusion that you will look anything other than exquisite, as you always do.”
“Oh? And do you suggest I wear Mama’s choice of gown?”
I stifle a giggle. “Very well, I admit there are some garments even you would struggle to shine in.” I cast about the muddle of silk, velvet, and chiffon. “Here.” I select a svelte golden dress with a pearl-encrusted bodice and lengths of sheer satin falling in rippling folds to the floor. “Put this one on. The color will be perfect with your hair. And you can wear your lovely ropes of pearls.”
“It is beautiful … but a little fussy, perhaps? All those seed pearls … No, it won’t do. Alice, help me, I shall try the raspberry velvet once more.”
Still laughing, I experience a sudden pang of sadness. My enjoyment of the ball, however much it is a welcome diversion, cannot be complete because Bram will not be there. He occupies my thoughts so very much, and I would love to dance with him, to have him hold me, in front of everyone. To have him see me in my finery. But I have not yet spoken to Louis. The fault is mine. I know I am putting off doing so, and it is cowardly of me. If Bram and I are to have a future together I must free myself from my promise to Louis. I must tell him about Bram. And I must do so before rumor and gossip deliver the news for me.
After what happened at the zoo, well, I know the only way to keep Bram safe is to keep him close to me. And to do that, we cannot continue our romance in secret. I must break with Louis. I must face Mama and tell her I intend to marry Bram.
But even then, he will not have the protection that I enjoy, because I must keep him separate from the coven. I have already broken my vows by telling him the truth about myself and by revealing what I have of the Lazarus witches. How would the coven members react were I to tell them that I have taken him into my confidence? They would be shocked. Horrified. Some might consider me to have failed in my role as Head Witch. How could I make them understand? How could I convince them that we are right to trust those who love us, and that those we hold dear are deserving of all the protection we are able to give them? I chose not to keep the fact that I am a witch from the man I love, but I must keep him from my family of witches. Must my life always be built upon secrets, secrets, secrets?
For now though, I will turn my thoughts to the ball, for Charlotte’s sake, and for Freddie’s. He has waited such a long time to emerge from the gloom of mourning. I must not spoil it for him with my own preoccupations. I sit on the stool of my dressing table and browse through my jewelry box. I have promised Mama I will not allow my appearance to be in any way brash, though after so many months of somber dressing, the ivory chiffon I am wearing feels shocking even without jewels. I admit to feeling wonderful in it. The corset Charlotte insisted I buy is barely worthy of the name, it is so light. It cleverly gives me the shape to suit the slim silhouette of my gown without in the least restricting my movement. Such freedom feels a little wicked. The dress itself is from Paris, absolutely the latest thing, Mrs. Morell assured me, designed to make the most of careful draping of the fabric. The waist is high, so that the skirts fall elegantly, the sheer silk underskirts a mere whisper against my body. Charlotte notices what I am doing and tuts loudly.
“Lilith, put those baubles away. There is only one necklace you should wea
r tonight, and you know it.”
“Oh, Charlotte, no, I couldn’t possibly…”
“But you must!” She steps forward in such agitation that Alice is forced to let go of the corset she had been lacing for her. “This is the first ball since you came out of mourning. It is an important occasion. You have to show that you are back in society for good and proper now.”
“But, Charlotte … such flamboyance…”
“I swear, if you do not wear the Montgomery diamonds I will accompany you as I stand!” She draws herself up proudly. “What do you think Lady Annabel would make of your party including a woman in her underclothes? How would that sit with her notion of what is proper?”
I begin to laugh. “Well, they are very expensive, very pretty underclothes…”
“I mean it, Lilith. Put those diamonds on this minute.”
I feel a small thrill run through me.
Alice is smiling. “Shall I fetch the key, my lady?” she asks.
I nod. “Thank you, Alice.”
Charlotte squeals with delight. Alice leaves the room for a few minutes and returns with a key on a ribbon. I take it from her, slide the small oil painting on the wall above the fireplace to one side, and unlock the safe, muttering the required incantation under my breath as I do so. I pause, my eyes closed for several seconds until I hear the lock release. I take out the green leather case and set in on the dressing table, sitting down once more. The three of use stare at the large, gold-embossed box. As I open it, the diamonds catch the light and sparkle and flash almost blue. Charlotte gasps. I hear Alice sigh. I reach in and let my fingers caress the cold, hard stones. As always, they seem to sing with a very special magic of their own. I lift up the cascade of platinum and gems and hold it to my throat. Alice fastens it for me and the necklace rests heavily against my skin, sending tiny shocks and shivers through my body.
Behind me Charlotte claps her hands with delight. “Oh, Lilith! Now I know we are going to have a simply divine evening!”
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